"So, Victorian London, huh? Any reason why we need to go there?"

The doctor looked at Clara and squinted his eyes at her. He was desperate to solve the mystery of Clara Oswald, just like Rory the Roman, she had died more than once-and yet, here she was-standing before him.

He brushed some of his hair back, wiping his hand on his trousers and frowning when they came back covered in sweat, "No reason. I just-I wanted to go there, it would be nice wouldn't it? Well, provided I get it right this time."

"But why there?"

He took a deep breath, "It's complicated, okay?"

Clara nodded and seemed to accept it as his final answer, something he was glad about. He really couldn't deal with answering her questions now, especially with the headache that was beginning to form.

Ever since the two re-entered the TARDIS, the Doctor couldn't help but feel like something was off. He found it colder than usual, but beads of sweat were beginning to form on his forehead, and within the first few minutes of being on board his ship, his head had started to pound.

Clara had noticed that the Doctor seemed to be acting unusual, it was almost as if he was in pain. Instead of floating around the TARDIS like he usually did, the Doctor seemed to be taking care in his steps-like every step he took caused him pain. His ancient eyes seemed to tell a story too, but not one of adventure, and drama-they told a story of pain, and misery.

She didn't want to say anything to him though-because she knew that he would just brush it off, and change the subject-but when his small frame began to shiver, and his forehead was covered in a light sheen of sweat, she knew that something had to be done.

"Doctor?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from where he was leaning against the control panel, and raised his eyebrows at her, motioning to continue.

"You trust me, don't you?"

He took a minute, but nodded his head, "Of course."

"So-you'd tell me if something was up, right?"

"Sure"

"Well I know that something's up with you, so why don't you tell me what it is."

"It's nothing."

She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at him, noticing-not for the first time-how pale he was. He had a pale complexion to begin with, but he looked even paler now.

"You're not-You're not sick, are you?"

"What? No of course not. Timelords don't get sick, remember?"

She didn't remember, because he had never told him this, but she didn't think telling him this information would do much good.

But all the symptoms were there-the shivering, the sweating, the pale face, and the way he winced whenever she spoke too loudly-something which Clara also didn't miss.

That was it.

The Doctor was sick.

He sensed her doubt and shot up to reassure her, intending to say "Honestly, I'm fine." Unfortunately, he must have shot up too fast, as his vision began to blur, and he had to hold on to the console for support.

Clara's eyes widened at the sight and immediately rushed to his side, "Doctor, are you okay?"

"What? Yeah, yeah-I'm fine. Of course I'm fine. I'm always fine."

"You nearly collapsed. How can you call that fine?"

The Doctor sighed, there was no reason to hide it now, "Alright, well maybe I'm not fine." Clara smiled, "Thank you. Now, tell me what's wrong."

"I-" But that's as far as he got before his vision blacked out and he allowed unconsciousness to take over his body completely, falling to the floor.