Disclaimer: The only part of Doctor Who I own is my unabashed love of it. The rest belongs to the BBC and friends.

I was genuinely concerned that the TARDIS would have a fit once we got back to her. She is, shall we say temperamental at the best of times as far as I am concerned, and after being left alone for so long and hearing the Doctor call me both 'darling wife' and 'the boss' I figured she and I would be on another collision course for trouble. But maybe sticking with her spaceman and helping him return to her safely has garnered me some points in her books, for now at least.

The reason that I think we may currently have a truce would be because I found my lovely, easy to get on and off, machine washable clothes sitting exactly where I left them in the TARDIS wardrobe. This is absolutely fantastic as far as I am concerned, because I want out of these Victorian clothes. No, I really want out of these clothes. I want to shower and get the feeling of being a wax doll off of my skin. I want to be able to snatch whatever silly hat the Doctor wears next from his head, and make him have to run to catch me. I want to be able to walk in the rain, without a worry about how long velvet takes to dry. I want to enjoy the sun and not bake under layers in the heat. I want to wear my own pajamas and fall asleep listening to the Doctor read me something other than Charles Dickens' and just stay in bed for a week.

Actually, scrap that last bit. I no longer have Sweetville's seemingly endless mysteries to worry about, which means that my excuse, or rather my very valid reason of having more important things on my to-do list than protest the sleeping arrangements the Doctor and I have had for the last while doesn't really work anymore.

After Aida… took care… of Mr. Sweet, the Doctor spent the rest of the night working at a feverish pace, concocting an antidote to the poison. Mrs. Gillyflower's notes and extensive lab facility were a huge help in this process. Using those pod things wasn't a viable way to restore everyone the way we were. Too many people, not enough pods. I stayed with him all night and it was kind of amazing to watch him work. I helped where I could, passing this flask of blue fizzy stuff and that empty test tube and not that one but the other beaker of boiling red goo.

This wasn't him tinkering with the TARDIS, that seems to be an endless sort of game without a goal. This time the Doctor had a set problem and he was going to work it out. The extent of his concentration and sheer determination was almost unnerving, although it paled in comparison to the dark expression he'd had when I told him that I had been aware of what was happening for moments while I had been under the influence of 'the process.' As I have said, sometimes he is mistakable for a giddy child, and sometimes he is a terrifying otherworldly force...

He somehow deduced a way to reverse the effects of Mr. Sweet's poison, and added something which he said would help cloud people's memories of it, in case I wasn't the only one who was aware of what had happened to me. The whole thing should be chalked up historically to a bad industrial accident I think.

The following morning, I saw something which made me forget all of the shivers that ran down my spine, every moment of panic and each hour of lost sleep. Just before the Doctor and I left, the kind girl who tried to help me at the quilting bee staggered wearily out of the Sweetville gates. She found her husband, threw herself into his arms, and then they kissed each other fiercely right there on the street. Victorian values be damned, they were safe, they were together again and they loved each other, that all matters so much more than modesty.

The Doctor had watched me watch them, with his look of quiet happiness. I only ever see that look when things that have gone wrong (which happens more often than not it would seem) finally go right again. It's not his dashing about face that happens when he finds something out of place. It is a glow; it is genuine and usually unspoken, just a shared look between us before we disappear into the shadows again, knowing to leave well enough alone.

I shrug my cardigan over my shoulders after finishing my shower and take an easy, deep breath, just enjoying the scent of clean. I can actually say an easy breath and mean it. Actually properly easy, not just easier.

The prospect of returning to the Maitland's feels rather odd right now. The Doctor and I have never spent this long together. Usually our adventures only last a couple of days at best, excluding the mess with the HADS which resulted in a submarine ride from one pole to the other... But right now I don't really want to say goodbye… Oddly enough, I think this adventure was the one where I saw the most alien thing yet, despite us being firmly planted on earth.

No, I don't mean Madam Vastra, although I fully admit it is a lot to swallow that humanoid lizards once ruled earth and are now living dormant underground waiting to ascend again... I also don't mean the odd little potato that kept calling me 'boy.' Nope, the thing that felt the more alien to me than anything from space was the relationship between Mrs. Gillyflower and her daughter. It easily disturbed me more than anything I have seen with the Doctor. It was cold, exploitive and cruel, everything I would never ever think of when it came to me and Mum.

Aida's look changed so much in the short time I saw her after Mrs. Gillyflower had died. The fear on her face seemed to have set itself to a steeled resolve. The idea that she is better off now, without her mother makes my heart ache, because that should be wrong, there is still not a day I don't miss my Mum. I take our book into the TARDIS every time I leave on a new adventure, to an endless and one places to see.

I have heard the Doctor make offhanded comments about feelings being 'humany wumany,' which I think he means as a compliment to us all. I am Clara Oswald and I am human. I am alive, I hope, I love, I lose, I feel. Nothing will ever take that away from me. Ever. I don't wear my heart on my sleeves, but that doesn't mean I don't have one.

I think the Doctor is more human than he knows, not like biologically speaking, but emotionally. He feels too, he just spends a lot of time trying to forget it or to hide it. But if I can steal his words, some things take an impossibly long time to forget, and you are better off remembering them anyways.

Speaking of Doctor Smith, I should probably go find him before he gets worried that his TARDIS has eaten me, which might actually be a more valid concern than I would like to admit…

A few minutes later I find the Doctor, who is also sporting a clean change of clothes, in the console room wiping down one of the panels happily, grinning up at me when he sees me come in. When I get closer, his expression softens a bit. "You've left a bit of your Victorian attire on." He says.

I'm rather confused for a moment. That ensemble is hard to forget about, I can't really wear one bit without another… I haven't got a clue what he is talking about…

"The ring." He says quietly.

I hadn't even thought about that… When I got out of the shower and put my jewelry back on, that dark silver ring just went back onto my left hand. Force of habit after doing it for a while I should think. And by should think I mean definitely do think.

"Oh!" Is the best I can manage, before I slowly slide it off of my finger. I'm not sure what to do with it, for all I know it belonged to Queen Elizabeth VII or maybe Cleopatra or is made from the last silver from the Lost Moon of Poosh or…or… something. It came from the Doctor after all, and I don't know if he wants it back or..?

"Clara."

"Yeah?"

"Pass it here for a minute please?"

He holds out his hand and I place it into his palm. He then takes out the sonic screwdriver, and points it at the ring, which resonates visibly for a second before stilling again, the band seeming to have grown a bit thinner and a bit bigger around. The Doctor pockets the sonic, and then slips the ring back onto my left hand, on my middle finger this time, before grabbing his rag again and dashing around the console, polishing random levers and knobs.

"Where to?" He calls over to me as he goes. "Did you want to go home for a bit now?" His enthusiasm wanes when he asks if I want to leave.

The Doctor often calls the Maitland house my home, which I suppose is correct in the sense that that is where I live, but I still can't really call it home. It doesn't have that sense of permanency a home needs to have even though I've been there for quite a while now.

When I don't reply right away, mulling over what exactly I want to say, he gets his look of apprehension. As the seconds tick away he crosses his arms and starts moving a bit side to side as if getting a different view of my face will improve the situation. Impatient Doctor, how did you manage all that time in Yorkshire, the first bit of it without even having a known problem to chase?

"Villenguard." I finally say, also crossing my arms and looking him straight in the face. I am the boss.

"Villenguard?" He repeats, looking very confused.

"Yes. Villenguard. Not Cardiff, not Yorkshire and not London, which in case you hadn't noticed is the big city on the River Thames with the giant clock tower and the Parliament buildings.

He is still lost, so I continue. "You went on about Villenguard a lot before you decided we should visit Victorian London. After dealing with the Crimson Horror, I could use a relaxing walk in a banana grove and maybe some sleep before I have to go back to the Maitland's.

Good job Clara. That is an excellent way of not saying 'I don't want to leave you right now.'

"How about we do the Summer Solstice Party in Villenguard then? I swear nothing goes wrong, I've technically already been once so I know it ends well, we just need to get out of there by 1:52AM so I don't cross my own timeline, that usually ends badly. The people who work at the banana plantation really know how to party, not as well as the prerevolutionary French mind you, but they make much better banana daiquiris, probably since they can just pick fresh bananas… They also have a several thousand year advantage on the French since I may have accidentally invented the banana daiquiris that one time when I was at King Louis XV's court… Oh! And! And you don't even have to worry about changing again! You will look wonderfully earth retro as is." He finishes, seemingly very pleased with himself.

This sounds like a lot of fun, not exactly a relaxing walk in a banana grove, but fun. So why not?

"Push the button." I say with a smile.

He steps behind me, strictly speaking closer than he probably needs to be (not that I am supposed to be noticing that) and gently takes both of my hands, guiding them across the TARDIS controls, flicking switches, moving dials, setting coordinates and turning a key which I notice is engraved with 'Smiths.' He lets go of my hands after placing them both on the lever, letting me do that bit on my own.

"Geronimo." He says softly in my ear, as I pull the lever down and we are sent off hurtling through space and time once again.

A/N: Thank you those who favourited, thank you those who followed, thank you so much those who reviewed, and a big thank you to everyone who read through to the end! This chapter took longer than I had hoped to write. Clara kept running away and getting a bit too cheeky on me… I want to keep trying write more while I am not in school, so if anyone has any ideas or prompts that they would like to see me take a stab at, please feel free to suggest them!

Thank you again for all your patience with a very inexperienced writer!