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A round of coughs shook your body. This was not how you imagined your next trip on the TARDIS would go. You should be out having an adventure, not suffocating underneath a mass of blankets with some sort of alien flu.
You heard knuckles rap against the door right before it was pushed open.
“Are you alright in here?” The Doctor peeked around the door, her blonde locks falling forward as she looked into the room.
You struggled to shimmy yourself upright—in an effort to pretend to look presentable—ultimately giving up and huffing under the mass of blankets, piled high and pinning you to the cushion.
“I’ve been better.” Your scratchy voice was followed by a bought of fitful coughs.
The Time Lord gently closed the door behind her, walking up to the side of your bed. “Is there anything I can get for you? If I had remembered that you would have gotten sick—well, humans—from the pollen of the duxweed, I would have brought you a different time of year.” The Doctor’s hand pushed your hair away from your face, palm resting on your forehead. Your eyes slid closed as her cool hand pressed to your flushed face, nearly sighing in temporary relief.
“You’re burning up.” You nearly jolted (if you could have moved from beneath all of the covers piled on top of you, you would have), the Doctor’s soft voice much closer than you remember her being. Your eyes sprang open, your face becoming a further unflattering scarlet once you realized she was hovering right above you.
Your eyes dart across the Doctor’s face as she frowned. “I just want to check that you aren’t getting worse. Can you sit up for me?”
You let out something between a groan and an unintelligible string of words—most likely a curse. You managed to shove the duvet down a meager few inches before the Doctor helped lift it so that you could prop yourself up. Once you managed to support yourself on your elbows you let loose a long suffering sigh, the effort to sit up seeming too much for your sore muscles.
“Let me help.” A firm hand pressed against your back, lightly pushing you forward. You shivered at the contact.
“Are you cold?” The alien pulled out a stick from her pocket—it was glowing pink and a questionable shade of green. The Doctor must have noticed you eyeing the rod in her hand because she waved it slightly while saying: “Thermometer. Open up.”
You gave the stick an incredulous look as you opened your mouth, too weak to question her. The Doctor placed the glowing instrument in your mouth, telling you to close your mouth once it was in place. A small whoosh from the device alerted the Time Lord and she turned from the drawer next to your bed, pulling out a black stethoscope. She took the glowing stick and examined it, a grimace tugging at her lips.
“I’m going to have to check that none of your symptoms are worsening,” the Doctor placed a knee on the side of the bed, “hold still and relax.”
You would have made some sort of joke about the Doctor and a check-up if it weren't for the fact that she was so close. The Doctor’s scent filled your nostrils as she knelt closer, her hands brushing along your arms. Her hands danced down your body, pressing at seemingly random intervals, feeling for some sort of sign of your ailment. Her soft hands traced upwards from your arms, and when she lightly pressed above your breast you were confident that some of the overwhelming heat was no longer purely due to the fever pounding your brain.
The Doctor frowned slightly. “Your heart rate has picked up.” The blonde placed the eartips of her stethoscope in her ears, eyebrows scrunched in concern. “This’ll feel a bit cold.” Before you can question what the Doctor is talking about, the Time Lord’s hand and stethoscope are traveling up your shirt.
You let out a squeak of surprise, face flushing impossibly more red. You were acutely aware of how her left hand was splayed across your back as her right pressed the cold diaphragm to your chest. Your breath became short.
“I can’t tell, some of your symptoms are getting better, but your heart rate still hasn’t slowed down.” The Doctor moved the stethoscope across your chest, placing it firmly on the other side. “Your lungs don’t sound as irritated anymore.”
You couldn’t even utter a quip back about how the rest of you was dying instead due to the close proximity of the Time Lord. Could people spontaneously combust?
Remember to breath.
You inhaled suddenly, realizing you had begun to hold your breath. You nearly regretted it. The Doctor smelled like jasmine.
A cough from the entrance of your room had your head snapping up to see Yasmin with a mask covering her mouth, leaning casually against the frame of your open door. Now you were positive that a good amount of heat in your face was not due to the fever. Before you could sputter out a half baked excuse, Yaz wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and shut the door. You could practically see the wide grin reflected in her eyes.
The Doctor glanced over her shoulder as the police officer pulled the door closed. “She was lucky, Yaz. She was already congested and didn’t breath as much in as everybody else.” The stethoscope glided downwards a few more inches, making you wish you were wearing another layer beneath your thin nightshirt. “She must be doing a lot better than this morning if she’s up and about.”
Internally, you cursed Yasmin for both her prior cold and her nosiness. Best friend or not, telling Yaz about the crush you harbored on the beautiful, amazing woman in front of you was a mistake. You made a mental note to yourself to find Yaz later, not yet decided on either hitting her upside the head with a book or suffocating her with her pillow.
“You’re holding your breath.”
You inhale again. “‘M sorry.”
The Doctor removed the stethoscope from your chest, her hand traveling behind your back, pressing it below your shoulder blades. Her weight shifted as she leaned closer, the tubing not long enough to reach all the way around your back. You could feel the Time Lord’s breath hitting your neck.
Have mercy.
“What?”
Your eyes widened in alarm, the flu was making the filter between your brain and mouth more lax. “Nothing.”
The Doctor told you to breath in deeply a few times to hear your lungs—all three times were a terrible strain on your sanity—before humming in satisfaction.
“Well it looks like you are fast on track to recovery. Lungs are still irritated, but you should only be in bed-arrest for a few more days,” the Doctor joked.
You nearly groaned and flopped your head forward in response. You didn’t trust your mouth to say anything with her smell still short-circuiting your brain.
You let out a sigh once the Doctor has stood up again, back turned as she rummages around a drawer. You wondered how much longer you would be sick. By no means were you complaining about the extra pampering from the Time Lord, but you weren’t sure how much more you could handle. It was already hard enough to monitor what you said—make sure you didn’t slip up— but the pounding of your brain made your lips loose and feelings you had been repressing surface, and they were crashing upon you like a tidal wave.
As you rubbed at your arms you looked down—you had been wearing the same thing for two days. That was also the last time you had gotten washed. You smacked your mouth in distaste.
“Something the matter?”
The Doctor glanced back at you, eyebrows scrunched, worry etched into her face in deft strokes.
“Just feeling sticky, that’s all. Haven’t changed since I got stuck laid up here”
“Do you want me to help you change?”
If you had anything in your mouth, it most assuredly would have been spat out. You coughed a few times in surprise.
“ What? ”
“I’ll help you change if you’re uncomfortable in your clothes. It won’t help your health at all if you’re feeling gross.”
Your face flushed a darker shade again. You felt you could just boil away and melt into the mattress.
“I’m fine! Really, it was just a passing thought!” If you had the energy, your arms would have been flailing wildly in protest.
The Doctor frowned. “It’s not fine. I can’t have you getting more sick.”
You sputter and continue to deny her fervently. How would you be expected to cope with that?
The Doctor ignored your protest and began digging through the drawers on the other side of the room, putting out a fresh set of night clothes.
“Doc, really, I’m good.”
“No excuses, come on. Though with your fever, would you prefer if I helped you to the tub? You are heated up quite a bit. A cold wash would do you a world of good.”
You buried your face in your hands. This woman would be the death of you. “Fine! I’ll get changed, but you have to look away!”
“I can’t exactly help a whole lot if I can’t see what I’m doing.”
“I-I can do it myself.”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “You could barely lift yourself out of your bed. I’m helping and that’s final.”
Could your face permanently become scarlet? You whimpered internally in resignation. “Then I’ll turn away. You have to be behind my back. And only the shirt. My pants are fine.”
The Doctor nodded before stepping towards you, clean nightshirt in hand. She set the clothing down on the bed.
You inhaled deeply—already regretting your life decisions—and began the painstaking process of trying to turn around in your bed. Once you managed to turn around you hesitated, unsure of how to approach what was (unfortunately) about to happen.
“Could you lift your arms up a bit? I’m going to pull your shirt up.”
If dying from embarrassment was possible, you were sure it was only a matter of seconds before you keeled over. You lifted your arms as the Doctor’s hands gripped the front hem of your shirt. You held your breath as she slowly pulled the top above your head. As soon as the nightshirt was no longer on your body your arms flew around your chest. This by far the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened in your life. Nothing could beat this. Not the first time your parents caught you kissing another girl. Not the time you were drunk and made a fool of yourself. Not even the time you woke up in your best friend’s bed after being completely smashed. Absolutely nothing.
“Okay, time to get your clean shirt on. You’ll need to put your arms up again.”
You were frozen in mortification— how could you be expected to do this?
The Doctor took some pity on your frazzled state. “If it really makes you feel better I can close my eyes for this bit.”
You nodded your head quickly, not trusting what sounds would leave your mouth if you tried to speak. You wondered if ‘lobster boiled in chili sauce’ was an actual color. Because if it was, that was the exact shade of red (you theorized) your face displayed. “You have to promise not to open them at all. No peeking whatsoever!”
“I promise, cross both my hearts.”
You chanced a glance over your shoulder to see each of the Doctor’s index fingers making an ‘X’ motion over both halves of her chest. You would have laughed at the motion if the situation was not so absurd.
The Doctor closed her eyes and held the shirt above your head, directing her movement as you wiggled into the nightshirt. As soon as you yanked the shirt down, making sure you were covered, you told the Doctor that she could open her eyes.
“Now that that’s done, let’s get you tucked back in.” The Doctor helped you lean back onto your plush pillow, pulling up the covers as she did.
Once the blonde had you all tucked in, she stood up, fiddling with her sonic. “Well, I think that’s all I can do for you at the moment. I could fetch a cup of tea. Would you like some tea? I’ve got all sorts. You’d be surprised at how many different planets and galaxies have tea. Great drink, tea is. Definitely one of Earth’s biggest exports. Makes most of the planet’s profits later on.”
You squint at the Doctor but a small smile (damn your loose face muscles) quickly settles across your lips. The Doctor’s ramblings were always one of your favorite aspects about her.
“Believe Asian culture made it pretty far into the universe because of it. Did you know there’s an entire system of planets named after some of the provinces that grow tea?” The Doctor looked back at you, eyes shining brightly, like a child who had just learned some juicy fact that they couldn’t wait to share. “Ah, sorry about that. I should probably let you get some rest.” The Time Lord rubbed the back of her neck, turning to leave. She shoved the stethoscope away into her pocket as she was about to step away.
“Wait!”
The Doctor’s head whipped around, eyes glued to your hand gripping the sleeve of her coat.
“Could you stay just a bit longer?”
The blonde hesitated a moment, some sort of internal debate running through her mind. The woman bit her lip, nodding in agreement. “I’ll stay.” The Doctor lowered herself on the edge of your bed, sleeve still clutched in your hand. “I’m not going anywhere.” Hesitant fingers combed through your hair.
You let your eyelids droop, tiredness washing over you. You let out a breath, willing the thoughts in your mind to disperse. When you woke up you resolved to play stupid about the whole ordeal.
The Doctor continued to run her fingers through your hair until your breath took on a soft, steady rhythm. The Doctor carefully wiggled out of your hold and quietly padded out of the room, silently closing the door behind her.
The Doctor leaned against the wall, hanging her head, hair falling from behind her ear. From beneath the golden strands, the alien’s face was a light shade of pink. The Doctor remembered your skin being revealed inch by inch as she helped remove your shirt.
A shudder ran up the Doctor’s spine and she shook her head, trying to rid her thoughts. You trusted her. She shouldn’t do anything that would break that trust. You were only acting like that because you were sick.
The Time Lord’s thoughts once again wandered, your bare back weaseling its way to the forefront of her mind. The Doctor quickly dismissed it— liar .
You were just a friend. An incredibly attractive friend that she —she needed to stop thinking like that. Don’t scare her away. She couldn’t scare you away. She didn’t know what she would do if you ran away from her.
The Doctor let out a sigh. It was no use thinking about it now. The blonde woman trotted down the hallway. There were other humans aboard the TARDIS that needed to be taken care of.
The Time Lord made her way down the endlessly winding halls of the TARDIS, eventually reaching a single door upon which she knocked twice. Yasmin’s muffled voice from the other side invited her in. The Doctor opened the door to see Yaz in her bed, a book flipped roughly halfway in hand.
“Glad to see you’re doing better.”
Yaz looked up from her book, a sound of agreement resonated from her throat. “Bit of a cough still but halfway decent.”
The Doctor glanced at Yasmin suspiciously. “You were doing significantly worse when I checked you this morning.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.” Yaz went back to looking at her book, her mask and tilted head hiding her smile.
The Doctor squinted, eventually decided against further questioning, and pulled out the stethoscope once again.
Yaz grinned smugly as the Time Lord pressed the instrument against the brunette’s chest. “Can you hear my lungs properly?”
The Doctor’s eyebrows furrowed for a second, “Yes, why are you asking? Of course I can. Time Lords have superior hearing to you humans. Honestly, where’s this coming from? I told you this this morning. Humans are such noisy breathers, could probably hear you from a mile away.”
“Curiosity.” Yaz pulled down the mask over her mouth, her grin on full display.
The Doctor eyed her human companion skeptically before removing the stethoscope from Yasmin’s chest.
“Doctor.”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t put the stethoscope under my shirt.”
The Doctor’s face was painted in total confusion. “Why would I need to do that?”
“No reason.” Yaz’s grin persisted.
The Doctor stood up, clicking on her sonic a few times as she muttered something unintelligible.
“So how much do you want to snog (Y/N)?”
The Doctor coughed violently.
“I mean it’s pretty obvious you do, but I’m just wondering if it’s something I’ll be needing to get used to seeing all around the TARDIS.” Yasmin’s Cheshire smile unnerved the Time Lord, but the Doctor was slightly more occupied with regaining control of her breathing.
“What?” The Doctor’s reply came out as more of a squeak.
“Not to be blunt, but you are totally into her,” Yaz leaned back against the headboard of the bed. “Actually, no. You really need it blunt, because I’ve been living with you two dancing around each other for months. And you,” Yasmin raised an eyebrow at the Doctor, “have been very adamant about dodging the question.”
“I–I’m not—”
“Then do you her have feelings for her?”
The Doctor’s face took on a tinge of pink, her hands rubbing her face. “Why have you been so insistent about this? I told you, I care for all of my companions.”
Yaz looked unimpressed. “So you don’t like her?”
“No–that’s–that is not what I said.”
“So you do like her.”
The Doctor groaned into her hands. “Just— shhhh !”
Yaz closed her mouth in compliance but the room was still tense.
“Soooo...”
“Not another word.” The Doctor grit out.
“I knew you went to give her a check-up, but normally when people play doctor in the bedroom the other person isn’t actually sick.”
The Time Lord’s face was burning as she sputtered. Yaz’s grin grew at the Doctor’s attempt to come up with an excuse, arms waving around in protest.
“I literally walked in on you trying to cop a feel.”
“What–I didn’t—I was not!”
“Your hand was up her shirt.”
“I was trying to hear her lungs unobstructed! To hear her lungs!” The Doctor’s arms flailed wildly, her harsh whisper laced with some sort of urgency. Yaz briefly wondered how much of the Doctor’s rambling was supposed to convince her, and how much was the Doctor trying to convince herself.
“You didn’t stick the stethoscope up my shirt. And if I remember correctly, you were just bragging about how good Time Lord ears are compared to humans and that—”
The Doctor marched out of the room, a raspy, exasperated groan leaving her throat.
Yaz had a triumphant grin etched onto her face.