Part 10
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Fortunately, Martha had already finished using the bathroom when John woke up the following morning. The unfortunate part was down to him having to monopolise it for the next half hour.
Eventually, he managed to crawl out, and was greeted by the concerned faces of Martha, Donna and Jenny as they huddled together inside the adjoining bedroom doorway.
"Are you alright?" Martha immediately asked. There were quite a few pungent clues that he wasn't fine.
"I feel awful," John groaned pathetically, clinging onto the door frame. "I think I'm dying."
"You're not dying," Donna assured him. "All you did was throw up."
"And I had problems at the other end," he politely added when he noticed Jenny's pensive expression. "This could be it. The end of me," he despaired.
Both women shared a look that said: what a drama queen!
"Sounds like gastric flu," Martha noted as she strode past the bathroom door toward the kitchen. She then peeped in at him and nodded to herself. "Probably that 24-hour stomach bug you tend to get with small children who attend playschool. You'll soon get over it."
He pouted to gain her sympathy. "Aren't you going to look at me closer? I need your help."
"No, you don't," she disagreed. "Donna can easily cope, and I daren't get near you, just in case you are infectious."
"What!" he protested. "I'm on the brink of collapse here."
"And I have cancer patients with crap immune systems to worry about," she reminded him, "so I'll stay well over here, out of your way for the time being. Sorry."
"I understand," he sulkily replied. For he truly did. The altruistic side of him worried about his own elderly patients.
"Don't worry; I will let your department know you won't be in for a couple of days," she appeased him. "I can't stay longer so I'm off. Hope you feel better soon." She tacked on, "Good luck, Donna," quietly adding, "It looks as though you'll need it," once she was out of earshot.
"Thanks. I probably will have to call him the whambulance if he doesn't buck his ideas up," Donna laughed as she held the front door open for Martha to leave, and to offer her goodbyes.
When she returned to the bathroom, Jenny was gently stroking John's hair. He was still slumped on the floor, but no longer clutching the toilet pan. "Poor Daddy has got tummy hurts. I'll soon make you better."
"Thank you, sweetheart. I'll be fine once Donna helps me back to bed."
"What else will I have to help with?" Donna wondered, giving him a hand up. "I'm not that good a nurse, if I'm honest."
"I'm sure you'll be fine," he encouraged, with a wan smile. They walked slowly into his bedroom. "I prescribe plenty of fluids and light, easily digested foods."
He then climbed gingerly into his bed, and she adjusted the covers over him. "No bed baths needed?" she teased.
"Are you offering? We could leave that option open, for later."
"No," she sternly retorted, "unless they are absolutely necessary."
"Oh well, another time perhaps," he risked joking, but it didn't do his abdominal muscles any good. Clutching his stomach, he declared, "I really do feel awful."
She immediately reached out to feel his forehead. "You're a bit clammy," she noted. "I'll have to go up to the hospital shop to get you in some milk of magnesia or something in a moment to ease your stomach, after I get you a drink of cooled boiled water first, obviously. Anything else you need while I'm running about?"
A pair of puppy dog eyes pathetically gazed up at her. "Would you find me a blanket, please. I'm cold too."
"Definitely feverish," she commented, mainly to herself.
Blimey! Who would have thought the Doctor could catch such a boring human illness like this?
"Me and Wuffy can help keep you warm," Jenny sweetly offered, leaping forward. "With special cuddles."
He was torn between protecting her and accepting the longed-for cuddle. "Wuffy is welcome to come in but I don't think you should, darling, otherwise you will end up getting this too."
"I don't think she will," Donna immediately countered, "although Wuffy has a bit of an advantage on us." This was a human illness after all, and Jenny would be immune to it. "Since I am about to scrub this place clean of all possible germs," she quickly amended when he scowled at her preconceived ignorance. "Just point me towards the rubber gloves. If you create a mess while I'm out, just dump the offending bits in the bath and I'll deal with them later. Come on, Jenny. Leave your dad in peace for a while. I'll let you wake him up later with some lunch."
"All right." Jenny pouted beautifully for his benefit and then reluctantly followed Donna out of his bedroom, dragging Wuffy behind.
"Sorry for stopping your cuddles but daddy doesn't understand at the moment that he can't make you ill. We have to pretend you're human," Donna reminded the young child.
"I won't get sick too?" Jenny queried.
"Nah! Lucky you. Why don't you go watch some telly with Wuffy while I clean up your dad's mess? I have to pop up to the shop and then we will do something a bit more exciting."
"Can't I come too?"
"Best not to," Donna advised. "You're supposed to be sick, as far as the playgroup is concerned, and you might be slightly contagious."
"If people can catch this from me," Jenny reasoned, "won't you get it as well?"
"That's why I'm sticking to rubber gloves and lots of washing my hands," Donna tried to console her. "I should be as right as rain."
To her total lack of surprise, she found Jenny an hour or so after lunch curled up with her father, sound asleep. The chance to be with him had been too irresistible for her tender years.
"How are you feeling?" Donna softly asked when John's eyes fluttered open.
"Worried about Jenny," he confessed. "Can you put her in her own bed, please? I don't want her spending nap time in with me until I'm well again."
By then you won't be accessible again, either Donna wanted to point out, but she held her tongue. Instead, she moved the sleeping girl onto her own bed a few feet away. "Are you feeling any warmer though?" she asked him.
"Not really," he admitted. "For some reason, Jenny never feels that warm to me."
'That would be due to her natural lower body temperature,' she wanted to explain. Fortunately, she ignored the compulsion. Instead, she asked, "Does anything work for you?"
"We could try one of your hugs. I really am still freezing."
Unable to resist the puppy dog eyes aimed at her, she caved while she still felt brave enough. "Budge over then and we'll give it a go."
Her elbow caught something on his bedside cabinet, and it went crashing to the floor.
"Oops! I've knocked something off," she commented, bending down to pick it up. "It's a book," she stated, "like an exercise book. You been doing some more homework?"
"No," he quickly answered. "This will sound daft, but I've been writing down my dreams."
Now intrigued, she rocked the book within her hands. "Anything worth reading? Or are these all fantasies of the 'not safe for work' kind?"
"They're all perfectly safe for general consumption," he supplied, "but I'm not sure you'd be entertained by them."
Now suspicious, she naturally asked, "Why?"
He nervously rubbed his left earlobe. "The monsters might not be to your taste."
"Are you a horror fiction writer then?"
"No," he huffed a laugh. "They all feature in my nightmares. Look, it'd be easier if you just opened the book and saw for yourself."
"If you're sure it's okay," she said, eagerly opening the pages. "Oooh! I didn't know you were such a good artist. Stands to reason, I suppose, in light of your language skills."
"What language skills?" he questioned.
"Oh, you know, being able to talk doctor stuff," she tried to casually dismiss. "Anyway, who are these people and those things?"
Glad to be able to explain the contents, he happily explained, "They are all faces I dream that I once had. Peculiar, eh? And this girl is called Rose. No idea who she is. If you skip ahead, you'll find Martha and you."
"Should I risk seeing?" Donna joked, wanting desperately to find out how much she had featured, if at all. The inclusion of Rose was no surprise, but it was good to have some idea of what she looked like. "Or am I one of the monsters?"
To her delight, he laughed. "As if you would be. This creature here, on this page, scares me the most. It's called a Dalek. And the one you were just looking at is a Sea Devil."
"They look fishy."
"They are. In more ways than one."
"Have you shown anyone else this book?" she wondered.
He shook his head. "No one else. You're the first."
"Then I feel honoured," she confessed, "that you're allowing me a peak into your head. Sorry you've been suffering bad nightmares and that I didn't know about it."
"That's all right," he assured her, "and creating this dream diary has helped a great deal. They don't haunt me during the day anymore."
"But they did," she realised, and tenderly stroked his cheek. "I'm really sorry," she whispered.
"You didn't know. How could you?" he reasoned just as quietly. "It's not something you tell everyone."
"Men are such idiots," she chided. "You could have shared it with me."
"I am sharing it," he pointed out, smiling in amusement. "Being an idiot means I just took my time doing so, but I'm glad I finally have."
Reverently, she replaced the book on his beside tabletop and turned back to him. "I think that deserves a cuddle, don't you?" she offered, since he was obviously gagging for one.
"I thought you'd never ask." He practically fell into her embrace and hugged her close. "Donna Noble cuddles. The best medicine in the world."
"And completely free on the NHS," she joked.
Half an hour later she woke up, having drifted off with him wrapped around her, with his head cushioned by her shoulder. What actually woke her was his head drifting slowly down onto her chest.
"Can you come out of there, please?" she demanded.
"Why? I'm comfy," he grumbled as he snuffled awake. "Oh! I'm so sorry, but I have got say… Did you know that you have the most amazing breasts? They're the softest thing I've ever lain on."
"I might have had something like that said in the past," she allowed, somewhat reluctantly.
"What are you doing?" a sleepy voice from the other side of the room asked.
"Almost being molested," Donna muttered. "Get off!"
John immediately lifted himself clear to reply, "Nothing, sweetheart. Did you have a nice sleep?"
"Yes." Jenny sat up, yawned, and stared at him. "I thought boobs were for only feeding babies."
"Huh?"
"She asked what breasts are for when we saw a nursing mother the other day," Donna quickly answered his questioning gaze that had instantly been turned onto her. "Shall I let you explain why some men call them 'fun bags'?"
It gained the flush of embarrassment she had hoped for. Swift and sweet revenge.
"Why don't we go see if there are any cartoons to watch yet," he offered instead, and scrambled as quickly out of bed as he could before Jenny asked anything else.
John was nicely snuggled up on the sofa, with a pillow and blanket, by the time Martha got home. She apologetically announced to him, "I'm not staying long. Sorry. Have to avoid getting the lurgy from you, so I'm going straight to Anne's next door."
Anne was a nurse that Martha often met during her day; and had been a member of the group that had taken her out for a welcome drink.
"That makes sense," Donna sadly admitted, "but it feels as though I hardly get to see you."
"I know, and I wouldn't if I didn't think I had to," Martha replied. "By the way, you might get a visitor in a minute. I was followed…."
At that precise second, someone rapped loudly on the front door.
"It's Joan," Martha hastily whispered to Donna.
"What!" Throwing her hands up in dismay, Donna quietly demanded, "Why on Earth did you let her come here?"
"I didn't," Martha retorted. "She insisted on following me. I told her I'd run on ahead to make sure John was decent."
"Who are you talking about? And I'm always decent," he commented from his nest. "Just open the door someone, please!"
Sighing, Donna took in a breath and the opened the door. "Hello Joan. How lovely to see you here. What can I do for you?"