Rose woke to the smell of French toast. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation as she hauled herself out of bed and into the bathroom. Through the window she saw that the sky was grey and cloudy, and the tile beneath her feet was quite cool. She wrapped herself in a dressing gown and slid on a pair of slippers then padded down the hall to the kitchen.
She found the Doctor standing at the stove, a spatula in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. He had the London Times sent by post each week and saved the crossword for Sunday mornings.
"Ort. Ha!" he murmured.
"Mornin'," she greeted.
He looked up over his glasses, a smile spreading across his face. "Sleep well?" His smile became rather smug, and she knew he was remembering their extended evening activities.
"Like a stone—except for those two times when I had to get up to pee."
He set down the spatula and the paper so that he could spread his hands over her belly. "How's my little one doing today?" he asked, closing his eyes for a moment.
"She's pretty quiet at the moment, but I think that French toast'll wake her up."
Rose's stomach growled loudly right on cue. The Doctor motioned to a chair then turned back to the stove. She sank down and lifted his mug to take a sip of tea. The baby shifted a bit.
"All right?" the Doctor asked, seeing her changing expression as he set a plate before her.
She nodded and immediately tucked into the delicious meal. He'd sautéed apples with a dash of cinnamon and cloves and spooned a generous portion of the fruit over the rich, egg-dipped toast. She was famished, but as usual she felt uncomfortably full after finishing less than half of the plate. When the Doctor was with her, she tried to eat as much as she possibly could; he worried that she wasn't consuming enough calories as it was. But she simply could not fit another bite into the tiny space between the baby and her ribcage.
"Can't you have a little more?" he queried.
"Maybe later?"
Crossword forgotten for the moment, he reached for her hand. "Once she drops, you'll feel more comfortable. Things won't seem as tight in there."
"But that won't be for what, another three or four weeks, right?"
"Right."
"Suppose we'll be in London by then."
"Yep. I was thinking we should leave on the fifteenth."
"But I'm not due 'til the thirtieth."
"I know, Rose, but think how nice it'll be to be in London before Christmas. You can help your mum and Tony decorate their tree and hang stockings, and…" He paused to think for a moment. "And all those other holiday traditions you lot love so much."
"We were gonna be there for Christmas Eve anyway. I was sort of looking forward to seein' the holiday lanterns and holly here. Maggie says it's beautiful, an' it seems to get better every year. They're doin' that performance with handbells in the chapel on the twenty-first."
He squeezed her hand gently. "We'll catch it next year—all three of us."
She knew she would not win this minor battle. Indeed, she wasn't sure she wanted to. There was a sense of relief in the Doctor's demeanor; there had been since he'd told her of his new plan last night. A small burden seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders. So Rose placed her hand over his and nodded.
"Mum's gonna be really excited."
The Doctor rolled his eyes in good-natured exasperation. "That she is."
**
Rose scrolled down the page one final time, ensuring that she had, figuratively, dutifully dotted every i and carefully crossed each t. The Torchwood bureaucracy was ridiculously fussy about such things, and she wanted to be certain that the Doctor's latest report would be accepted without question.
When they had moved to Durryvale, he had taken over the practice left by Dr. Reice's death. The long-time physician had succumbed to the effects of the alien artifact that had brought Rose and the Doctor to the picturesque village initially. Local inhabitants had fallen seriously ill for years, creating something like a cancer cluster. The artifact had been removed, of course, but the long-term damage to cells was harder to expunge. The Doctor had decided to tackle the problem, assisted by crates of equipment and chemicals from Torchwood.
In exchange, he had agreed to submit periodic reports about the diseases and the treatments he created in the lab he'd built beneath his office. This was the second such report he had written. Rose had volunteered to read through each with the critical eye of a seasoned Torchwood employee.
Since moving to Durryvale, the Doctor had treated two new cases related to the artifact. Unlike previous victims, however, the teenager and middle-aged man were recovering, thanks to the advanced drugs their new doctor had provided. He'd been able to treat several others with long-standing health issues successfully, too. Rose knew that he was pleased with that aspect of his work; he truly had saved these patients' lives.
The more mundane cases brought him satisfaction, too. She'd watched his face many times as he'd set a broken bone or smoothed soothing gel over a rash. Each small act that assuaged pain or brought relief left him just a bit lighter.
She often imagined the joy that would illuminate his entire countenance when he held their newborn daughter in his arms. Surely that would erase all of the niggling worries he'd endured during her pregnancy. And if delivering their child in London, in a hospital with state-of-the-art facilities rather than in a small, country clinic would make him happy, then it was what she wanted, too.
Rose was drawn from her musings by the doorbell. She sent the document to Torchwood with a quick tap of the appropriate key then pushed herself up from her chair. She opened the door to Maggie Atterbury's smiling face and the aroma of freshly baked scones.
Maggie held up a basket. "Lemon," she said.
"Thanks! I'll put the kettle on."
She led the way to the kitchen and busied herself with the tea things for a few moments. When she turned away from the stove, she found her neighbor sitting at the table. Maggie's perpetual energy seemed absent; usually she bustled about, setting out plates and serviettes and often insisting that she wait on Rose.
Still, the older woman's concern remained. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked.
"Fine. Big as a house, awkward an' full, but aside from that, fine. You all right?"
"Oh, of course. Nothing a nice cuppa and a chat with you won't fix, anyway."
"What's the matter?" Rose asked with concern. Maggie looked rather pale…
"Must be the weather. I've been a bit out of sorts lately."
"Is Angus okay?"
Maggie nodded. "He's fine. He's in Whithaven today, visiting his brother. They were going to golf, but I don't think the weather'll hold much longer…"
"How're the grandchildren?"
"Chelsea's got a new boyfriend—nice young man, she says. He's in a band. She offered to send me a CD, but I think I'll decline, unless you want to hear it."
The tea kettle whistled. With a smile, Rose turned back to the stove to pour the water into the warmed china pot as Maggie continued to speak. After a minute or so, however, her voice trailed off. Rose looked up from the teacups to see the woman's hand hovering over the basket of scones. Her fingers shook.
"Maggie?" Rose walked quickly to the table. "You okay?"
Maggie looked up suddenly then blinked. "Oh! What… what was I saying?"
Rose grasped the trembling hand, finding it very cold. "Tea's ready," she responded.
She set the cup before her neighbor. Maggie reached for it, but her hand jerked slightly, sending the delicate cup crashing to the floor. She stared at it for several seconds before looking up at Rose.
"Something's wrong," she whispered, and her tone was an admission of a long-held secret.
Rose took her arm to help her stand. "Let's go see the Doctor."
Maggie gripped her hand tightly, and Rose suddenly comprehended that the retired nurse needed her support to face the inevitable.
**
To be continued…