Yay for original titles. *rolls eyes*

Welp, I did it. Of course. I couldn't help myself, obviously. I have a weakness for sick!fics, and I just needed to do it with my favorite pairing. *sighs*

Enjoy!

"Of a Sick Doctor and a Caring Companion"

Clara Oswald knew there was something wrong even before she stepped into the TARDIS. For one, the doors swung open easily, which was something that the TARDIS never did unless it was either feeling rather nice, or if there was something that it (or she...) wanted Clara to see. And so, when Clara walked into the TARDIS, she was bracing herself for the worst – maybe the Doctor accidentally set the interior on fire (though Clara figured that the Doctor loved the TARDIS too much to be so reckless...) or there was an intruder inside or something else along those lines.

Instead, when Clara walked in, the Doctor wasn't standing in front of the console as he had always been doing for the past few weeks. She frowned, wondering where he could be and then heard the scrape of something brushing itself against the floor.

Taking a deep breath, Clara waited by the doors, wondering what the source of the noise could be. When the scraping sounds didn't come again, Clara started to walk around the console and bumped almost immediately into the Doctor's sleeping form on the ground.

She cried out in surprise and quickly crouched down to look at the Doctor. Clara tilted her head, wondering what on earth had happened to him – his entire face was pale except for perhaps his cheeks, which were an odd, pink color. Strands of dark, brown hair stuck to the Doctor's forehead with sweat and shallow puffs of breath escaped out of his lips, though in Clara's opinion, it was a bit too quiet and rapid for her liking. Baggy, dark half-circles were underneath the Doctor's eyes, giving him a slightly ghastly look.

The Doctor was shivering, too, which struck Clara odd – she had always thought that the Doctor was never cold, seeing that he wore layers of warm-looking clothing. But then, as Clara gently started to prop the Doctor up into a sitting position, it occurred to her that maybe the Doctor was sick with something.

"But he never gets sick." Clara said out loud, looking up at the TARDIS console. There was a small, sighing sound from the TARDIS, which Clara took as an agreement. She bit down on her lower lip and pushed up her hand to the Doctor's forehead, which, just as Clara suspected, was uncomfortably warm.

She stared at the Doctor, her mind running over what she should do – of course, Clara would help him. But where? She wasn't planning on taking care of him in the console room, that was for sure. It can't be very comfortable for the Doctor in his state, even if he loved the TARDIS.

And Clara wasn't ready to explore through the TARDIS' many corridors again, thank you very much. No, it would be safer for Clara to simply bring the Doctor to the Maitland's house. She could take care of him in his bedroom – Mr. Maitland wouldn't return until perhaps two days from now, since he was on a business trip, and Angie and Artie were out with some friends at the cinema. The house would be quiet and peaceful.

That sounded like a good plan. But for now, Clara needed to wake the Doctor – just for a few minutes for him to walk to the house. Though Clara constantly told others that she wasn't a weakling, she didn't like the idea of dragging the Doctor on the ground. Again, it wouldn't be too comfortable.

"Doctor, wake up." Clara whispered, gently nudging his back. When he didn't stir or make any signs of awaking, Clara gave him a harder nudge. She shook him slightly by the shoulders until finally, his eyes started to flicker open. "Clara?" He murmured in an unusually sluggish tone. "Is that…you?"

"Who else would it be?" Clara asked lightly. She started to pull him up by the arms. "Come on – I'm taking you out of the TARDIS. I only need you to stay awake for a few minutes, alright? Can you do that for me?"

"Easy…peas-y…" The Doctor replied, though his eyes were beginning to close as he stood up. Clara wrapped an arm around the Doctor's middle. "Lean on me," she instructed, and the Doctor did so without protest, though Clara suspected that it was only because he was too tired to come up with an argument.

For the next few minutes, Clara managed to lead the Doctor out of the TARDIS doors, into the Maitland's house, and up the stairs. It wasn't until the two were outside Clara's bedroom door did the Doctor slowly start to slip. She held tighter onto the Doctor and swung open the door.

"Here we go," she said, only slightly breathless from half-carrying, half-supporting him. Clara gently sat the Doctor down in her bed and started to take off his coat. At first, the Doctor immediately tensed, but then Clara said quietly, "You'll need to take off any additional articles of clothing – you're too hot."

The Doctor didn't say anything. He bowed his head; his eyes closed and allowed Clara to undress him. She gently undid his bowtie and a few buttons of his shirt, giving him so more air to breathe. It wasn't until Clara started to pull down the Doctor's trousers did he start to wriggle out of her grip and frankly, Clara couldn't blame him. It must have been rather embarrassing for him.

"Don't worry, it's just to help you with your fever." She said, sitting down next to him. "I'm not going to take off any other clothes after that – I mean, you do have underwear on, don't you?"

The Doctor blinked, raising an eyebrow. It might have been Clara's imagination, but the flush in the Doctor's cheeks looked as though it had darkened a bit. Then again, Clara, too, felt a bit uncomfortable with that question. "I'll take that as a yes," she said simply, and apparently, that was the correct answer, for the Doctor didn't bother struggling after that.

Thankfully, the Doctor was wearing underwear, (phew – Clara wasn't sure how she'd react if he wasn't wearing any…) and right after the process was finished, Clara pulled back the bed's covers and helped the Doctor lie down. He almost immediately fell back asleep, which only told Clara how ill he must truly be if he hadn't said a single thing for the past few minutes.

Biting down on her lip, Clara started to fold the Doctor's clothes together. She placed it over a chair and turned back to the Doctor, who remained as still as ever. She crouched down next to him and placed a hand over his forehead again. Unsurprisingly, he felt just as warm as ever.

The Doctor shivered under Clara's cool palm, causing a few beads of sweat to travel down his face. Clara sighed and wiped them all away, though she was careful not to wake the Doctor. She would need to bring his fever down, though Clara wasn't quite sure how to – the Doctor wasn't human, after all. Would she have to do different things to take care of him?

"He has a fever," Clara said aloud. "Just do what you can – bring it down. You'll have to get to the other things later."

With that, Clara slipped out of her bedroom and ran down the stairs in search for a bowl and a towel. She managed to find a bowl from the kitchen and quickly slipped it underneath the faucet of the sink. Flicking the cold water switch on, Clara turned to look for a towel. A few minutes later, Clara pulled out a small, clean towel from the linen closet.

Clara returned to the sink and, after flicking the switch off, she dunked the towel into the now-full bowl of water and picked it up. She made her way up to the stairs, careful not to spill any water. Clara pushed open her bedroom door with her foot and placed the bowl on her nightstand.

Plopping herself down in a chair, Clara picked up the towel and wrung out any access water. Then, she placed the towel on the Doctor's forehead, though she kept her hand over the towel. She wiped away any more sweat and pushed away the Doctor's hair. The Doctor shivered, pulling the blankets closer to himself. The Doctor's eyes squeezed tighter and his entire body stiffened.

Clara paused, wondering if she had done something wrong, but then the Doctor relaxed back under the covers. The young woman sighed and shifted the towel over the Doctor's brow. She placed a hand over the Doctor's hand underneath the blankets. If the Doctor was surprised by this action, he didn't show it. Instead, to Clara's pleasant surprise, the Doctor gave Clara's hand a small, weak squeeze.

A small smile spread across Clara's lips and she squeezed it back. She brushed away a few hair strands with her other hand and stared fondly at the Doctor. She supposed it was nice to take care of the Doctor once in a while.

xXx

"Clara," Clara heard the Doctor whisper hoarsely. A small, tired moan escaped her lips as she slowly lifted her head from the surface of her bed. She had somehow fallen asleep – and now, the Doctor was looking up at her with tired but wide eyes.

"Why am I here?" The Doctor asked, bewildered. He slowly sat up, the towel falling from his forehead and onto his lap. He looked down at it, puzzled, but before he could ask anything about it, a loud, abrupt coughing fit took over his body. Clara's eyes widened and she was immediately at his side, rubbing his back in smooth, comforting circles. She murmured some words of encouragement as the Doctor's shoulders continued to quake, his face steadily turning redder and ruddier in color.

At last, to Clara's relief, the Doctor stopped coughing and he leaned ack against the bed frame, breathing heavily in exhaustion. Clara picked up the towel and dunked it back into the bowl of water. After a few moments, she pulled it back out and started to wipe at the Doctor's face.

"You're sick, Doctor." Clara said quietly once she pulled the towel away. "I found you in the TARDIS and led you here. Don't you remember?"

The Doctor frowned and narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Maybe a bit," he said slowly and turned to Clara, wide-eyed. "Oi!" He cried out, pushing Clara off the bed. "What're you doing here? I'm probably contagious! You'll get sick and then –" The rest of the sentence was drowned out by another painful-sounding coughing fit.

Clara sighed and rubbed the Doctor's back. "I won't catch it," she replied gently as the Doctor's coughs slowly began to subside. "I've got a strong immune system." She placed a hand over the Doctor's forehead and frowned. "Your fever is still high – you should get some more sleep."

She started to bring the covers over the Doctor, though he began to mutter, "The day's going to be wasted away – all because of this flu."

"So that's what it is," Clara mused, reaching for the towel again. "What were you doing to catch it?"

"I wasn't doing anything!" The Doctor said with a harrumph. Clara rolled her eyes. "If you say so." She replied and placed the towel over the Doctor's forehead. The Doctor sighed and closed his eyes. He looked absolutely miserable, being caught like this. A sympathetic smile appeared on Clara's face. She supposed the Doctor didn't like revealing that he wasn't all-powerful.

It hadn't even passed a few minutes after the Doctor finally settled down to sleep when Clara's bedroom door swung open to reveal none other than Angie and Artie.

"Clara, we're back – is that your alien boyfriend in bed?" Angie asked immediately, her eyes traveling down to the Doctor. Clara brought a finger to her lips and made shooing motions with her other hand. "He's sick and he needs to sleep," she whispered. "Do the rest of your homework, you two – don't give me that face, Angie – I know you have an exam in two days."

Groaning, Angie stormed out of the room. Artie simply said, "I hope your friend gets better."

Clara smiled. "Thank you, Artie – he will." Artie returned Clara's gesture with an equally sweet smile and turned around, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Clara let out a small breath and turned back to the Doctor, who was stirring in his sleep. "Clara…?" He murmured, his eyes still closed.

"I'm still here, Doctor." Clara replied, placing a hand on the Doctor's arm. "I'm not going anywhere."

The Doctor made a soft, sighing sound and within minutes, he drifted back into sleep. Clara didn't bother taking her hand off the Doctor's arm for a while.

However, when she did, it was to check his fever, which, to Clara's annoyance, wasn't going down. He continued to tremble and cough quite a bit, sometimes going on to cough so hard that Clara was worried that he might throw up all over the bed. However, he never did.

"It might be too warm in here," Clara murmured and stood up. She made her way to the window and quickly brought it up, letting in a gust of cool air. She turned to the Doctor, who simply shook harder than ever. However, as painful as it was to see him this way, Clara didn't bother closing the window. His fever needed to break.

Clara made her way back to the Doctor's bedside and waited patiently.

xXx

Night was beginning to fall when the Doctor started to thrash in bed. A loud, anguished cry ripped out of his mouth and his chest rapidly rose and fell in quick, excited pants. The Doctor kicked his legs frantically and wildly, all the while groaning and moaning in the most pained ways imaginable.

"Doctor!" Clara cried, grabbing the Doctor's arms. "Wake up! It's just a dream! It's not real! Wake up, Doctor! Please!"

It took a few more shouts from Clara to finally bring the Doctor around. He gasped, sitting up and gulping for air like a dying fish. He shook and quaked, gripping Clara's arm as if it was the last living thing in the universe. Clara stared with wide eyes as the Doctor rocked himself back and forth, sobs escaping his mouth every few moments.

Clara sighed and wrapped her arms around the Doctor. "It's alright, Doctor," she said soothingly. "Everything is fine now. It was all just a bad dream – see?"

The Doctor nodded weakly, already beginning to sink back into the bed. However, he didn't close his eyes. A few feeble coughs came out of the Doctor, and he looked paler than a sheet of paper. Clara gently smoothed out the Doctor's hair. "Go on," she murmured softly. "You'll get better soon and it'll be all over."

The Doctor sighed quietly, though he didn't let go of Clara. She watched silently as his eyes slowly closed. Clara wasn't quite sure how long she waited, though once she was sure that the Doctor had drifted back to sleep, she, too, closed her eyes and brought her head down on the bed.

xXx

The Doctor was awake before Clara was. In fact, Clara figured that he was waiting for her to wake when she lifted her head from her arms.

She turned to look at the Doctor and smiled. "How are you feeling?" She asked quietly, extending a hand to feel the Doctor's forehead. "Better," the Doctor replied, though he sounded unusually tired and worn-out. Then again, Clara figured that was only normal for him after taking the worst of the flu and all.

Clara felt along the Doctor's brow. "Still a bit warmer than I would like, but I suppose it's better than last night." She murmured, taking her hand off of the Doctor's forehead. There was an odd, awkward pause between the two – both were remembering the events that occurred last night, though the Doctor's memory was a bit hazy, at the most.

Clara cleared her throat and she stood up. "Are you hungry?" She asked.

The Doctor shook his head and replied, "I don't think I'm in the mood to eat anything."

Clara lifted an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" She asked. "Most people would feel hungry after having almost nothing –"

She cut off the rest of her sentence with a surprised shriek as the Doctor leaned over the bed to vomit. Without properly thinking, Clara grabbed the small bowl of water from the nightstand (which would have to do,) and stuck it under the Doctor's mouth. She grimaced as the Doctor coughed up every last bit of bile and vomit from his mouth. Clara placed a hand over the Doctor's back, rubbing it and encouraging him to get the worst of it out.

When he was finished, the Doctor's brow furrowed in unhappiness . "That was…uncalled for." He mumbled, his arms dangling limply from the bed as Clara gingerly placed the bowl back on the nightstand. "It's alright," she chose to say. "I'll be back in a minute – you can survive on your own for that long, right?"

"Of course I can…" The Doctor mumbled indignantly, only a bit of his former self returning to give the retort. Clara smiled and picked up the bowl. She slipped out of the room and ran down the stairs, holding the bowl out in front of her.

Angie and Artie were already eating cereal on the kitchen table. They both watched Clara with quizzical looks as she rushed to the bathroom to dump the vomit out. When she returned to the kitchen, Angie said, "Artie and I thought we heard someone puking upstairs. It was your boyfriend, right?"

"Is it really that bad?" Artie asked, his eyes wide with concern.

Clara stuck the bowl under the faucet and started to clean it out. "A bit, yes," Clara said, choosing to ignore Angie's question. "He's not as bad as yesterday, but I suspect he'll need just a bit more rest to get back on his feet." She turned to the two children with an expectant stare. "So, I want you two to keep quiet and be good, alright?"

"Fine, fine." Angie said grumpily, shoving another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "But for the record, I'm never doing anything wrong."

"Uh-huh," Clara replied loftily, picking out two bowls. Once one of them was filled up with water, she started up the stairs. She managed to get into her bedroom and placed the two bowls on the nightstand. The Doctor was still awake. He still held the same, tired look in his eyes, though besides that, the Doctor actually looked rather bored.

"I don't like being sick." The Doctor declared at one point as Clara wiped at his face with a cool towel. "I hate it. All I do is just sit here and sleep and…I can't do this. Don't make me. Agh."

Clara rolled her eyes as the Doctor flopped himself down with a dramatic groan. "You're hardly unique that way," she replied loftily. "I doubt anyone likes being sick. Besides, this is the first time for you in…how long?"

"Over four hundred years…perhaps longer." The Doctor mumbled into the pillow. Clara sighed, pulling the Doctor back on his back. "Well, only a few more hours of rest should bring your temperature back to normal." She said matter-of-factly. "Then you can go back to running around and…exploring and doing all sorts of things."

"Crossing my fingers." The Doctor sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

A few hours later, Clara found herself battling with the stubborn, annoyed Doctor, who had grown desperate in getting out of the house.

"I'm fine! See?" The Doctor asked enthusiastically, sitting up. Clara lifted an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. "Really?" She asked, unimpressed. "Are you fine enough for me to check your forehead?"

"Yes – no – why should you?" The Doctor asked, pouting. "Just look at me – I'm in perfect health and –" The rest of his sentence was cut off by a few coughs. It wasn't quite as strong as the past coughing fits, but it was still enough for Clara to worry. After a few moments, the Doctor straightened himself, pink in the face.

"You were saying?" Clara asked lightly.

"Oh, shut up." The Doctor muttered, shaking his head.

xXx

After a few hours, the Doctor was indeed back on his feet. He bounded around Clara's bedroom with a wide, bright smile on his face. He tugged Clara's arm excitedly, saying, "Come on, Clara, we've got so much to see and do today! I figured that we should –"

He was interrupted by a low moan and a shove on the arm from the young woman. The Doctor frowned and looked down at Clara, who was curled up in her bed with her eyes closed.

"Not today, Doctor." She muttered hoarsely. "I don't think I can."

The Doctor paused and then, after fixing his bowtie, said, "I told you –"

Clara cut off the rest of the Doctor's sentence with another moan. The Doctor blinked and then, once a few seconds passed by, smiled. He clapped his hands together and said, "Well, then, Clara – it looks like I'll have no choice but to take care of you."

There was some shifting in Clara's bed as she looked up at the Doctor. "You don't have to do that." She mumbled sleepily. The Doctor smiled and planted a quick, yet caring kiss on her forehead. "Oh, well, you see, I do." He said pointedly. "You did for me, after all, Clara Oswald."

He stood back up, straightening his bowtie. "And besides, I'm the Doctor." He said proudly. "How hard can it really be?"

A/N - Maybe I should release a sequel to this...? Hm, I'll think about it, depending on how popular this story gets.

Please review! I want to know how I did on my first sick!ficlet in the Doctor Who fandom. Constructive criticism is always allowed, but flames are not.