Normally, the Doctor would not be in bed at 9:23 AM on a Saturday.
It wasn't just a matter of the whole "Time Lords don't need sleep" thing. It also happened that Saturday was his absolute favorite day-Always held some adventure, some fun. Being curious, as always, he'd taken to exploring his library for information on the days of the week. He'd found that people were more likely to be married on Saturdays, that babies were most often born on Saturdays, that the wonderful weekend day promised, on Earth, the best chance of sunshine out of the seven.
"Told you to order a medium steak, but what do I know about one of my favorite restaurants?" Donna shot him one of her "You are a stupid, stubborn dumbo" looks.
He groaned an apology. "I'm sorry, dear."
Yes, the mighty Time Lord was losing the chance to enjoy his precious Saturday to a woefully undercooked New York strip steak he'd eaten last night. To his and Donna's dismay, the TARDIS medicine cabinet held few alien pills that could help. The Doctor insisted it was because Time Lords rarely grew ill from consuming human food. Donna contended that the poor TARDIS could hardly be prepared for her master to be daft enough to chow down on bloody meat. Thus, Donna was left playing nurse. Still, wasn't as if she hadn't cared for a hungover friend or two in her day: The Doctor, like those who partied too hard, required some water, TUMS, flat ginger ale, and rest.
While humans were only too content to lay in bed and recover, the Doctor's legs twitched restlessly. He needed to be up and about, walking (and of course, eventually, jogging and running) and exploring some new or old planet. Things needed to be Soniced, aliens needed to be met, plants needed to be inspected…
As she returned with a washcloth, Donna narrowed her eyes, recognizing his desire to move. "You're resting til at LEAST this afternoon, Timeboy."
"Don-na! Can't I just have a walk round the TARDIS?" He whined.
She tapped her chin, pretending to seriously reconsider. Her smile gleamed with a hint of ill intent. "Sure. Go for it."
His eyes lit up at the prospect of escape. He had so many hours left to enjoy Saturday! He…nearly toppled over, legs turning to rubber as he went to open his bedroom door. Donna caught him and helped him stumble back to bed.
"Have I mentioned, you really should listen to me more often." She clucked her tongue, but her eyes smiled. Trust her Spaceman to remain stupidly chipper in the face of a random illness.
"Yes, yes, I know," he admitted, covering her hand in his. "Forgive a stupid, skinny, ill Time Lord his arrogance?"
"Of course," she smiled, planting a kiss on his sweaty forehead. "So you'll stay in bed now? I don't have to handcuff you to the bloody headboard?"
"No, you've made your point," he replied with a rueful laugh. His thoughts wandered off on a rather inappropriate tangent. "That's something we haven't done…and Donna does like to be a tease in bed…I wonder…?"
A singsong voice entered his head. "I can hear your thoughts, you know."
He thought merrily, "And I yours, darling, so I'll have you know it's your fault my mind's in the gutter. You do love getting a rise out of me, don't you?"
A sensual hiss. "Absolutely."
"Be that as it may, Spaceman," Donna continued, picking up where her thought left off, "for now, you need rest. Is there anything else I can do for you? Get another pillow? S'more water?"
The words bypassed his brain on the way out of his mouth. "Marry me."
