Logically, you had to believe that being a passenger on the TARDIS provided you with some germ cloaking. How else could it be safe to travel to so many different planets in so many different time periods? No way you were just immune to everything on your own.

However, this protection apparently did not extend to your hometown in your own time period. You'd gone to visit your family for a day, and you'd come back with a stomach bug. Lucky ducky you.

That's why you were stuck in bed aboard the TARDIS. You'd managed to regurgitate just about every ounce of fluid in your system, and now you were just waiting for the illness to run its course. You'd taken something to settle your stomach, and it seemed to be working, but you really didn't want to test your luck, even with the saltine crackers that the Doctor had so generously brought in for you.

He'd been wonderful throughout the whole thing, really, fussing over you and comforting you in any way he could. His poor little love, down and out and utterly unsuited for travel. It simply wouldn't do to move on until you felt better.

Speaking of the man himself, he came through the door with a wet washcloth as you were warily eyeing the saltines. He strode right up to your beside, kissed your forehead, and laid the washcloth right over the spot he had kissed.

"How are you feeling, love?" he asked, reaching to squeeze your hand.