Author's Note: Hey everybody! I am having so much fun writing this story! I hope you all like it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. All right go to BBC.
A couple hours later, she awoke again to the sound of frantic footsteps and a loud thud.
"Doctor?" She stood and looked around the room, rubbing the blurriness out of her eyes. The Doctor
lay in a heap on the ground near the door, gasping for breath. Clara rushed to him, carefully readjusting
him and having him sit up so he could breathe. "Tell me what's wrong." She whispered.
"They're coming." He croaked. "Hurry, there's not much time." He rolled out of her arms and
pushed himself up onto his knees, wheezing. Before he could go any further, she put her hands on his
shoulders.
"Doctor, we are the only ones here. Nothing can get into the TARDIS, you've said so yourself.
You're fine. I'm fine. Just breathe." He took in a shaky breath that was more like a wheeze, and it hurt
Clara just to hear it. Very slowly, she took his hand and helped him up, then put the hand on her
shoulder. "Lean on me." She whispered, and he did.
As soon as he was back on the library couch, Clara went out to find cold water and a rag. She
remembered something the Doctor said, about the TARDIS being alive. "Um, hello there. Can-" She
felt ridiculous. "Can you help me find a rag and some cool water for the Doctor? Please?" She tripped
over something in the middle of the hall. "Ouch!" Looking back, she saw that it had been a small basin,
full of water with a few rags hanging over the side. "Huh. Thanks." She carried it back to the Doctor's
side, where he had fallen back into a fitful sleep.
She carefully dabbed at his hot forehead, and he shifted. Finally, she resorted to just leaving the
towel there, after he had subconsciously pushed her away several times.
She fell back to sleep on the floor again, but this time she had very little peace of mind.
Whatever this was, it wasn't going to go away too soon.
The next time she woke, it was clear they had made it through the night. It took a moment for
her to realize that the Doctor's blanket was gently draped over her, and she was on the couch. After
scanning the room, she saw him asleep in a chair not too far away, shivering and drawing in short,
wheezy breaths. "Idiot." She mumbled, making her way over to him. She gently held her hand against
his forehead. He was on fire. If his temperature was supposed to be lower than the average human, then
they were in trouble.
She didn't wake him just yet. Instead, she went out into the hallway and wandered around a bit
to find the kitchen, making note of every turn she took. "He doesn't use this much, does he?" She
hoped that she would find something in the fridge that wasn't expired, but seeing all the dust throughout
the room, her hopes weren't too high.
It was a shock to her when she found perfectly fresh food. "Alrighty then... sick people. What
do sick people eat? Soup? I can do that." Digging through the apparently never-ending fridge, she
found everything she needed and set to work on a batch of chicken-noodle soup.
When it was finished, she got out a spoon and some crackers for him. Maybe I should taste it
before I take it to him... She got out a second spoon and scooped up a small bit, blowing on it. She
sipped it, and nearly choked. "Well then... That's awful." As if on cue, she turned around to see a can of
chicken noodle soup on the counter. "Alright, alright, I get it." After a few minutes it was prepared, and
she carried it in to the Doctor.
As much as she hated to wake him, she knew she had to. She shook his shoulder gently.
"Doctor, come on now, get up. Got some soup for you." He opened his eyes and looked at the food.
"It's alright Clara, you didn't have to. I'm alright."
"You are not. Eat. Now."
"I'm not-I'm not hungry." She sighed.
"At least eat the crackers, will you? You've got to eat something." She held them out to him.
Slowly, his hands stretched out to get them. They shook terribly.
For a while, Clara watched him, trying to determine what he was feeling. There was something
in his eyes that she couldn't quite place. Sadness? No. Embarrassment? No. Wait- ahh yes.
Disappointment. The Doctor was disappointed in himself.
It was true. As the Doctor sat there, trying to get himself to eat the crackers, he was so
disappointed and uncertain of himself. If he couldn't care for himself, how could he possibly even think
of caring for Clara?
"Doctor..." Clara reached a hand out and put it on his leg. "It's alright, ya' know. To be the one
that needs help sometimes, there's nothing wrong with that."
Author's Note: Please Review! Also, I am planning on bringing River into this very soon! Have a good day :)