Rose finished the eggs and the banana, and she downed the first two glasses of orange juice that the Doctor offered her, but that was all she could manage. He wanted her to eat some more, but she declined. All she really wanted was some coffee or tea, but he muttered something about caffeine being a diuretic and keeping well hydrated and simply refilled her juice glass.
She pushed it away. "No, thanks. 'M full now."
"You sure?" He waggled an eyebrow at her. "Just one more glass?"
Rose shook her head. "No. The other two are still sloshin' around in my stomach. Don't think I can handle any more."
He frowned a little. "Feeling queasy?"
"No, just full."
Her answer elicited a small smile from him. "Right, then. Back to bed."
"I'm awake now," Rose said. "S'pose I'll have a shower an' maybe read a magazine or somethin'."
"You sure? You only slept a few hours, and you must be tired after that long night—"
"I'm okay. Maybe I'll have a lie-down later."
He seemed to want to say something else, but he simply turned back to the sink to fuss about with the dishes. Rose stood and, after a quick thank you, returned to her room and prepared for a shower.
She had just finished drying her hair when the first little chill ran through her. She thought that there was just a slight draft in the room, but she still felt cold even after donning a cosy jumper. She was starting to feel tired again, too—and not merely sleepy, but a slow, dully aching exhaustion that was gradually creeping over her.
Maybe the Doctor'd had a good idea when he'd suggested keeping her nightclothes on. She wanted to return to her bed, but she felt so chilly that the thought of undressing was quite unappealing. She sat down on the mattress and pulled the comforter up around her shoulders. She'd just sit here for a few minutes until she warmed up, then she'd see how she felt. Maybe she'd still have a look at that magazine.
Ten minutes later, Rose was shivering. The dull aching was blossoming into a full-blown mother of a headache. Her forehead throbbed, and the light in the room hurt her eyes. She recalled the Doctor telling her something about the TARDIS's lights dimming to suit the occupant's needs, but it seemed that this function of the time ship was, like so many other things, temporarily on the fritz.
Rose slid off the bed and stumbled toward the wall, hand extended toward the light switch next to the door. The floor seemed to rock gently beneath her feet, and for a moment she thought that the Doctor was fiddling with one of the landing programs again.
She tottered, feet tangling beneath her, and then she tumbled to the floor.
The Doctor had tried to concentrate on the book he was reading, but his thoughts continually turned to Rose. He checked his pocket watch every few minutes, reworking calculations in his mind, trying to figure out just when she would start to feel the effects of the vaccine.
It was difficult to know, really, because he'd never actually witnessed anyone undergo this particular therapy. He'd created the vaccine just for Rose, and, while he had a very good idea about what it would do to her body, the precise timing was still a matter of conjecture.
He'd settled himself in a study just across the hall from Rose's room. He kept the door open, listening in case she should call for him. When he heard a faint thud, he stood and hurried into the hall.
Her door was ajar, so he thrust his head in to find her on her hands and knees on the floor. He helped her to stand then guided her to the bed. She was squinting at him with watery, red eyes.
"The lights," she said immediately. "Can you turn them down?"
"Are they bothering your eyes?" he asked.
She nodded miserably. He could see that she'd grown pale; all of the colour had left her cheeks. He pressed his palm over her forehead. She was cool, temperature slightly below normal. The first stage of the process had begun.
"Can you tell me how you're feeling?" he asked, pulling the comforter up over her.
"Little cold," she replied. "Bit of a headache, too."
"Bit?" he questioned, admiring her efforts to downplay her discomfort.
"Lights would help," she murmured.
"Lights, low," he instructed, and the room grew considerably dimmer.
"Thanks," Rose said. She closed her eyes as her head sank down to the pillow. "Sorry, 'm not very good company just now," she added.
"It's all right, Rose," he reassured her.
He rested his hand softly against her right temple. He could feel the pulse there; it was slightly elevated, probably due to the pain she was experiencing. He couldn't give her anything to ease her headache; it was critical that the vaccine run its course through her system without the interference of any other chemicals. But he could still try to keep her as comfortable as possible.
He moved his other hand to her left temple and guided his fingertips in small, tandem circles. His thumbs rotated down to the base of her skull, just behind each ear, where he applied light but steady pressure for perhaps thirty seconds.
"Mmm," Rose murmured. "Tha's better."
"Yes? I'm glad."
He continued the treatment until he felt her pulse slowing and noted the gentle decrease in respiration that indicated sleep. That was good; she could use all the rest that her body would permit. Slowly he pulled his hands away then walked quietly from the room. He returned a few minutes later with a small bin of supplies that he'd gathered while she was showering.
Then he settled into the chair near the bed. Now that the process had started, he had no intention of leaving her side.
Rose wasn't sure whether it was the pain in her head, the deep ache in her bones, or the new waves of chills that awoke her. All she knew was that she was damned uncomfortable; this was almost as bad as that horrible flu she'd had a couple of years ago.
She heard herself moan and felt a surge of shivers run through her body. Her hands reached for the comforter, but it was moving of its own accord, tucking itself securely around her shoulders. She cracked open an eye to see the Doctor hovering above her. His face reflected concern.
"Here Rose, try to stay still so that you can keep the cover around you."
Had she been moving about? She couldn't remember but supposed she must have been.
"So cold," she said.
"I know. I'm turning up the heat; it should feel warmer in here in just a few minutes."
She noticed that he'd removed his jacket and vest and wore just his shirt; the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was still bending over her, resting the back of his hand against her cheek.
"Can you tell me what hurts?" he asked.
She blinked in surprise. "How'd you know?"
He gave her a small, sad smile and a little half-shake of his head. "It's not important." He stroked her cheek gently.
"M' head," she replied, finally.
"Yes. Anything else?"
Rose closed her eyes for a moment. "Everythin' else."
Indeed, when she took a quick inventory of her body, she couldn't find one thing that didn't hurt or ache or throb. Even her hair was sore. Cold fingers of pain kneaded at her stomach, and they were beginning to stoke some queasiness. She swallowed, trying to push the feeling away.
The Doctor had moved across the room to rummage through a drawer. He produced a blanket and begin spreading it over her. Once it was arranged, he pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and aimed it at the edge of the covering. Rose saw a quick pulse of light.
"The blanket has thermal fibres woven through it," he told her. "It's going to begin warming in just a moment. The heat should help your muscles relax; that'll take away some of the pain."
She nodded, only attending half-way to his words. She was more focused on her stomach, which was now roiling toward full-blown nausea. She swallowed hard, but she could feel the bile rising. Abruptly she sat up, unable to suppress a groan at the new surge of pain this action brought to her whole body.
"Lie back, Rose," the Doctor admonished kindly.
"No," she gasped out, "bathroom—gotta—" She clamped a hand over her mouth, desperately hoping to avoid a major disaster all over the Doctor's nice high-tech blankie.
She rolled out of bed with an unexpected little burst of energy. The Time Lord stepped back for an instant in surprise, and she stumbled past him, tottering at full speed toward the bath. She flung herself toward the toilet, falling hard to her knees. She vomited an instant later, hands clinging to the commode base. It was very cold, and she was absolutely freezing yet strangely hot at the same time as her stomach expelled the remnants of her breakfast with unpleasant force. She coughed and retched, fighting to remain on her kness and not sink down to the ground.
She felt the Doctor's arm slip around her shoulders. He was holding her up, supporting her, running a hand over her hair and down her back. Her stomach continued convulsing, and she retched again. Her arms and legs and back were so cold. She shivered, feeling an odd heat gnawing at her stomach and face. How could she be hot and cold at the same time?
After a few minutes her stomach quieted, and she collapsed into the Doctor's waiting arms. He held her to his chest, keeping one arm around her while he reached up with the other to turn on the tap. She heard the water running, and soon she saw him pull a flannel from the hook on the wall and hold it under the water.
He wiped her face with the warm cloth, and only then did she realize that she was drenched in cold sweat. She was still shivering. He patted her face with a soft towel then produced a blanket from somewhere, tucking it around her.
"We… gonna stay… in here?" she stammered through chattering teeth. The tile floor felt like ice beneath her bare legs.
"For just a little while, until your stomach settles down."
She nodded miserably. He wrapped the blanket around her a bit more snugly. She felt his hand touch her forehead then rest against her neck for a few seconds. Then her stomach cramped again, and she began to double over. The nausea had yielded to pure pain. Rose pulled her legs up instinctively, trying to curl up against the pain.
"Rose? What is it?" The Doctor's voice was gentle but urgent.
"Stomach hurts," she said. She shivered again, a convulsive jerk of her entire body.
His hand moved to her belly. He pressed lightly over her stomach, just below her ribcage. His other hand touched her shoulder. "Lie back against me," he said softly, his mouth very close to her ear.
"Uhn, no," she protested weakly. Her current semi-foetal position seemed to help the pain just the tiniest bit.
"Come on, Rose." His arm slid across her chest, and he eased her up. It hurt.
However, in a few seconds she was resting against his chest and his hand was moving in small circles over her stomach. He was kneading very gently, easing some of the rigidity in the muscles. After a time the pain diminished, and the nausea subsided. The Doctor helped her back to bed. Several spots on her jumper attested to her bout with nausea. God, she was a mess.
"Can you get me somethin' else to wear?" she rasped.
The Time Lord quickly fetched a thick, flannel nightshirt from her drawer. She managed to remove her clothes and slip into the snuggly garment while he was tidying up the bathroom. Thoroughly exhausted and dreadfully sore, she crawled beneath the duvet miserably. The Doctor returned and tucked the blankets around her.
"Anything else I can do for you?" he asked.
Rose hesitated for just an instant. She had felt some small comfort resting against his chest with his hand moving softly over her. She looked up at him and said, "Would you… could you do that again?"
"Do what?" He smoothed a bit of hair away from her forehead.
"Hold me."
He smiled and kicked off his shoes then slipped under the covers. His arm wrapped around her, and his hand rubbed her shoulders and back. She cuddled up against him and closed her eyes. Sleep would make everything better… sleep and the Doctor.