As he tucked the blanket around her shoulders, the Doctor's fingers brushed against Rose's skin. She remained cold, and his touch caused a little sigh to escape her. He added a second blanket, waited a minute, then rested his palm against her brow. She was growing warmer.

He moved with slow steps back toward the hearth, lifting his hand toward the fire's glow. He hadn't felt a chill like this in a long time. He pulled a chair toward the grate then sank down wearily. His hand ran idly through his hair.

He sat for a long time, staring at the fire as it burned then quelled to embers. His thoughts were far away yet painfully present as he visualized both the future and the moments currently ticking away.

Soon one of the world's greatest leaders would belong to the ages. With the dawn would come the end of an era but the beginning of a new epoch. His gaze wandered back to the bed, where the one little human who had ensured the course of history lay sleeping.

He stood and walked quietly toward her. She lay on her right side, instinctively protecting the injured arm from further discomfort. He lowered the blankets to check the bandage. A bit of blood had seeped through the linen, but the bleeding had not continued to any significant degree.

His focus shifted to her face. She was pale still, but she was breathing evenly. He rested his fingers against her wrist to feel the pulse that beat beneath the soft skin. It was a little faster than he liked; however, one glance at her closed eyes confirmed that she was dreaming.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, hoping to send a bit of comfort to her unconscious mind. Sighing softly, she shifted against the mattress. The blanket fell away from her. He began adjusting it again, noticing that her camisole had ridden up, exposing part of her right flank.

In the dimness of the lamplight, the bruise looked like nothing more than a shadow at first. But the Doctor's sharp eyes caught the unnatural darkness against Rose's fair skin. He slid up the camisole to find a contusion that covered a good portion of her ribcage. He leaned in to assess her respiration more carefully. He detected no dyspnea; her breaths were regular and deep.

Even so, he disliked the look of the bruise, and the location suggested the possibility of a rib fracture. Rose had been light-headed earlier, possibly a sign of building respiratory distress, so it was best to err on the side of caution. He scanned her chest with the sonic screwdriver and was relieved to find no signs of hemorrhaging or other significant trauma.

Gently he rolled her onto her back. She stirred but did not wake; her exhaustion and the subtle slumber suggestion he'd given her kept her in deep sleep. Even so, he rested his fingertips against her temple again and sent another message to her mind so that she would remain asleep for several more hours.

Then he moved his hand over the bruise, his eyelids lowering as his sensitive fingers probed softly for irregularities in the bones. Fortunately he did not detect any fractures, but the contusion was fairly deep and he knew it would cause her pain when she woke and began moving about. Her discomfort would be short-lived, however; he planned to take her back to the TARDIS first thing in the morning.

Evaluation completed, he permitted his hand to remain against her skin for a moment longer, cherishing the humanity in the warmth beneath his palm. Finally he drew back, adjusting her camisole and covering the evidence of the perilous night.

But there might be more damage to her fragile little body. She hadn't felt the knife wound; other injuries could be lurking. He brought the lamp closer then folded back the blankets completely. He checked her left side, gently feeling along the ribcage then running careful hands over her limbs. He didn't realize that his hearts were pounding until he was tucking the blankets around Rose's shoulders again. She was all right: Aside from the knife wound and bruise, he'd found nothing more serious than a scrape on one elbow.

He extinguished the kerosene lamp then shuffled back to the chair at the hearth. He sank down heavily and closed his eyes. He would not sleep, but he needed the oblivion of total darkness for just a little while.

**

Rose woke to the smell of fresh coffee. The aroma signaled the start of a new day, but she was loath to open her eyes. Her head ached rather fiercely, and her arm felt tight and stiff. She shifted slightly and found soreness in her right side, too. She'd had a hell of a night.

She supposed there was nothing for it now. With a small sigh she forced her heavy eyelids to open.

"Awake?" the Doctor asked.

She was almost startled to find him crouched by the side of the bed, his elbows resting on the mattress. Apparently he'd been watching her.

"Yeah," she murmured, rubbing a hand over her face.

"How're you feeling?"

"Like crap," she replied immediately, then she added, "but I'll survive. Coffee'll help."

He glanced at the small table in the miniature sitting area. "Mrs. Waltham brought coffee, with rolls and jam. Strawberry jam. Home made."

"You've got a woman bringin' you breakfast now? Sounds awfully domestic," she teased.

He frowned a little. "It's just part of the package. She does it for all the boarders."

"Right." Rose sat up slowly but still winced.

"How's the arm feel?" His concerned gaze moved to the bandage.

She looked down. Her stomach turned a bit at the dried blood. "'S all right," she reassured him.

"I'll sort it as soon as we get back to the TARDIS."

He stood and busied himself with the coffee things while Rose gingerly got out of bed. The room was cool; the fire had died out. She pulled a crocheted blanket from the footboard and wrapped it around her shoulders then sat down on the settee. The Doctor handed her a cup, and she took a few sips. The rich, strong liquid warmed her and seemed to dispel some of the achiness from her head.

He remained standing. "Have some breakfast," he encouraged her.

She slathered jam on a roll and found that she was ravenous when the first bite touched her tongue. "Mmm," she said around the sweetness.

"She does good jam," he confirmed.

Rose swallowed. "Aren't you havin' any?"

"Already did," he replied, looking toward the window.

"But the basket's still full," she began to protest. However, one glance at his face in the full light showed that he remained tense. She knew that beneath his apparently calm exterior he was brooding.

Her eyes wandered to the mantle clock. The time was 7:48. "Doctor," she said softly, "is it over now?"

He nodded. "We should go soon."

She stood and reached for her clothes, which were arranged neatly on a chair. She dressed as quickly as she could, although the soreness in her arm hindered her slightly. When she'd finished, the Doctor handed her a lap robe.

"Wrap this around your arms," he instructed. "With all that's happened, we don't want to draw attention to your wound."

"Yeah, all right." She donned the impromptu wrap then followed him out the door.

They exited the hansom cab at the base of the hill. Their ride through Washington D.C. had been uneventful, but people were beginning to crowd the streets as word about the previous night's tragedy spread. Rose and the Doctor had made it out of the city just in time, really.

She felt a sense of relief when she stepped inside the ship. Immediately the subtle hum soothed her raw nerves, assuaging the dull pain in her head.

The Doctor stood looking out at the clear, blue sky for a few moments before closing the doors. Then he took her hand. His voice was a little husky as he said, "Come on. I want to sort your arm."

She permitted him to lead her to the infirmary. They were both uncharacteristically quiet as he rolled up her sleeve and removed the bandage then repaired the wound with the dermal regenerator. He ran the instrument over the lump on her head, too, removing the residual ache entirely.

"Let me get that bruise, too," he said, gesturing toward her torso.

She glanced down. "How'd you know about that?"

"I saw it last night… when you were changing out of your dress. It looked painful."

"It's all right," she began, but his expression stopped her. His cheerful front had faded, and now she could see how truly bereft he was. He needed to know that he could still fix things, that he was still the Doctor. So she nodded and said, "Yeah, okay."

She shimmied out of the dress then got back up on the examination couch and pulled up her camisole to expose the deep purple contusion.

"Lie back," he requested.

She complied then watched as he moved the regenerator slowly over the injured flesh. The pain melted away as the discoloration faded.

"Thanks," she said when he'd finished. She sat up and reached for her dress. "I'm gonna have a shower and get back into some normal clothes."

He nodded, and she could tell he was only half listening to her. They walked out of the clean, white room together, but their paths diverged in the corridor. He was clearly heading back to the Console Room.

"Are we leaving?" she asked, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his arm.

He nodded. "It's time."

Her grip tightened fractionally. "But I feel like we should do something more, like it's not really finished yet."

He looked at her fully, his eyes dark and haunted. "And what would you have us do?"

"I… I dunno."

She released him and hurried to her room. Maybe it really was time to move on.

To be concluded in the Epilogue.