Time is Still A-Flying

by chocolatequeen

Part 3 of Being to Timelessness. With a bond and a promise of forever, the Doctor and Rose have managed to escape the trap set for them in Torchwood, but Time is not yet done with them. The Master is still in London and Election Day draws ever closer. He's tried to separate them once; will they survive a second attempt? Sequel to To Make Much of Time

33. In Sickness and in Health

AN: Thank you for all the lovely reviews. I'd love to see this push past 200 this week-we're almost there!

Chapter 33: In Sickness and in Health

The Doctor was acutely aware that both Rose and Martha were miserable. He did what he could to smooth out their lives as much as possible—keeping the flat clean, doing the laundry and the shopping, letting them choose what to watch in the evenings—and then he tried to stay out of their way. He even ignored Martha's digs at him, understanding she just needed someone to blame for her situation.

He didn't anticipate Rose's unwillingness to let that go, though in retrospect, he should have. If the situations were reversed, he never would have let someone pick at Rose the way Martha was picking at him.

Still, it was a complete surprise when after Martha made yet another snide remark about his inability to get them home over breakfast, Rose carefully set her mug down and looked at her. "I think I'll walk with you to work this morning, Martha. I need to get some things at the market anyway."

The Doctor looked at Rose, quickly taking in the fire in her eyes and the stubborn set to her jaw. He glanced over at Martha, who was pushing food around on her plate and hadn't picked up on the warning signs Rose was clearly displaying.

Martha shrugged. "Yeah, whatever. I'll be ready to go in fifteen minutes." She disappeared into the loo and the shower started a moment later.

"Rose, I can go to the market," the Doctor protested. "You shouldn't be exerting yourself."

She lowered her eyebrows and glared at him. "Doctor, this is not about the market and you know it. I've put up with her constant sniping and subtle accusations for a week, and I can't take it anymore. An' if she makes one more comment about working in a shop…"

Oooooh… Somehow, that was a connection he hadn't made, probably because he'd been trying to ignore Martha's sarcasm. That did change things—he didn't need Rose to defend him, but he wouldn't stop her from defending herself.

The Doctor nodded. "Just make sure you don't wear yourself out."

She rolled her eyes. "The store is two streets down. I'll have a short chat with Martha, pick up milk and eggs, and come home. That's not going to do any lasting damage."

Rose tried to pace the flat while waiting for Martha, but the Doctor convinced her to sit with him on the sofa while he explained what he was going to do with the timey-wimey device that day.

"I've almost got the ding to work properly!" he said, holding it up proudly.

"That's great, Doctor." She kept glancing at the bathroom door—the shower had turned off five minutes ago. Finally, Martha stepped out, dressed in a skirt and a nice blouse.

"Ready?" Rose asked her.

She picked up her handbag. "Not really, but I guess I don't have a choice. Let's go."

Rose pressed her lips into a thin line and followed Martha out of the flat, pulling on her jacket to protect against the morning chill.

They'd only gotten as far as the street when Martha said, "Okay, so what did you want to talk about without the Doctor overhearing?"

Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, it would be nice if you would stop guilting him for our situation every chance you get," she said, not bothering to put on a nice tone of voice.

Martha stopped in the middle of the pavement and stared at her. "You've got to be kidding me," she said furiously. "We're stuck in 1969 for months, I'm working in a shop, and you want me to lay off your husband?"

"Considering this isn't actually his fault, yeah!" Rose exclaimed.

Martha threw her hands up in the air. "How is this not his fault?" she challenged Rose.

Rose was ready for that question, though, and she fired off her answers. "Did he put the Weeping Angels there? Did he take us to Wester Drumlins knowing what was causing those odd readings? Did he force either of us to go with him?"

"No, but—"

"No." Rose cut her off with a slash of her arm through the air. "I've spent three and a half years trying to convince him that he is not to blame for every negative thing that happens to take place in his general vicinity. I am so proud of him for not feeling guilty over this, and I'll not have you undoing all that work."

Martha glanced away, but didn't say anything.

"And also," Rose said, her temper rising when Martha refused to budge, "there's nothing wrong with working in a shop. I worked in a shop, until I met the Doctor."

Her friend's gaze swung around to meet hers. "You worked in a shop? But you're brilliant, Rose."

Rose smiled bitterly. "And maybe some of those coworkers you refuse to spend any time with are too. Working a low-paying job doesn't mean you can't be intelligent. It means you're in a situation where that's what's available to you. That might be because you need a second job to support a new baby, or it might be because you chose to leave school without A-levels to live with the boyfriend you were so sure was the love of your life."

Martha looked down at the pavement, and some of Rose's anger faded. "Look, I know this isn't what you're used to, and it isn't the glamorous kind of adventure you reckoned on when you came with us, but it isn't easy for any of us. You have no idea what it feels like for us to be away from the TARDIS."

"I'm trapped away from home, too," Martha pointed out.

Rose started to answer, but she finally caught a passer-by staring at them and realised they were having this argument—a rather revealing conversation—in the middle of a busy street. "You know it's more than that for us." She raised an eyebrow. "I mean, we told you it's why I'm tired all the time, and that's only part of why we miss her."

Martha's face turned a dull shade of red. "Yeah, I know."

"I just… Do you know how much I wish I could trade places with you? Instead, I'm stuck at home all day and the Doctor is treating me like I'm made of glass. And I can't even argue, because deep down I know he's right! I can't do much, and I hate it."

"I'm sorry."

Rose sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "We've all been a bit on edge. But we'll get by, yeah? I mean, the report Sally wrote up says the TARDIS disappeared from Wester Drumlins, and I can't imagine her going anywhere but back to the Doctor and me, so we just have to wait it out."

She looked at her friend. "So for now, could you just relax the hostile attitude? I promise you, the Doctor is doing everything he can to get us home as soon as possible."

Martha nodded. "I'm sorry. I know I've been hard to live with ever since we got here. It's just, the thought of being stuck permanently in 1969 honestly terrifies me. I'm not like you, Rose. I don't want to run away from my life to live in the TARDIS forever. I like my job, I like my school, I miss my family…"

Rose's voice lost its bite. "I know, I get it. You've definitely got plenty of reason to be upset. Working in a shop is hard—I know that better than anyone. If you ever want to rant, I'm there for you, as long as you promise to listen to me whine when I'm sick of being tired all the time."

Martha finally smiled. "You've got it," she said. "And now, I really do need to get to work."

"Hey, look," Rose said, grabbing Martha's elbow before she could walk away. She pointed at the pub on the opposite corner. "Pub quiz tomorrow night. What do you think, you and me?"

"Absolutely!" Martha threw her arms around Rose and whispered, "Thanks for listening," then dashed off towards her bus stop.

oOoOoOoOo

The Doctor was relieved when a much calmer, happier Rose returned to the flat with the groceries an hour after she left with a vague explanation that she and Martha had "talked things out." When Martha had a smile on her face when she walked in the door that evening, he thought that maybe, just maybe, they'd make it through their exile.

The next night after dinner, he watched with some bemusement while Rose changed into jeans after dinner and joined Martha in the living room. "Ready to go?"

"Go where?" he asked, looking from Rose to Martha and back again. "What are you doing?"

"When we walked past the pub yesterday, we found out it's pub quiz night," Rose answered. "We thought we'd go, see if we can't make a few friends."

That did not sound like a good idea, not at all. Rose was weaker than she would admit, even to herself, and he was afraid she was going to push herself too far in this unrealistic desire to prove that she wasn't really that affected by the absence of the TARDIS. "Why don't you stay here with me?" he suggested. "I could use a hand with the timey-wimey detector."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Doctor, I'm going barmy stuck in here all day. Look, I promise I'll be careful. The pub is only two streets down—I walked that far and back yesterday without any difficulty. If I get too tired, I'll ask you to come help me home. But please, you've got to let me out of the flat."

She smiled up at him, a hint of her cheeky humour in her eyes, and he knew she'd picked up on his concern. "You could always come with us, if you're worried."

For a moment, he was tempted. But he knew she hated to be coddled, so he was trying to balance his desire to keep her as healthy as possible while they were stuck on Earth with her need for some independence.

The Doctor shook his head. "Too much to do here," he said, gesturing to the bits and bobs scattered around the living room. "I need to get this timey-wimey detector done as soon as possible." He waved goodbye with the sonic screwdriver. "Have fun, and remember, if you have a question you can't answer, you can always phone a friend." He tapped his temple.

Martha rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's cheating," she pointed out. "If you want to help out, you'll have to come with us." When he didn't move, she looked at Rose. "You ready?"

"Yeah, just a sec." Rose crossed the room and bent down to kiss his cheek, then she and Martha were gone.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose sighed in relief when they were finally out of the flat. She tipped her head back to catch the last rays of the evening sun and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. "For a moment, I thought he was going to insist I stay at home."

"He's just worried about you," Martha said.

Rose hated how reasonable she sounded. She wrinkled her nose. "I'm tired of being worried about."

"You're just plain tired," Martha corrected. "On Wednesday, you had to take a nap after your shower."

"That was a one-off," Rose protested. "I forgot the hot water makes me so much more tired right now."

"And two days ago, you did the dishes and then had to sit down on the sofa for an hour to rest."

"You sound like the Doctor."

"I just don't think you really understand how serious your exhaustion is." Martha stopped, and Rose reluctantly turned and looked at her. "Listen, I get it Rose. Believe me, I understand how frustrated you must be. But exhaustion can affect your health in ways you don't even realise. Erratic blood sugar levels, headaches, mood swings, a weakened immune system… Sleep isn't actually for the weak."

Rose stared at the pavement, and a moment later, she heard Martha sigh in exasperation.

"So yeah, we're worried about you—because it's a big deal. Plus, imagine what it's like from the Doctor's point of view, watching the woman he loves sort of… fade into a pale imitation of yourself."

Rose gasped when Martha managed to hit on her most vulnerable spot. Was she still herself, if she couldn't do everything she was used to doing?

"I'm not a pale imitation! I'm me, the real me. I'm just a tired version of me." She swiped at her stinging eyes.

"Hey, hey." Martha put a hand on her shoulder. "I know you're still you. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." She glanced across the street. "Come on, let's go have some fun, yeah?"

Only, as it turned out, pub quiz isn't a lot of fun when everything except the history questions were 38 years old from your point of view. After a few rounds, they gave up and just settled back with a second pint.

"You know," Martha said, "1969 isn't bad, really. I don't think I'd mind spending an extended amount of time here, if I knew for sure how and when we'd be leaving."

Rose nodded. "And you just got over being stuck in 1913. I'd promise to take you someplace fantastic later as a thank you, but I'm starting to think those trips are cursing us. Who knows what year we'd get stuck in next?"

"The only year I want to spend an extended amount of time in is 2008," Martha said fervently.

Rose got a funny look on her face at that. "I have a feeling that will be our next long term stop."

Something hard settled in Martha's stomach. She wasn't ready to go home, not yet… but the way Rose had phrased that didn't sound like that was what she meant. Whatever Rose could feel coming, Martha wasn't sure she wanted to be a part of it.

"Come on," she said, poking Rose in the side with her elbow. "Enough gloom and doom talk. Your glass is empty, and so's mine. I'll get us another round."

oOoOoOoOo

The Doctor nearly changed his mind about joining Rose and Martha several times, but each time he reached for his coat, he remembered the look in Rose's eyes when she'd practically begged for an evening out of the flat. Rose wasn't meant for a domestic life any more than he was, and of the three of them, she was the most trapped right now. He could let her have this night out without hovering over her.

But when they still hadn't returned at 10:30, his resolve was tested. Rose hadn't been up this late since their first night in 1969.

Finally he heard shuffling footsteps shortly after 11:00, followed by failed attempts to insert the key in the lock. He raised his eyebrows and crossed the room to open the door for them. A half-sober Martha was supporting a completely drunk Rose, and she mumbled thanks when the Doctor swiftly reached for Rose and swept her into his arms.

Rose looked at him blearily. "Doctor! Doctor, you know 'm the real me, righ'?" she asked plaintively.

"Of course you're the real you, Rose," he told her as he carried her into their room.

His reassurance didn't calm her. "I am!" she wailed. "'M not an im… im'tation."

Her agitation might have been exacerbated by the alcohol in her system, but the distress radiating over the bond was genuine. After he'd helped her change into her nightgown, the Doctor took her face gently between his hands and brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones.

You are the absolute original Rose Tyler, he promised her. I'd never mistake you for anyone else.

She finally smiled up at him, her anxiety clearing away as quickly and inexplicably as it had arrived. The Doctor dropped a kiss onto her forehead and watched for a moment as she drifted off to sleep.

Martha was still in the living room, and the Doctor raised his eyebrows. "I don't suppose you can explain where that outburst came from?" he asked.

She groaned. "I might have said—I was trying to get her to understand why she needs to take it easy. And I might have said something about how hard it was for you to watch her fade into a pale imitation of herself."

The Doctor had to physically bite his tongue to hold back the diatribe he wanted to bring down on Martha's head for that. She'd been trying to help, he knew that. But he knew Rose, and he knew exactly what would happen next. She'd wake up the next day even more determined than before to prove that she was still her old self, and any attempts he made to get her to slow down or take it easy would be seen as proof that he thought she was just an imitation of herself.

"I'm sorry," Martha whispered finally.

"I know you are, Martha," the Doctor agreed wearily. "I just hope this doesn't end up going as badly as I'm afraid it will."

oOoOoOoOo

Rose woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and a mouth that felt like she'd been eating sawdust. She groaned and pulled the duvet up to block the light, but the dark didn't help her head.

There's paracetamol on your bedside table, the Doctor told her, and she cautiously pushed herself up in bed and took the pills, draining the glass of water he'd left with them.

Thanks to the water, the worst of the pain abated after a few minutes. When she felt like she could move without wanting to physically remove her own head, she shuffled into the living room.

"Thanks for the pills," she told the Doctor. Her voice came out as a croak, and she winced and cleared her throat. "I haven't been that drunk since the time Jack insisted I try hypervodka."

The Doctor laughed quietly. "I think you were worse off then than you were last night." He stood up and walked into the kitchen. "Can I make you breakfast? Tea and toast?"

"Ta." Rose brushed a caress along the bond and sat down on the sofa. "So, normally I'd ask if I did anything embarrassing last night, but I'm pretty sure Martha and I didn't really talk to anyone else."

"She didn't mention anything," the Doctor said.

There was an odd quality to his voice that told Rose he was withholding something from her, and she waited a minute. The kettle boiled, and he pulled it off the burner quickly enough that the whistle didn't bother her. Once he'd poured the water, he leaned against the counter and looked at her from the kitchen.

"You did say something though… about not being an imitation."

Rose sighed. She really didn't want another explanation on how she needed to take care of herself, how she shouldn't push herself because she didn't have her usual strength.

"Look, Doctor…"

"Let me go first?"

She hesitated, then nodded her head.

He brought her tea and a plate of toast and sat down next to her on the sofa. "There is not a single thing that could happen to you physically that would make you less than the real Rose Tyler. Your blonde hair and brown eyes don't make you Rose, and neither does your ability to run with me."

Rose bit her lip. "Yeah?"

The Doctor smiled and tugged on a strand of her hair. "This is my tenth face. I know a little about being the same person, no matter what I'm like physically."

She was quiet while she ate her toast, and he let her think over what he'd told her. Finally, she gave him a real smile.

"Just as long as you don't say it's improvement if I end up with no head."

He laughed. "I would never!"

To his pleasure, Rose set her empty plate down on the coffee table and reclined against his chest. She held her teacup in one hand, and traced patterns over his knee with the other. When his fingers started absently running through her hair, she turned her head slightly to get him to press on the pressure points just behind her eyes.

"Headache still?" he asked, massaging circles on her forehead.

"Yeah. It'll go away soon, though. Tell me about what you're going to to do today."

The Doctor looked at the pile of electrical bits strewn around the living room. "I'm almost done with the timey-wimey detector," he told her. "I think I figured out what part it's missing, so I'll go out to the shops this afternoon and see if I can find something that'll work."

"That's good!" she said. "One step closer to getting home."

oOoOoOoOo

After breakfast the next day, the Doctor declared the timey-wimey detector ready to be tested. Martha clapped for him, and Rose grabbed him and kissed him soundly. The Doctor beamed at them both, then bounced around the flat, gathering the device and spare bits and parts to do repairs on the fly if he needed to.

Rose sighed and shoved the feeling of being useless down as far as she could. Martha had her job and the Doctor was working to get them home, and she got to sit in the flat. Alone.

The Doctor looked at Rose, traces of guilt in his expression. "I'll only be out for a few hours," he told Rose. "If this works, maybe we could go to a park or something to celebrate."

She nodded and pushed on the middle of his back. "I'll be fine here alone for the morning," she told him. "Now go!"

She and Martha laughed when he took off running down the stairs, drawing shouts from some of their neighbours. Even the ones who were used to the Doctor by now did not approve of his exuberant personality.

"I'm surprised we haven't gotten a noise complaint," Martha commented.

Rose bit back a grin. "I'm pretty sure the Doctor used the psychic paper to convince the landlord that he's someone important."

Martha shook her head. "He probably did—and he gave you a bad time for using your sonic to open the gate at Wester Drumlins."

She got to her feet and started cleaning up after breakfast. Watching her, Rose felt more helpless than she had in a long time. Was her life actually pathetic enough that she wished she could wash the dishes?

"Are you working this morning, Martha?" she asked as her friend put the dishes away.

"Yeah, but then I'm off for two days. Two days in a row!"

Rose laughed. "I remember how rare that could be. Maybe we'll be able to do something while you're off—go for a day trip or something. We shouldn't be stuck in London the whole time."

Martha looked at her, and Rose set her jaw. "I'm not an invalid," she said, her voice a little testier than normal.

Her friend's noncommittal shrug wasn't the answer she was looking for, and Rose was still stewing half an hour later when Martha left for the day. Her head ached, and that made her more irritable than usual. She wandered the flat looking for something to do, but not even the stack of novels the Doctor had purchased for her looked appealing.

The library is less than a mile away, she realised. I could get there and back before the Doctor gets home, and then I'd have something new to read.

She knew what the Doctor and Martha would think about her plan, but frankly, she didn't care. This was still her body, and she could choose to take it easy or not. And if she wore herself out and had to rest more for the rest of the week, the chance to get out and spend some time by herself was worth it.

They'd started leaving the psychic paper on the kitchen counter in case anyone needed it. Rose snagged it and a copy of the lease and left the flat, moving faster than she had in weeks. We'd better not run into any hostile aliens while we're here, because there's no way I can run for my life, she grumbled to herself as she reached the bus stop.

The solitary bench was vacant, but Rose was too keyed up to sit down. She paced the kerb for five minutes and had nearly decided to walk when the bus pulled up just in time. She smiled brightly at the driver as she paid, then sank into a seat gratefully.

This isn't because I'm an invalid, she told herself as she rested her head against the window. No reason to waste energy on walking when I can take the bus.

The other passengers looked at her a little funny when she pushed the stop button only five minutes after getting on the bus in the first place, but Rose ignored them. The bus lumbered to a stop at the corner nearest the library, and she jumped lightly from the vehicle and walked into the building.

Her pace had slowed considerably by the time she reached it, and she was grateful to sit down with a magazine while she rested. Normally, she wouldn't have appreciated the hard, wooden chair, but today she had a feeling that if she were sitting somewhere comfortable, she'd probably fall asleep. As it was, when the sun shifted to shine directly on her, she had to make herself move so she wouldn't drift off.

Her head swam when she stood up and her legs felt like they were made of lead. It's okay, she told herself. You just need to rest again, catch your breath.

She sat back down, but the more time went by, the worse she felt. After ten minutes, she shuffled slowly out of the library and back towards the bus stop.

She was halfway there when the world spun around her. Rose grabbed onto a convenient signpost and waited until she could see clearly again to answer the Doctor's frantic query.

I'm fine, she told him, then immediately corrected that to a more truthful, Well, not fine maybe, but nothing really wrong. Just tired and… could you come get me?

Where are you, love?

Rose looked around and spotted a cafe on the corner. She walked towards it slowly, explaining the location to the Doctor as she went.

oOoOoOoOo

The only obstacle to testing the timey-wimey detector was the lack of odd temporal activity in 1969 London. How was he supposed to find out if it worked properly when everything he pointed it at actually belonged in this place and time?

After a fruitless hour, the Doctor started pointing his gadget at anything and everything, just hoping for some kind of reaction. Time travellers passed through London all the time. I pass through London all the time, he amended. Surely something would set it off.

Thirty minutes later, he was staring at the remains of a chicken in disbelief. "Oi! You there!" a man shouted, shaking his fist. "What are you doing to my birds?"

"Uh… nothing! Nothing at all!" the Doctor stammered, backing away from the angry man. "It must have been… um, the heat. Yep, chickens can do that, explode in the heat. You never know when it's going to happen."

He turned tail and ran before the man could grasp the tiny detail that it was only 25C, not nearly hot enough to explode any kind of farm animal.

"Note to self," he muttered as he waited for the bus that would take him home. "Do not use the timey-wimey detector near chickens. But it might be useful for fixing egg mayonnaise sandwiches."

All thoughts of chickens and timey-wimey devices evaporated when he felt a rush of panic and disorientation from Rose. After her evident frustration the other night, he'd tried not to hover over her, no matter how easy the bond made it to do just that. But this sharp shift in emotion was impossible to miss.

He barely managed to hold onto the fragile device, and he shoved it into his coat pocket with shaking hands. Then he took off in Rose's direction, not sure what was wrong.

He'd just flagged a taxi down when some of the disorientation cleared and she was able to communicate again. I'm fine, she assured him. Well, not fine maybe, but nothing really wrong. Just tired and… could you come get me?

Where are you, love? She named an address that was almost a mile from their flat, and he gritted his teeth. What were you doing out that far? he asked before he could stop himself.

I wanted to go to the library, but I was so tired by the time I got here, even though I took the bus, that I couldn't enjoy myself.

The regretful quality to her answer—lacking any resentment at all—worried him more than the words themselves. "Can you hurry up?" the Doctor asked the cabbie. "My wife is ill."

The man glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "How do you know that, then?"

"She called me at work, asked me to come pick her up at the cafe she went to for lunch."

"Want me to wait while you go in and get her?" The car sped up a little.

"That would be brilliant, thank you."

The Doctor tapped his leg while the London streets flew by. Rose's mind had quieted to the point that it felt like she had fallen asleep. Much as he wanted her to rest, the fact that she would allow herself to drift off in public hinted that she was feeling worse than she'd let on.

The car slowed to a stop in front of a greasy spoon at the address Rose had given him. The Doctor found Rose in a booth with her head resting against the seat back and her eyes closed, with an untouched cup of tea on the table in front of her.

She blinked and looked at him with glassy eyes. "You're here already?"

"I think you fell asleep," he told her, swiftly taking inventory of her appearance and noticing the red spots on her cheeks that completed her feverish appearance. "Come on, let's go home, Rose." He rummaged in his pocket and dropped a half-crown onto the table to cover the bill, then helped her to her feet.

"Oh good, you've got a cab," she mumbled as they got into the car. "I don't think I could have walked all the way home."

The Doctor pulled her close and gave the cabbie their address, trying not to let on how sick he suspected Rose was. Her body temperature was always warm to him, but right now, he could feel an unnatural heat burning through her clothes and his to warm his skin.

"Here we are then, sir," the cabbie said ten minutes later when he stopped in front of their building. "Take care of the missus, all right?"

"I will." The Doctor handed him a twenty pound note. "As thanks for your help," he said sincerely when the man tried to protest the extravagant tip.

"You're more than welcome, sir."

The Doctor helped Rose out of the car and closed the door, then scooped her up into his arms, dropping all pretence of this being normal tiredness.

"Mmmm, the knight in shining armour treatment," Rose teased, though her voice slurred the words.

"That's right," the Doctor agreed as he carried her up the stairs. "Though typically princesses don't put themselves in danger. Why'd you go out, Rose?"

She scoffed. "Was tired of bein' home all the time, or only goin' out with you an' Martha. Wanted to do something by myself for a change."

The Doctor sighed; he could certainly understand the feeling, but the impulse was going to cost her.

"Can you pull my sonic screwdriver out of my pocket and unlock the door?" he asked when they reached their flat. Rose fumbled a bit, but thankfully, the unlock function was one they used so much she could almost do it in her sleep.

"M'hot, Doctor," she complained when he set her down on the bed.

"Come on, let's get you into your pyjamas and then I'll take your temperature." The Doctor helped Rose out of her shirt and bra, then into a loose cotton pyjama top. Rose managed to tug her skirt off and slide under the covers while he reached for his sonic again.

Her eyes were drifting shut when he adjusted the settings, and he shook her shoulder. "I need you to stay awake for just a few more minutes, Rose," he told her as he checked her temperature. His jaw tightened when he read the results. 39C. A more detailed scan confirmed that she had the flu, but he still wanted to find out what symptoms she'd experienced.

"Jus' wanna sleep," she mumbled.

"And you will, as soon as you tell me a little more about how you're feeling." He hated to do it, but he prodded her telepathically, urging her to stay awake just for a moment longer.

Her right eye cracked open and she glared up at him. "All righ'," she grumbled. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Tell me how you felt when you were at the library."

A furrow appeared in her brow. "Tired," she said after a moment, "but not like before. Like… my legs felt heavy. An' my head hurts."

"But you weren't short of breath?" he pressed.

She tried to shake her head, but just lolled on the pillow.

"All right, love. Get some sleep."

Rose latched onto his hand. "Stay with me?"

The Doctor would have laughed if circumstances were different. He had no intention of leaving Rose's side. "Of course," he promised, quickly changing into his own pyjamas. He slid into bed, sitting upright with his back against a pile of pillows. Rose immediately rolled so her head was in his lap, and the Doctor tangled his fingers in her hair, encouraging her to sleep.

Once he was certain she was out, he reached carefully for his sonic screwdriver and scanned her again, looking for any hints of complications from the illness. Influenza A was not just the simple stomach virus people sometimes meant when they said they had the flu. It was a virulent disease that could cause a whole range of respiratory issues.

Normally, the artron energy in Rose's body would be enough of a boost to her immune system to keep her from getting such a common illness. But the additional strain of her current condition…

He breathed a sigh of relief when her lungs seemed clear. If they were lucky, Rose might avoid the worst complications associated with the flu.

oOoOoOoOo

Martha was surprised when she walked into a dark flat at 7:00. "Rose? Doctor?" she called as she flipped the lights on. The kitchen hadn't been touched since breakfast, and her stomach growled, her hunger making itself known now that it was obvious dinner wasn't ready.

A door opened and shut quietly behind her, and her eyes widened when she turned around and saw the Doctor dressed in pyjamas. "Sorry I didn't get around to making supper," he said, keeping his voice low. "Rose has the flu, and I haven't left our room all afternoon."

"You should take her to the doctor tomorrow so she can get Tamiflu," Martha told him, her training making the answer automatic.

"I would, if we weren't stuck in bloody 1969," he spat out.

Martha closed her eyes and groaned. Of course. Antiviral medications weren't approved for use on the flu until the end of the 1990s. "Damn it," she muttered. "I'm sorry, Doctor."

He sighed and leaned back against the wall. "It's not your fault."

"Can I check on her?" Martha asked.

The Doctor shook his head. "Why don't you go get us dinner?" he suggested instead, retrieving his wallet from his coat pocket and handing her a crisp ten pound note.

Martha shoved the money into her pocket. "Fish and chips?" she asked.

"Yeah." He glanced back at his bedroom door. "I'll heat up some soup for Rose while you're out."

Martha fretted the whole time she was gone. This was exactly what she'd been most worried about, given Rose's extreme exhaustion. The flu wasn't just a kiddie illness—it could cause serious problems, depending on the strain causing the infection.

She had no doubt the TARDIS med bay held some kind of magic cure for the flu. The one time she'd been injured since coming on board, the Doctor had patched her up overnight with some weird blue gel and a tissue regenerator. Surely at some point in the future, humans would find a way to take care of pesky viruses like the flu.

But they didn't have the TARDIS, and wouldn't for a while. The Doctor had just finished the timey-wimey detector. He still needed to build the recorder and autocue, and they still needed to meet Billy Shipton before they could go home.

The Doctor was in the kitchen when she returned, still wearing his pyjamas. "How high is her fever?" Martha asked as she poured ketchup over her chips.

"39C." He turned the burner under the soup off. "If it gets much higher, I'll give her paracetamol, just to keep her comfortable, but right now, I'm letting the fever do its job."

The bedroom door opened again, and Rose shuffled into the kitchen. "I thought I smelled chips," she mumbled.

"You can share mine if you want," the Doctor offered, "or I heated up soup for you."

Rose looked at the Doctor's meal, then at the soup on the stove. "Soup, please."

The Doctor pushed her gently towards the couch and ladled some soup into a bowl. "Here you go," he said as he carried it into the living room, trying too hard to sound upbeat. He handed her the bowl, then sat down next to her with his own dinner in his lap.

Martha watched her friends quietly while they ate their supper. Rose was resting heavily against the couch, letting the furniture support her completely. She only consumed half the bowl of soup before asking the Doctor to take it away. Despite his offer, she didn't touch his dinner.

The Doctor's eyes never left Rose. He took in every tired sigh, every huff of discomfort, every time her eyes started to close in exhaustion, and with each one, Martha saw the lines around his mouth tighten.

As soon as he finished his fish and chips, the Doctor nudged Rose awake. "Hmmm?"

He stood up and offered his hand. "Want to go back to bed?" he asked quietly.

Rose took his hand and he pulled her to her feet, resting a hand on her waist when she swayed slightly. He let her lean against him as they walked to their bedroom, then hovered while she climbed back into bed.

"How are you feeling, love?" he asked.

"Hot. Achy. Head hurts."

The Doctor brushed her hair back from her forehead, resting his hand there for a moment. She definitely felt warmer than she had before, so he took her temperature again—39.5 now.

"I'll get you some paracetamol," he promised, though he suspected he'd have to wake her up to take it.

Martha had a glass of water and paracetamol ready for him when he returned to the living room, and he reached for them with a grateful smile.

Rose stirred when she heard the door open and close, and managed to prop herself up enough to take the pills without any assistance. She tried to hand the glass back half full, but he pushed it gently back towards her.

"You need to stay hydrated," he told her when she looked up at him hazily. She sighed, but drank the rest of the water. "I'll be right back," he promised her when he took the glass from her.

When the Doctor stepped into the living room, Martha was perched in the armchair like she was waiting for him. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" she asked.

He went into the kitchen and set the glass down in the sink, then sat down on the couch. "What's on your mind, Martha?"

"I'd really like to look Rose over in the morning," she told him. "I know you're her doctor as well as her Doctor, and I'm sure you've caught everything, but it would make me feel like I was doing something to help."

The Doctor blinked at her; he hadn't expected that. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," he said regretfully. "I can't catch influenza, but you can. Even though I'm sure you're vaccinated since you work at a hospital, you know as well as I do that the flu vaccine isn't 100% effective."

Martha slumped, and the Doctor felt a surge of affection for this woman who'd become such a good friend to both him and Rose. "If you want to help, maybe you could go out in the morning and get juice and things Rose could eat. You know the kinds of foods a sick person can handle."

She brightened. "Yeah, I can do that."

The Doctor's gaze shifted to his bedroom door. Despite her exhaustion, Rose still seemed to be awake. "I should…"

Martha shooed him off. "Go on. I'll see you in the morning."

Rose stirred when he stepped into the room, and he shut the door quickly so the light from the living room wouldn't wake her up. As soon as he slipped under the covers, she rolled towards him, moaning when the movement jostled her aching head.

The Doctor brushed his hand over her hair in slow, rhythmic strokes. Sleep, love. I'll be here if you need me. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she fell asleep within minutes.