A.N. I know this chapter is a bit short but I promise the next chapter will make up for it. Also thank you so much to the people who took the time to review. It really means a lot.

John woke up late Thursday morning, his neck aching from his position on the couch. He sat up and the first thing he did was sneeze so violently that he threw himself against the back of the couch. He groaned. It seemed that he had passed the Can't-Think-Straight-Going-Insane sick and had moved on to the Runny-Nose-Sore-Throat-I-Can-Barely-Move sick. He couldn't decide which was worse.

John ran a hand through his messy hair and blinked hard to clear the sleep from his eyes. He felt something heavy on his lap and realized he was holding a cereal bowl, but he could not for the life of him remember where it came from. He set the bowl on the table in front of him and was suddenly aware of the note sitting next to it.

There's soup in the fridge, don't call me until you've had a bowl.

-Clara

The thought of Clara taking the time to make soup for him almost made John forget his dream. Almost.

It was extremely vivid, both the dream and the memory of it. He was on Mars, walking out of a curious blue box. He wasn't himself. Well, not exactly. He felt like himself, but his hair was different and he was wearing a blue suit. He remembered a small human colony and a biosphere and a funny robot, but most of all he remembered being afraid, tremendously afraid.

Something was wrong with the water, but before he could figure it out the dream changed.

Suddenly he was in a strange little town that was covered in fog. His hair was back to its original length, but that was about the only normal thing about the situation. He was accompanied by a small boy and they were talking to a man who resembled Ebenezer Scrooge in every conceivable way. It only got stranger. When he walked outside he noticed that there were fish flying in the fog.

The dream shifted a last time and then he was in London during the second world war. This time he barely had any hair on his head and he was accompanied by a blonde woman and a tall handsome looking captain of some sort. He didn't have time to ask what their names were because they were being chased by deranged hospital patients that were wearing gas masks. The last thing he remembered was the captain pulling a banana out of his jacket before he awoke and sat up.

Then he noticed the watch. He hadn't really ever paid attention to the silver device with the strange markings on it, but the dream had awakened some profound new interest. He picked it up and held it in his palm; it was heavier than he expected it to be. Something stirred within him, something dark…

His stomach growled, interrupting his musings. John sighed, set the watch down and stood up. "You're hungry and delusional," he said to himself. He brought the cereal bowl with him and used it for his soup. He set the warm bowl on his counter and leaned over it. After his third spoonful he looked at the clock and realized it was eleven a.m. He scrambled for his phone and after four minutes of fruitless searching he realized it was on the floor of his kitchen.

"Hello, Rick? I'm sorry, I'm three and a half hours late in telling you that I'm sick. I won't be able to come in today," he said.

"Oh don't worry mate, your girlfriend called this morning. Phil's got you covered," Rick explained.

It took John longer than expected to comprehend that information. When he finally realized that Clara called in sick for him he grinned in spite of himself.

"Oh, okay. Uh, brilliant. I'll see you tomorrow then," John said.

"Nah, come in next week, you sound like you need a few more days," Rick said.

"You're a good man, Rick," he replied. The call ended and John sighed with relief. He ate another bite of soup and dialed Clara's number. He was expecting to get her voicemail since it was the middle of the day on a school day, so he was surprised when she picked up.

"Hello?" She said.

"Oh hello, I didn't think you'd answer. Your soup is marvelous by the way," John said.

"Thank you! It was my mum's recipe-" Clara's breath caught at the end of the sentence, as if she didn't mean to say that much.

"Well it's fantastic," John said. "And uh, thanks for calling in sick for me."

"Oh, I er…" John couldn't see her face, but he assumed she was blushing, "I just thought—I hope I wasn't too intrusive—I just figured…"

"No! No, you were the perfect amount of trusive, really," he rushed. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds and as the silence got heavier John thanked his lucky stars that they weren't having this conversation in person.

"Hang on, it's Thursday, shouldn't you be teaching a class right now?" John broke the silence.

"Oh," Clara let out a breath, "no, my supervisor gave me the week off when I told her about my dad," she explained.

"That was nice of her-" John started coughing and held the phone away from his face. When the fit passed him his throat felt raw and he groaned.

"Not feeling much better then?" Clara said.

"Well I'm no longer delusional, which is good, but also somewhat unfortunate because now I am acutely aware of the fact that everything above my neck feels like it's going to explode," he answered.

"That's rough."

"Yes my throat agrees with you," John said. "Ugh, this is great timing. I was actually planning on taking you to dinner tomorrow night."

"I am not doing anything with you until you're no longer contagious," Clara warned. "I have to work on Monday and I can't get my students sick."

John slurped up some soup and thought for a second. "Okay, how about a wager?"

"Go on…"

"If I'm not better by Saturday, I'll take you out to dinner sometime next week," he started.

"And if you are better by Saturday?"

"Then you pay for dinner," John said simply.

"Deal," Clara agreed.

John smiled. "Oh, I have a question," he said.

"Mm?"

"My phone was on the floor of my kitchen. How did it get there?" He asked.

"You dropped it after you almost threw up," Clara explained.

"Ah, okay. Also I woke up cuddling a cereal bowl..."

Clara laughed. "When I came over to fix you up you asked me if I wanted tea and you grabbed it out of the cupboard and never let it go."

They talked for another twenty minutes before either of them found a reason to end the call.

"I hope you feel better soon," Clara said when they were about to hang up, "but not until after Saturday."

"You'll pay for that dinner, Clara, it's going to happen," John said.

"Sure Mister Sneeze-Face," Clara retorted, and then hung up.

As if she could tell the future, John sneezed right after the call ended. He could only laugh at the coincidence. He finished his soup soon after and then changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, which was an image nobody else was allowed to see, not even Clara. He had a reputation to maintain after all. He took a few antibiotics and brought three bottles of water from his fridge and set them next to his couch where he settled into his nest.

He was absolutely determined to feel better by Saturday.