The Doctor lay beside Rose quietly, listening to her breathe. He kept one arm loosely around her even after she fell asleep. He thought it provided her with a little comfort, and it allowed him to keep tabs on her heart rate and temperature. He knew that it was only a matter of time before both began to soar.
The warming blanket had quelled her chills after a short time. For a little while she had languished at a comfortable 37 degrees. But that didn't last long. He could feel her growing warmer; her temperature was rising quickly. He waited a few more minutes then slipped out of bed.
He removed the heated blanket. She had no need for it now. He reached into the bin from the infirmary and pulled out a small aural thermometer. He checked her temperature; it was 39.7. He hadn't expected it to spike so fast. Rose's cheeks were flushed, and perspiration glimmered over her skin. He brushed his fingers over her hot brow.
She made a small noise, not quite a moan but certainly indicative of discomfort. He retrieved a stethoscope from the bin and unfastened the top few buttons of Rose's nightshirt. Adjusting the instrument in his ears, he checked her heart and lungs. Both were functioning well, although her heart rate and respiration were up a little. He checked her for dehydration; fortunately that had not yet become a concern.
There was really nothing to do at the moment but wait. He settled back into his chair and watched her face, occupying his thoughts by naming each muscle that twitched or tightened as the virus continued its invasion of her cells.
Hot. She was so, so hot, and her entire body felt strangely parched yet drenched in sweat at the same time. Her head was throbbing again, and every muscle and bone and millimeter of skin hurt. Something mercifully cool touched her ear, and Rose opened her eyes.
The Doctor was bending over her, and after a few seconds she saw his hand pull back from her head and realized that he'd done something to her ear. Glasses in place, he studied the small item in his hand for a moment with a deepening frown. Rose noticed that he had a stethoscope draped around his neck. With his clean white shirt and rolled up sleeves, he appeared every inch the competent physician. All that was missing was the white coat. Somehow the image of him as a proper doctor was surprising yet comforting. He could help her; he could do something about the pain.
Then he glanced at her face and saw that she was awake. His expression immediately switched to a gentle smile.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Felt better," she rasped out.
"Yes." He rested his hand against her cheek, and it was wonderfully cool.
Her two-word response had exhausted her, but she really needed to ask about the pain. He gave her a brief respite by lifting her head and holding a glass of water to her lips. She swallowed a little, but it made her throat tickle then begin to burn, so she refused any more.
"You sure you can't manage another sip or two?" he was asking. His expression had cycled back to concern.
"Mmm—no."
He set the glass on the bedside table.
"Hot," she whispered.
He nodded sympathetically. "That's the fever. It shouldn't get much worse, though. It's been stable for the last two hours."
"Hurts," she added, too weak to say any more but pleading with her eyes, hoping he'd understand.
He took her hand between his cool palms. "I know, Rose. But I can't give you anything for the pain. It would interfere with your body's response to the vaccine. The only way this is going to work is if it runs its course naturally. Your body has to develop antibodies on its own."
"Aspirin?" she croaked, feeling tears prickle in her eyes.
He shook his head sadly. "I can't risk it."
Rose felt hot tears roll down her cheeks. The Doctor looked away for a moment then reached over to the table. She closed her eyes. After a few seconds she felt something blissfully cold against her cheek. She opened her eyes half-way to see the Doctor wiping a wet cloth over her skin.
"All right?" he asked.
She nodded imperceptibly, but he seemed to understand. He bathed her face and neck, and she felt just the tiniest bit cooler. After a few minutes he set aside the cloth and rubbed her forehead softly with his fingertips. Her headache eased a little, and Rose closed her eyes.
His cool hands moved down to massage her shoulders and arms gently, and her body yielded to sleep.
It was less than an hour later when her fever spiked to 42. The Doctor had been leafing through one of Rose's magazines, finally abandoning his incessant staring at her. But when she made a little noise, he glanced at her. Her skin had a deeper flush, and perspiration drenched her face and neck. He grabbed the thermometer and bent to place it in her ear. A hand on her cheek, however, told him as much as the small electronic device did.
She was breathing rapidly now, and her pulse had grown quicker but weaker. He checked her heart and lungs again. This time he detected a slight arrhythmia in her heartbeat. He didn't like the strain that the disease was placing upon the organ, but he reminded himself that she was young and healthy and should be able to withstand this brief yet intense physiological exertion.
He was not happy, either, about the dehydration that was rapidly settling in. It was in all likelihood resonsible for the arrhythmia. Rose needed fluids; there was no way around that. He'd brought a saline IV, just in case, hoping of course that he wouldn't need to use it. It wouldn't interfere with her body's response to the vaccine; it would simply introduce much needed fluids into her system. Still, he'd hoped it wouldn't be necessary. He debated moving her to the infirmary where he had monitors and ready access to other medications, just in case… But that was awfully negative thinking.
He hung the saline bag next to the bed and carefully inserted the port into her hand. He decided to see how she was after she'd had some fluids. If her heart was still affected, he would move her immediately.
The Doctor sat down to wait. His eyes moved from her face to the IV line to the bag, then back to her face again. He reached for her wrist to check her pulse more times than he cared to count, and the thermometer got more use in that hour or two than it had in all the years he'd owned it.
The IV bag was nearly empty when Rose's fever soared to 43. Her eyes opened, and she began muttering softly, hands moving weakly at her sides.
He stroked her hot forehead and said, "Sshh, Rose, it's all right. Try to stay still."
Her eyes were unfocused, despite the dilation of her pupils. She gasped once, then again, and he quickly pressed the stethoscope to her chest. Her heart was racing, and her breathing was labored. And then she convulsed.
She was so weak that she only jerked a few times, but he knew what was happening: she was having a febrile seizure. He had to get her fever down, and he needed to do it immediately. Quickly he disconnected the IV then gathered Rose into his arms and walked to the bathroom, turning on the tap in the tub then setting her gently on the edge. He held her up with one arm while he pulled the nightshirt over her head with the other.
She mumbled something incoherent, and her eyes moved to stare glassily at his face.
"It's all right," he repeated, running his hand over her back. Heat radiated from her skin, so hot against his palm.
Suddenly her arms were flailing, and he thought that she was seizing again. He knelt before her, wrapping his arms securely about her so that she wouldn't fall. Her arms continued to move, and he realized that she was sliding them around him. She was simply trying to hold on to him.
He cradled her head against his chest. "Hang on, Rose," he said. "I'm going to take care of you. You're going to be all right."
"Mmm," she murmured, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, she'd understood him.
When the tub was half-full, he pulled back to slip an arm beneath her knees. He moved her around so that her legs were in the water. She stared down at the tub, but she did not resist. He eased her body down, holding her head carefully so that it wouldn't fall back against the hard edge. He placed a folded towel behind her then lowered her head so that she could lie back as comfortably as possible.
Kneeling behind her, the Doctor rested one hand against Rose's cheek and the other over her chest. And then he waited. Her eyes were open, but he doubted that she could see clearly. Still, he spoke softly to her with soothing and barely sensible words and bent to press his cheek against hers.
Finally he felt her skin cooling. Her heart rate was slowing a little, too, and her breathing was less laboured. He kept her in the tub a few minutes more then lifted her out, wrapping a thick terry robe around her. As he did, she blinked and looked at him.
"Where'm I?" she murmured, eyes moving languidly about as she tried to understand what was happening.
"In the bathroom," he replied calmly.
"Bath… room?"
He picked her up and carried her across the room. "And now you're going back to bed, where it's nice and cosy."
She was confused, naturally, but he thought it best to downplay what had just happened. There would be time to explain later, if she felt a need to question it… if she even remembered the experience.
He sat her on the bed. The robe was damp, of course, and, while he'd wanted her to cool down he didn't want her to become chilled again. Leaving Rose for just a minute, he stepped to the dresser and rooted about. He found a pair of cotton pyjama bottoms but no matching top. There were several camisoles, however, so he supposed one would do; the flannel nightshirt had got wet.
Rose had slumped down to the mattress by the time he returned to her side. He managed to slip the pyjama bottoms on easily, for which he felt thankful. He lifted her shoulders so that she sat up again and untied the robe.
She glanced down, a fuzzily confused expression on her face when she saw her bare skin. She touched her belly with her fingertips then looked up at the Doctor.
He held out the camisole. "This is nice and dry," he said. "Let's put it on."
"Where… where'd my… nightie go?"
"It got wet in the bathroom," he answered honestly.
He slid the robe off then worked the camisole up over her arms and shoulders. She sat limply, compliant to his maneouvers as he managed to pull the little top down. He removed the robe before it dampened the sheets.
"Lie down now," Rose said softly.
"Yes." He lifted her legs onto the bed and placed a hand behind her head as she sank back.
He reached for the thermometer. "Let's see how you're doing."
"'M sick," she whispered confidentially, as though she were sharing a great secret with him.
He stroked her forehead. "Yes, I know, but you're going to be better soon."
He placed the themometer in her ear until the small light flashed. Her temperature was down, but it was still close to 40. She was watching his face, but he still wasn't sure that she was fully aware of what he was doing. He took up the stethoscope again to check her heart and lungs.
"Doctor?" she said softly.
He looked up. "Yes, Rose?"
"You're…" She lifted her hand to touch the instrument against her chest. "The Doctor."
"Today I am." And every fiber of his being wished he weren't, wished he didn't have to be.
He returned his attention to her heart. The slight arrhythmia persisted; he did not like that at all. A quick check of her skin told him that she remained dehydrated. She needed to finish the IV. He'd removed the port quickly in his haste to get her into the bath. He would need to reinsert it, but he thought that her hand was probably sore from the original needle stick. He lifted her other hand and rubbed an alcohol wipe over it.
"Rose, you might feel a little pinch in a moment, all right?" He slid the needle in smoothly before she could process his words. She flinched just a bit. He attached the IV line.
"Wha's that?" she asked hoarsely, eyes moving to the bag.
"Just some fluids. They'll make you feel much better."
She nodded. "'Kay."
He sat beside her, tasks completed for the moment, and rested his hand against her cheek. "Why don't you close your eyes and go back to sleep?"
She reached up and took his wrist weakly. "The vaccine…is it working?"
He nodded. "Yes. It is."
"An' tha's why… I feel… so crappy."
He stroked her warm cheek with his fingertips. "Yes, but you'll feel better soon. Just sleep now."
Like a very good patient, she obeyed without question.