I am not affiliated in any way shape or form with the creators of Doctor Who.
It all started after the Doctor and Clara had come back from the 74th annual Subterranean Octopod Winter-Sport Olympics on Zukron. It had been exceptionally chilly in the exposed seats the Doctor had procured, so she had blamed her biting headache on the exposure. It'd go away eventually, just as all ailments with lower temperatures seem to do. She needn't bother the Doctor. What would he do anyway, it's just a headache.
Now, however, she was not so confident.
Their trip to Zukon had been last Wednesday, and she'd nearly used up all her sick days for this semester feeling horrible in bed and alternating between boiling lava and Antarctica. The only reason she even knew the passage of time was her calendar, as she never seemed to remember where the time went. With Danny gone and her dad on holiday, Clara was left to be the care-ee and the care-er.
Lying on the couch beneath assorted quilts, she barely had the energy to shift her positon. Her throat began to tickle fiercely, and she coughed painfully, a racking sand-paper cough that felt like she was being shredded to bits from the inside out. Thinking longingly of a steaming mug of tea and a honeyspoon, she rolled her glazed eyes languidly to the empty cup from yesterday. Any food nauseated her, and the mere thought of it made her stomach twist in revulsion. And drink…she didn't remember when she'd last sipped a cool glass of water.
As her eyes drooped for the millionth time, a webbing pain exploded just above her eye like some sizzling hand was grabbing her scalp, searing the very bone until she couldn't tell if her eyes were closed or black from pain. Yelping, her hand flew to the spot and applied pressure. I've never had a migraine like this before. As the pain began to subside, she coughed the horrible grating cough thrice more and resolved on putting the kettle on. Come on, up you get. She sighted inwardly.
Piling the duvets onto one side of the couch, she found the room surprisingly easy to navigate. Sure, it seemed as though she were swooping to and fro and stopping abruptly instead of actually walking, but she got to where she was going easily enough. The trouble began when she picked up the kettle. The weight of the kettle as the water filled began to weigh her entire form down. Wait, how did I get to the sink? Feeling in her right arm dissipated until her grip was the only thing telling her she still had an arm, a dull sensation starting again in her head. Latching on to the countertop for balance, she shuffled towards the stove without much coordination.
Her hand reached for the burner and turned it up. When did I set down the kettle? Why can't I remember…? Her mind began to flash warnings, shards of alert flicking through her thoughts until she couldn't hear the hissing kettle over her frantically beating heart…I'm scared. Somebody, please…As she felt the countertop rising, she saw her phone on the edge, and made a desperate grab. Why haven't I called a doctor? I need to call a…the…
The side of her hand scraped against the hard edge of the counter and she felt the dry, cold floor welcoming her hot, fevered skin. A relieved sigh escaped her parched lips as the world began to dull and fizzle away, her vision suddenly nonexistent.
vvvwworp vvwWORP VVWWWORP
The Doctor steps out of the TARDIS, smiling a rare smile and offering his hand to her.
Reaching for it, she steps inside his wonderful blue box. The lights are dazzling, and she twirls for him in her new dress, a twirly deep burgundy with gold polka dots and a black belt, laughing and catching herself against the console. Schmaltzy music plays from an old gramophone in the distance. Another grin breaks across his face and he takes his pale hands out of his red velvet waistcoat, moving his pointer finger in a small circle so that she'll turn for him again. She does, all giggles and bright lights and bliss until her heel is caught on a grate, and she feels herself begin to fall-
Only to be swooped up into a breathtakingly fluid dip by strong arms, their faces just inches apart. He smells of pine needles and cinnamon, his serious but kind face edging towards her own…his sexy beak-like nose edging towards her own…
Her eyes stray upward from his thin lips to that nose, meeting his eyes.
Her breathing cuts as she loses herself in the frozen sea, the infinite chasms of quarts and crystalline fractals radiating ice. She feels her body grow cold under his oddly warm, intent gaze, a grim stare replacing the love she had been enveloped in…and he lets her fall.
She tries to jerk herself upward, her hands grasping at his arms but she's too far away—
—A blinding flashback to the Doctor's cloud as she reaches up to him, clawing at the airborne snowflakes above
She's falling backwards, she can't see, doesn't want to see—
A hard thwack to the back of her skull informs her that she's out, she's done, no more. No more.
