The Doctor gets a pointed look - at least Callie agrees that being on the floor is a problem - then she turns her attention back to the more sensible of the two. "It depends on what he's got," she says with a broad-shouldered shrug. "If it's just some sort of rift mischief, it might only last a few days." Otherwise, who knows? Maybe he and the TARDIS have the same sort of bug, and one will only get better if the other does. She doubts it's a coincidence that they're both falling apart at the same time.

Callie looks healthy enough, so that's some comfort. All of the TARDIS's residents aren't falling ill. But she is looking a bit fretful, so Daine reaches out to give her arm a gentle, reassuring pat. "I'm sure he'll get better. He ought to be in bed, is all." Goddess knows if they'll be able to brew him a cup of tea or anything - she's a little afraid of the state the kitchens might be in - but surely his bed will be a safe enough place to deposit him for the time being.

She turns back to the Doctor, stern and assessing. "Can you stand? Elsewise, I'll have to carry you." Well, half-carry, half-drag, in this shape. He's too gangly for her to lift completely, and Callie's a bit too short to help hold him steady if Daine tried for something larger, like horse shape.