The Gall

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Previously in chapter seven...

The odd sound Rose made caused the Time Lord to turn and look at her. A single glimpse was all it took to propel him from his stool and send him quickly to her side.

"What's wrong?" he asked, one hand grabbing her wrist as the other lay on her chest, counting her respirations.

"Can't ... Can't breathe."

"Rose, I need you to be specific. Can't breathe, or does it hurt too much to breathe?"

"Hurts," she gasped, struggling desperately to draw a breath before consciousness slipped away.

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Chapter Eight:

Doctor in the House

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The Doctor walked away from Rose for only a few seconds before returning with a metalic pressure hypo. He injected its contents into her upper left arm immediately.

"This is gonna calm you a bit and bring your pain down a few notches," he told her. "You should be able to breathe better right about ... Now."

Her short, little puffs of breath began to even out as soon as he stopped talking.

"Better?" the Time Lord asked.

Rose nodded. "Yeah. What happened?" she inquired.

"Common symptom, actually. Surprised you haven't experienced it before now. Breathin' expands the chest cavity, and as it does it constricts the gallbladder fossa a bit. Your body's natural reaction is to stop breathin', which then creates a panic with everythin' else. No matter though, because I'm gonna fix it."

"Yeah? And how're you goin' to do that?"

"You let me worry about that," he said, turning away from her for a moment. He wheeled over a silver tray full of the equipment he'd emptied earlier from the cupboards and drawers. Retrieving another hypo, he injected the medicine straight into her jugular.

"Doctor?" Rose spoke, watching as he picked up what looked to be an IV port and a roll of white surgical tape.

"Sleep, Rose. And when you wake up, this'll all be just a bad memory."

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The Doctor sat up straight when he first heard the changes in her respiration. He'd been resting - sort of - with an arm stretched out beside Rose's hip, sitting silently on his silver stool. But when he noted her quickening breaths, he realized she was finally waking from the anesthetic.

He stood and stretched his long body, then leaned over her, making sure that when she opened her eyes he was the first thing she saw.

"Doctor?" She squinted, looking at him oddly for a moment as if trying to get her eyes to focus.

"That's right. You win the prize."

"What's that?"

He reached behind her to a trolley and pulled it closer. Grabbing a cup and spoon, he removed a few ice chips and gently slid them into her mouth.

"Thanks," she mumbled around the ice, nodding.

"You're welcome."

Rose licked her dry lips before speaking again. "So, am I all right now? What happened?"

"You're fine. It was just as I suspected."

"Yeah? And what was that?"

"Inflamed gallbladder. I had to remove it."

"How?"

"Surgically. How else would you have me take it out?" he asked a bit sardonically.

"No - I mean - how did I get it?" Rose inquired, laying her hand protectively over the sight. "I thought that was somethin' old people got."

"Oi! Rather presumptuous, you. Illness and ailments sometimes have age preferences, but the rules aren't absolute. There can be exceptions."

Rose nodded. "So, it's gone, yeah?"

"Yep."

"Can I see?" She fingered the hem of her shirt.

He shrugged, just a hint of arrogance in his expression, and slid up her shirt. Rose looked down at the tiny, fine thread of pink beneath her ribcage. She traced it with her fingertip.

"This's it?" she asked.

"Yep."

"But it's so tiny... there's hardly any mark at all."

"'Course not."

"But my grandmum had hers out about ten or twelve years ago, an' she had this really big, ugly scar."

He snorted in mild derision. "Late twentieth-century medicine--so primitive. An' you won't have a scar at all. This'll fade by next week, an' you'll never even know it happened."

Rose smiled gratefully then asked, "I can get up?"

"Well, you can go to your room if you like and rest there. You just need to take it easy for a couple of days."

"I think I could sleep for two days. Don't know why I'm feelin' so tired."

"Probably because you were in pain for a good while and were too stubborn to tell me what was goin' on. You know Rose, if you'd just told me we could've resolved this much sooner."

"Yeah, and maybe if I were a doctor I would've realized there really was somethin' wrong, but I'm not. And I didn't want to bother you," she snapped. She took a deep breath and grabbed his hand. "'M sorry. Didn't mean to bite your head off, especially when I should be thankin' you."

For just a moment his eyes flashed defensively, then his expression grew gentle. "It's all right, Rose. You're only human, after all."

This earned him a frown from his patient, and he suspected a light slap on the arm was in his immediate future. He added quickly, "An' that's one of my favorite things about you. Means you're clever an' inquisitive an' warm an' compassionate. But it also means that sometimes you get sick or hurt, an' when you do, you need to let me help."

She was smiling softly now, and somehow their fingers had entwined over her stomach as he spoke. "'Cause you're the Doctor," she said.

"I am. And right now I prescribe bed rest." He scooped her into his arms.

"Oi!" She squeaked in surprise, but offered no protest as he carried her down the hallway and into her room.

He set her gently on the bed then tucked the covers around her. Rose yawned and sank back into the soft pillows.

"Sleep well," the Doctor said, bending to kiss her forehead.

"I'm sure I will now, thanks to you."

As her eyes closed, the Doctor shut her door softly behind him. He stood still for a moment, shaking his head.

"Humans. Can't live with 'em, but wouldn't want to live without 'em," he said to himself with a relieved grin.

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The End.

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