He'd been dreaming. Not the awful sort that made him scream, his chest heaving, remembering all the things he could suppress in the light of day. No, it was actually sort of pleasant. There was a red haired woman, all fire and light, and a nice little lake somewhere. The details faded rapidly, pulling him away, as the waves pulled away the water.

His arm reached for the fuzzy images… that bit of happiness reality wasn't able to share. He'd claw his way back through his own mind, if it meant he could have another couple minutes with the woman he'd never be able to have. He'd fight as hard as he could, for another breath on that imaginary beach.

But the aching in his body became too great to ignore, and he huffed out a breath, and pulled his eyes open.

The Doctor's room was dark. He was thankful. Any light now and he imagined his head might split open, spilling his genius all over his messy floor. His bones even seemed to ache, as he rolled onto his side. This body was too new for this sort of ache to be from wear and tear even if he had been wearing it around for a few years now.

They hadn't exactly been the easiest years, he would admit. Losing Rose, the year that never was, it all added up. It was a weight that could age a person fast, and he had already lived so very long.

But then Donna was there, and she was…something. She challenged him, and he didn't feel quite so old. He still had some fight in him, and that's what kept him going. But today, right now, alone in his room…he felt his every year.

The Doctor ran his tongue over his dry lips, but his mouth was so dry it didn't seem to help. His throat felt thick, and sore, and clearing it only seemed to make it worse.

He sighed softly, throwing back his blankets. His room seemed overly cold, and he didn't have the energy to adjust his temperature. Instead he reached for a shirt, thinking he really ought to start sleeping in pajamas.

Donna probably would slap him, if she knew, whether it was only in his room or not. He didn't think he was in any danger, really. She didn't seem like the type to run into his room, even if she had a nightmare. No, sometimes Donna seemed to be a lot like him. Suffer in silence, but still try to change the universe.

He pulled the shirt on, looking to the faint glowing numbers that indicated the time. He only kept it on, when there was a reason. If he had a companion, and it mattered to them, it became important to them.

He would joke about their exhaustion, but he welcomed the chance to wave them off to bed. He would often sneak to their rooms –he hadn't dared with Donna yet- to listen to them breathe. He never knew how long he would get to keep the ones he loved, all too often it was a time too short to fathom.

But while they were sleeping, while their breathing was relaxed, and their faces were at peace, he got to pretend it would be forever.

Standing up took some effort, and some time, but finally he stepped over various parts, and made it out into the hall. It was quiet, the TARDIS humming softly.

He knew he ought to check himself out in the med bay, see if it was just some sort of flu, but what he really wanted was a nice cup of tea. He needed something that would warm him from the inside out.

He shuffled down the hall, pausing at Donnas' room. It was unlikely that she would get anything that he would get. They're bodies were incredibly different despite outward appearance…but he couldn't stand the thought of her behind that door suffering.

He didn't knock, cracking the door slowly.

She was facing him, the light from the hall slowly inching to her, until he could take in her face. Her cheek weren't flushed; her breathing was slow and even. He watched another moment; longer than he knew was safe.

Finally he decided she was fine, and that he was stupid if he didn't promptly close the door. He closed the door with a soft click, and headed back to his primary goal. Tea.

The kettle was on, and he was digging in the cabinets for something to ease the pain his throat, when he heard her. He looked over, to see Donna rubbing at her eyes.

She hadn't been with him all that long, though truthfully he had lost counts. Pompeii, the ood, all the little adventures he had found just to make her smile.

She wasn't smiling at the moment, though she didn't look angry. She was rubbing at her eyes, in a way that made her look younger than her years.

"Spaceman?" she asked, walking into the kitchen.

The lights were dim, but not so much that she was clearly visible. At least to his eyes, he wondered if he ought to bring them up for her. He could endure the pain, long as she could see.

"Are you alright?" she asked, when he failed to answer her.

He wanted to say no. She had seen him weak before, at some very low points in his life. Being sick ought to be easy. They didn't have to kill anyone to save anyone, make any sacrifices that he would swear would tear at least on e of them apart.

Yet, as much as he longed to be cared for, some part of him wasn't quite able to form the words.

"Fine," he said, hating how hoarse his voice was.

She looked him over, then shrugged, going to dig out the mugs for the coffee. What he needed to do was just get her off to sleep again. Then he wouldn't expose her, and then he could still be the strong one.

"I don't believe you, you know?" she said, digging out honey, and putting a bit in both mugs.

He made a face, but didn't comment about her addition.

"Why?" he asked, pouring the water into the mugs.

He supposed that right there was as good as any admission might be, he wasn't denying it after all. He wanted to drink his tea, and go back to bed, not argue with Donna.

He quickly glanced at her face, unsure of what to expect. Her eyes were red rimmed- she was clearly still exhausted. But her smile was gently, and she led him to the table.

"You're burning up," she told him, brushing back his hair and placing a kiss to his forehead.

He was flashed back, to his mother. Not that he thought of Donna as a mother, but the gesture brought it up just the same. Time Lords...they weren't a very touchy bunch as a rule. But his mother, she was so gently. He missed her even now- so many bodies, lives, friends later.

"I've got a bug or something," he agreed, sipping the tea.

It was sweet with the honey, and the scratchy sort of feeling seemed to ease. He hurried to get the rest of it into him.

"Very technical for a Doctor," she joked, sipping her own. "What can we do to make you feel better?"

He shrugged. He could argue that he wasn't that sort of Doctor, but it wasn't as if he didn't know his way around a body. Maybe he hadn't set out to be that sort of Doctor, but with time it was just another part of who he was.

He looked up at her, a cough ripping its way out of his throat. He groaned, laying his head down on the table. He was miserable, and Donna was giving him a sympathetic look, he wasn't ready to meet.