Rose's brow furrows in disbelief. "Really?"
"Really." He doesn't look at her as he stows his stethoscope away.
Rose's toes wriggle at the edge of his vision and her fingers twist in the paper beneath her. "Is everything all right? You've gone quiet all of a sudden."
"Everything's fine. You're all checked out. That's good, isn't it?"
"I guess so," Rose replies, but she can't help feeling a bit let down. The game had to end eventually, she knows, but now that they've gotten this far, she was sort of hoping it would have a different outcome.
(Is none of this affecting him at all? Not even a little bit?)
"Are you sure you don't need to check anything else?" she asks. "Like, reflexes or, or, joints or something? Or, I dunno, lumps?"
The Doctor chuckles quietly, a smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. "I'm sure you're fine, Rose."
He jerks his head toward her pile of clothes on the floor. "I'll just go get you your things, and then we can call it a day if you like. All right?"
He starts to walk away. Rose can feel the moment slipping away like water through her fingers.
"I thought you were a professional," she calls out before he's made it very far.
The Doctor stops. He's considering. "Are you implying that I'm not?" he asks over his shoulder.
"Just feels like I only got half an examination, is all. And I'd like to add," she says with a flip of her hair, "that I was very, very good, but no one ever gave me a lolly."
The Doctor rummages about in his pockets for a moment, and when he's spun back around, there's a red lollipop in his hand. He tosses it to her. Rose catches it without even looking, which is, in and of itself, a small miracle.
She starts unwrapping it, the plastic-wrap crinkling loudly in her hands. "And the other half of my examination?" she asks, popping the sweet into her mouth.
The Doctor tugs on one ear nervously. "You don't think it's a waste of time?"
"We're in a time machine, aren't we?"
"You didn't seem too keen on it earlier."
Rose removes the lolly with a pop. The Doctor's eyes are drawn to the motion. He wets his lower lip, and Rose wonders if he's thinking about the candy, or if he's thinking about her.
"I didn't think you'd find anything," she says, and she licks a line around the outside of her treat, filling her mouth with sugar-sweet that tastes less like fruit and more like red, "but maybe the third try's the charm?"
"Maybe I should just take you back to Glavon," the Doctor suggests, hands safely stowed in pockets as he walks back toward her. "I'm sure there's a bloke there who could give you all the attention you require."
Rose fidgets with the lolly. "I don't know if the alien pretty-boy feels the same way about me that I do about him. At least, not the specific one I'm interested in."
It's the boldest thing she's said thus far, hidden in an epithet that has, quite frankly, grown a little ridiculous. But it's the closest she's going to get to admitting her feelings right now.
At least until she knows he feels the same way.
"We're talking about medical attention, of course," the Doctor replies.
"Of course."
The Doctor rocks back and forth on his heels. "I suppose it wouldn't be the best practice to start sending patients away to other institutions," he concedes. "Good way to lose business, that. And what's a doctor without patients?"
Rose grins at him. "Seems a little sad, don't you think?"
He nods. "Still," he draws out, "As your physician, there are some things I've not discussed—withheld, as they were, for your own health and safety—and I'm not always good about discussing my methods as clearly as I should. This, as you know, flies directly in the face of informed consent."
Rose's pulse is thundering in her ears now. He may be an alien, but there's no way he's thick enough not to know what they're talking about, what they're both saying right now.
"I know what I'm getting into," she whispers.
He still won't look at her. "Do you?"
Rose drops her lollipop back in its plastic wrap and sets it down next to her on the table. She pulls the Doctor's hands out of his pockets; he doesn't try to stop her. She rests both palms gently on her hips. He is much cooler to the touch than she is.
"You can't choose how you feel about something, but you can decide what you do about it. And I hope you to decide," she tells him, "to finish my examination."
The Doctor doesn't say anything for a few seconds. He seems very distracted by the feel of his skin on hers.
"Well, then." His thumbs draw a circle around her hipbones. A slow, ticklish, torturous preview. "How could a good physician decline?"
Hands slip away and he's sliding his spectacles out of his pocket once again; it's a mask, Rose thinks, so he can play a part onstage and hide behind the curtain at the same time. The Doctor places his hands on her knees, gliding up, up, up toward her body, fingers dancing over muscle and fat and sinew. Probing and prodding in a not-unpleasant manner. His gaze follows the path drawn by his fingers.
"Musculature seems good," he says. "Taut and well-developed. Are you a runner, Miss Tyler?"
"On occasion," Rose replies. The feel of his hands on her bare skin is delicious.
The Doctor traces a path back down to her knees and pinches one of her legs just above the joint. Her calf tenses and her foot kicks out into the air and she stifles a giggle.
"Reflexes seem to be in working order," the Doctor proclaims. "Good response time."
He lifts her hand and, by extension, her arm, bending it gently at the elbow. With his other hand, Doctor grasps her by the upper arm, rotating it just a bit in its socket. He gives her hand a squeeze.
"Glenohumeral joint is operating as it should. Excellent movement from the teres minor."
He moves in closer; Rose has to part her legs to grant him room. The insides of her knees brush against his suit jacket. The fabric is rough and wooly against her skin and she can feel herself blushing again at his proximity.
The Doctor presses gently on her torso, in the soft expanse between her ribs, around her bellybutton, lower. His fingers just skim the area under her waistband. He isn't pressing as hard as a physician normally would; instead the pressure is soft, tentative, maddening.
"What are you doing now?" Rose asks.
"Well, you asked me to test your reflexes, and asked me to look at your joints, and I've done both," he responds. "Now, I'm filling your last request, and checking for lumps."
His hands slide back up her abdomen, resting on either side of her ribcage. "Just how thorough do you want this examination to be?" the Doctor asks her softly.
"Very," she replies.
He doesn't disappoint.
At first, his touches are purely clinical—he could almost be mistaken for the real deal. She forces herself not to squirm. But eventually, his exploration gives way to something more personal.
"Yes, erm," the Doctor stammers a bit, his spectacles sliding just a notch down his nose, "Involuntary responses to sensory stimuli are…satisfactory."
The whole situation has rendered her brain foggy and blank, but in the nicest possible way. Rose closes her eyes for a moment to just enjoy it, losing herself in the rush. When she opens her eyes again, the Doctor is watching her face; she would almost label his expression as tender.
"What else was on the list?" Rose asks breathlessly. "Of things to check for."
"I think we've officially run through it all, but I'm happy to make some things up, if you like."
Rose laughs, her happiness bubbling out in a shaky sound. "I guess it's just the—ah—the chemicals. The brain chemicals. Dopa-something and other stuff. Gotta check for those. Yeah?"
"Yes," the Doctor agrees. His hands stall.
Rose takes advantage of the moment to catch her breath. "What are you going to do about that?"
The Doctor leans in and kisses her.
A close-mouthed kiss is not a very good way to test someone's bodily fluids. But, the Doctor thinks, a close-mouthed kiss with Rose Tyler is light-years better than no kiss at all.
Rose's lips are soft and red and wonderfully tender, and sugary where the lollipop has passed through them. But the kiss breaks very quickly, so Rose can catch her breath. It's all right, the Doctor thinks; there will be more, if her heartrate is anything to go by.
"And, erm," Rose stutters. "What about that? Any results?"
"It was a very small sample," the Doctor replies. His voice has gone a bit husky. Just one of the many signs his body is sending his way, shouting at him to keep going going going, all of his nerves and atoms straining toward her. "Not enough data to draw a reliable conclusion."
Rose nods. She taps his spectacles back up his nose. "Well, you have my permission to do it again. To collect more data, I mean."
"Good."
The word has barely left his mouth before he closes the gap between them and kisses her again, a little rougher this time. He tastes sucrose and glucose. Sugar and food coloring and artificial flavor. The lingering traces of a candy that's flavored like nothing but sweet. The Doctor parts his lips, deepening the kiss, but doesn't probe any further.
(But if his tongue just happens to swipe across his lips as the kiss ends, and it just happens to catch hers a little in the process—well, accidents happen, don't they?)
Rose pants lightly, her hands resting on his arms. Clutching him by the biceps. "What about now?" she asks.
"Welllll," he says, drawing the word out, "That was a better sample, admittedly, better period of exposure, but I'd really need to—"
He's being yanked down by the necktie, Rose bringing him in for a hard kiss. Her hands travel up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair. He wraps his arms about her waist. The Doctor chases after her greedily, cupping her face in his hand, all pretenses abandoned. Candy-traces and hormones and chemicals compete for his attention. It's all too much, too overwhelming, too slow.
"Dopamine," the Doctor breathes as he breaks away, trailing kisses down Rose's neck. "Oxytocin, norepinephrine, serotonin…"
He pulls back just enough so that he can look at Rose properly, framing her face in both hands. Rose watches him with wide eyes, well-kissed mouth pink and just a little bit open in surprise.
"Earlier, that last bit about the alien pretty-boy," the Doctor starts, because he's fairly sure he knows the answer, but he wants to hear it from her anyway, "That wasabout me, right?"
Her face crinkles into a smile and another laugh bursts out of her. "Oh my god. Of course it was. It was always about you, you daft git!"
The Doctor grins. He's never been so glad to be called a daft git before.
He presses a quick, firm kiss to Rose's mouth before he shifts her off the table and, guiding her backward with his hands on her waist, pushes her against the nearest wall.
"I think this is the longest I've ever heard you go quiet," she jokes afterward, pushing damp strands of hair away from her cheeks. "Did I finally find a way to make you shut up?"
She can feel him grinning into the side of her face. "Oh, I rather think you were loud enough for the both of us, don't you?"
Rose feels herself go warm again.
Several minutes later, they've both cleaned up and located their respective discarded items of clothing—except for Rose's left sock, it seems to have disappeared somewhere, possibly been eaten by the same monster that inevitably claims all sock-mates and lip balms and clothes-hangers everywhere—and the Doctor is waiting for Rose to finish dressing. He stands with his back to her, polishing his glasses with a handkerchief fished out of his pockets, politely averting his gaze.
(Well, his eyes might wander once. Or twice. Or more. He can only be so polite; it is, after all, more in his nature to be rude.)
"And were you satisfied with the results of today's examination, Miss Tyler?" he asks once she's finished, fully clad in everything but her missing sock.
Rose considers. "I do feel better."
"Your symptoms appear to have abated."
"So you'd consider the prescription a success?"
The Doctor beams down at her. "Oh, yes."
He reaches out his hand and she accepts it, fingers lacing together with his. The Doctor feels something relax and settle somewhere in his chest, tension releasing its chokehold a tiny bit.
It feels strangely like…contentment. Like maybe he can be at ease, just for a little while. Even if this is all this thing between them ever amounts to; even if it never happens again.
Rose tugs at his hand, pulling him toward the door. "So? Where next? Are there are rules about—erm—physical activity after treatment?"
"Are you thinking about a certain crystalline pool, by chance?"
The door slides open for them with a hiss and Rose tugs the Doctor through, flashing him a tongue-touched smirk over her shoulder.
"Actually," she drawls, "I was thinking about scheduling a follow-up."
A slow grin spreads across the Doctor's face.
The door slides shut behind them.