He hadn't liked leaving her with Jackie; he hadn't liked it at all. But the older woman was a force to be reckoned with. Of course, if he'd truly been concerned about Rose, he wouldn't have backed down. No, that wasn't the right term; Time Lords didn't back down from forty-year-old, frowsy human women. He did it for Rose. That was it, of course; he hadn't wanted to upset her, and so he'd done her bidding, not her mother's.
Rose had looked fairly dreadful, but perhaps it was more an effect of the mussed hair and puffy eyes. She'd been sleeping, he reminded himself, so naturally she wouldn't have been at her best. Still, he'd noted the slight flush of her cheeks indicative of fever the moment he'd seen her, and he'd immediately sensed that her temperature was 99.7 the instant he'd placed his palm against her skin. That wasn't dangerous for a human, but he knew it was less than comfortable. Her eyes had seemed rather glassy, too.
He probably should've insisted that Jackie permit him to have a proper look at her daughter. But at least the older woman had had the sense to take Rose to a physician, albeit it an early-twentieth-century, Terran one whose knowledge, skills, and medications were far, far inferior to his own… But for a cold or even flu, he supposed someone with basic qualifications was adequate.
He kept Rose in his thoughts as he continued working on the TARDIS, but after a while the intricate calibrations consumed most of his mind, so ruminations about his young companion were temporarily set aside.
Jackie's thoughts, however, focused upon nothing but Rose. Her daughter was still coughing, still awake and uncomfortable after her last dose of cough suppressant. So Jackie made a motherly decision and marched resolutely into the room.
"Sweetheart," she said gently, taking the bottle from the night table, "I'm going to give you a little more of this. You've gotta get some sleep, an' I think the dose the doctor prescribed wasn't quite enough."
Rose coughed in response. She was pale and sweaty with dark shadows beneath her large eyes. "You… sure?" she hacked.
"'Course. 'S jus' a little more. Open up."
Rose complied, and Jackie slid the spoon into her mouth. "There we are, love, that should do the trick. I think you'll sleep jus' fine now."
Rose nodded weakly. "Thanks, Mum." She closed her eyes wearily.
As the Doctor reconnected a pink wire, his thoughts returned to Rose. How long had it been since he'd seen her? He thought back: six or seven hours. He glanced at the door to see that it was dark out. He was nearly done with his work, so he decided immediately that he would go up the flat again. Perhaps he'd be lucky and Jackie would be sleeping. Then he could just pop in and have a look at Rose, be sure she was doing well and be out before her mother had any inkling that she'd had a midnight visitor.
He walked quietly up to the flat and stood at the door listening for a moment. Assured that he could slip in, he unlocked the door with the sonic screwdriver then stepped inside. A single lamp was on in the living room, leaving most of the flat dim. His eyes moved to Rose's door.
To his surprise, it was open, and the light was on. Jackie's door, however, was closed, and her room appeared dark. Thankfully, it seemed that she was sleeping. He began to walk toward Rose's room.
A noise in the kitchen stopped him in his tracks. Something thudded, then there was a dull crash and a shattering sound, accompanied by a little gasp. Quickly he went to investigate. The refrigerator door was open, illuminating the room minimally. Still, it was enough for him to see Rose standing at the counter and the jug of juice lying at her feet.
He switched on the light, and she slowly lifted her head, blinking at him in confusion. "Wanted juice," she said, pointing languidly at the container. Orange liquid had pooled around her feet, leaving her bare toes wet. Shards of glass lay scattered on the countertop. She took a tottering step back, grabbing the counter to support herself.
"Rose, no—" the Doctor began, but he was too late. He saw her hand press over a piece of glass.
"Doctor?" She squinted at him then smiled. "Nice dream."
He slid an arm around her shoulders and eased her away from the counter then down into a chair. He lifted her hand; blood was already dripping from her palm.
"Ooh, wha's that?" she asked sluggishly. She blinked several times. "T'mato juice. Wanted orange." She nudged his foot with her own. "Hey, where'd you put m' orange juice?"
The Doctor reached for a dish towel and pressed it over her palm. "You've cut yourself," he told her. She wriggled, trying to pull her hand away. "Stay still," he admonished benignly.
She frowned. "Gotta get you your banana." She tried to stand, listing dangerously to one side before he guided her down again. She giggled. "'Nana split? You wanna 'nana split? Or a milkshake? Nice 'nana shake, yeah, tha's what 'm gonna make for you."
His eyes scanned the floor for evidence of glass, but all he saw was the puddle of orange juice. He returned his attention to her hand. A little blood had seeped through the towel, but it wasn't too much. He didn't think the cut was terribly deep. Still, he set her hand gently upon the table.
"Leave your hand here," he said with kind firmness. "Keep it elevated."
"Elevated?" she repeated, voice somewhat slurred. "'S no el'vator here, silly!" She giggled again. "'Member that el'vator at the hospital—th' one with the cat nuns? Cat nuns!" She laughed. "Weren't very fuzzy or nice, though." A frown creased her brow. "An' that C'sandra—right bitch she was, tryin' to take over m' body. But she kissed you—she made me kiss you." Rose smiled dreamily. "Nice kiss, wasn't it?" Her uninjured hand reached up to stroke his cheek, but her aim was off, and she poked a finger at his eye instead.
"Ow!" He flinched back a bit.
"Ooh, Doct'r, did I hur' you?" she slurred, trying to touch his face again.
He caught her hand in his. "Rose, just stay still. Please." He made his tone as stern as possible while still maintaining a bit of warmth and affection.
"'Kay," she whispered. "Di'n't mean t' make y' mad."
He took her arms gently. "I'm not mad, Rose. But I do need you to be still so that I can have a look at you. Can you do that for me?"
She smiled. "Anythin' for you."
He sat before her, releasing her arms so that he could lift her chin and study her eyes. Her pupils were unnaturally dilated in the light. He was afraid that her fever had soared, leaving her delirious. However, when he rested his palm against her brow he found that her temperature was only slightly above normal and lower than it had been before.
"What the hell's goin' on?"
Jackie's strident voice made the Doctor jerk. "Good question," he retorted. "You tell me."
Jackie was at her daughter's side immediately, fussing at the towel wrapped around her hand. "What happened? How'd she get hurt?"
"She was trying to get some juice, apparently," he replied, eyes flicking to the spilled carton and broken glass.
"Oh! I didn't even know she was up—she was sleepin' last I checked, an' that was only a little over an hour ago. I must've drifted off—didn't mean to," Jackie nattered. "Sweetheart, why didn't you call me? I'd of got your juice for you. An' now look what you've gone an' done."
Rose's eyelids had lowered partially, and she didn't respond to her mother. The Doctor was watching the younger Tyler carefully and noted the change in alertness. He pressed his fingers over her wrist to find her pulse uncharacteristically slow. Something was depressing her autonomic nervous system…
"Jackie!" he said suddenly. "What have you been giving her?"
"Just her medicine: antibiotics every eight hours, cough syrup every four."
"Cough syrup—you lot put codeine in that, right?"
"S'pose so. It's what the doctor prescribed for her."
"The doctor, right," he snorted rather derisively. "How much did you give her?"
"What he said—an' one extra spoonful, jus' to help with the coughin', because the dose he said wasn't really doin' it."
"Bring me the bottle." This wasn't a request.
Jackie huffed but complied, wisely realizing that her daughter's needs were more important than her sense of control. The Doctor lifted one of Rose's eyelids to study her reaction to light. He wasn't entirely pleased with the result. She appeared half-asleep, barely stirring when he touched her eye.
"Rose," he said firmly. "Can you hear me?"
"Mmm," she responded. She began to slump forward to lean against his shoulder. After wrapping an arm around her, he reached for another towel to wipe some of the juice from her feet.
Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward her room, intercepting Jackie half-way.
"What're you doin'?" the alarmed mother asked.
"What's it look like?" he snapped back. He was certain that Jackie was to blame for Rose's condition. Obviously she'd given her daughter considerably more cough syrup than prescribed.
He pushed past the older woman to settle Rose upon her bed. Then he turned back to Jackie and held out his hand. "Give me the bottle."
She did. He lifted it to study the contents. "This is two-thirds empty!"
Jackie blinked at him. "No, that can't be. I gave her one spoonful when we got back from the chemist's, then another about three hours ago, just as the doctor said, an one more a bit after. That's all."
"Just how large a spoon did you use?" he asked accusatorily.
She pointed at the teaspoon on the night table. He noticed that her hand shook slightly.
His eyes flicked back to Rose's face. Her features had grown slack. "Then how did it…"
His gaze lowered to the top of her loose pink t-shirt. Three small maroon spots stained her chest. "Oh Rose," he began.
Jackie saw the evidence, too. "Sweetheart! You didn't…"
"Obviously she did," he replied shortly. He checked her pulse again; it was unchanged.
"Is she all right?" the anxious mother asked.
"Does she look like she's all right?" he rejoined.
"No—she's…" Jackie's voice caught.
The Time Lord glanced up at her. She was utterly distraught. "Jackie," he said, forcing a gentler tone into his voice, "it's not that bad. She should be all right. But I need to keep a close eye on her for the next little while. And we need to be sure she doesn't take any more of that." His gaze moved to the bottle for just an instant.
Jackie purposefully walked out of the room to leave the cough suppressant somewhere else. The Doctor unwound the towel from Rose's hand and used the end to wipe away the blood. He examined the cut to find that, as he'd suspected, it wasn't deep enough to require sutures. Still, a bit of dermal glue wouldn't be amiss… He could return to the TARDIS for some, but that would have to wait until he was certain that his favorite Tyler was all right.
Jackie returned shortly, hovering at the bedside. "What can I do? Does she need coffee? Tea?"
"Not right now, though some water would be a good idea to begin flushing out her system."
"'Course. I'll get it."
"Do you have a first aid kit?" he asked as she began to scurry away.
"Yeah, 'course. I'll bring that, too."
The Doctor rested his hand lightly over Rose's chest to assess her respiration rate. It was on the slow side but not dangerously so. He could hear a little raspiness in her breathing, however, and that did concern him. His hand dipped into his pocket to retrieve the stethoscope he'd used while fixing the console; it was a handy tool for listening for slight variations in the ship's rhythm. He adjusted it in his ears and slid his hand down inside Rose's shirt.
"Oi!" Jackie's voice nearly made him jump again. "Jus' what the hell d' you think you're doin'?"
He looked up to see her gaze fixed on the hand inside her daughter's t-shirt. His back was partially to the elder Tyler, so she couldn't see what he was doing. He turned so that she could see the instrument in his ears, keeping his temper at bay. Really, though, it was terribly tedious that she didn't trust him. What else would he be doing with his hand down Rose's shirt?
"Just checking her lungs," he replied after a moment. "She's got bronchitis."
Jackie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, doctor already told us that." But her expression softened to one more reflective of concern. "How's it sound? It's not too serious, is it?"
He waggled a finger at her to signal that he needed a respite from her chatter. He carefully pulled Rose up into a sitting position. Her mother quickly moved to support her while the Time Lord slipped the stethoscope up under the back of her shirt. He listened very carefully then eased her back down.
"Well?" Now Jackie's tone was more demanding.
"You sure you want my opinion?"
"'Course I do!"
"Hmm. That's a change," he humphed.
Somewhat contrite, Jackie said, "I can see you know what you're doin'. You knew right away she had bronchitis…"
"I'm going to get her some decent antibiotics in a while—the kind that work in a few hours rather than a few days—and the bronchitis'll clear right up. For the moment, it's not terribly serious."
Jackie held out the glass of water she'd brought, and the Doctor lifted Rose's head to hold the cup to her lips. She swallowed a few sips, seeming to rouse slightly.
"I brought the first aid kit, too," the older woman said.
The Time Lord nodded in reply. "Cut's not too deep."
Jackie seemed relieved to hear that. She opened the kit and began rummaging about inside. Paper crinkled and bottles clinked, and the Doctor found the entire process quite annoying.
"Do you have any herbal tea?" he asked, "without caffeine?"
Jackie stopped her delving for a moment. "Sure. I've got chamomile an' some ginger stuff that Mickey used t'like when he'd eaten too much pizza."
"Chamomile," he said succinctly.
Jackie took the hint and left the room. The Doctor searched the first aid kit and quickly found what he needed. He took Rose's hand and carefully wiped antiseptic over the ragged cut.
"Mmm," Rose mumbled, trying to pull her hand away from the sting.
"It's all right," the Doctor said gently. "You cut your hand. I'm just sorting it."
She opened her eyes to stare rather dazedly at him. "Doctor?"
"Yes, Rose." He placed a square of guaze over the cut then began wrapping it.
"How'd I get in bed?" she asked. "Did I dream that I was in the kitchen?"
"No, that was real. You said you wanted some orange juice, but you dropped the glass and cut your hand."
"Don't remember… comin' back in here," she murmured sleepily.
"I carried you," he informed her.
She smiled. "Wish I remembered… that."
He finished wrapping her hand. "There we are. Does it hurt much?"
She shook her head slowly. "Can hardly feel… a thing."
"That would be from the cough syrup. You overdid it a little, Rose."
She frowned in confusion. "Huh?"
"I think the recommended dose is a teaspoon every four hours, not four teaspoons every one hour," he said, trying to keep his tone light.
Her mouth formed a perfect little O. "Didn't mean to…"
"I know. It shouldn't have been left here—"
"Was jus' that I couldn't sleep… kept coughin', an' it hurt…" She rubbed a hand over her chest.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked with concern.
"A little—" A cough interrupted her. She pressed her hand against her sternum, wincing with the effort.
"Here, Rose, roll over onto your side." He eased her over then rubbed her back with small, soothing strokes. "Better?" he asked after a minute or so.
"Yeah. Thanks."
He stilled his hand, increasing the pressure just a bit so that he could clearly feel her heart beat. It was marginally faster and steadier than it had been in the kitchen. Still, she wasn't quite past the effects of her mild overdose. She remained hot and feverish, too.
He went to the bathroom and brought back two washcloths, one warm and the other cool. He wiped the latter over her face then used the warmer one to remove the sticky traces of orange juice from her feet. That done, he pulled the blanket over her and pressed the cold cloth against her brow again.
"How's that feel?" he asked softly.
"Better," Rose sighed. "You make everything better."
To be concluded…
