"Nah, nothing exciting, just a quiet evening alone, me and a stack of student essays."

Clara Oswald keyed open the lock to her flat, mobile held between shoulder and ear.

"You too. See you in a few days."

She tossed her post and keys on the entry table and sighed as she ended the call. She looked around, not necessarily hoping to see the Doctor, but expecting it. She'd grown used to finding him in her flat, usually prowling around restlessly, keeping an eye on the neighborhood cat or devising new creative ways of brewing coffee, scattering half-empty cups everywhere and complaining loudly when she made him do the washing up. A little too domestic, perhaps, but still a part of her routine.

Clara shrugged off her jacket as she headed toward the sitting room, then froze when she spotted the familiar blue box, parked at an angle to the couch and blocking the window.

Sod the student essays, she thought. Unable to keep a wide grin from her face, she pushed open the TARDIS door.

"Hello?" she called. "Doctor?"

The interior was dim and quiet. Maybe he'd popped out somewhere. She'd have a word with him about using her place as a parking garage when he returned.

Clara trailed one hand against the console as she circled the room, feeling a faint thrill at the thrum of the TARDIS under her fingers. She sensed that if she needed to, if she really needed to, she could fly it.

"Doctor?" She tried raising him once again before resigning herself to another boring evening of takeaway and marking. "Where are you?"

"Up here."

She approached the bottom of the stairs, looking toward the upper level, packed with bookcases and a leather wingback chair. He sat huddled, as best he could with such an angular and lanky frame, hands loosely clasped in his lap, head bowed.

"Are you okay?"

Clara seemed to ask it of him frequently because she still didn't know what "okay" looked like on this new Doctor. His posture and brooding silence tonight seemed to fall into"not okay" territory. An unfamiliar sensation, a cold knot of worry, rose in her chest.

"So, what's up?" She ascended a few steps, resisting the urge to rush to his side. "Haven't seen you for a while."

"I'm trying to think, Clara, hush."

"Well, that's nice," she said. Grouchy and snappish put them back within the realm of okay. Grouchy was a good sign. "And who parked his TARDIS in my flat? It's taking up half the room, you'd better have a good reason."

"It was a very good reason," he said, voice as rough as a gravel road and weighted with a sense of sorrow. "I needed your help with something, but now…." He trailed off, one shoulder lifting in a tired shrug.

Her own voice softened, hesitant as she replied. "Why do you sound so sad? Has something happened?"

"it's nothing, Clara," he said. "Just my nose. "

She laughed, relief flooding through her.

"Did you say your nose?" She stepped closer to where he sat, squinting in the dim light. His profile looked the same, still sharp and imposing as a raptor's. "Looks okay to me."

"It's not the look of it, it's the function," he said. "I used to have a keen sense of smell, and now..." He tried to take a deep breath but made a horrible squelching noise instead. "It's faulty. Can't smell a thing. Can't even smell you."

"I'm going to ignore that."

"And it's spreading The fault is spreading. It's affecting my brain, my brain hurts." His long fingers massaged his forehead and he coughed, wincing slightly. "And now my throat..."

"Mmm," she agreed. "You do sound a little hoarse now that you mention it."

"Everything's failing, Clara. I can feel it. And it's too soon."

"Yeah, might be. Or maybe you're coming down with something. "

"Ridiculous," he scoffed. "I don't get ill, you've known me long enough, you should know that. Why don't you know that?"

"Just a hunch? I don't know a lot about your physiology, but all the signs are there. I'm a teacher, I see colds and flu all the time. And with an older body..."

She hesitated, not certain she wanted to pursue her line of reasoning to the end.

"Go on."

"Well, uh, with an older body, you're probably more prone to aches and pains and illnesses now."

He ignored her, fixing her with an accusing stare, shivering and tucking his arms in closely to his body. "Why is it so cold in here, Clara? You must have bumped something on the console on your way in."

"I didn't touch anything."

"Of course you did, I was watching." He attempted to rise from his chair and failed, falling back heavily with a groan. "You're all alike, you humans," he said. "Clumsy, can't keep your hands to yourself. Now I'll have to fix it whether I feel like it or not."

Clara stepped closer, resting the back of her hand against his forehead. She squeaked in surprise when he leapt backward at her touch, eyes wide and startled.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Checking for fever," she said, frowning slightly. His skin felt normal under her fingertips "But you don't feel warm."

"Well, I wouldn't, would I?" He twisted himself away from her. "My core body temperature is 16 degrees. Yours is 37. So even if I were warm, which is ridiculous because I just told you I'm cold, I wouldn't feel warm to you. No, there's something wrong with the environmental system in here and if you didn't feel the need to continuously poke at everything….".

"Or," she said, interrupting his irritable tirade, "you're chilly because you're coming down with something."

She turned to face the rotor, feeling ridiculous, with no idea where to direct her request.

"Would you mind warming it up in here, please?" she asked, raising her voice. "He's not feeling well."

A mechanical clicking and a soft whirr reached Clara's ears, the ends of her hair lifting slightly as a warm breeze began to circulate and rise towards them.

"Better?" she asked.

"I'm not sure why she didn't do that for me in the first place." He lifted his eyes to hers, a troubled expression crossing his face briefly. "She doesn't like me as much now, not like she used to. But it seems no one does."

The Doctor slumped in his chair, sniffling and looking as much like a forlorn little boy as a weary old alien could. Clara reached toward him without conscious thought. The need to comfort came as naturally to her as breathing and she rested her hand gently on his head. This time he didn't pull away.

"Don't think about it now," she said. "As much as you hate to admit it, I think you are ill and maybe feeling a little sorry for yourself."

"No, Clara, it's so much worse than that." His features contorted suddenly with pain and he clutched the arms of the chair, hands whitening with the strength of his grip. "Something's...wrong," he managed to gasp out.

Clara went to her knees at the foot of the chair, heart hammering in her chest. Had he caught some kind of weird alien disease that didn't look like much on the outside but was killing him? And he couldn't regenerate now, she was just starting to like this version of him.

"Doctor, what can I do?" she asked, feeling helpless as she watched.

With his sudden sharp intake of breath, realization dawned on her. She dodged out of his way as he folded forward with a tremendous sneeze, ending with his hands covering his face, head resting on his knees. She bit her lip to keep from laughing into the ringing silence that followed.

"Clara," he said after a moment, his voice muffled. "Break it to me gently. How do I look?"

"You didn't regenerate," she said patiently.

"I"m sure I did," he said. "It was almost exactly like this last time. I wonder what the new face is like." She watched as his hands began a careful exploration and then stilled suddenly. "Oh, no. I think I may have damaged this nose, it's leaking."

"You didn't regenerate, Doctor, you sneezed. And I'm guessing you need a handkerchief."

"I don't think I have one," he said without lifting his head. "I can't remember. And my hands are occupied at the moment. Could you...?"

"Seriously?"

Clara sighed and rose to her feet, tugging at the edge of his jacket to pull it free. She gingerly reached inside the front pocket, pulling out each object she found and studying it before setting it aside.

"Spoon," she said.

"Be careful with that."

"Unsonic screwdriver," she continued, wondering where the sonic version had disappeared to. Next came a small leatherbound notebook and a well-nibbled pencil. Her fingers finally closed on a neatly folded handkerchief.

"Here," she said, stuffing it into his waiting hand. "Blow your nose. And don't ask me how. Figure it out for yourself."

She waited until he finally sat back with a tired sigh.

"You are a doctor, you know," she said, frustration pitching her voice higher than she would have liked . "I've watched you before, doing hair analysis, taking blood samples. And you honestly couldn't tell you were ill? You didn't know you sneezed? "

"How was I supposed to know?" he said. "I don't have a lot of experience with it personally. Everything about this feels so new to me." He twisted the handkerchief in his hands, a preoccupied frown on his face. "It's all new," he said softly. "Everything except this body. This old body."

"Don't be so hard on yourself." Clara's voice caught as she looked down at him, a sudden memory rising in her mind, her time in the town of Christmas, a similar chair, an aging Doctor.

The same person, she reminded herself.

She knew he wasn't young - on a human scale he was nearly timeless - but easy enough to delude herself when he wore a youthful face and carried himself with such energy. It was all new to her, too. Clara feigned nonchalance, looking away until she could compose herself.

When was the last time you ate anything?" she asked when she felt certain she could speak without her voice wobbling.

"This morning? Whenever that was," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Yesterday. I don't know. Why does it matter?"

"There's an old Earth saying, 'starve a cold, feed a fever,'" she said. "Or maybe it's the other way around. Regardless, if you're feeling poorly, you need a decent meal and a rest."

"I didn't come here for a meal and a rest, Clara, I came here because I needed your help. I just wish I could remember why."

"Well, it can wait. Whatever it is, dying world, imploding universe, ancient race on the verge of extinction, I don't care. It can wait."

"No, it can't. And if you won't help, I'll just have to leave without you." It seemed an empty threat to her. His voice was nothing more than a ruined croak at this point, eyes red-rimmed and beginning to droop with exhaustion.

"You're in no shape to go anywhere right now."

In an instant, the Doctor's icy demeanor returned, his back straightening as he rose from the chair. He brushed past her without a word.

"Oi, that wasn't a challenge!" she called after him, but he ignored her, stomping down the stairs toward the console.

She watched as he worked the controls instinctively and smoothly, but despite his sure touch. the TARDIS remained still and silent. He finally stopped, closing his eyes as he braced his hands against the console, wavering slightly where he stood.

"She's not cooperating." he said. He whirled quickly, staggering as another sneeze caught him off guard. "Maybe you can talk some sense into her."

"I'm not taking the TARDIS anywhere," Clara said, coming to stand by his side. "And neither are you."

She laced her fingers with his, the only contact he would occasionally allow without leaping away like a startled bunny. He stared down at their intertwined hands for a moment before he spoke.

"You know, I still think you're wrong," he said. "But giving you the benefit of the doubt, if I do have a cold or flu or the Abraxian Pox, it's probably not a good idea to get too close to me."

"Yeah, don't care," she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Missed you a little bit."

He glanced quickly at her, lips quirking in a brief smile. "I could do with a quick cat nap, I think."

"You could," she agreed. "How about you come inside and I'll fix you something to eat first. Maybe some soup?"

Clara winced as soon as the words left her mouth and she didn't miss his sidelong look. Right. She wasn't the only one suddenly thinking of the Bank of Karabraxos.

"Not soup, then," she said quickly. "A curry. That'll clear your head."

She pulled him forward and he followed obediently, only hesitating at the threshold of the TARDIS.

"Won't your boyfriend object?" he said, his distaste obvious in both his voice and expression.

"Don't care about that right now, either," she said, giving the Doctor a gentle push into the room and closing the door behind them.