The Doctor sighed. The TARDIS console room was quiet; Amy and Rory were exhausted and had almost fallen into bed. The Doctor was almost as tired but a slightly queasy feeling niggled in his stomach, stopping him from getting any rest. He sat down hard on the car seat. Something was wrong. He had been feeling ill for days now but only in the mornings. Maybe he should do that test... The timelord's train of thought was interrupted by nauesa which overwhelmed him. He placed one hand over his mouth and used the other to fumble with the door handle leading to the closest of the twenty nine bathrooms. The door co-operated after five minutes and opened. The Gallifreian fell to his knees and groaned, head over the toilet basin and stomach expelling its contents unpleasantly. This was not good. His stomach lurched again and he lay his forehead on the cool toilet seat. Footsteps echoed from the upstairs corridor where Rory and Amy slept. Quickly, the Doctor flushed the toilet, washed his hands and face and ran back into the console room, pretending to look busy. Amy, dressed in blue pjamas and a quilted dressing gown and red hair messy, appeared in the doorway, yawning but looking alert.
"You alright, Doctor?" She asked.
"Huh?" he replied, feigning ignorace of her speaking. Gripping the TARDIS console so hard his knuckles went white, he continued not looking at Amy, fearing his expressive face would alert her of the fact that something was wrong.
"Are you OK?" she repeated.
"Yeah. Fine. Why wouldn't I be?" The Doctor answered rather quickly and hopefully convincingly. Amy didn't seem to buy it and folded her arms across her pjama clad chest.
"I'm not sure. I swear I heard someone being sick." She glanced around the console room as if it was about to give her an answer.
"Well, it wasn't me. There's no-one else in the TARDIS except you, me and Rory. At least I don't think there is..." He trailed off, unconcuiosly placing his hand on his stomach. He noticed, pulled it off and whipped around to face his companion. "Maybe you were dreaming."
"I'm pretty sure I wasn't. Are you sure you're alright? It's just you look a little..." Amy stepped foreward, looking unsure as wheter or not to believe the Doctor.
"A little what?" He said sharply. He shook his head and looked apologetic.
"Tired. Maybe you should get some sleep."
"I think I will." The Doctor lied. Amy smiled and turned around, walking back to her and Rory's room. The Doctor watched her go slightly wistfully. As soon as she was gone, the timelord began to rummage through the TARDIS console's secret drawers. 'There has to be one in here somewhere...' The Doctor thought. He pulled out a white stick and ran back into the bathroom.
Half an hour later, the Doctor shook the stick, hoping against hope that it wasn't what he thought it was. Hesitantly, he opened one big brown eye. Two blue lines. This was not happening. He placed his head in his hands and sobbed quietly as not to disturb Amy and Rory again. His head hurt and his eyes stung and his throat was hoarse but he couldn't stop. He couldn't be. It wasn't possible. Or was it? He was getting emotional which didn't happen often. And he didn't know what to do. That happened even less. Silently, he ran his hands through his hair and drew a long, tired breath. He had to face this. He walked slowly out of the bathroom and sat down on the car seat, dazed. Wrapping his arms around his torso, he rocked himself back and forth and lay down. He shut his eyes and prayed for sleep.