"Is that really gonna work?" Rose asked as she and the Doctor walked toward the TARDIS.
"Yep."
"An' when are you comin' back?"
"Oh, probably in a couple of months—their time, of course."
Rose sighed.
"Things will get better here," he assured her. "I promise."
"Yeah."
The remainder of the walk back to the ship was completed in silence. He opened the doors then waited until she'd stepped inside to follow her. She stood with her face to the ceiling, the glow from the console giving a strange cast to her skin. She looked wrung out—exhausted, battered, dirty, and drained.
He rested a hand lightly against the small of her back. "Come on, Rose. Let's get you sorted."
It took her a moment to respond. Finally she blinked up at him. "Need a shower," she said.
"Yeah, you do. But that can wait—"
She shook her head. "No. I'm filthy." She scrubbed her hands roughly over her face. "I need to wash this off of me."
He took her wrists gently and lowered them. Her hands were beginning to shake, and her exhaustion was almost palpable. She'd held herself together while speaking with the women, but now, in the sanctuary of the ship, it was all crashing down on her.
"Rose—"
"Please. I have to get clean." Tears glistened in her eyes.
"Come on," he relented. "I'll get a bath goin' for you."
She exhaled slowly then gathered what little strength she had to walk toward the corridor. "Thank you," she said softly.
He led her to his own room, rarely used. It had a spacious bathroom with a large tub that he thought would suit her needs. It was a measure of her deep fatigue that she didn't ask about the quarters. Rose sank down to sit on the bed while he hurried into the bathroom.
He spent a few minutes filling the tub, searching through his well-stocked medicine cabinet while he waited. As warm steam began curling up from the water, he added a soothingly scented lavender gel that left small, frothy bubbles on the surface. He also poured in a few drops of a mild antiseptic solution that would help treat Rose's wounds.
He set half a dozen candles at the foot of the tub. Their muted glow leant a soft atmosphere to the room. He pulled several thick, fluffy towels and flannels from the linen tower then hung a silk robe on the back of the door.
Rose sat slouched on the bed, her hands pressed against the mattress. He thought she was trying to keep herself upright.
"It's all ready," he said. He took her elbow to help her stand then led her into the bathroom.
"Oh," she said softly, "this's nice."
She took a step forward but faltered and nearly fell.
"Rose?" he questioned with concern.
"Sorry. Feel a little wobbly." She smiled up at him in apology.
"Can you manage?" he asked. Then, before she could reply, he added, "Wouldn't want you to drown in here. Maybe I should stay."
"Stay?" she squeaked.
"I'll keep my back turned, but I think I should remain nearby." He spun around to face the door, folding his arms over his chest.
He could hear her breathing quicken slightly, and then he heard the slight rustle of cloth as she began pulling off her clothes. Twice her breath hitched, and he knew she'd done something that caused a twinge of pain. He wished she'd let him treat her injuries first thing, but he understood her desperate desire to wash herself clean of the experience with Kuroq. What that bastard had done to her—
There was a little splash, and he almost turned around, but then her sigh floated across the room. She was in the water.
"All right?" he asked.
"Yeah. But…" She paused. "Is there shampoo?"
"Oh, right. Sorry."
He moved quickly to the shower stall in the corner and retrieved a bottle of shampoo. A quick glance at the bathtub assured him that Rose was up to her neck in bubbles. He walked back toward her and set the bottle on the edge of the tub.
"Thanks," she said, then she lifted her hand from the water and gave a little hiss of pain.
"Rose?" he asked, forgetting about silly human propriety in his concern. "What is it?"
She lowered her arm. "Just… Ribs're a little sore, I suppose."
"Any trouble breathing?"
"No, 's fine. But I've gotta get this… this blood an' stuff out of my hair." He could hear the frustration in her voice.
Immediately he pushed up his sleeves and knelt behind her. "Here, let me."
"Doctor, you—" She twisted her head to look back at him. "Really?"
He smiled at her. "Really."
She gave a small nod of consent. He reached for the hand shower and turned the knob, running the water over his wrist until it was pleasantly warm.
"Scoot forward a little," he requested.
She complied, then he gently titled Rose's head back with a hand across her brow and aimed the soft stream over her hair.
"Temperature all right?" he asked.
He heard the relief in her voice as she said, "Perfect."
Once her hair was wet, he squeezed shampoo into his palm then began rubbing it in with small, light strokes over the clumped strands. He started at the bottom and worked his way up, careful not to tug or pull. When he reached her scalp, he massaged tenderly until she winced. His fingers moved over an area of swelling behind her left ear.
"I'm sorry," he said.
He probed very gently over the rest of her skull, his sensitive fingertips examining her for any other injuries. The lump he'd noted yesterday, back at the public house, had gone down, but he didn't like the new one.
He continued shampooing her hair, then he rinsed away the lather.
"Better?" he asked when he'd finished.
"Yeah," she nearly sighed. "So much."
"Right, then. I'll just wait over here by the door in case you need anything."
"Could you maybe go to my room an' get me somethin' to put on?" she asked.
"You gonna be all right for a few minutes?"
"Yeah."
Somewhat reluctantly he left the bathroom, visions of Rose slipping under the water taunting him. He'd come so close to losing her this time… He hurried to her room and grabbed the first thing his hand found when he opened her dresser drawer. He glanced at the items—a pair of soft little boxers and a tank top—and thought they'd do.
He paused outside his bathroom to ask, "How're you doin' in there?"
"I'm all right," she replied.
"Just about finished?" He didn't try to hide the impatience in his tone. He knew she needed to bathe, to feel clean, but he was anxious to treat her injuries.
"Just about, I suppose," she answered rather reluctantly. "Did you get my clothes?"
"Yeah. I'll just set 'em here."
He reached inside the door and placed the items on the counter. He remained near the doorway, listening as she opened the drain. He could hear a few light swishes while she dried herself, and more than once he caught her sharp intake of breath. She was in pain; that much was clear.
Still he waited for her to emerge from the bathroom. When she did, she was moving slowly. Her hair was wet but not dripping, and she'd pulled the silk robe over the shorts and tank top. Her cheeks remained rosy from the warmth of the water, but beneath the flush he could see her pallor.
He rested his hand against the small of her back, very lightly in case she was sore there, too. "Come on," he urged. "Let's get you sorted now."
To be continued...