December 17th

He was flipping through channels again.

The Doctor had pretty much given up on any proper entertainment. With the TARDIS still locking him out, he had no escape to the little gadgets and mechanisms that maybe could entertain him a bit. Even if he had to strip apart the console and put it all back together again, he'd do it. He just needed to relieve the boredom.

He'd tried doing that with a few of Clara's household items, actually. He'd disassembled a couple lamps, added a few intergalactic channels to the television, but as soon as he'd begun his work on the refrigerator, Clara had come storming out of her bedroom, red-nosed as ever, shouting 'I knew it!' and 'Get away from that thing before I bloody smack you.'

God, she was cranky when she was sick.

It was pretty late in the morning. The Doctor had been up all night, of course. He was far from due for his next rest. But for some reason, the daytime was just more frustrating than the night when he had nothing to do. Maybe it was because he was so used to Clara being up and about, yelling at him for this, occasionally slapping him for that. On her less moody days they'd manage to pop out for a bite to eat, something even the Doctor had grown to enjoy in this domestic period of his life.

But now, today and yesterday, the night and day plagued him with boredom. He was probably more eager for Clara to get better than she was.

On that note, he suddenly got to wondering how she was. Yesterday he'd been quite the jerk, in her words. Again, sickness and Clara didn't mix well when it came to her harsh tone. He had to say though, he was quite proud of his Rudolf jokes.

But she'd already nearly slept half the day away, as well as most of the day and night yesterday. She'd gotten up a few times, but only briefly. She'd come sluggishly out of her room, complaining about a headache, demanding tea, (again with the crankiness), or piling herself on the sofa for minutes at a time before finally going back to bed.

Maybe he should check on her. See if he could request getting her anything without having a pillow thrown at his face, and a husky voice telling him to get out.

Before he even had the chance to stand, he heard the bedroom door creak open, and saw a mass of blankets emerge from the opening, Clara peeking out from somewhere inside. She disposed of the duvet in the doorway, only to wrap her arms around herself and let out a little shudder upon doing so. She shuffled her feet, coughed, and flicked some disheveled strands of hair from her eyes as she crossed the room.

"If I get a single Rudolf joke out of you..." She warned, eyes narrowed threateningly even in her state.

"I'm all Rudolfed out." The Doctor chuckled, reclining back against the sofa and crossing his arms. "Any better?"

"Do I look it?" With an exhausted sigh she plopped herself down on the sofa, eliciting a surprised sort of gasp from the Doctor as she collapsed sideways, head resting on his shoulder. Before he could protest, Clara spoke first. "Shut up, skip the awkward bit, and blame it on the fever if you like. Cos I'm not planning on moving unless you want to carry me all the way to my bedroom."

He managed to shut up. Sure, he could blame it on the fever. But skipping his natural awkwardness was a bit more of a chore. The Doctor tensed up, commanding his muscles to relax, and giving a sidelong glance to the top of Clara's head.

"God, you've got a bony shoulder." She complained, shifting up slightly. "Move your arm." The Doctor silently complied, extending his arm out sideways from where it was previously pinned between their bodies, to allow her better access to a comfortable position. She sighed contently, but he remained rigid and speechless. His hand stuck straight out to the side, not sure where to land. With a reluctant sigh, he lowered it, millimeters at a time, before finally wrapping his arm around Clara's middle.

"There you go." She encouraged with fluttering closed eyelids, laughing weakly. "Bit of your old self, there. I'll make an actual real life person out of you yet."

"Shut up." The words didn't come out quite as harsh as he'd expected them to. They were... soft. Almost sympathetic in his own sort of gruff way. His muscles were relaxing too... even responding a bit to the touch by holding her tighter.

The effects that girl had on him would never fail to fuel his somewhat forced annoyance.

It wasn't long before Clara's breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm, and her annoyed jabs at him had ceased. Her eyes were closed, hands tucked beneath her chin, features relaxed in a way that made it clear she was sleeping soundly. The Doctor argued with himself on what to do. He couldn't just sit there all day. Could he move her without waking her? Maybe. It was worth a try.

First he removed his arm, slowly loosening the grasp she'd apparently had on his hand and maneuvering it back to safety. Then he began shifting sideways, pausing ever so often when her breathing would catch. He'd wait for her to slip back into full oblivion, then inch his way outwards again.

With one final budge, he managed to slip away from under her and jump to his feet. Clara made a little discomforted sound as her head hit the cushions. She shifted around in her sleep, trying to get comfortable, looking fully discontented but never waking.

The Doctor started to walk away, but kept finding himself glancing back. He should just walk away and let her sleep. She'd be fine.

But something in him, something still lingering from his last regeneration wouldn't allow him to leave her uncomfortable.

"Clara, Clara, Clara." He whispered, not loud enough to wake her as he tentatively walked to her side, gazing down at her sleeping form. He slowly bent down, taking his time to work his arms under her body. He mentally counted to three then hauled her up into his arms, shifting her in his grasp so that she was gently leaning against him. Still, she never woke, but clutched weakly at his jacket in her unconscious haze.

He worked his way to her bedroom and was just as careful lowering her to the bed, gently settling her head down on the pillow and tucking the discarded duvet up to her shoulders. He brushed his fingers over her warm cheek, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the closeness before walking away.

"Quit making me human."