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"Sorry, Doctor," Rory said apologetically. "It's, erm, not a good day today."
The bowtie-clad Timelord began to push past him, clearly not understanding the statement his friend had just made. Or perhaps he did, and simply didn't care.
"We can't come with you today, Doctor," the human repeated, a little bit more impatiently.
"Of course you can! Have you got something going on? I can travel in time, remember? We can see all of time and space and you'll still arrive in time for tea!" The Doctor declared, waving a hand around impatiently.
"Amy's sick, Doctor. No running for her today," Rory explained further.
The realization hit the Time Lord, and he stopped, staring at Rory as though he had just proclaimed to have grown a third eye.
"It's, erm, something we humans do from time to time. Get sick, I mean," Rory continued to elaborate. The Doctor, meanwhile, continued to stare. Then, as if struck by a sudden inspiration, he turned and whirled around, getting into the TARDIS without a backwards glance.
Rory sighed. Not that he'd expect the Doctor to stick around. He walked slowly up the stairs to his and Amy's room, pausing only for a second when he was sure he heard the TARDIS again. Even if he had, what good would that do? He and Amy had received two visits from the Doctor on the same day, usually when he'd been traveling alone for a long while and lost track of the last time he'd been by for a visit. He didn't feel like brushing the Doctor off again.
"I thought I heard the-" Amy began sitting up slowly due to a pounding headache and dizziness. However, she was cut off by a fit of coughing before she could get any further.
"Don't worry about it," Rory quickly jumped in, at her side in a moment. While Amy was hardly at death's door, the flu wasn't exactly a comfortable thing for her or anyone else to deal with. Rory reached for the glass of water on her bedside table, prepared to hold it up to her lips as soon as the fit passed.
Before he could, however, they both became aware of the sound of the door slamming, then of a pair of feet racing up their steps. The bedroom door suddenly flew open, and there stood the Doctor in all his disheveled, bow tie-clad glory.
Rory exhaled slowly. Yes, judging from the excited expression on his face, he'd lost track of the time again.
"Doctor, I told you less than a minute ago by my clock-"
"Yes, yes. Amy's sick and all that. Good; that means I didn't overshoot my time frame," the Doctor cut him off, waving a hand absentmindedly. That's when both Amy and Rory realized his other hand was otherwise occupied, holding a container of…something.
"What's that, Doctor?" Amy asked.
"Soup," he replied as though it were obvious. "Soup for you, Amelia Pond. I'm the Doctor; in English, that means the healer of the sick. Let me go warm some up for you."
Author's note: Hi, guys. I'm afraid I've been on a rather long hiatus, but I can explain. I've had an incredibly stressful fall, moreso than usual. However, I sent off my college applications recently (now you all generally have an idea of how old I am. Yay), and will now try to return to my weekly posting schedule. Wish me luck.
Anyway, here's the first of three drabbles centering on Eleven, Amy and Rory taking care of one another while one of them is ill. I've wanted to try my hand at writing a sickfic for a long time now, and this is my first stab at it.
Enjoy, and please review!