After hours spent running for their lives in yet another civilization the Doctor had managed to offend, Clara and the Doctor finally made it back safe and sound to the TARDIS without exactly making amends with the Queen. The Doctor as per usual was not phased, and he bounded over to the console with his hands gleefully flying all over the controls.

"So where to now Clara! Ice caps of Shandoa? New Barcelona? I know this planet with—"

"Doctor, we've been going non-stop for quite a while. Don't get me wrong, I love it, I really do, but could we just go out somewhere fun tonight?"

"Fun? Of course! Who do you take me to be? So like I said, ice caps of Shandoa, new—"

"No Doctor, I mean the relaxing, casual, non-adrenaline-inducing, not-running-for-our-lives type of fun."

"Ah, I see. You know Clara, there are quite a few choice ways to induce adrenaline without running." Normally Clara would not have questioned a statement like this coming from the Doctor, assuming he meant some strange alien custom she was much more comfortable not being familiar with. In this instance, however, the intense look the Doctor directed at her that accompanied the statement made her heart beat a little bit faster.

Before she had time to fully analyze it, the Doctor continued. "Well anyway, I suppose I do owe an old friend of mine a drink or two. Go put on something nice, I'm taking you to one of the classiest drinking establishments in your galaxy."

This is how Clara found herself in a booth sitting across from a surreally gorgeous American man, a small group of aliens whose species she had embarrassingly forgotten the names of, and next to the Doctor who had his hand placed dangerously high on her thigh.

The second the Doctor had suggested a fancy bar, Clara had squealed in delight and sprinted off into her room to put on a dress that she had been saving for a special occasion. The dress was elegant, but fitted enough to show off her figure (after all, running for your life did have its perks).

This perfect dress was reminiscent of the outfit she wore on the Orient Express. The night the Doctor was speechless when she asked if her outfit would fit in nicely on the train. The night she could have sworn he was going to kiss her. Man, did she crave that reaction again.

The dress had a low cut back with a sleek neckline attached to silk threads from the otherwise strapless front. Her favorite part was the long slit up the right side. Her friend had to attend a wedding soon, and she had forced Clara to go dress shopping with her. When she tried it on out of sheer boredom, her friend's jaw had gone agape and she proceeded to demand she purchase it, insisting "it will drive any man wild".

As Clara strolled back into the console room, she was happy to report her friend had not been mistaken. The Doctor turned to look as he heard her approach, and she watched his jaw go slack. She cheekily asked him how she looked, but all he could afford was a stuttering response of "You'll do."

As the Doctor led Clara through the bar (his hand guiding her ever so slightly on her lower back, she happily noted), Clara took in her surroundings. It was an intergalactic bar showcasing an incredible array of species she could not even hope to learn all of the names of. She tried to figure out which of these creatures would be joining her tonight, the Doctor had mentioned a captain of some sort. Maybe they were a sort of out of water sea creature?

Just as Clara was beginning to assess the possibilities, a suspiciously flawless human-looking man stepped in front of her and the Doctor's path.

He grabbed her hand and with alarmingly charming eye contact, started to introduce himself. "Well hello there, I could not help but notice you—"

"Nope! No way. Three steps back Harkness" a particularly grumpy Scottish brogue asserted from behind her.

"Clara, I can't say it is my pleasure to introduce you, but this is an old friend of mine: Captain Jack Harkness. Jack, this is Clara Oswald." The doctor placed a protective arm around Clara as he made the introductions, but Clara could not figure out why the Doctor perceived him as a threat. He did say they were old friends after all, why would this man be a danger to them?

"Ah Doctor, you do find a way to meet spectacularly beautiful young women. Sorry about that earlier, force of habit, I mean, how could I resist? You certainly weren't able to, you can't blame me for trying" Oh. That kind of threat. Not that the Doctor would even notice…

"Oh but Jack, you'll find that I can." Clara's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't mean…

"I get it Doctor, I would be protective as well. Now that I understand the dynamic, can we please get to that drink I was promised oh so long ago?" Jack smirked as he began to lead them to his table.

Clara, meanwhile, was still attempting to understand the "dynamic" Jack assumed between her and the Doctor and why the Doctor had not immediately set him to rights. He had not wasted a second in telling her all those months ago, with "I'm not your boyfriend" perpetually ringing in her ears.

She had not even fully processed everything that had happened until she realized Jack was leading them away and the Doctor was waving him to go ahead as he spun Clara around to face him.

After she was face to face, she could not help but notice that the Doctor had not removed his hands from her hip and shoulder—the two leverage points he had used to spin her. He leaned in close until his lip brushed her ear and began to speak in low tones.

"Clara," she closed her eyes and suppressed a sigh at the way her name seemed to roll off of his tongue. "Jack seems to have presumed we are in a much more…intimate relationship than our current one actually is. I think you'll find I'm not too keen on correcting him. On the contrary, I would love to prove him right tonight. Please, just stop me if I go too far."

Clara could not remember how to breathe. What did that mean? The Doctor seemed to sense her unasked question, or hell, maybe he heard it. He was a touch telepath after all.

His lips were suddenly lower, tracing the line of her jaw, then slowly climbed back to her ear once again. His tongue darted out to trace her earlobe, and then he paused to whisper in an octave rumbling lower than usual, "A preview, if you will".

Then he pulled away, spun her back around, and started to guide her to Jack's table. Even in her daze she could have sworn she saw a smirk on his face. Smug bastard.

She could not wait for the night to continue.

Authors Note: I'm planning on continuing this, and if I do so the rating is subject to change.