The thing that travelling with the Doctor, Amy has found, is that you never quite know what's going to happen. You don't know where you're going to land, and sometimes you don't even know how you're going to land. You rarely know who you're going to meet, what trouble you'll get into, and you rarely know the outcome. Despite the fact that a time machine should be reliable, sometimes you can't even count on what time period or area of space you'll land in. The time of day, the landscape, the reactions of the creatures (if any) when they get there - all guesswork, as far as she's concerned (well, that's her opinion, anyway. She suspects the Doctor knows full well what he does and plays dumb). She always knows it's going to be a wild adventure and it's going to be the time of her life. She expects that. What Amy didn't expect was catching an illness.

Amy had realized quickly that she was under the weather and it terrified her - this wasn't a common earth illness. How would her body even react to it? How long would it last? And worst of all, could she even survive it? It wasn't every day that a 21st century human woman came into contact with anything in outer space, after all. But she was Amy Pond - she was no ordinary woman and this was no ordinary illness, so it wasn't like she could consult a doctor. But then again, she knew a Doctor that was no ordinary Doctor.

The Doctor told her that she must have caught it when they had visited the 59th century - after a run-in with several Judoon, they had decided (more along the lines of Amy telling the Doctor) to stop for fish and chips in a shopping centre. They hadn't counted on landing on the afternoon of December 24th to find more people in one building than Amy had ever seen in her whole life. She'd seen that sort of thing enough times to know that going to the shops on Christmas Eve was a massive mistake.

The Doctor had told her it was a future variant of the common cold, telling her to rest up and that he'd find something else to do in the meantime. He could finally fix that chameleon circuit after all this time! He could even go looking for the swimming pool - it had disappeared out of the library a while ago and hadn't been seen since. Amy locked herself up in her room (locking the door was essential, as Amy had come to realize the Doctor had a nasty habit of entering whenever he fancied, most of the time without knocking), stocked up on water and tissues, and curled into the thick blankets on her bed.

It was an uncomfortable sleep, as it always is when you fall ill. Her very bones ached for rest, but her head felt heavy and her sinuses were blocked. Amy lay there, drifting in and out of her dreams for quite some time. Was it always this uncomfortable and dull, being confined to her bed? She couldn't even remember being so ill in recent memory. She'd supposed she'd done it back when she was a young girl, and it must have been even more boring then. She was bored and she was on a time machine, for god's sakes!

Stretching for a long moment, Amy hauled herself into a sitting position and reached for her glass of water, took a long sip and cleared her throat despite the pain. She grabbed a tissue and rubbed at her bright red nose, groaning at how disgusting she felt. She rolled it into a ball and tossed it, throwing herself back down onto the pillow before even bothering to see where it landed. She exhaled loudly and closed her eyes, trying for force herself to sleep.

This was going to be a long day. A very long, very bad day.

She was floating in open space, her hair fanning out behind her as she rocketed herself forwards. The usual inky black that surrounded the stars was every colour she had ever imagined, and some she had never even seen before. Turquoise, orange and yellow were spiralling around her as she laughed, spinning her long legs madly to swim about in the whirlpool of colour. She heard a familiar laugh behind her and turned to find the Doctor, his floppy fringe flying back and making him look equally as mad as she felt. She'd never been so happy in her life, immersed in pure colour and laughing as it span about, with her Doctor next to her, just as joyful as her. At the same time, they each lowered an arm and linked fingers as Amy pulled him towards her. They flew upwards, their faces coming closer and closer together… was that a knock?

Amy's eyes opened slowly as her dream ended, and then heard a slow rapping on her door. Of course.

"Amy? Why've you locked the door? Are you alright?" The Doctor's muffled voice called out curiously. She was about to answer back, but before she could, she heard the high-pitched buzz of his sonic screwdriver at the door handle. Why had she even bothered locking her door? He would get in whether she wanted him to or not. There was definitely no stopping him.

Her door slid open and the Doctor's face eased into view, more fringe than face at first.

"Oh! You're in bed," he said, seemingly surprised.

"You said I have a cold and you told me to go to bed and get better. Why is that a shock?"

"You're Amelia Pond. You rarely do anything as I ask. Of course I'm surprised. I figured I'd find you in the swimming pool or something." The Doctor said with a smile, his head the only part of him in the room. Why was he still in the hallway?

Amy gave a loud laugh that ended with thick, rough coughs, at which the Doctor's brow furrowed. She cleared her throat then looked back at him, smiling to show she was fine. She knew he wouldn't buy it but she did it, nonetheless.

"Go on, tell me to shut up and get better already, I know you want to," Amy said with a grin. "I know you're dying to get out of here." She twisted under the covers and found a comfortable position, lying her head down on the pillow and looking at the Doctor smugly. He just stared back at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Why Amy, that's what I want, yeah, but there's something else first!" The Doctor said happily, raising a finger to tell her to wait. His head disappeared from the doorway for a brief moment and Amy heard a clinking noise from the hall. What was he doing?

The door smacked slightly against the door as the Doctor re-entered, balancing a tray awkwardly, as though he really didn't know what he was supposed to do with it or where he was supposed to put it. He obviously didn't, as he looked around the room and on the floor, his hands fidgeting slightly.

"Amelia Pond, I've made you lunch! Look at this! Sandwiches and tea!" He said, clearly very proud of his efforts. He lowered the tray very carefully onto the bed, resting over Amy's legs as she sat up. The Doctor moved away from the tray and clapped his hands together, his eyes sparkling with glee. "And no, before you ask, I didn't find this anywhere or steal it from anyone."

Amy simply sat there, her mouth hanging slightly open as she laughed quietly. "You really did this for me? Doctor, you never make anything. I didn't even think you knew where the kitchen was," she said, raising and eyebrow and smiling widely at him.

"Har har, always with the jokes." The Doctor said, tapping her lightly on the nose. "By the way, your face is rather warm. Still got a fever?"

"Yeah, I think so. I haven't really got much sleep but when you can barely breathe, that's to be expected, eh?"

"Oh, yes. Anyway, I suppose I should leave you to it, Pond. Enjoy your lunch." The Doctor replied, closing the door as he slowly walked out. Before closing the door he winked at Amy, a mischievous grin on his face. "Get yourself better. We've got a lot of running to do."

She picked up a sandwich and examined it. It seemed harmless enough, and there were no traces of fish fingers or custard jammed into it, so it had to be alright. Just a simple chicken sandwich. She picked each one up, making absolutely sure of just what was in them. You never could tell with the Doctor.

She noticed a small square of white at the bottom of the plate and reached out for it - a note? Her long fingers flipped open the fold and saw the Doctor's handwriting. Amy would know that large, looping scrawl anywhere.

Told you they were fine.

Amy placed the sandwiches back down and reached for the mug of tea. She held it tightly in her hands, close to her face and curled into her pillow, smiling to herself.

Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.