They had been dancing around each other since his regeneration, in a slow and painful pace, always wondering which would be the next step in that strange dance of them. But it was really hard to dance when you were unsure about the ground under your feet, when you couldn't see the light in the room and you were too afraid of the shadows even to search for a friendly hand to hold.

He had changed; so much that she had questioned all her beliefs about him. He had lost his softness, his warmth and his easy smile. The sadness was more evident in the blue steel of his eyes now, as well as the darkness, the fury of the storm that had always dwelt inside him. And that had frightened her to her bones and it had blinded her to the obvious truth.

It had taken her a long time to figure him out, to finally feel that his hearts were still in the right place, despite all of his apparent aloofness and, sometimes, even cold demeanor.

He had changed, of course he had. Life change people, all the time. This new him was indeed different from the floppy haired young man he had once been not only because of the evident lines on his face or the silver curls of his hair. But mostly because this man had been forged through nine hundred years of a solitary siege, in a cruel war in a planet that he knew it would become his grave at the end.

It had taken her a ridiculous amount of time to see him, to really see him, to find the real him inside his eyes. Until she could finally see in him the same softness, the same warmth, that from time to time slipped through the small cracks on the many layers and walls he had built around his soul.

He was still the same. And yet, so very different. He was now more alien than ever, more hectic, almost maniac sometimes with his scary shark grin. But his eyes would still shine with a boyish excitement with each new discovery, with the prospect of every new adventure. He was able to drive her crazy with his stubbornness and his childish necessity to prove himself always right. But he would always be there to stop the monsters and save the day, he would be always there to risk everything and challenge everyone to have her back. He still would be always there. For her. Even in the darkest hour. Even through death.

So, yes, he was still the same, although different. He had now that strange quality about him, an intensity, a fire slow burning, deep rooted and carefully hidden inside him. It was something most of the time overshadowed by his alienness but it was more easily noticeable in the quiet moments they shared at the TARDIS, when they were safe and alone and his guard was down. It was something she couldn't quite put her finger on it; or that maybe she'd rather ignore, for the sake of their friendship and for her own sanity. She had already lost too much to risk losing him.

So she would turn a blind eye to the spark that lit up his eyes and would pretend not see the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She would ignore a careless brush of his fingers on her hand and would close her ears to the loud ponding of her stupid heart.

"Because it is the right thing to do," she kept telling herself.

-0—0—

It had been the worst day ever. For some stupid reason the TARDIS had landed in the wrong place and instead of being in the middle of a peaceful and cheerful fair in the medieval England, they had found themselves surrounded by a dozen of very angry bull headed warriors. Whom, besides having three legs and smelt like they had just come out from a sewer, hadn't the slightest aptitude for talking. Or negotiating.

The filthy creatures had put them in chains into a dark dungeon, which smelt just as bad as them and had left them alone for an interminable argument of whom had been supposed to bring the vibrocutters.

Honestly, why someone would need vibrocutters in a totally pacific medieval fair anyway? Besides, he had been the one who had forgotten the sonic screwdriver at the TARDIS. How someone who even used to sleep with that stupid screwdriver in his pocket could have forgotten it, it was something beyond her understanding.

But they banter had been interrupted by a sudden explosion that made one of the dungeon's walls collapse. Among the cloud of dust and debris emerged a group of soldiers in heavy white metallic armors, leaving her and the Doctor in the middle of a battle without any chance to defend themselves.

But the worst was yet to come. A few hours later, she had woken up feeling sore and disoriented only to face up the most outrageous scene in front of her eyes. The Doctor, her Doctor, the not-a-hugging-person-anymore, was in the arms of not only one, but two women whose greedy hands and lips were all over him.

Somehow, in the middle of whatever they were trying to do, he had convinced the women to release them. The only explanation he had given her while they ran back to the security of the TARDIS had been that they were a race of women soldiers apparently in war with the bull-headed warriors and that they were the metallic soldiers that had broke into the dungeon and made them prisoners

She had not yet recovered from the image of the women over him and much less from the turmoil of emotions that that sight had provoked on her. So she needed to close her eyes for a moment trying to wipe out the thought while she paced the control room as a caged animal. She could feel his eyes trained on her while he placed new coordinates at the console and the usual hum of the TARDIS' motor filled the heavy silence between them.

Clara knew she had no right to feel like that. They were just friends, he had made it clear from the very beginning. And besides, from her point of view, tied to a chair on the opposite corner of the room, she had had the impression that he had been as terrified as herself. And yet, she couldn't help the feeling of… Jealous? Outrage? Betrayal? She shook her head. Stop it! Stop it! I have my feelings under control, haven't I? Not your boyfriend, remember, Clara Oswald?

When she finally raised her eyes to look at him, he had already smoothed his clothes; his shirt was buttoned to the top and back inside his trousers. And except for his crazy disheveled curls, which in any other situation would have put a smile on her lips, there wasn't any visible sign of what had happened.

"Are you alright?" He finally broke the awkward silence, concern all over his face.

"Yes." She must be, mustn't she? Nothing really bad had happened; they were still both in one piece. So why was she still so angry? Jealousy? Not. Not jealousy. She looked away from him. Maybe. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Since she had accepted his invitation to come with him at Christmas she had been struggling to keep her feelings under control. And she thought she had done a really good job so far. Even with all the little changes in him and in their relationship that she had preferred ignore. She suppressed a sigh. She must stop thinking about it or she would ruin everything. Or became insane, what would come first.

They were friends and she had accepted it when she had decided to join him in a permanent basis. Besides, he had been practically abused by that two women hadn't he? It was not like he had enjoyed it or had any kind of feelings for them. She almost rolled her eyes at herself. Oh, I have to stop it!

"Clara, I-"

"What did you tell them, Doctor? To convince them to free us?" She cut him off, her eyes anywhere but him so she didn't saw the look of confusion on his face.

"You're cross." It was an affirmation, not a question.

"I'm not." She tried to control her tone and felt his eyes desperately searching her face for answers she didn't have. "You didn't answer my question," she insisted, putting the pressure on him.

He watched her for a moment longer before he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And why should I? That isn't even what you want to ask me anyway." His intense gaze burned holes on her skin. "So I think we are just even."

"Right! I am cross!" She finally got the courage to look at him again. "But not for the reasons you might think," she regretted her words as soon as they had slipped from her lips. Even though, she sustained his gaze. "What the hell had happened there, Doctor?"

"You saw it," his arms fell heavily to the sides of his body. "You know what had happened, Clara."

"Don't! Don't do it!" She raised her forefinger at him and he sighed, running a hand through his face in frustration. For a moment she feared that he would just leave her heart felt on her stomach.

"They drugged me," he finally showed her two circular small red marks on his left wrist. "It was how they overcame me and,... Well, you know." He blushed slightly but put himself together quickly to continue. "Fortunately my system recovered faster than they were expecting and, by the time you woke up, I was regaining my senses."

He shoved his hands on his trousers pockets and watched her while she avoided eye contact in a faint attempt to prevent him to see through her. But she suspected that it was useless now.

"Nothing had happened, Clara. You were there. You saw it." His voice was low but she could feel his frustration. She couldn't even fully understand why he was telling her that, why he was explaining himself to her. But that was what she had asked him to do, wasn't it? A long moment passed before she could talk again.

"Are you alright?"

His countenance softened a little and he nodded. "I'm good," he averted his gaze for a brief moment before his eyes searched for hers once more. "Are we?"

His question caught her off guard and she really didn't know how to answer it, her mind racing while her foolish heart almost jumped out of her chest in a crazy attempt to find all the different meanings where it was nothing. Because there wasn't, was it? Then she just nodded and was rewarded with that bashful smile of his, that she had become so fond, before he walked to the door that lead to the TARDIS corridors.

"Good." He stopped at the doorway to look at her. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am in need of a wash."

-0—0—

She took her time in a long shower and decided that sorting out her feelings now was something nearly impossible, especially after that 'are-we-good' conversation. The best she could do was pretend nothing had happened and keep ignoring all the skipped beats of her heart. Everything would be under control as long as he kept his distance and she kept her head over her shoulders.

In her way to the control room she found the kitchen and stopped to make them coffee. Somewhat, the TARDIS lately seemed to be more friendly with her, which was a blessing in a day like that. Minutes later she found him leaning against the console over a pile of scattered pieces, focused on assembling one more of his endless gadgets with questionable names. She quietly placed the coffee mug next to him and climbed the stairs to fetch her book from the bookshelf.

"Thank you," he muttered before he took a long sip, watching her while she made herself comfortable at his armchair with her book and her coffee mug. She could swear there was a smile tugging on his lips when she covered her mouth to hide a yawn. Normally he would make one of his clever remarks, just to tease her, but not today. He knew her better to press his luck. He kept silent, turning his attention back to the gadget and eventually, sipping from his coffee. A comfortable silence felt over them, broken only for the occasional soft humming of the TARDIS or for the sounds of metal against metal while he worked.

She watched him for a long moment, all her fears slowly succumbing to the quiet force of his presence. He glanced at her and she felt the heat of his gaze warming her heart. They were fine. They would be fine. She hid her smile behind her book and tried to focus on it, but slowly felt the sleep starting to claim her.

-0-0-

How had he allowed things to go so wrong? It had been his entire fault; he shouldn't have forgotten the sonic, he shouldn't have allowed them out of the TARDIS without checking if it was safe, he shouldn't have forgotten basic security principles! But she had clapped her hands and had smiled so brightly showing him her dimples and he had gotten lost in the spark of her eyes. What the hell was going wrong with him? Doctor idiot!

He put his head on his hands. It was a stupid question. He knew very well what was that all about. Two thousand years of living had made him familiar with the fluttering at his stomach every time their eyes met, to the warm on his chest when she smiled, to the growing need to hold her in his arms and keep her there, safe and happy. He knew it, too damn well. Because he had been fighting it since the beginning and now he was starting to feel his resolution weakening.

But he couldn't allow it; he must to be strong, for both of them, for the sake of their friendship and their sanity. For her sake. Damn.

From the corner of his eye he saw her coming in hesitant steps, two mugs of coffee in her hands, one of them she placed next to him at the console. She didn't say a thing and he was grateful for that. Their day had already been bad enough for another conversation about how he had ended up between (or under?) two soldier-woman, the memory still too fresh to not upset him. He still didn't understand why that had upset her too, or at least, he was trying hard to pretend he didn't have a clue. He must to do it.

"Because it is the right thing to do," he kept telling himself.