Doctor Who: (Space)Man Flu
Title: (Space)Man Flu
Author: arliddian
Rating: G
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairing: Amy, Rory, the Doctor (Eleven)
Summary: There is only one thing worse than a man with the flu: a Time Lord man with the flu.
Word Count: 1358
Author's Note: Prompted by ladymercury_10: Amy and Rory take care of the Doctor when he gets hurt/sick. Just a bit of silliness for the beginning of the week. =)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Don't own it; don't sue me.
Amy had thought that it was bad whenever Rory got sick. It was always a case of the man flu - he would complain and whinge and basically lose the ability to take care of himself whatsoever, a situation that Amy found somewhat ironic, given his chosen career as a nurse.
But Rory was nothing compared to the Doctor.
He'd come down with some kind of weird alien virus that affected him much like the flu affected humans. For the first two days he'd insisted that he was fine and kept dashing about the TARDIS as usual, despite the fact that he couldn't take two steps without sneezing or coughing.
When he'd completely collapsed on the console floor, Rory had finally managed to convince him to slow down and, using his sternest 'nurse voice', had sent him off to bed.
Unfortunately, the Doctor was proving to be an extremely needy patient.
"Amy!" The Doctor's hoarse voice floated out to where Amy was sitting with a book, followed by the tinkling of the small bell Rory had given him to ring if he needed anything. "Amyyyyy!" It was the fifth time in two hours that he'd called her in.
She sighed, put her book down, and poked her head around his bedroom door. "You know, we gave you that bell yesterday so you didn't have to keep shouting," she pointed out.
The Doctor sniffled, wiping at his red nose with a tissue. He made to toss it into the bin that Rory had placed next to the bed, but lost interest partway through and let it fall to join all the other discarded tissues on the floor.
Amy sighed again as she entered the room, trying to rearrange her features into an expression of sympathy. It wasn't too difficult, actually. She was used to the Doctor bouncing around full of energy, not sprawling inert under a pile of blankets on his bed. The sight of him laid low like this was rather pitiful. "What is it, Doctor? What do you need?"
He pointed at the end of the bed as he set the bell back down.
"My feet are cold," he croaked rather pathetically.
Amy looked at them and raised an eyebrow. "That's because you've pulled all your blankets up around your chin."
He just continued to look at her, eyes imploring for help. With another heaving sigh, she stepped forward and rearranged his blankets, covering up his feet.
"Here we are," Rory's voice came from behind her, and a second later he came in carefully balancing a tray. "Some nice hot tea and soup. And another banana, just like you asked."
He swept the litter of tissues and banana peels on the bedside table into the bin and set down the tray. The Doctor mumbled a feeble thanks, and attempted to hoist himself up to a sitting position, but he slumped back down with a mournful whimper. Rory helped him to lean forward as Amy plumped up and rearranged the pillows, and he sank back against them with an air of relief, closing his eyes as if that small action had cost him half a day's worth of energy.
"Doctor, are you sure there isn't some sort of medicine, or alien... thing... that we can give you?" Rory asked anxiously. "What if this is something serious?"
"No, no. Another two days and I'll be fine." The Doctor tried to wave a hand dismissively, but all he accomplished was a sort of weak flap of the wrist.
Amy began to toss more discarded tissues and banana peels into the bin as the Doctor launched into a cough-interrupted explanation of the exact nature of the particular virus he'd managed to pick up, the way his Time Lord respiratory bypass dealt with toxins, and the importance of rest and the consumption of bananas and tea in repairing his body.
"Amy?"
The sound of her name prompted her to straighten up and face the Doctor again, and she had to stifle a mildly amused groan. He was holding the banana and looking at it with a perplexed air, like he couldn't figure out how to eat it. He held it out to her and gazed at her imploringly.
"Seriously?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips. "Look, Doctor, I get that you're sick, but even you can manage to peel a banana. It's not that hard."
He said nothing, once again just looking at her and sniffling and coughing, and she couldn't help feeling a little bit sorry for him.
"Oh, give it here," she sighed. Still, she couldn't resist adding, "You big baby," with an affectionate but none-too-gentle pat to his head.
"And cut it up as well," he added as she took the fruit from him. She gave him a sidelong glance, but set the banana on the tray to cut into bite-sized chunks.
Rory picked up the teacup and held it out to the Doctor. "Drink up," he said soothingly. "It'll do you good."
The Doctor stared at the cup as if it had grown horns. "But... no straw?"
"You need a straw to drink tea?" Rory turned and glanced at Amy, who rolled her eyes and shrugged.
"Not just any straw, Rory. My favourite straw. For extra fizz."
"Why do you need fizz -" Rory began, bemused, but he broke off with a shake of his head, deciding not to pursue the subject. Amy thought this was prudent. When it came to matters of food, it was generally best not to question the Doctor's bizarre tastes. Fish custard, for example. "Never mind. Where's this straw?"
"It's in the second inside pocket of my other jacket. I think it's in the wardrobe somewhere."
"Er... the wardrobe?"
Amy stifled a giggle at Rory's apprehension. The last time Rory had ventured into the wardrobe to find something, she'd had to go in and find him after he'd gotten himself lost for half an hour. She'd eventually found him wandering through a veritable forest of frock-coats, about twenty metres away from the scarves he was supposed to be collecting for the three of them. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to explore that labyrinth again.
A fit of coughing overtook their stricken Time Lord friend, and in between coughs he managed to choke out "please", blinking watery eyes.
Rory forced a smile. "Of course. Straw. Second inside pocket." He exchanged a glance with Amy that clearly said If I'm not back in twenty minutes, send for a search party, and left the room.
Amy wiped her hands on her skirt. "Okay, Doctor. Your banana's peeled and chopped, Rory's gone to get your straw, you've got tea and soup and a million boxes of tissues. Is there anything else you need?"
He shook his head, and burrowed down into the blankets. "I'll be fine," he said, unconvincingly as the word fine was masked by a sneeze. "I don't want to bother you two."
"Okay. Well, I'm going to make sure Rory doesn't get lost in the wardrobe. Ring the bell if you need anything, alright?" She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "Try to get some rest, and you'll feel much better."
The Doctor sank down so far in the blankets that only his hair, sticking up in every direction, was visible, but she saw it move in a manner that suggested a nod. Amy waited for a couple of minutes until she was sure he was beginning to drift off, and then she slipped out and shut the door carefully.
A headache was beginning to sneak up on her. She rubbed at her temples with her fingertips, closing her eyes and breathing deeply for a few seconds. After four days of chasing after the Doctor and/or waiting on him hand and foot, she was definitely ready for a break. Maybe he would sleep for more than two hours this time, and she'd be able to find Rory, finish her book and maybe have a nap herself.
She hadn't even gone more than twenty paces when she heard that tinkling bell again.
"Amy! My feet are cold again!"
Fin
Author: arliddian
Rating: G
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairing: Amy, Rory, the Doctor (Eleven)
Summary: There is only one thing worse than a man with the flu: a Time Lord man with the flu.
Word Count: 1358
Author's Note: Prompted by ladymercury_10: Amy and Rory take care of the Doctor when he gets hurt/sick. Just a bit of silliness for the beginning of the week. =)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Don't own it; don't sue me.
Amy had thought that it was bad whenever Rory got sick. It was always a case of the man flu - he would complain and whinge and basically lose the ability to take care of himself whatsoever, a situation that Amy found somewhat ironic, given his chosen career as a nurse.
But Rory was nothing compared to the Doctor.
He'd come down with some kind of weird alien virus that affected him much like the flu affected humans. For the first two days he'd insisted that he was fine and kept dashing about the TARDIS as usual, despite the fact that he couldn't take two steps without sneezing or coughing.
When he'd completely collapsed on the console floor, Rory had finally managed to convince him to slow down and, using his sternest 'nurse voice', had sent him off to bed.
Unfortunately, the Doctor was proving to be an extremely needy patient.
"Amy!" The Doctor's hoarse voice floated out to where Amy was sitting with a book, followed by the tinkling of the small bell Rory had given him to ring if he needed anything. "Amyyyyy!" It was the fifth time in two hours that he'd called her in.
She sighed, put her book down, and poked her head around his bedroom door. "You know, we gave you that bell yesterday so you didn't have to keep shouting," she pointed out.
The Doctor sniffled, wiping at his red nose with a tissue. He made to toss it into the bin that Rory had placed next to the bed, but lost interest partway through and let it fall to join all the other discarded tissues on the floor.
Amy sighed again as she entered the room, trying to rearrange her features into an expression of sympathy. It wasn't too difficult, actually. She was used to the Doctor bouncing around full of energy, not sprawling inert under a pile of blankets on his bed. The sight of him laid low like this was rather pitiful. "What is it, Doctor? What do you need?"
He pointed at the end of the bed as he set the bell back down.
"My feet are cold," he croaked rather pathetically.
Amy looked at them and raised an eyebrow. "That's because you've pulled all your blankets up around your chin."
He just continued to look at her, eyes imploring for help. With another heaving sigh, she stepped forward and rearranged his blankets, covering up his feet.
"Here we are," Rory's voice came from behind her, and a second later he came in carefully balancing a tray. "Some nice hot tea and soup. And another banana, just like you asked."
He swept the litter of tissues and banana peels on the bedside table into the bin and set down the tray. The Doctor mumbled a feeble thanks, and attempted to hoist himself up to a sitting position, but he slumped back down with a mournful whimper. Rory helped him to lean forward as Amy plumped up and rearranged the pillows, and he sank back against them with an air of relief, closing his eyes as if that small action had cost him half a day's worth of energy.
"Doctor, are you sure there isn't some sort of medicine, or alien... thing... that we can give you?" Rory asked anxiously. "What if this is something serious?"
"No, no. Another two days and I'll be fine." The Doctor tried to wave a hand dismissively, but all he accomplished was a sort of weak flap of the wrist.
Amy began to toss more discarded tissues and banana peels into the bin as the Doctor launched into a cough-interrupted explanation of the exact nature of the particular virus he'd managed to pick up, the way his Time Lord respiratory bypass dealt with toxins, and the importance of rest and the consumption of bananas and tea in repairing his body.
"Amy?"
The sound of her name prompted her to straighten up and face the Doctor again, and she had to stifle a mildly amused groan. He was holding the banana and looking at it with a perplexed air, like he couldn't figure out how to eat it. He held it out to her and gazed at her imploringly.
"Seriously?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips. "Look, Doctor, I get that you're sick, but even you can manage to peel a banana. It's not that hard."
He said nothing, once again just looking at her and sniffling and coughing, and she couldn't help feeling a little bit sorry for him.
"Oh, give it here," she sighed. Still, she couldn't resist adding, "You big baby," with an affectionate but none-too-gentle pat to his head.
"And cut it up as well," he added as she took the fruit from him. She gave him a sidelong glance, but set the banana on the tray to cut into bite-sized chunks.
Rory picked up the teacup and held it out to the Doctor. "Drink up," he said soothingly. "It'll do you good."
The Doctor stared at the cup as if it had grown horns. "But... no straw?"
"You need a straw to drink tea?" Rory turned and glanced at Amy, who rolled her eyes and shrugged.
"Not just any straw, Rory. My favourite straw. For extra fizz."
"Why do you need fizz -" Rory began, bemused, but he broke off with a shake of his head, deciding not to pursue the subject. Amy thought this was prudent. When it came to matters of food, it was generally best not to question the Doctor's bizarre tastes. Fish custard, for example. "Never mind. Where's this straw?"
"It's in the second inside pocket of my other jacket. I think it's in the wardrobe somewhere."
"Er... the wardrobe?"
Amy stifled a giggle at Rory's apprehension. The last time Rory had ventured into the wardrobe to find something, she'd had to go in and find him after he'd gotten himself lost for half an hour. She'd eventually found him wandering through a veritable forest of frock-coats, about twenty metres away from the scarves he was supposed to be collecting for the three of them. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to explore that labyrinth again.
A fit of coughing overtook their stricken Time Lord friend, and in between coughs he managed to choke out "please", blinking watery eyes.
Rory forced a smile. "Of course. Straw. Second inside pocket." He exchanged a glance with Amy that clearly said If I'm not back in twenty minutes, send for a search party, and left the room.
Amy wiped her hands on her skirt. "Okay, Doctor. Your banana's peeled and chopped, Rory's gone to get your straw, you've got tea and soup and a million boxes of tissues. Is there anything else you need?"
He shook his head, and burrowed down into the blankets. "I'll be fine," he said, unconvincingly as the word fine was masked by a sneeze. "I don't want to bother you two."
"Okay. Well, I'm going to make sure Rory doesn't get lost in the wardrobe. Ring the bell if you need anything, alright?" She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "Try to get some rest, and you'll feel much better."
The Doctor sank down so far in the blankets that only his hair, sticking up in every direction, was visible, but she saw it move in a manner that suggested a nod. Amy waited for a couple of minutes until she was sure he was beginning to drift off, and then she slipped out and shut the door carefully.
A headache was beginning to sneak up on her. She rubbed at her temples with her fingertips, closing her eyes and breathing deeply for a few seconds. After four days of chasing after the Doctor and/or waiting on him hand and foot, she was definitely ready for a break. Maybe he would sleep for more than two hours this time, and she'd be able to find Rory, finish her book and maybe have a nap herself.
She hadn't even gone more than twenty paces when she heard that tinkling bell again.
"Amy! My feet are cold again!"
Fin