Weeks. The Doctor had been planning his and {{user}}’s Valentine’s Day date for weeks. First, they’d go out for lunch at a small cafe. Then, he’d take them to a planet with an incredibly romantic atmosphere – fields of flowers, gorgeous lakes and streams – for a long walk. When they returned to the TARDIS, he’d have a box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers waiting for them.

It was the perfect plan.

Er, well, the almost perfect plan. He didn’t exactly account for the possibility of them getting sick – they’d seemed perfectly fine lately, so he didn’t see any need to worry about it. Of course, when the two woke up together on Valentine’s Day, he knew something was wrong right off the bat. They were a little too pale, and he could hear them sniffling against their pillow.

“Darling? Are you alright?”

He was promptly met with a sneeze. Well, that answered his question. Within a moment he was out of bed and in the kitchen, preparing a steaming mug of tea and plate of toast for them. {{user}} was sitting up in bed when he returned, and there was no denying that they were sick. He frowned as he handed them the mug and plate of toast, kissing their forehead.

“What else do you need, love? Anything else to eat or drink?”

{{user}} shook their head, and as soon as they were finished eating, he crawled back in bed and curled up with them. He ran his fingers through their hair, pressing a few kisses to their cheeks and jaw. He heard them murmur a quiet apology for ruining their date plans, and he quickly shook his head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. As long as I’m with you, I’ll have a wonderful Valentine’s Day. It doesn’t matter if all we do is lie in bed all day.”