The Doctor sat in a chair near the bed, eyes moving between his book and Rose's tranquil face. She'd been asleep for nearly six hours, and he had not left her side for more than the two minutes needed to pull a book from the library.

Unconsciously he'd kept track of her respiration and pulse rate; in the deep quiet of the room, he could sense the beat of her heart and hear her gentle inhalations and exhalations. She was in no danger.

Finally her breathing quickened marginally, and she began to stir. Her eyes opened slowly.

"Good morning," he greeted amiably. "Or maybe afternoon? Could be evening, I suppose, or even midnight somewhere—"

"Mornin', Doctor," she replied with a little grin of fond exasperation. "Clock says 9:30 AM." She glanced at the timepiece on her nightstand.

"Well, then, morning it is. How are you feeling?"

She sat up. "Better. A lot better."

He leaned forward to press his hand over her brow. "Fever's down, almost back to normal."

"I'm not hot or cold, either," she informed him.

"How's the headache?"

"Gone."

He smiled. "Excellent! Let's get some more liquids into you; that'll keep you feeling good."

He poured a full glass of water, which she drank easily.

"How's your back feel?" he asked.

She leaned forward, anticipating his next action, as she replied, "Hardly itches at all."

He peered under her shirt to find her skin nearly healed. "Looks good."

She was rubbing a hand over her stomach, however, and he grew worried again.

"What's the matter? Do you feel nauseous?" he queried.

Rose shook her head. "No, just hungry."

"Well," he said with a grin, "that's a good sign! What would you like? You know I make a mean toast with marmalade, and I'm not bad with tomato soup, grilled cheese, and even omelets. What do you fancy?"

"Can I say all of the above?" Her stomach growled in confirmation.

"Hmm, suppose I can manage that. But it's going to take a while." He stood.

"I'll come with you."

He studied her face for a moment. "Sure you feel up to that? I'd be glad to bring it to you in here."

"I've been cooped up for ages! Besides, I really feel fine now."

He watched as she got out of bed. Her legs seemed steady, and her color remained healthy. He handed her a robe then looped his arm through hers as they entered the corridor.

She glanced at his arm. "I'm all right on my own."

"Oh, I know that! This is just a friendly little loopy thing."

"Could say the same about you," she teased.

"Oi! After I sat by your sickbed—"

Abruptly, Rose stopped walking. "You stayed there the whole time?"

Suddenly he recalled her aversion to fussing. "Not the entire time," he replied slowly.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "How long?"

"Most of the time," he confessed. "But I'd got immersed in a good book—pretty much forgot where I was."

She turned to face him, slipping both her hands into his. "Thank you."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah, 'course. You took really good care of me, an' you made me feel better."

"And I wasn't fussing," he said firmly. "You needed medical attention—"

"An' you're the Doctor," she interjected with a small smile, "an' I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have takin' care of me."

"I can't think of anyone else I'd rather take care of," he replied, squeezing her hands gently.

They continued down the corridor. Rose grinned, then little giggles began bubbling up, finally building into full-fledged laughter. She had to stop walking as her chortling continued unabated.

The Doctor watched her with amusement, but he had the oddest feeling that the laughter was at his expense. Finally he dared to ask, "What's so funny?"

"Jus' thinkin'," she said, interrupted by another laughing fit, "that I'm glad you're nothin' like my mum."

"Like your—Oh, right. Fussing over you."

She shook her head, still in the throes of hilarity. "No, not that—well, yeah, I'm glad about that, too. But I just got this image of you bringin' me tea, but for some reason you were wearin' a velour track suit, an'you had bleached blonde hair!" She had to stop as the laughter nearly choked her.

At first the Time Lord was thoroughly appalled at the mere suggestion, but after a few moments the same image insisted on worming its way into his mind. "Oh!" he said, nose wrinkling in distaste, "now that is truly enough to make a person ill!"

Wiping her eyes, Rose agreed. "Yeah. Sorry, maybe I'm still a little delirious."

He leaned in closely, his eyes locking onto hers. "Hmm. Maybe you are." He looped his arm through hers again. "Good thing you've got your very own Doctor."

She snuggled against him. "Yep, it is."

They continued their stroll toward the kitchen arm-in-arm, giggling all the way.