"What did you eat?"
It was the third time she'd asked the question and the third time he'd given her that frown. The one she knew meant she was absolutely right that he'd eaten something he really shouldn't have but he wasn't about the admit it because it would mean admitting two things: firstly, that he'd been foolish and secondly, that she was right.
The Doctor held the console with one hand and held his stomach with the other and Clara flinched because she knew that look and there were no wastebaskets lying about to catch what was, inevitably, going to fall from his mouth. And when he finally bent slightly and began to vomit, she simply turned away, waiting until she heard him cough a few times.
"What did you eat?"
He grimaced as she looked back at him, arms crossing at her chest because she wasn't going to give him sympathy until he told her and when he finally wagged his head and moaned, "It was green and tasted like spirits," she sighed at him and moved closer, taking his hand and slinging it over her shoulder to lead him away from the mess he'd left.
"This is why you don't just…" she started. Eat strange things!
He pointed, "First food I handed you…" he began to respond. You ate it without question!
"No, you gave it to me…" Clara finished, trailing off because he knew.
I trusted you to know it was safe to eat.
"How could you eat something that would make you sick?" she scolded as he steered her to the right and she grunted, "Oi, you're going to put me into the wall."
"The room's that way," he muttered.
"I was going to my room," she replied.
"I want my room," he growled.
And she smiled, bending slightly to ask, "You have a room? Thought you slept in that sling underneath the console so you could be near mummy."
He eyed her. I'm sick and you mock?
Clara frowned, "Sorry, this way?"
With a nod and a point of his free finger before it fell back to his stomach, the Doctor allowed her to drag him down a corridor and into a room he mumbled at. She dropped him into his bed and gave a small cry when his lanky frame brought her down with him. She landed at his side, but he'd already rolled away from her, curling up like a child as she brushed his hair gently.
"Why?" Why would you eat something you know nothing about?
"I… Shut up." I wondered if you'd like it.
Leaning up on her elbow, watching him turning further away from her, Clara asked quietly, "Is there anything I can do? Is there a kit, or something – a medical bay of some sort? Usually a bit of ginger ale and crackers can ease an upset stomach." She sighed, "Do you need a hospital?"
He glanced at her, "It's fine, Clara, really." I don't want you to see me like this.
"Doctor, you're hurting." Let me help you.
With a sigh, he nodded and admitted, "The hair thing, it's soothing."
Shifting closer, she began to brush her fingers over his head, watching his eyes close as he released a small sigh and she told him, "My mum used to sing to me when I felt ill; strange how it always used to make me feel better." I could sing for you?
He smiled, "The strangest things bring comfort." Like your voice, when you're not scolding me
Clara rested her head on the pillow beside his, her hand lying against his neck, tips of her fingers drifting in small circles that gave him gooseflesh. She began to hum lightly, her own eyes closing, imagining that if the man needed serious medical attention, he'd have told her and maybe the sick he'd left on the console would be enough to calm his stomach.
"Clara?" He sighed. I'm sorry.
"Rest, Doctor," she laughed. It's ok, I'm right here.