Fred hadn't wanted to go. Not at first, but then the Doctor had made a fine point of saving Harry. Harry didn't belong in the loony bin, no matter how much Fred might. She was frightened, scared to leave, but she had to. She had to be a champion, even for only a little while. So, she put on the scrubs, the coat, and whatever else the Doctor gave her, and she left with him. She was a little proud of herself for not losing her head completely when the alarms sounded; the brainy woman bit her lip and waited for the Doctor to figure it out. If he really was the Doctor.
The run was just that, a run. They were running for not just their freedom, and once she was outside, Fred really didn't want to go back in. There was something different about the smell outside the hospital. Or prison. It was little wonder that when they finally found somewhere to hole up and think, Fred crashed. The adrenaline rush could only last for so long, and hers had lasted until they found the place. She'd only meant to sit down for a bit of breather but found herself waking up with a bit of a headache, cottonmouth, and a weird feeling that something was wrong.
She didn't stay in bed long; her stomach voiced its opinion on the state of affairs and demanded attention. Normally that would usually mean it was time to eat, but in this case, Fred soon found herself rushing to kneel before the porcelain throne, begging for forgiveness. She'd probably done this a few times, or maybe just this once. As far as she knew it was just this once; what had they been giving her? Or was it all a culmination of the previous day's events? It didn't matter. She didn't like it.
The Doctor didn't have to help if he felt it was beneath him. She was actually capable of seeing to her hair and what not. She groaned softly as she found her feet and a towel along with the very helpful sink, it let her lean against it.
"I'm not dead yet, am I?" She peeked at herself in the mirror. She looked it, a little.