Hey! I haven't posted for a while, but I've been writing. I can't seem to get my head around the fact that I don't have to finish a story before posting it, so this'll be the first story I don't post complete. Well, I adopted this story from The_Random_Obsessionist (With her permission), and this first chapter was NOT written be me. However, the rest is ;)

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN DOCTOR WHO. ALL RIGHTS GO TO BBC.

So, here is the marvelous work done by The_Random_Obsessionist! :3

Amy Pond strolled into the control room of the TARDIS to find the Doctor exactly where she'd left him: lying on his stomach with half his body crammed underneath the console, with his jacket piled on the floor beside him. "Doctor, you've been at it for hours! Give it a rest!" She came over to stand directly behind him, and took a few moments to admire the view.

"Amy, I'm busy!" His voice was so muffled that Amy had to bend down to hear him. "Go have a cup of tea or something. I'll be done soon." He crawled out from under the console, flipped a few levers, and brought the view screen around to him. Seeming to be dissatisfied with the prognosis, he huffed and promptly dove back under the console.

Amy groaned in frustration. "What are you doing under there, anyway?"

The Doctor wriggled himself out from his small hole and sat up in order to glare at his stubborn companion. "Amy, I am trying to fix the temporal stabilizer. Without it, the TARDIS can't materialize in any specific time. Basically, we're stuck in the vortex until I can fix this, so I would suggest that you leave me alone, so that I can concentrate." He went back under the console without waiting for a reply. Amy sighed angrily and plopped down onto the jump seat.

The Doctor chuckled at her pout. Humans were so temperamental. He hopped up again to check the computer, but still did not like what he saw. "Oh, come on," he muttered. He went down on one knee and put just his head and one arm under the console. A sudden cry of pain followed by a loud bang startled Amy into coming out of her sulk.

"Doctor? Are you alright?"

He fell back into a sitting position, holding one hand to his chest and the other to his head. "She shocked me!" He let go of his head to rub his hurt hand. "That hurt!" He shot an annoyed look at the console, and the TARDIS indignantly whirred in response. He returned his hand to his head and winced. There was no blood, but that was going to hurt for a while. He scowled, rose to his feet, and with a sigh, turned and headed down the stairs to see what he could do with the mess of wires under the glass floor. Amy saw that he seemed fine and returned to pouting. After a few minutes of fiddling, he looked up.

"Amy, can you get me my sonic screwdriver?" he called. "I left it in my coat pocket."

She sighed in exasperation as she got up from the not-so-comfortable jump seat. She walked to where the Doctor had unceremoniously tossed his tweed jacket on the floor earlier and began rummaging through the first pocket she came to. The Doctor soon looked up from his work to check her progress.

"No, Amy, wrong pocket."

She glared down at him. "Well, which one is it, then?"

"Inside, left, top." Amy stuck her hand in the jacket and found a new pocket. "No, no, Amy. Left pocket."

"That is the left pocket!"

"Left from the wearer's point of view!"

"Well then be more specific!" Amy angrily stuck her hand in the other side. "Doctor, there's no pocket on this side!"

"Oh, never mind! Bring it down here. I'll find it myself."

Amy complied, stomping heavily down the stairs and rudely shoving the coat at the Doctor, who smoothly reached in and pulled out the screwdriver. He looked at his fiery-headed companion. "Thank you." With no further fanfare, he went back to fiddling with wires that made no sense to anyone but him.

Amy folded the jacket and tossed it on the steps, then wandered back through the door to see if she could find Rory. Maybe he was doing something interesting. The Doctor dimly registered her exit, but continued to use the sonic on the wires without looking up. Finishing the fusing, he tossed it in the air out of habit before putting it away, but jumped when it clattered to the floor. Dumbfounded, he looked at it lying there on the ground. With a brief shake of the head, he bent down to retrieve it, but it slipped from his fingers a second time and skittered across the floor. He frowned at his hand and rubbed his fingers together. There seemed to be a slight numbness in the tips of his fingers, perhaps a residual side effect from that wonderful jolt of electricity he'd received. This time when he reached for his beloved screwdriver the retrieval went smoothly and it found a home in his shirt pocket. It was only a matter of minutes before he pulled out the sonic again, but before he'd even gotten it close enough to the wires held in his other hand, it slipped once again through his fingers. Letting out a small grunt of annoyance, the Doctor reached for the device, only to inadvertently knock it further away. Releasing the bundle of wires, he threw himself to the floor and put his hand over the sonic, but a cramp seized his arm and shoulder and he drew back with a cry of surprise and pain. It only took a few seconds for his muscles to loosen again. It didn't seem likely that that had been from the shock. He eyed the sonic screwdriver, still lying innocently on the floor. Grabbing it with the other hand, he returned to quickly fuse the last of the many wires he had been holding, then stood to return up the stairs and check what progress he had made.

Before he knew it, the Doctor had instinctively thrown his arms forward to catch himself as his forehead made sudden contact with a stair. He rolled onto his back and rubbed his bruised head yet again as he looked toward his feet. He'd tripped over the first stair, as though he hadn't even bothered to lift his foot. That was not what disturbed him, however. What disturbed him was the fact that he couldn't actually remember walking from the jumbled wires to the steps. Next thing he knew, he was at the console, staring at the view screen, which was still annoyingly flashing "TEMPORAL STABLIZER MALFUNCTION" in large red letters. He looked back to the steps, not even remembering getting up. He put a hand to his head. It was still bruised. His screwdriver was still in his shirt pocket.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor jumped several feet to the side when Amy suddenly appeared next to him with Rory behind her. He hadn't had the slightest warning that they were approaching. He realized his head really hurt now, and not only where he'd bumped it. This felt like a proper migraine.

"You look pale." Amy was still talking. "Are you okay?"

"Sure, I'm fine. I'm always fine." he lied. He'd barely gotten the last word out before a pain more severe than any he'd experienced in recent history cut through his midsection. He suddenly found himself on the floor with his head in someone's lap. He was out of breath and his whole body ached. The headache had not gone away and a slight queasiness had set in.

"I think it's really stopped this time," said Rory's voice from somewhere above the Doctor's head. "Doctor? Doctor, can you hear me?"

He forced his eyes open with a groan. "What just happened?"

"You had a seizure of some sort," Rory stated, worry written all over his face. The Doctor rolled onto his side, then slowly, with Amy's assistance, pushed himself up so that he was sitting on his heels.

"Nice, Mr. 'I'm-Always-Fine,'" Amy muttered.

"Describe it to me," he demanded.

After a moment of silence and worried stares from the two humans, Amy spoke. "So is it going to happen again?"

"I don't know. I asked you to describe it to me." He turned to Rory. "Now!"

Rory stammered for a moment. "Doctor, I-I just did. You just said it all sounded like the Kappell Virus."

The Doctor blinked. "I said that? Just now?"

"Yeah." Rory nodded. "You said symptoms included short term memory loss, degeneration of fine motor skill, full body cramps. . ."

"And that's exactly what it looked like." Amy added. "You weren't seizing. You just . . . contracted."

"And all this was said a moment ago?"

Amy and Rory looked at each other and nodded.

"That's the short term memory loss then?" Amy asked

"Apparently, hopefully that's all it is, although I only seem to be losing it in small patches right now. But first we have to see if this is a virus or something else."

"Doctor." Amy's eyebrows were scrunched in concern. "You said that about a minute ago."

He quickly noticed an increase in the nausea, but swallowed and willed his stomach to behave. "Right." He ran a hand over his face. "Okay. First things first. The three of us need to get to the med-bay. We're going to scan the two of you, make sure you're both alright, and then we're going to see if this really is the Kappell virus. Because right now, I'm really, really hoping it's not."

"Why not? What's so horrible about Kappell?" Amy put her hand over the Doctor's. "Doctor, tell us."

"-case." The Doctor blinked as the word died on his lips. Now he was walking toward the med-bay with a human companion on either side of him. He looked at one, then the other. "Rory, repeat what I just said."

"Why? I was listening."

"Just do it!"

"Ah, okay, you said that, if what's wrong with you does turn out to be the Kappell virus, we shouldn't worry about ourselves, because it's not airborne. We should just wash our hands and not touch our faces, and the TARDIS will keep the air purified anyway, just in case."

"Right, yes, good. Now, Amy, how long, approximately, has it been since you left the control room to find Rory?"

"Ah, I dunno. An hour, maybe?"

"And to me it felt like no more than twenty minutes . . ."

They had reached the med-bay. The Doctor went straight to a large monitor with two drawers underneath. Opening the bottom drawer, he pulled out a box filled with small squares of thin paper. He gave one to Amy and Rory and took one for himself. Then he opened the top drawer to reveal a slab of metal with several squares etched into it.

"Here we are," the Doctor said with forced cheerfulness. "Lick your paper, and put it in a square." They all did so and he shut the drawer and pushed a button on the monitor. "That will probably take no more than three minutes."

From the Doctor's point of view, a happy chime played immediately, indicating the results were in. The Doctor immediately noticed a severe increase in the intensity of both the migraine and the nausea. Before looking at the screen, the Doctor examined the faces of his companions. They seemed concerned but calm. "What has been said since I started the scan?"

Now the concern on their faces intensified into worry. "Nothing," Amy said. "You looked like you were in pain. I asked if you were okay and you shushed me."

He sighed. "Sorry."

"It's alright, Doctor," she said tenderly.

They all turned their attention to the scanner. There were three lines on the screen.

AMY POND: Diagnosis: healthy.

RORY WILLIAMS: Diagnosis: healthy.

DOCTOR: Diagnosis: Kappell virus. Press HERE for more information.

The Doctor read it again. It couldn't be. Surely not. This couldn't be happening to him. He turned away and sat on a nearby cot. Amy pressed the suggested button and began to read the page aloud. "Kappell Virus. Symptoms: loss of fine motor control, short term memory loss, severe mood swings, high fever, hallucinations, vomiting, severe cramps, migraines, fatigue, and . . . dry mouth."

"Well that's a rather anticlimactic way to end a list," Rory commented.

"Looks like the migraines have gotten a head start," Amy observed as the Doctor cradled his head in his hands.

"Read the last two lines, Pond," he said softly.

Amy scrolled down, skipping the specific detail and general history, and read the last two lines. "Average duration: 200 to 250 hours. Cure: none." She looked at Rory. "How many days is that?"

"Eight to ten Earth days," the Doctor supplied without raising his head. "I can't believe this is happening. This is going to be a week and a half of hell. I might not remember half of it, but it's still going to happen. Here's a fun fact about the Kappell virus." Now he looked up. "More than 60 percent of people who contract this virus die, but the virus itself isn't fatal. Most of them die from an overdose of medication, especially muscle relaxants."

"They forget they've already taken them," Rory muttered.

"Exactly, so I'm going to ask something of you two." He looked at them both. "Do not let me overmedicate myself. I'm sorry for both of you, but this next week isn't going to be pretty."

Amy sat next to him on the cot and put an arm around his shoulders. "It's going to be fine, Doctor. Really. Rory and I will be right here with you the whole way."

"She's right Doctor." Rory sat on the other side of him. "We'll do everything we can to help."

"There's a probability things will get violent. I don't want to hurt either of you. The TARDIS can take care of me perfectly well when the hysterics come, which they will. I'm asking you to just secure me to a bed and leave during that."

The Doctor saw that defiant glint in Amy's eye as she came in for a full hug and pressed her forehead against his. "Doctor, I know you'd never once leave me if I were where you are now. I don't care how hysterical you get; I'm not leaving you alone."

He returned the hug hesitantly. He wanted to protest and insist that she promise to keep herself safe, but at that moment, he just didn't have what it would take to force Amelia Jessica Pond to do something she didn't want to. They stayed like that for several comfortable moments, until Amy broke the silence.

"Doctor, you're already feverish." She pulled away and put a hand to his face, but he turned away.

"I know."

Her hands moved to his bowtie. He tried half-heatedly to brush them away, but his energy was draining fast. "Amy, I can do it myself." He said with a sigh. Amy paused, then let her hands drop. He undid the bowtie and opened the top button. His head was killing him more than ever, and he dropped it back into his hands.

"Doctor, maybe you should get some rest," Rory suggested. "Go to bed."

"Maybe that's a good idea," the Doctor agreed, but made no move to get up. He heard the door to the corridor open, and looked up to see Amy coming in. A glance to the side confirmed her absence, and in turn confirmed yet another memory lapse. Amy came up to him and pressed into his hand the pad of sticky notes and pen that he'd been recently keeping in his coat pocket. The top note was in Amy's handwriting and read "Pajamas, then bed. Amy and Rory most likely to be found in kitchen or library. XOXO"

"In case you forget," Amy said. "You be sure to come and find us if you need anything, and I really do mean anything." She patted him lightly on the back. "Now go."

He sighed and gathered enough energy to stand and walk to his room. Amy stood at the door to the med-bay and watched as he put a hand on his door and stop. The Doctor frowned, then felt the paper and pen in his hand. He looked at it closely for a moment, and looked around. He spotted Amy watching him. She raised an eyebrow and inclined her head to his room. His eyes returned to the door, then he opened it and went in.

Amy sighed. Just then, what she had seen in his eyes could only be defined as terror. He was actually afraid. Of what, Amy wasn't sure, but something about this illness had the Doctor truly scared. She felt Rory's hand on her shoulder.

"He'll be fine, Amy."

"There's something he's not telling us."

"There's lots of things he doesn't tell us."

Amy turned to her husband. "But what if it's something important? He takes it upon himself to decide what we do and don't need to know, but he's not always right."

"Amy, I don't think we're going to be able to force him to tell—" A screech of pain from down the corridor cut Rory off, and the duo took off towards the Doctor's room. Without bothering to knock, Amy threw open the door and rushed in to find the Doctor curled into a ball on the floor. His body was completely tense and unmoving. He was halfway out of his shirt, but had somehow gotten his arm tangled in a suspender. Rory began his attempts to free his arm. Amy massaged the Doctor's neck and shoulders, willing the muscles to relax. Rory soon gave up on trying to free the trapped appendage and, taking a cue from Amy, began to massage it. Small gasps of air were beginning to find their way through the Doctor's constricted airways, and the pitiful squeaking noises he was making only made Amy knead his shoulders more insistently.

After what felt like far too long for the Ponds, his muscles finally began to relax. When his arm was pliable enough, Rory extracted it from the elastic band. Tears of pain squeezed out from under the Doctor's tightly closed eyelids as he finally managed to draw in a strangled breath. Amy brushed the stray hair out of his face before tenderly wiping away the tears and thin sheen of sweat. After a few minutes of coughing weakly and simply catching his breath, the Doctor's eyes flickered open.

"You with us, Doctor?" Rory asked. The last bit of the Doctor's energy was gone, so he let his eyes slide back closed with a miniscule grunt of affirmation. He was out cold, so Amy and Rory were on their own to finish stripping him of his shirt and trousers. They now found opportunity to actually look around the Doctor's bedroom.

It was remarkably basic. There was an unmade double bed with white sheets and a light brown blanket, and next to it was a chest of drawers. The flat top was shoulder-height and covered with books and bits of alien technology. There was no dust, but one could somehow tell that they hadn't been moved in a very long time. The only other thing worth noting in the room was the door that led to the attached bathroom.

Amy began rifling through the drawers in search of something akin to pajamas. In the top drawer were shirts and bowties, all perfectly folded and organized by color. The second drawer had underwear and socks. In the third drawer, Amy found an odd assortment of clothing items, including a black leather jacket, a sweater vest with red question marks, an absurdly long scarf, a few velvet jackets, a very old and beat up pair of plaid trousers, and a white frock coat with a withered stick of celery pinned to the lapel. There did seem to be some more modern clothes in the bottom, so Amy continued to sift her way through this deepest drawer and finally emerged with a grey T-shirt and navy blue sweatpants. It was these with which the two somehow managed to dress the Doctor in. They then hefted him onto the bed and drew the covers over him. Not once did the ill alien wake up.

"I think the Doctor's sense of style is at its peak right now," Amy commented with a chuckle once they had finished, "considering what he has buried in that drawer there."

Rory shook his head with a small smile. "Come on, Amy." He started to lead her out of the room. "Let's let him sleep."

Amy cast a final worried glance at her raggedy Doctor before reluctantly following her husband to the kitchen.

My chapters are much likely to be a lot shorter ;) Let's see what happens to the Doctor now!