The Doctor:
Amy and Rory had a rule about the bedroom; mainly, that the Doctor was now allowed anywhere near theirs. The Doctor didn't really understand their insistence on it. He didn't really like locked doors on his TARDIS; weren't they all friends? What did they have to hide? It wasn't as if he was sneaking into their business. After bursting into their room one night to tell them the TARDIS had finally been repaired after a three week long stint on a desert rock of a planet he understood a bit more. They'd all been going stir crazy on that planet; there was nothing interesting about it at all. The Doctor had been so excited that he hadn't thought about what he was interrupting; even if they were asleep they would surely want to wake up for this! But after walking in on all their kissing and tangled-upness at that moment Rory had demanded the Doctor out of the room and to never come into their bedroom again. Amy had added the stipulation that he could come in but only if he knocked first and only if it was really important. And then she had thrown a pillow at him.
It hadn't bothered the Doctor. He was a bit naïve in this body but he wasn't stupid enough to not know those sorts of things were going on and it didn't bother him to see it. None of it bothered him until he had gone back to his own bedroom that night. His own dark, cold, lonely room; the room with the big empty bed and no one in it. It wasn't until then that the bedroom rule bothered him and it wasn't because he was jealous of what they were doing. Humans could be so fascinated by their mating rituals. He was bothered because he was lonely.
It bothered the Doctor but it wasn't his first bought of loneliness and he knew that he'd get along fine. Eventually he'd bounce back to his happy cheery self. But this time he didn't get to wake up the next morning and put on his normal, exuberant smile. In less than twelve hours after going to bed the Doctor's mind was turned to soup by a virus that had been building and growing inside of him for a week now, making him sicker than he had been in centuries.
It would have done him in, had Rory and Amy obeyed their own 'don't go in other people's bedrooms' rule. He'd have emerged some immeasurable time later with a newly regenerated body. Luckily, they were rude enough to barge into his room when he didn't emerge that morning and had found him in a horrible state. Most of the details of his illness he learned later from Amy and Rory when he had gotten better. While he'd been ill he was lost to the world, unconscious most of the time, only waking for brief periods of time which was really a blessing. He was in so much pain, his fever so high that he was mad; not to mention seeing how upset Amy and Rory were. They were out of their depth with the alien illness but they did their best. He was lucky to have Rory's medical knowledge, limited as it was; it'd saved his life and he was grateful. He wasn't ready to be done with this body yet.
For days he spiraled in out and delirium while Amy spoon fed him soup and water and Rory gave him medicine as best as he could and cold sponge baths to bring down his fever. After nearly a week his fever finally broke and he began to come back to himself.
Once the TARDIS stopped spinning and he could begin to think again, he had to admit that he enjoyed this a bit, in a sick, twisted way. Not the being ill; that was horrible. Even 'on the mend' he was too weak to move, much less get out of bed. But Amy and Rory were being so nice…they were recovering from the shock of how it felt to nearly lose him and they allowed themselves to be kinder to him. Specifically in all the ways he liked best; squeezes of hands in his own, fingers brushing back his hair, a kiss on the cheek when they thought he was asleep. He shamefully began to pretend to be sicker than he was even when he was recovering just to lap up all of the extra attention. It was shameful, he knew; he was just so lonely and he didn't know how to get things to be this way normally. He perversely let his illness persist for a few more days; he was getting bored and he knew he had to come out of it soon anyway. On the last night he was going to let himself be bedridden, he woke in the middle of the night to find he wasn't alone in his bed.
Rory was asleep on one side of him, his back turned away; his nose whistled slightly as he dreamed. Amy was on his other side, facing him, rubbing her face and rolling around as if she was waking along with him. What was this? The Doctor began to wonder if they'd done this the entire time that he was sick; sharing the bed with him only when he'd been dying. He'd always been too embarrassed to ask but he made up in that moment that this would not be the last time.
It was one of those pure, good, incorruptible things left to the Doctor, sharing a bed with Amy and Rory. He tried to remain still as he could, soaking in everything good about it without waking either; afraid this would all end if he did. It was warm, overly warm, sandwiched between the two of them but not unpleasantly so. With his eyes closed, he could be aware of all of the little details about his companions he was always running around too quickly to notice; their individual, young innocent mind energy at the edge of his consciousness, their fresh scents, the sound of their single heartbeats (Amy's quick and quiet, Rory's heavy and steady). And he could notice things that he wouldn't have ever gotten to notice in any other circumstance; the softness of their new, human skin against his, the safe way he felt just being with them…..It had been so long since the Doctor had felt this protected and carefree in such an innocent and intimate moment.
He opened his eyes when he felt a lump forming in his throat. No, crying wouldn't do; he was fine. He had Amy and Rory now and he wasn't alone. They cared for him, had quite literally saved his life. He realized that it must have showed on his face because Amy, who was now staring at him, looked concerned.
"You alright, Doctor?" Amy asked. Her voice was quiet and crackly from sleep as she rubbed her eyes. He'd never seen her so close to sleep and he had to smile at it. He could feel Rory's feet touch his own under the blanket as he rolled over, reminding him this was real.
"Course…..thanks to you two" the Doctor said. His eyes fluttered closed and open, aching from need to sleep as he watched Amy's sleepily drop the same way.
"Hope you don't mind…..Rory just kind of passed out and I went with it" Amy admitted. Her eyes were already closed and she was half way between sleep and wakefulness.
"Other than Rory's ice cold feet, I don't mind" the Doctor teased. He let his own eyes stay closed, reaching his hand out to hold Amy's under the cover. As soon as he touched her, she rolled over into his chest and he went to sleep more at peace than he could recall in a long, long time.