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Two weeks. Two weeks of hell.
Was it torture?
Nightmares every single night?
No. Clara Oswald has fallen victim to a terrible cold.
After her and the Doctor's adventure on the icy planet of Raguten just 560 light years away, Clara had fallen ill with the "pudding-brain flu", as the Doctor called it. She convinced him that he was perfectly well at home, though he was adamant about leaving her alone. "It's just a cold, Doctor." She said, pressing a tissue to her nose. "Come back in a few days. I'll be right as rain by then."
Defeated, he left as requested. He returned after a few days, ready for another adventure. Nonetheless, he found that the flu had worsened to a chest infection after the first had refused to surrender. The Doctor had advised Clara to stay on the TARDIS, at least in bed. She rebelled...
“You have to stay put, Clara.” The Doctor said to her after finding her cleaning her flat. “It’s getting worse.”
"Thank you, Doctor Genius... haven't noticed that," Clara grunted. The silence between them made her stop and sigh. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm just not in the mood for arguments." She s niffled before continuing to clean the kitchen top.
"Then stay in bed. Besides, it's midterms and I can take care of you."
"I’m not a child, Doctor. I can take care of myself." She leaned against the countertop , stopping for a while to catch her breath.
“Clara Clara Clara….” He sighed, taking the cloth off her hand and leading her to the chair just a few st ep s away. The companion felt too light-headed and weak to fight, not even when he guided her to sit. She leaned forward, hands o n her forehead. The time lord commanded her to take deep breaths, pressing his stethoscope to her back... God knows where he materialised it from. Her side hurt, not letting her take half of her usually deep breaths.
“What’s wrong?” She croaked, before letting out a heavy cough in her py j ama sleeve.
“Bilateral basal crepitations suggesting bilateral pneumonia.”
“In simple terms?”
“The simple upper respiratory tract infection you had a few days ago has got worse, and it’s now pooling in your lungs. Happy?”
She rolled her eyes, wincing in pain as she did so.
The Doctor sighed. “ Fine. Then, if not me, l et the TARDIS take care of you for a while.”
“Doctor…” She sighed.
“Please.” He pleaded. Had there been more light in the room, Clara would have noticed how inflated the Doctor's eyes had become.
She shook her head. “Fine.” She breathed, masking the Doctor’s sigh of relief. “Just… don’t stay next to me as much.”
“Don’t worry. Not going to risk it despite my time lord physiology.”
Being in bed did not necessarily mean that Clara felt better. Quite the contrary. She felt useless; a sloppy, greasy mess. She hadn't washed in goodness knows how long; her days were barely a blur, and her illness and incessant coughing drained her completely. And besides, she had no idea of time and space after having spent countless days inside the Doctor’s box.
In the past few days, her cough was getting worse. It was getting heavier, cough fits lasting for longer periods of time, leaving her more breathless by the end of it all. Dreadful business. Apart from the countless meds and rubs which the TARDIS gave her, the Doctor had also prescribed her (or rather commanded her, since he knew how difficult Clara would be when sick) a nebulizer for 3 hours every day. He had ignored Clara's incessant groaning. "It'll heal faster, Clara." He'd breathed. "Trust me. It's for your own good."
The annoying alarm brought her out of her fever dream. She couldn't understand how she could have fallen so easily back into sleep when she had just slept a full 11 hours (granted... She'd woken up millions of times to cough or to blow her nose... Mostly the latter though). The alarm could only mean it was time for the medicine routine she had been forced to follow for the past week.
They had fought for a while on the TARDIS. Who knew a school teacher would be so difficult to control? The only tactic he found merely useful was to give in to some instances to gain control of her general health. He commanded her to stay in bed, but Clara insisted that she would at least have the nebulizer in another room where she wouldn't feel as stuffy.
Now she regrets that decision.
She made her way out of the bed, letting the fleecy blanket trail behind her. The TARDIS shrilled to turn onto the bedside table and take the meds the machine had left for the girl. The latter's trembling hand placed the pills onto her tongue and took a swig of water; just enough to swallow them. Clara almost choked on the water as she coughed for a straight 20 seconds. She caught her breath, grabbed the blanket from off the bed, tried as best as she could to wrap it around her aching body, and dragged herself to the library, clutching the loose blanket to her chest.
She looked like she had just come out of the Walking Dead. She couldn't see well through her watery eyes and couldn't breathe well without wheezing. Thank goodness, it was just a short walk to the Library; holding on to the wall with one hand and to the blanket with another. She leaned against the heavy door to open it as best as she could, sliding into the room, before shuffling heavily to the sofa, having a small coffee table in front. On that coffee table was a pocket nebulizer. The Doctor had instructed her to use it in the Library due to the warm fireplace, which could very well aid in recovery.
She slumped onto the sofa, cuddling into its corner. Clara curled as much as possible without compromising her breathing, taking the pocket nebulizer (which, thank goodness, had been sterilized and refilled by the TARDIS). She reached out for the switch before the hissing started. A fine warm mist exited the mask, which Clara then pressed against her nose and mouth.
One breath in. One breath out. Second breath in. Second breath out. Third breath in...
The light burr of the compressor soon started making her feel sleepy.
Her head started nodding off, each time feeling the warm mist escaping from the mask to somewhere else rather than her respiratory tract.
Tenth breath in...
...
Tenth breath out.
...
Large breath in...
Clara coughed. She was meant to keep that breath in for 5 seconds. "Not less, Clara." The Doctor had said.
But she couldn't. Not with this cough. That large breath made her cough for quite a while, leaving her even more tired. She was able to ease after a few puffs from the nebulizer. Feeling helpless, Clara sunk deeper into the sofa... Hoping this nightmare would go away as soon as it dawned upon her. The soft hiss of the nebulizer lulled her further into a state of relaxation. The mask slipped off her nose and down onto her chest. Clara had already fallen asleep; softly lulled by the groaning of the nebulizer compressor and the faint crackle of the fireplace.
The Doctor knocked on the library door. He could hear the nebulizer's hissing without having to open the door. No reply. Maybe he should just open the door.
He sighed. Seeing Clara curled upon herself with a blanket wrapped around her and the mask on her lap, still releasing the steamy mixture into the air. Her chin was resting on her chest, attributing to the low gurgling snore. He walked towards the sofa and took the mask from her hands. The Doctor placed the back of his hand on her forehead and cheeks to test her fever. At least it had subsided, even if she was curled in a ball in front of a blaze. He sat next to Clara. The latter whimpered. "It's alright." His hand curled around her, letting her rest against him. "Sleep, Clara." Her eyes opened just a slither. Her hand stopped his from taking the mask.
"No no... You shouldn't..." Her sentence was cut off by a raking cough, to which the Doctor pressed the mask to her nose and mouth.
"Try and breathe as best as you can." He encouraged her. The heavy cough continued for quite a few seconds before slumping back into the couch. The Doctor directed her closer to him. "Rest your head on my shoulder, Clara."
The girl tried taking off the mask, to which the time lord helped. "You'll... You'll get sick." She said, soon followed by a short-lived series of suppressed coughs. "You-"
"Shhhhh..." The Doctor let the hand by which he was holding Clara pass through her hair. "Your job is to rest and heal. You can leave the rest to me." He didn't want to slip into his usual antic of bragging about his superior physiology and immunity. All that was on his mind was Clara's pain. He didn't think of anything else other than trying his best to help her.
The companion sighed as she softened up in the Doctor's arms. He pressed the mask back as Clara's hand slipped off it. Her head was placed snuggly in the crook of his neck; right under his ear. He pecked her head by pressing a small kiss into her hair. The occasional coughs soon died down as Clara succumbed to her sleep and breathing through the nebulizer.
He smiled. She was a resilient girl. A beautiful, strong, brave girl. He didn't deserve her. And he knew... She didn't deserve his mild temper. To him... Being so gentle was alien to him. But seeing Clara in such delirium made his hearts clench. He could only hope that the meds would start kicking in fast and that the nightmare would pass.
And so they remained huddled together; Clara resting peacefully in the arms of the time lord, and the latter making sure that she was taking in the little remaining medicine in the nebulizer as he looked at her peaceful beauty.