You're late.

Clara typed in the words emphatically. It was taking a little too long for Danny's response and she stood glaring at her mobile until his return message popped up.

Still at home, sorry.

She lifted her head at the sound of impatient murmuring behind her, surprised to see the queue had already reached the counter. She stepped forward quickly.

"Vanilla latte, please," she said, hoping the barista could hear her over all the clattering, banging and swooshing. She didn't feel like raising her voice, not when her throbbing head was reminding her she'd had a little too much to drink the night before.

Her text notification sounded and Clara sighed, pressing her fingers into her temples before firing off a response.

So what's up? This was your idea.

She stopped herself from adding that she could be listening to rain pelting the windows from the comfort of her cozy bed right now instead of standing elbow-to-elbow in a noisy coffee shop watching people rush in with papers over their heads, collars clutched tight against the wind. She couldn't remember why she agreed to meet him here today; probably an alcohol-induced New Year's Eve resolution on her part to spend more quality time together.

Woke up with a cold.

Clara spotted a clerk heading for the counter, holding aloft a cup bearing her name. She plucked it from his hand before he could speak, offering what she hoped was a charming smile for her abruptness. She took a careful sip. The hot liquid seared her tongue a bit but she didn't care; she needed caffeine and sugar and she needed it now. She thumbed in a short return message.

Too bad. Want some company?

His reply came quickly.

I don't want you to catch this.

From somewhere amongst a chorus of coughing and sniffling, she heard a particularly harsh sneeze cut through the babble of voices. She shuddered a little. She didn't want to catch anything either. Time to scurry back home with her precious coffee.

Okay. Get some rest. And call me later. XX Clara

She turned to leave and then hesitated, casting a longing glance at the crowded tables and booths. She had a new novel tucked away in her bag and it would be pleasant to relax and finish her coffee while it was still hot instead of squelching back home in the rain. Maybe she would take her chances with the germ bombardment if she could find a place to sit down.

She edged past a tiny booth near the window and heard the same harsh sneeze as before.

"Bless you," she murmured, then froze when a familiar voice thanked her.

She whirled around, coming face to face with the Doctor. He sat slouched over the table, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee, dabbing at his nose with a paper napkin.

"Hiya," Clara said when she finally found her voice. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"And where should I be?" He somehow managed to convey a deep sense of lethargy in only five hoarse and blunted syllables.

"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "Here's as good a place as any, I suppose." Her head hurt too much to play word games with him. "I guess I didn't expect to see you so soon after Christmas."

He crumpled the napkin and shoved it into a pocket of his coat, pulling a fresh one from the dispenser. Clara frowned as she studied his face in profile. He seemed to be wearing all the clothes in his wardrobe today, jumper, hooded jacket, overcoat and still managed to look shivery and a little miserable.

"Can I sit down?" she asked.

He shrugged and she slid into the seat opposite from him.

"So," she said, taking a sip of her coffee, wishing he would at least make eye contact with her. "What are you doing here?"

"Manicure appointment," he said, his voice a weak rasp.

"Sorry, stupid question."

He nodded in agreement, taking a long swallow of his coffee, then grimaced and reached for the little caddy of sugar packets, pulling it toward him. Clara's teeth ached while she watched him methodically open and dump in five packets. He began to stir his coffee, stirring in a regular pattern, twice clockwise, one anticlockwise.

He looked rumpled this morning, hair tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed, lines on his face a little more pronounced, shadows under his eyes, tiny frown barely creasing his brow. Clara tried not to worry. Sometimes he fell into moods like this, pensive, thoughtful, not inclined to speak. She knew enough to leave him alone to work out whatever was troubling him. He'd talk to her when he was ready.

The silence between them stretched out, broken only by the clinking of the spoon and his sniffling.

"Feeling under the weather today?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment as he tried the coffee again, apparently finding it more to his liking this time.

I guess it's to be expected," Clara said, "Running around in the snow without your coat on Christmas."

"You don't catch cold from exposure to the weather," he said, making an irritated congested sound on the last word.

"No, you catch cold from being around a group of small, infectious children," Clara said. "Danny's ill, too."

"Then why aren't you with him?" he asked. "Bustling around being all solicitous and helpful and soothing his fevered brow."

Clara laughed. "Do I look like the bustling sort?"

He studied her for a moment, appearing to take the question seriously. "I think you could bustle, given the chance."

He was beginning to act a little brighter, some animation returning to his face as they spoke, but Clara knew it was a temporary boost from the large amount of sugar he'd just ingested. The subsequent crash would be spectacular.

"So, where's the TARDIS?" she asked, trying for nonchalance. "I didn't see it in the middle of my sitting room for once."

"Around," he said, waving his hand in the general direction of the street. "I don't remember."

"D'you think we should find it?"

"There's no hurry," he said, tucking himself into the corner of the booth and stretching his legs across the seat.

"Could come in handy," she said, folding her arms on the table. "If you're starting with a cold, you could just pop ahead a week to a point when you're healthy again and skip the whole suffering bit."

"Doesn't work that way, I'm afraid," he said, turning his head to look at her "You know about fixed points in time?"

Clara nodded, unsure where his line of reasoning was headed.

"Just like temporal fixed points, there are also physiological fixed points."

Clara turned the idea over in her mind as she finished the last of her latte. "Are you telling me every sniffle or stomach ache you get is some kind of...biological destiny?"

"Not exactly," he said.."But once a disease process is established, it has to run its normal course." His hands traced an illustrative pattern in the air as he continued. "If I go forward or backward and the illness disappears, I'm not cured. It's still waiting for me when I return to my normal timestream."

"So you have to hang around and get it over with," Clara said. "Hardly seems fair. You'd think being a Time Lord would carry some advantages."

"There's our superior Gallifreyan physiology," he said. "We very seldom fall ill."

He frowned then and Clara's expression mirrored his. She didn't put it into words but he seemed more prone to minor aches and pains and ailments now. She'd often catch him wincing and pressing a hand into his back after he'd exerted himself or leaning his full weight against the TARDIS console following a trip, exhaustion evident on his face.

"I guess the rules have changed." he said, eyes drifting shut.

Clara made a sympathetic noise. "I'm sorry. I know how much you hate being stuck in one place."

He didn't answer, his face slackening and head gently rolling to the side. After a few minutes, his breathing slowed and deepened. One arm twitched, then a leg, then he brought a hand up to rub at his nose. She smiled, thinking he looked very much like a puppy having a nightmare.

Clara shifted her attention to the window but the street was obscured by a layer of condensation on the glass. She traced one finger through it, drawing a smiley face and then wiping it away with the flat of her hand. She felt oddly content sitting here, listening to the subdued chatter of the other patrons, the warm heady atmosphere making her drowsy. She covered a yawn with one hand and then her eyes flew open in surprise when the Doctor gave a loud, rattling snore.

He startled awake, one elbow crashing into the table, jostling everything on the surface. He rubbed his arm, sitting up and looking around himself in confusion.

"You were sleeping," she said helpfully.

He coughed and cleared his throat. "I don't need sleep, Clara."

"Then what did you call that?" she asked. "The whole 'eyes closed and snoring' bit?"

"Meditative healing state," he said, straightening the caddies and dispensers on the table.

"Mm-hm. And do you always drool on yourself during a meditative healing state?"

He swiped at his chin, meeting her eyes briefly before feigning interest in something across the shop. "I may have dozed off," he said. "Briefly."

Clara reached across the table, placing a hand on his arm and holding it there until he looked at her. "The sooner you get some rest," she said, "The sooner you'll be back on your feet and saving the universe from peril. What do you say?"

"A few days off won't hurt, I suppose," he said. "And I never did get to read the book I'd been meaning to."

"Well, there you go," Clara said. "Come on, I'll walk with you."

Clara didn't relish the idea of traipsing all over in the rain, trying to find the TARDIS, but at least she came prepared for foul weather. She pulled a little foldable umbrella from her bag as they exited the shop, one that would probably collapse at the slightest wind but at least it gave the illusion of protection.

"You'll have to hold it for both of us," she said, handing it to him.

The Doctor accepted it from her, turning it in his hands, eyes widening when he found the release button and it snapped open in his face. They stepped out together, Clara pressed tightly to his side although the canopy was so far above her head it didn't do much to keep the rain off.

"Can't you use your sonic to find the TARDIS?" she asked after another fruitless search down a side street.

"I could," he said. "If I had it with me."

"Of course."

He stopped walking suddenly but Clara didn't realize until she found herself a few steps ahead getting pelted with a cold, driving rain.

She rushed back to the shelter of the umbrella. "You okay?" she asked. He turned from her, burying his face in the sleeve of his coat as a forceful sneeze nearly bent him double.

"Sorry," he said, shivering. "Can't seem to stop doing that today." He pulled the crumpled napkin from his coat pocket.

"Not with that," Clara said, rummaging in her bag. "You should see your poor nose." She passed him a packet of paper handkerchiefs and took the umbrella, going up on her tiptoes with her arm extended to make sure it didn't bump him.

"Must you watch?" he asked, fumbling a tissue from the pack.

"Just get on with it," she said. "Pretend I'm not here."

She glanced over her shoulder, studying a tiny shop window with an enticing display of books. She'd not seen the shop before, perhaps they could duck in out of the rain and and have a look around. When she turned back to mention it, her attention was drawn to an alleyway and a flash of blue spotted out of the corner of her eye. She tapped his arm, keeping her eyes on the box, lest she lose sight of it..

"What is it?" His patience and energy seemed to be dwindling the longer he was on his feet.

"I think you're home," Clara said.

A/N: Story idea suggested by a few readers of "Christmas in TARDIS Blue" who thought a NYD cold might result from running around in the snow with no coat on. I was more than happy to oblige because I'm always ready to write more fluffy Twelve sickfics.