2

"Of course you had to take care of me like some noble idiot, and now I'm mostly better and you're the sick one," grumbled Amy Pond.

Rory, uncharacteristically for his part, didn't respond. He was too busy trembling with chills to do much more than think about getting warm.

Amy drew the blankets closer around her husband, then placed a cool cloth on his forehead to combat the raging fever he also had. If he were healthy and his teeth weren't chattering like a parade of maracas, he might have been able to explain to her exactly why fevers made you feel hot and cold at the same time. As it was, he was feeling exactly that, with a healthy side of misery added on.

"Here. Let me go get you some water," she declared, gently smoothing his hair back from his forehead and going out towards the kitchen. She felt at least partially responsible; after all, he had cared for her while she was ill. It was silly of her, she knew, and could practically hear Rory scolding her for feeling that way. Perhaps he would've still gotten sick. Sicknesses tended to run in the family like that. Even so, she knew for a fact that he was sick after having cared for her.

It was then that she heard the TARDIS, evidently materializing in her back garden. Most of the time, the sound made her heart accelerate and brought a smile to her face. It meant that her best friend was visiting, and bringing a whole host of adventures with him. However, today, it made her pinch the bridge of her nose.

Within less than three seconds (or so it seemed), the Doctor was standing in her kitchen next to her as she hunted for a glass for Rory.

"Come along, Pond! We've got so much to see!" he cried excitedly. "The planets are aligning in the Zetakaid system, and there's a star being born, and I still haven't been to Barcelona and I've been wanting to do that for a few hundred years, and-"

"Sorry, Doctor," she cut him off, watching his face switch from excitement to surprise. Rory rejecting a trip in the TARDIS was at least vaguely believable, but the Girl Who Waited doing the exact same thing was one of those nigh-impossible things the Doctor could hardly believe he'd just heard. "Remember my flu from a week ago? Rory's got it now, worse than I did."

She coughed into her sleeve, forcibly remembering that she wasn't fully recovered herself.

"Oh. Alright, then. Back to bed, Amy," he declared, taking her by the hand and leading her up the stairs.

"But Rory needs water-"

"I'll get that. Just close your eyes and count to twenty once you're back in bed," he said, throwing the bedroom door. "Oh, sorry, Rory!" he apologized a moment later as the miserable human clutched his head and shut his eyes at the sudden onslaught of sound and light. Gently, he led Amy to the free side of the bed, laid her down, and disappeared again.

Amy hadn't even reached 'eleven' when he reappeared in the door, excitedly holding out a tray balanced with two bowls of soup and a glass of water with a small umbrella in it. How very Doctor-ish, she reflected, a small smile on her face.

"Here, for both of you!" he exclaimed, setting down the tray on Amy's bedside table. "Now eat up-drink up-whichever it is-your soup." With that, he put a bowl in her lap and a spoon in her hand.

"But Rory-"

"Don't worry, Amelia. I'll look after him," he reassured her, picking the water glass up and moving to the other side of the bed. "Now drink up, Rory."

Author's note: I didn't realize until I saw a Doctor Who-related article this morning that it's birthday time again. Happy 51st, Doctor Who. May you have many more.

Anyway, I wasn't going to post the next part of this little drabble series until next Saturday, as I missed the mark this weekend and want to stick to a Saturday evening posting schedule. However, since it's the 23rd of November, this is my little tribute to this special day. Enjoy!

Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think the Doctor has been to Barcelona yet, thus the reference. If I'm wrong, please let me know.