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Clad in a pair of pinstripe pyjamas, Rory lay on the bottom of the Ponds' bunk beds, propped up by numerous pillows. His wife sat, perched beside him, using one hand to dab a dampened facecloth over his sweaty brow, while the other hand held a glass of water from which he would take sporadic sips. The Doctor stood before them, his brow furrowed in a mark of deep contemplation, as he aimed the sonic screwdriver at Rory, scanning him for a moment, before going on to examine the readings.

"Well?" Amy demanded, worry making her tone sharp as Rory gave several hacking coughs.

"It seems he's contracted a virus, a space virus, from Ceres. Oh, Rory. Rory, Rory, Rory, didn't your mother ever tell you to never, ever, ever take fruit from strangers? Much less, eat it. Well, no, I suppose not, it's always been never take sweets, but, in this case-" catching himself, the Doctor ran a hand over his eyes in slight exasperation as he let out a deep sigh.

Rory was about to respond when another bout of coughing cut him off and Amy urged him to take some more water; weakened, he fell back slightly against the pillows and looked up at the Doctor, his blue eyes fretful, "I'll be all right, though, Doctor? I won't die, will I?"

The Doctor spared him a small smile, "Oh, no, of course not. This is only a mild infection. I mean, the odds of you dying are a billion to one and, even if you do, you'll probably just pop back up again anyway. Durable, that's what you are, Rory, durable," he gave a little chuckle and reached out a hand to tousle Rory's hair playfully, only to snatch his hand back when the bedridden nurse let out a series of violent sneezes.

"What you need, Rory," the Doctor continued, "is bed rest. And lots of it. Perhaps a cup of tea. And some Jammie Dodgers," his expression turned dreamy, but, at the mere mention of food, Rory's face turned a sickly green colour and Amy shot the Doctor a deadly glare, urging him to go before he made Rory throw up.

"I'll just..." the Doctor murmured, but neither Pond took much notice of him and he slipped off back to the console room, leaving the two of them alone.

"You should-" Rory began, but was cut off by a sneeze, "You should go, Amy. I don't want you catching... whatever this is. I'm a nurse, I can- I can handle it."

Amy's features adopted an authoritarian expression, "Don't be daft, you moron," she scoffed, "You may be a nurse, but you're still my husband. And you're sure as hell not going through this alone."

Rory opened his mouth to retort but a sharp glance from Amy stopped him before he could even begin and, after a moment of deliberation, he relented.

"Good," she smiled, kissing him on the cheek, "Nurse Amy is in."

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