When he entered the sickroom, the Doctor expected to see ill children lying in beds with worried parents crouched at their sides. He did not anticipate finding Rose sitting serenely with Raben's baby brother held against her shoulder.
He strode into the room, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the children. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.
Rose looked up. "The only thing I can."
"There are people here to take care of them," he said, removing the baby from her arms solicitously and returning him to his mother's lap.
He grasped Rose's hand and pulled her up, escorting her from the room and back to the chamber in which he'd left her. She remained oddly quiet as they walked. Once inside the room, he closed the door firmly then turned to face her.
"Do you have any idea what you've just exposed yourself to?" he asked, anger fueled by deep concern.
"Yes," she replied, "I do."
"You do?" he repeated. Comprehension washed over him in a chilling instant. He'd thought she was being careless, foolishly following her helpful nature. But now he began to understand. "You went in there on purpose?"
She nodded.
"Oh, you stupid, stupid—"
"Ape. Yeah, I know." She offered him an apologetic smile. "But I thought about it, an' I understand what I'm doin'."
"Yes? Then perhaps you'd care to tell me." It was not a request. His eyes were dark with ire.
She eased herself down onto the settee. "I'm gettin' myself sick so that when I recover you can create the antitoxin from my blood."
"Simple as that?" he snapped.
Unfazed, she replied, "Think so. You said I'd recover without any problems—"
"I said you'd almost certainly survive. I didn't say it was an absolute."
"But it's almost certain. Survival rate for adults is over 90 percent, right? An' if for some reason I'm not gettin' better, if you think I'm in danger, you can take me back to the TARDIS an' treat me, an' you said yourself it'd be easy, you could nip it in the bud."
"Thought it all out, have you?" he asked with considerable pique.
"Yeah, I have."
"And did it ever occur to you to discuss this with me first? To allow me to point out that a 90 percent survival rate by definition means a 10 percent mortality rate, and those odds are not ones I'd want to bet your life on. And I think you neglected to consider what I said about the effects of the disease, about the long-term, permanent damage to the heart and liver and other organs that survivors suffer." He paused in his mounting tirade to take a breath.
Rose took advantage of the brief respite to say, "You can fix those things, can't you? You've told me the TARDIS has all sorts of equipment an' advanced technology—"
"Just like that?" He snapped his fingers sharply. "Sort it all out in a few minutes, will I?"
"Well, can you or can't you?" Now she was growing vexed with his derision.
He glared at her. "Of course I can! But that's not the point. The point is—"
"That I'm the only person here and now who can help those children. An' that's what I'm choosin' to do." She folded her own arms over her chest and tilted up her head resolutely.
His stance relaxed slightly, and the Doctor moved across the room to sit beside her. "Rose." His voice was gentler now. "I appreciate the depth of your caring. But I wish you'd discussed this with me first."
"An' if I had, what would you have said?"
"I'd have told you it was a very bad idea, and I'd have prevented you from undertaking it."
She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "An' that's exactly why I didn't tell you."
He raked a hand through his hair. His anger had melted away as anxiety overtook it. "There's still a chance you weren't exposed," he began.
"The baby's sick now. I saw a spot on his leg."
He blinked at her. "How long did you hold him?"
"Fifteen or twenty minutes."
"Maybe it wasn't enough. Not everyone gets it—"
"But I need to. So I should go back in there an' spend more time with the children. They can all use some extra attention."
"You're determined to do this, aren't you?"
She nodded.
"And there's nothing I can say to change your mind?"
She shook her head. "Nothin'."
He took her hand in his, running his finger softly over her wrist. He traced the narrow, winding purple vein beneath the skin. "You're going to feel like hell," he said, finally.
"I know."
"And if the disease doesn't run its course fully, you won't develop antibodies. And believe me, Rose Tyler, if I think for one second that you're in danger, I'm taking you back to the TARDIS and treating you; there's no question about that. So there's a chance that you might go through all of this for nothing."
"I'll take that chance. Maybe someone else—one of the old survivors—will've been found by then an' you can use their blood."
He wrapped his fingers tightly around her hand then captured her gaze. She found that she could not look away.
"There's still a chance that you haven't been infected," he said hopefully after a few moments.
Rose maintained the gaze steadily. "Then infect me," she replied.
"What?"
"Like those scientists did with the animals. Inject me with blood from one of the sick children. That'll guarantee that I get it."
"Rose, no—"
"Doctor," she said firmly, "if we're gonna do this, we should do it right. An' if you won't do this, I'm just gonna go back in there again. I know I'm not a scientist, but I think I'll get sick a lot faster if you inject the virus directly into my bloodstream, an' you said that time is somethin' we don't have. So let's get on with it."
"Rose—" He placed his hand against her cheek. "I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll do it."
He had seen Tyler determination a dozen times, but he'd never seen such utter and unwavering resolution from Rose before. "Are you absolutely certain?"
"You know I am."
He nodded in reluctant capitulation then stood slowly. "Wait here. I'll be back in a few minutes."
The Doctor returned with small, white tray in his hands. It held a bottle, several cotton balls, and an old-fashioned glass syringe that Rose could see was filled with blood. He did not speak to her, remaining uncharacteristically mute and he knelt before her. He gave her a piercing, questioning look, and she nodded her head.
"Do it," she said.
"Rose—" he croaked.
"I'm sure."
"Will it make any difference if I tell you that medicine here is nowhere nearly advanced as it is during your time? That there won't be much I can to do keep you comfortable, to prevent you from suffering from the effects of the illness?"
"Nope." She tried to copy his plosive pronunciation and attempted a playful grin.
He was not amused. "And will it matter if I say that I can't stand the thought of you being ill?"
She was touched by the sentiment, but it did not sway her. She shook her head. "'S sweet, but 'fraid not."
"Then I need you to promise me something," he said.
"That I'll be all right? 'Course I will!"
"That goes without saying."
"What, then?"
"Promise me that you'll never, ever tell your mother that I allowed you to do this, because if she found out she'd slap me into the twenty-second century."
Rose chuckled softly. "Yeah, she probably would. It's a deal." Then she slid up her sleeve and offered him her arm.
His motions were slow, almost languid, as he wiped a bit of alcohol over her skin. His hand quavered slightly when he moved the needle to her arm. He gave her one final entreating look; she nodded and offered him a gentle smile. He injected her with the infected blood.
Rose winced just a tiny bit.
"All right?" the Doctor asked, wiping the site carefully with another saturated cotton ball.
"Fine," she replied, and honestly she felt a rush of elation. She would provide the cure for the ill children, and that knowledge buoyed her considerably.
He stood and held out his hand. "Come on, then."
"Where're we goin'?"
"I told Dr. Wembur that you'd been exposed and were likely to contract the disease. I also explained that your blood might hold the cure for the others and how important it is that you have every opportunity to recover without complication. To that end, he's arranged a private suite for you. It's just down this hallway."
Rose shook her head. "I wanna help with the children until I start to feel sick."
"Most of their mothers are with them, and several of the staff have volunteered to assist—"
"There'll still be stuff I can do."
This was clearly another battle that he was not going to win. With a resigned and rather dramatic sigh, he said, "Fine. But the moment you begin to show symptoms, you're going straight to bed. And in the meantime, you're going to have a good, nutritious meal with plenty of vitamins and anti-oxidents."
"That all?"
"For now."
She slipped her hand into his, entwining their fingers in a gesture of unspoken affection and trust. He tightened his grip, intent on holding on to her as long as possible.
To be continued…