The walk back to the Tardis involved a convoluted route taking in a cash machine, a sewing shop and a chemist as Rose gathered supplies and trailed a moaning Doctor in her wake. By the time they had reached the blue box, she was tired and irritated and had a headache threatening.

Shoving the Doctor inside, Rose let the door slam shut.

"Sit!" She cut off his protest. She rooted through the plastic carrier bags, noting with only the smallest satisfaction that he had indeed sat down. "And take that off," she added in a gentler tone.

"Can't," came the plaintive reply.

"Oh for crying out loud. Here." Kneeling beside him, Rose helped the Doctor out of the jacket and examined the damage. "It's not so bad," she assured him.

"What about me? I'm dying here."

Rose rolled her eyes and opened a box. She pulled out an antiseptic wipe and deftly cleaned the back of his hand. "I dunno," she said. "You manage to save the Earth and a space station without a scratch but come off worse from an argument with a bird."

"I'll have you know birds are extremely dangerous. Nearly had my hand off."

It wouldn't have done to laugh, so Rose bit her lip and made a show of examining the injury. She still hadn't figured out quite how he'd managed it, only that when the seagull had swooped and stolen his chips it had somehow caught the back of his hand. Either beak or feet, Rose decided as she looked at the scratches. They were hardly life threatening. At least, she didn't think so. The worse of it was where his thumb joined his hand, where the scratch ran deeper and still bled.

Rose found the plasters and pulled out one of a reasonable size. Stripping off the backing, she carefully applied it to the Doctor's hand. "There you go," she said, sitting back and admiring her handiwork.

He lifted his hand and stared at the plaster. He moved his thumb experimentally. "Oh."

"All better now?" Rose asked dryly. She picked up his leather coat and used the wipe to clean it of salt and vinegar and seagull droppings.

"I suppose so."

He was still annoyed; she could hear it in his voice. She supposed she'd be annoyed too if she could travel through time and space at will yet still end up being bested by a bird. The stupidity of it hit her hard. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip.

"Rose?"

She shook her head, not daring to answer.

"Rose?" There was genuine concern in the Doctor's voice now. He grabbed her. "Hey, no. Really, I'm fine."

The last of her resolve crumbled and even with a hand crammed against her mouth, the noise was unmistakable. The Doctor's hand froze in the action of comfort. "Well, really," he said huffily.

Rose wiped the tears of mirth from her face.

"Sorry."