Title: "It Looked Like an Orange"
Character(s): The Eleventh Doctor, Clara
Genre: Fluff, Comedy
Summary: The Doctor looks after Clara when she catches a deadly illness.
A/N / Warnings: My first time writing anything Doctor Who related.
Third Person POV
Clara had been feeling funny ever since they had gotten back from... God, what had been the name of the planet, again? Frothus? Or had it been Freemus? She couldn't even remember the way her head was swimming. She gripped one of the rails in the TARDIS' console room, a dizzy spell passing over her that made her lose her footing. She was queasy and clammy and... and just had to sit down before she fell over.
The Doctor, rather oblivious to his companion's developing symptoms, was twirling around the main console, flipping an array of switches and pressing buttons that made the ship jerk back and forth. Clara groaned, moving towards one of the chairs with the grace of a two year old.
The Doctor was continuing a rant that he'd started about ten minutes ago.
"...And it was absolutely marvelous, Clara! Buildings, a whole city, entirely made of sand! Like you were at a beach of some sort. But wasn't sand, it's some particle very similar to it, but not really. It's what you would think to call sand, but it's not. Quite a bit more complex than that. I should really take you sometime... maybe when I'm not saving your planet from destruction, eh?"
Clara clenched her eyes shut as a shaky breath escaped her. Suddenly the bodice of her dress seemed far too tight and she wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a bed.
"Quller," The Doctor continued, scratching his head. "That's the name of it, I think, the planet. Well, you can actually never be so sure of what it's called, that one. The civilians change the name every century, so every time I visit I have to learn a completely different name--"
"Does it seem a bit chilly in here, Doctor?" Clara said, speaking up finally. His babble was making her head ache.
The Doctor only frowned, moving towards the screen on the console. "Clara. I'm talking about one of the most magnificent sights in all the universe, and all you want to whine about is the temperature in the TARDIS?"
Clara opened her eyes only to roll them. "Doctor, I'm serious. I'm freezing."
"I feel quite warm, actually." He mumbled, grouse and upset at being interrupted. "The TARDIS is the exact same temperature it was before we left for Freemus, Clara."
Clara shivered, trying to ignore the pounding in her head as she spoke. "That's not possible. It can't be."
The Doctor looked up from a switch he was tickering with, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Clara.
She was sweating profusely, her hair damp with perspiration and her skin a sickly pale color. Her grip on the rail seemed too tight for comfort and she appearedto be swaying to and fro, her balance off. But it was her eyes that gave it away.
The natural chocolate brown had given away to a bright blue, making her look like a completely different person. The Doctor grabbed his screwdriver and frowned.
"Clara. What did you eat while we were on Freemus?"
She could barely hear him, his voice sounded distorted and unnatural to her. She blinked. "Can't remember."
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