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The Doctor unlocked her front door and stumbled over one of the cats greeting her in the entrance. She lightly pushed them aside with her foot with no energy to say hello to each of them. The pounding in their head was irritating them more by the minute and their lack of breath worsened its pain. They ripped off their mask, forcing deep gulps of air into their lungs. It resulted in a harsh coughing fit pushing the oxygen back out faster then she could take it in. She held onto the wall beside her to hold her up until it passed.
Beaded sweat rolled down her spine and soaked into the fabric of her uniform. It was a particular type of sticky they despised the most. It may not have been all that bad on a good day, but if they were sweating it was already ruined. They didn't have any of the energy or will necessary to step in the bath and wash it all off her, even with the idea of feeling clean being particularly alluring, it wasn't enough.
The Doctor took in slower, shorter breaths their body demanded at minimum to not pass out. They found themselves making eye contact with one of the felines screaming up at them. It had about as much consideration for what they might be going through as the Mask did. That meaning — she had no clue if she was being mocked or sympathized with. The two may as well be the same thing to them.
She straightened her back and slowly walked to the living room, finding her couch taken by two cats claiming the corners as their own spot to nap. She crumbled onto the cushions between them, curling her body in a similar fashion as her pets. They just wanted to close their eyes for a short while. The awful sickness they could deal with afterwards.
"My love! Have you been caught in the arms of death!?"
Dyo's cold hands cupped both sides of the Doctor's face in concern. She blinked up at him slowly and groaned.
"Dyo, please,"
"What is it? What do you need, my dear?"
"Quit touching my face with your slimy fingers." She said.
He retracted his hands in surprise as they sat up on the couch. They wiped their cheeks with the sleeves of the already ruined shirt. One cat that slept beside her legs mimicked their movements and stretched a leg out towards the Mask.
"I am merely ill, not on my deathbed." The Doctor reassured.
"Oh. Well, have you considered the possibility you have grown an allergy against the felines?"
He crossed his arms with a huff, staring one down with a glare.
"It is phenomenal how ridiculous you are, Dyo. Have those playwrights gotten into your head, perhaps?"
"I am perfectly fine, my love!" He said. "It is you who is the cause of concern here!"
She sighed. She set her feet on the ground, even the mild pressure making her legs feel like dead weight. The Doctor closed her fist on the trembling muscles. It occurred to her she had not eaten nearly enough that day. Helping all of her patients was a slow process, with the list of people only growing by the day. Pausing to nurture her own body wasn't something she did often.
The Mask knew this too. Seen it more often then she'd admit. His gaze, full of concern, eased with the recognition of a familiar situation. He didn't wait for any of her attempts to stand on her own, picking her taller body up into a bridal carry with ease.
"I believed I had explicitly send you note of a reminder to not push your limits today," Dyo said.
"I am aware. You stuck it on my mask."
He brought them to their bedroom to rest more comfortably.
"Yes! I had to place it somewhere you would surely see it! Yet my efforts seem to have gone to waste, nonetheless."
The Doctor rubbed their temple. "Just brew me some tea and leave my house."
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against their cheek.
"The latter I will not do, I am afraid. I shall have to stay and monitor my favorite doctor to ensure you will not perish."
"Fine. If that will help you sleep more soundly at night, do what you wish."