Finally, my first Doctor Who fic is completed! It wasn't supposed to be this long, but the story got away from me…as it always does. But either way, I hope you enjoy the story!

Disclaimer: I own nothing…

Contrary to what he had hoped, the hug and post-chips celebration after their surprise visit to Victorian London hadn't solved all the problems between Clara and the Doctor. Apparently, Clara needed more than chips to make up for regenerating into a new man. Although, the more he thought of it, he supposed it was only fair since she had to pay for the chips (it's not his fault he didn't have money, new body, new clothes and he's never needed any currency before) and since he did endanger her life in Victorian London (there was a horse involved, best not to get too detailed) and after his last body had lied to her and left her behind (really, the Chin was rather an idiot, wasn't he?). But he recalled, from many centuries ago, how he had made another woman (blonde at the time) feel better just by buying her chips after she had seen her world destroyed (he never said the man in leather had much sense either). Serves him right for trying to compare Clara to another woman – when she was so wholly unique and her own person. She was still his Impossible Girl, his Clara, he just wasn't sure if he still had the right to be called her Doctor.

No, her Doctor had been the man on the phone. The man with the big chin and the ridiculous bowtie. The man who had left her behind twice, lied to her face, and during his last few moments focused on the face of Amelia Pond, once more ignoring dear Clara. Of course he understood what he was doing at the time. That Doctor hated good-byes (though the new Scottish version wasn't sure he would ever want to say good-bye to Clara either) and chose to do it over a phone call and therefore thought it was alright to ignore the small doe –eyed woman. But this new Doctor – and quite honestly he doesn't quite know if he deserves that title just yet – hates the old him, just a little, because the old him made Clara Oswald cry. On multiple occasions.

And yet despite the fact that it was the old Doctor that regenerated and made her cry, she still wanted him. She didn't trust the new, fierce, older Doctor. Not just yet; and how could she? They had only had one adventure together – and that had been a crash landing! He doesn't know much about himself, but if he knows one thing, then it's how much this new face cares for her already, and wants nothing more than to keep her safe and happy (even if it's not with him). But how does he go about trying to explain the Timelord biology to her? Try and explain that she is the first face that this face saw, and that he can't stand the thought of ever letting anything harm or hurt her – least of all himself. How does he explain that he treasures and cherishes her beyond belief in a way his past self never did? How does he explain that he's pretty sure he's already, quite possibly half way in love with her because she is absolutely amazing and breathtaking all at once?

Short answer: he doesn't.

No, instead he gets short with her when she goes to answer her phone call, which he was fairly certain was his past self, and taunts her that it's probably her boyfriend. He clenches his fists in anger (but never at her) and nervousness when she ignores him in favour for the voice on the phone and when she acts like everything is perfectly fine even though he knows she wants him to change back (he even asks as much – after all Rose wanted that too). And he flounders about (so much like the Chin did) when she leaps up to hug him. Because he should be overjoyed, because this is the acceptance he had been craving since he had been born, craving her touch.

But instead he flails around because his mind is replaying the words she said before "Thank you, for him." She hasn't accepted the new him, she still wants her silly, childish, bowtie wearing Doctor. So he flaps about and tries to apologize for not being him. For not being the one that she wants, for not being the one that she needs (but not quite deserves because in his last moments he was truly cold towards her) but still trying to silently beg for a chance, because he can try. If Clara gives the new Doctor a chance, he would do his very best to try and make her happy, prove how much he already loves her. And all the while his heart clenches with ice, because she is expressing all her love for the old Doctor through this hug, a man he no longer is and a man that no longer exists. And the jealousy doesn't quite sting, as much as it burns. Or perhaps that's the sadness of it all.

He shuts his mind off for just a split second to try and just enjoy the hug. But all too soon, Clara's letting go already. And by the time she's flat on the ground asking where they are, the Doctor has already come to a decision. He'll give her whatever she desires, but he won't gamble his hearts on it. Not for a woman that can never love him. He strengthens his resolve to distance himself from her, not to get too attached. It was only a matter of time before she left him anyway. The red haired Pond wanted forever with him, but even she left for her love of the Roman. And eventually, Clara would leave him too, because he wasn't her Doctor. And this time, he refused to let that destroy his hearts again.

(Later when Clara asks why he never hugged her properly then, he'll tell her the first lie, the words like bitter acid on his tongue, and tell her that she's much too short and it hurts his back, and quite frankly he doesn't quite like hugs anymore. After Clara goes home, the TARDIS will scold him for lying, as if he doesn't feel bad enough already.)

To be fair, the regeneration had taken Clara by surprise. What was the Doctor expecting? For her to welcome him with open arms? One moment she's begging the floppy haired Doctor not to change, then he snaps back and comes up as a grey haired man with a Scottish accent and a temper to match.

She thinks she's entitled to a grieving period, but apparently the TARDIS had other plans. They crash landed in Victorian London, and at the end of the day – is it really still Christmas? – Clara just wants to go home and curl up and have a good cry. The new Doctor's irritated attitude doesn't help much.

And then she gets a phone call. From her Doctor. And everything changes.

She hugs him, because she can see that he's still the same man. Still the same 'big sad eyes', though she's not sure how much she can trust those eyes anymore. The hug doesn't fix everything in the span of a few seconds. For one thing, he doesn't hug back, and her heart is still raw from the loss of her Doctor. But it is a new beginning, a step in the right direction she thinks.

She vaguely has some memory of the Doctor (the old one, not the new) telling her that a wounded animal always snarls to scare people off. As they have chips together, Clara mulls over these words and considers this new Doctor. She hasn't known him for too long, but he doesn't seem to smile too often (except for when he thinks she's not looking and she catches him staring at her) and has biting remarks about almost everything. Clara starts to think there might be a reason for his beastly attitude.

And Clara can't help but bite back a small smile as she watches him get acquainted with his new taste buds, trying everything on the menu (he finally settles in the dessert section) and insulting everything he doesn't like. She makes the decision to stay with him right then and there. For as long as he wants her around (she hopes it will be for a long while).

Because the Doctor was wrong, not everything ends. There's a small jolt in her as she watches this new Doctor with the stormy blue eyes that reminds her that love doesn't always end. Because the Doctor (every version of him) will get lonely. And every lonely monster (his own thoughts no doubt) needs a companion. Every beast needs a beauty.

For the first month or so, they both make an effort to avoid each other just a bit. He still comes by every Wednesday to take her on an adventure, and she never says no. They don't talk much about the time before he regenerated: it's a taboo subject for them. The Doctor always makes sure to come right on time; he's always just a little scared if he's late then she won't come anymore. He'll never tell her that of course, he'll also never tell her how his heart freezes a bit whenever she leaves because maybe next time she will say no to him.

But she never does. They don't hold hands anymore, but they still save so many worlds, just like they always did so not everything has changed. As she grieves for her loss, Clara finds herself making a mental comparison chart of the eleventh and twelfth doctors (it feels wrong to call only one of them hers anymore).

Slowly she starts learning about the new Doctor from the little things. Whenever she comes on board, he's usually tinkering on the TARDIS (probably trying to deactivate the automatic control) and there's soft music playing in the background. The eleventh doctor would read a book and twirl her around in happiness when she arrived and tell her about a new planet that they're going to; the twelfth doctor gives her a soft smile and asks her what she's in the mood for today.

The eleventh doctor avoided most of her baking (too many burnt soufflés in the TARDIS), but the twelfth doctor has quite the sweet tooth and always loves it when she brings him cupcakes.

"You're actually a good baker," the Doctor commented the first time she ever brought him homemade cupcakes and cookies.

"Whatever made you think otherwise?" Clara replied sassily as she sat in his chair by the console watching him take a bite of the cupcake, and trying very hard not to fixate on the way his tongue darted out to lick the icing off (the eleventh doctor would always just stuff it all in his mouth).

The Doctor raised an eyebrow (she's still amazed that he finally has those), "I've seen you try to bake in the TARDIS," it was one of the few times he referred to himself as the old Doctor, "I have seen the destruction of the soufflés and the mess you make."

Clara huffed, "It's the old cow's fault. I swear she changes the temperature when I'm not looking and burns the soufflés!"

"Maybe if you refrained from calling her an 'old cow' she would be nicer to you? And if you cleaned up in the kitchen once in a while? Why so much negativity towards the Old Girl? I thought you two were getting along this week?" he added on the last part as an afterthought.

"I thought so too, but then she moved my bedroom again!" Clara crossed her arms and sank further back into the seat. She offhandedly thought that the Doctor must think she was acting rather childish as this was what Angie had always done when she didn't get her way.

"Oh she just has a sense of humour! She's teasing you," the Doctor explained as he stroked the console, but keeping his eyes on Clara. The human companion stayed quiet as the room lit up with happiness and affection for the Timelord.

Clara sighed, "Why do you always have to take her side?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes (this regeneration could be rather sassy at times – he blames all the women in his previous life) "Oh don't start. I'm not taking sides, I love you both equally; I have two hearts after all."

Clara's eyes widened at the hidden meaning behind the words. The Doctor seemed to catch on to what he had said and before she could even begin to ponder the statement he cleared his throat and turned to fiddle with the buttons and dials.

"So you wanted to go hiking, right? I know just the place…"

(Apparently both eleven and twelve were quite good at avoiding topics they didn't want to discuss)

Clara is learning quite a lot about the new Doctor – he sleeps more which he blames on the older body. He always drinks the tea she makes him but won't say no to a good cup of coffee. He gets the occasional stress headache and pinches the bridge of his nose when he tries to control his temper. He runs his hands through his curls whenever he gets overwhelmed or worried. And on the rare occasion he gets frustrated with his ship he starts cursing in Gallifreyan and stops as soon as the TARDIS starts whirring angrily.

She knows that no matter how angry he is, he never takes it out on her. The eleventh doctor had a rage that could ruin the universe; the twelfth doctor is much more precise. He controls his anger towards those who deserve it, and does his best not to scorch others in the heat of it. She's gotten used to his Scottish accent and starts to love the way her name sounds in his mouth. As much as she knows all this, it's not quite enough to bridge the gap between them

She misses how he used to call her 'my Clara, my Impossible Girl.' She misses when he used to take her by the hand and they would run together, misses the way he would always greet her with a hug. She thinks she's coming to terms with this new Doctor, but he always seems constantly irritated with her – or maybe just everything in general – and she can't help but wonder if he wants to replace her. After all, new Doctor, new companion, right?

The Doctor once told Clara the TARDIS is somewhat telepathic and perhaps she picked up on Clara's self-confidence issues and tried to fix the problem herself. Or maybe she saw through the Doctor's icy façade and decided to do the man a favour. Whatever the sentient ship's reasons, Clara certainly doesn't approve of her ways when she takes matters into her own metaphorical hands.

"Ahem."

The Doctor looked up at the sound of a clearing throat and met Clara's eyes. She was standing rather timidly, holding a book in her hands, biting her bottom lip nervously. The Doctor moved back from the TARDIS console where he was tinkering at and gave the young woman his full attention, while trying – and failing – not to watch her legs as she rocked back and forth slightly waiting for his response.

"Something wrong, Clara?" the Doctor asked clearing his mind of any wrong thoughts as he met Clara's gaze once more.

"She moved my room again," Clara glared at the man as he let out a small chuckle, she pressed on, "Anyways, I was just wondering, if maybe I could read out here with you. If it's not too much of a bother…I can't find the library either and all the hallways lead to the console room."

The Doctor sighed in frustration, it was clear to him that the Old Girl was making them have some forced quality bonding time. He shouldn't have expected any better from her seeing as he once wanted her to get along with his human companion in the same way.

"Of course," he answered gesturing to the jump seat, "I'd love some company." The words were worth the brilliant smile he got in response as she skipped over to the seat.

"What are you reading anyways?" the Doctor questioned, attempting to keep her attention before she delved back into her fantastical world.

"Shakespeare. Not out of choice mind you, but I have to teach it in class in a few weeks," Clara flipped through the pages to resume her reading, secretly pleased he had started a conversation.

The Doctor hummed in response as he remembered her life outside of him and turned back to the TARDIS to continue with this fiddling. A few minutes passed, the only sounds from the whirring, metallic clanking, beeping and page flipping coupled with the few long sighs of boredom from Clara.

The silence was unnerving to the Doctor as it often was. His mind was hyper-aware of the fact that Clara was only a few feet away from him, although there was always some small portion thinking about his companion. But currently, with her so close and staying so quiet, he couldn't concentrate on the ship. That's why he always preferred it when she chose to stay in the library or her bedroom doing her grading and what not, she wasn't so distracting then. Out of sight, out of mind.

"I met Shakespeare once, you know?" the Doctor's voice rang along the walls. He had his back turned to Clara, but he could hear the closing of the book and the shuffling of fabric as she presumably turned to face him.

He could almost envision the smirk on her face when she said, "And what sort of trouble did you get him into that time?"

The Doctor huffed and spun around indignantly, and came face to face with Clara who had a Cheshire-grin on her face just the way he imagined it. Her hand clutched the book like she was just about to lose interest in the Doctor any second now and turn back to her reading.

It was a challenge. He had missed this side of her.

"What makes you think that I did anything?" he grumbled.

"Because it's you. No matter what body you're in, you have a penchant for trouble."

"It's not my fault, trouble finds me," he muttered under his breath.

Clara laughed, "Is this who you are then? All serious-face on the outside but really just a whining twelve year old on the inside? Blimey, it's like you completely flip-flopped from your last face!"

"It was the tenth doctor," he said cutting of her train of thought. Perhaps it was silly to be jealous, but he never liked it when she thought of the Chin when he was right in front of her. Seeing her confusion the Doctor elaborated, "That's the Doctor that met Shakespeare. And there were witches involved if I remember correctly. And Queen Elizabeth the First tried to behead me. Quite the adventure."

"I bet," Clara let out a low whistle putting the book to the side. He won the challenge. "But you can't blame poor Lizzie, you married her and then left her all alone, not very husbandly at all."

"Well I wasn't married to her at the time!" he defended his actions, "I'm a time traveler for crying out loud! Nothing ever happens in the right order for me. And if I recall correctly, when I met Shakespeare I had no idea I was married to the Queen. Poor Martha nearly had her head taken out by an arrow!"

Clara giggled at the old man's antics and the Doctor frowned and leaned back in resentment. Once her laughter had bubbled away, silence filled the room once more. But it was more comfortable than the awkward one before it.

"So, what exactly are you working on? You're not going to make her mad are you? Last time you tried to mess with her controls she locked us out in Colonial America – during the Winter!" Clara asked trying to keep the conversation going.

The Doctor smiled when Clara referred to his ship as a living being, she could pretend as much as she wanted but he knew she felt a certain fondness towards the sentient machine.

"It's fine. Colonial America won't happen again. Especially with them accusing us of witchcraft! It's just the helmet regulator, it's acting up again. So it's simple maintenance really. Just have to rewire the mainframe so that…" the Doctor trailed off as Clara's eyes glazed over, "You don't really care what I'm doing, do you?"

"No, can't say I do," Clara answered nonchalantly.

"You were just asking to be nice, weren't you?"

"And to make sure we don't end up in Colonial America again…but basically, yes."

"I said I was sorry! It was an accident! How many times do I have to apologize?"

Clara laughed, "Alright, alright. Is it important? What you're doing right now, I mean."

"It's always important whenever I work on the ship," the Doctor bit out, and then immediately regretted his tone as Clara's smile dimmed.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Clara looked away not meeting his gaze anymore and started playing with the frayed ends of her dress.

"Then what did you mean?" the Doctor asked softly but also with a touch of exasperation. He edged closer to his companion, suddenly worried he had hurt her feelings.

"I just meant," she took a deep breath and looked up into his silver-blue eyes, "Am I a bother to you?"

He blinked. Out of all the things he expected, that was certainly not one of them.

"I mean, we don't particularly talk much anymore," Clara fought to keep her voice steady and not let all her thoughts and feelings out like an unrestrained fire hose, "And whenever I come onboard you always seem busy with the TARDIS and rather content on ignoring me and I just thought – never mind," she sighed as she cut herself off.

"No, not 'never mind'. What did you think, Clara?" He wondered what he should be doing right now. The eleventh doctor would have held onto her tightly, reassuring her with sweet words. But he wasn't that sort of man anymore.

"Nothing, it seems rather silly now. I shouldn't have bothered you with it," she made to get up. But his next words stilled her movement.

"Nothing's wrong with silly. Please tell me." In the end it was his pleading tone hanging at the end that got her to stay. The look in his eyes, like he was afraid. She had never seen this Doctor vulnerable before.

"I thought that maybe you didn't want me anymore. Maybe you wanted a new companion."

"You're right that is stupid," the Doctor wasted no time in debunking her ridiculous notion. How could she possibly think that? Clara was quite possibly the only person he wanted to travel with from now on.

"I said 'silly' not 'stupid'!" she argued.

"Well it's a bit of both isn't it?" his Scottish accent made the words sound harsher than he meant them to be. Clara sighed heavily and deliberately looked anywhere but him. Great, now the feisty young woman was mad at him.

"Listen," he started after a few stagnant moments, "Clara, please look at me."

"Why?" she asked bitterly, trying hard to keep the stinging tears at bay.

"So that you can look into my 'big, sad eyes' and know I'm telling the truth when I say this."

Clara turned her face and waited for him to continue.

"Thank you. I know I'm not the most agreeable man to get along with this time around, but I very much enjoy your company. I always look forward to seeing you. You, and no one else. I spent around 600 years alone on Trenzalore, I got used to the silence. But that doesn't mean I like it. In fact I absolutely hate it, that's why I'm always playing music in here. I have never told you that you were a bother to me, and you of all people know how blunt I can be. I don't pretend to be nice or spare your feelings Clara, I honestly do enjoy having you around, and I have no plans on replacing you. Not unless you want to leave."

At the end of his monologue, the Doctor found himself on his knees by Clara, all but begging for her forgiveness by his stature. Waiting to see if she would take the unspoken offer of leaving him.

"Six hundred years. Blimey. It was only one day for me," Clara let out a small smile, which the Doctor happily returned. "Did you – or did he – I mean…did you ever think of me? In all that time?"

The grey haired man heaved a great sigh and tentatively placed his hands in Clara's lap, "Six hundred years all alone. Clara I can assure you that he thought of you quite often and quite fondly." It was worth the heartbreak to see how her eyes lit up with happiness at the thought of her Doctor thinking of her. He wanted to scream that his present self always thought of her, that she was always on his mind. But he kept his gaze steady on her doe brown eyes instead.

Clara brought one hand to cover his hands in her lap, but didn't attempt to hold them; the other hand went up to cup the Doctor's cheek. The body might have been newer, but she could feel the skin worn with age underneath her fingertips.

"You're eyes aren't really sad, right now," she stated.

"Why would they be?" the Doctor asked mischievously, "I could never be sad with you around Clara Oswald."

Clara smiled even brighter, definitely not getting replaced then, she thought to herself.

"Anyways, I don't think the TARDIS is going to let me do any more work on her," the Doctor moved back from Clara's touch and sat down with his back against the console again, "Will you read to me? I quite like the sound of your voice, actually."

Clara grinned and picked off where she left off, this time her voice reverberating against the metal walls rather than the ringing silence from before.

There was a definite shift in their relationship after the late night conversation. The Doctor never greeted her with hugs or voiced how happy he was to see her when she bounded onto the ship. No, the change happened in the little touches, the more time spent together and the lightening of Clara's heart and the brightening of her smiles as she learned to love this new Doctor all over again.

For one, she spent more time with him. Instead of hiding away in the library and leaving the Doctor in solitude she would sit in the console seat and read out loud to him as he did whatever it was he did to the TARDIS. She would mention a new author they were going to learn in class, or a time period and he would regale her with stories of when he had visited, or offer to take her there himself. After all, anything was possible with a time machine.

It was how when the Doctor got tired he would place his head into Clara's lap and let her play with his greying curls. Or how when she fell asleep in odd places around the ship, the Doctor would always cover her up with a blanket and place a pillow under her head.

They still didn't hold hands during their adventures, and the Doctor always stayed stiff whenever she flung her arms around his neck in happiness – he was constantly complaining she was much too short, she quipped that he simply got taller. In fact the only real time Clara could remember him willingly taking her into his arms was after she had nearly gotten killed by the Daleks. He had wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly against his chest whispering in Galiffreyan against her hair (though she couldn't quite make out what it was) and she listened to his hearts beating rapidly in fear. She had curled her hands around the lapels of his jacket breathed him in as she attempted to be as close to him as possible.

Eventually, she considered the fact that this Doctor just wasn't as tactile like the old one was. But it wasn't all bad. He always had his hands stuffed into his pockets when they went on adventures so she had taken to looping her own arm around his and leaning against him as they strolled through the new unknown worlds. Clara gave him a shy smile whenever he glanced down to see her attached to his arm, but he never complained and gave her a crooked grin in return. And occasionally – very rarely more like – the Doctor would place his hand on the small of her back or keep a tight grip around her waist and pin her possessively to his side when glaring down other aliens. The message was as clear as day to anyone: 'mine'. Another thing Clara learned about this Doctor is that he disliked sharing, especially when it came to his companion.

When Clara finally realized that she had stopped making a mental checklist of comparing the two doctors, she came to a conclusion. She had slowly begun to fall in love with this doctor.

She loved how he was constantly getting her to try new things with him as he figured out his new body. She loved listening to the Scottish lilt in his voice as he ranted on about random things that annoyed him. She loved the mischievous twinkle he got in his eyes whenever they found some trouble. She loved how even though he made fun of her cooking he still ate all of her burnt soufflé when he found out how hard she had tried to make it perfectly for him. She loved it even more when he lied to her and told her it was the best thing he had ever tasted. She even loved how he constantly teased her, but never, ever actually tried to hurt her feelings on purpose.

So of course, with all of these little moments in mind, it didn't seem farfetched to her to ask him to take her away on the weekends also and during the holiday times. Anything to spend more time with him. And the way his eyes widened to that owlish size she had first seen him with, except now he had a wide smile to match, when she finally made her request, well it was definitely worth getting her heart broken over.

Because she had also come to a second conclusion. She was fairly certain that this Doctor didn't fancy her in the way the old one had. The eleventh doctor was never subtle in his feelings towards her (no matter what he had thought) and it was much more fun to wind him up and watch him get all flustered. Whenever she tried to flirt or wind up the twelfth, he stared at her blankly for a few seconds before laughing and returned a backhanded compliment her way. The twelfth doctor may have enjoyed her company, but she didn't think he had the same feelings as before.

A third conclusion: his lack of romantic love for her didn't bother Clara in the least. All her echoes had loved his many faces unconditionally; it wasn't much of a surprise that the original version of her should love her Doctor just as much if definitely not more. New Doctor, new relationship, after all – she could handle that.

(She seems to forget that she was his first face, and not everything ends, not always, not love.)

"Are you alright?"

"Of course, I'm fine Clara," the Doctor dismissed the young girl's concerns from his stance at the console. Almost immediately he could feel the heat off her body as she crowded his personal space, lightly brushing against his arm, so as not to disturb him too much.

"Are you sure? I mean we were just shot at by Sontarans. That wasn't very nice of them by the way."

"Clone warrior race, and we had to stop them from conquering that planet. Honestly, what were you expecting? You've met Strax."

"Yes, and he still calls me a boy," Clara huffed. The corners of his mouth turned up as the Doctor grinned at Clara's statement and her cool breath tickled his cheek.

"Clone race, only one gender. It's understandable for him. If it helps any, I'm very much aware that you are a woman," he smiled as he finally turned to face her. The TARDIS could fly them to safety by herself. It's not like he could concentrate with Clara around anyways. He never can.

"Well I should hope so," she shot the man a cheeky smile, "Are you sure you're not hurt? You should have let me help you!"

"And endanger your life? No, absolutely not. You're not worth losing," the Doctor muttered darkly. He made to move away but Clara grabbed his hand firmly.

"Oh my stars! Doctor, your hands are freezing! Why didn't you say anything?" she exclaimed as she took his hand in both of hers.

"I'm a Timelord! I run on a lower body temperature than you humans. Of course I'm going to be colder," he snapped trying to retrieve his hand from her grip. But Clara wasn't having any of that.

"You always use that as an excuse for everything," Clara rolled her eyes, "Besides, it's not just now. They're always cold. That's why you keep your hands in your pockets all the time, don't you? And you always clench them up when we land in the snow. Why didn't you ever say?"

The Doctor couldn't deny anything under her soft gaze, "New body, that's all."

"You've had this body for a while now."

"No, I mean the body temperature regulation is just different. The last few were always warm and toasty, for some reason this one is different. Probably linked to the physical age, I'll have to look into that, I haven't looked this old in a long time. As it is, I didn't concern you with it because it's really only the hands that get cold easily. The heat needs to go to other places, it's not a big deal, really."

Clara gave him a hard stare and pulled him by his hands, forcing him to walk backwards.

"Clara, what are you doing?"

"I'm helping you. Now sit down," Clara pushed him until the back of his legs hit his chair.

"Have you always been this bossy? I'm not sure I like it. You may have been the boss with the old me, but that's not happening this time! I am a grown man and perfectly capable of taking care of myself – what are you doing?!"

While the Doctor had started his rant in his angry Scottish accent (she was quickly learning that the accent just made him sound angrier than he actually ever was) Clara had pushed him onto the chair and settled into his lap, her legs draped over one arm of the chair. The crazy old man could be stoic and cruel to everyone else, but when it came to his tiny human companion, well Clara Oswald is always the boss.

Clara rolled her eyes as she answered, "You're cold, I'm helping."

"How exactly is this helping? I said I'm fine," the Doctor snarled.

"Well forgive me for not believing you, but you have a reputation for lying."

"The old version might have lied to you, but I could never," his eyes softened.

"I think you'd lie if you thought it would protect me or spare my feelings. Or just to cover up when you're hurt," Clara dared him to prove her wrong. His silence confirmed her suspicions.

"Now give me your hands," Clara held out her own palms.

"Bossy and short. That's really not a good combo, you know?" even as the Doctor responded fiercely he placed his hands gently in her own.

"Well it's worked for me so far, don't you think? After all, you still travel with me, don't you?"

"Of course I do. There's no one else I'd like to explore the universe with," the Doctor watched as Clara clutched his hands, "What exactly are you doing?"

"Warming you up. My body temperature is higher than yours, remember? You said so yourself," she responded, bringing his hands to her flushed cheeks.

"It's not my fault you're naturally hot!" the Doctor exclaimed. He could feel a blush spreading across his face as he realized what he had implied and how quickly Clara picked up on the double meaning and arched an eyebrow in response.

"Oh Doctor, I had no clue you felt that way," Clara smirked saucily.

"Oh shut up! You know what I meant," the Doctor snatched his hands out of her hold and attempted to push her off so that he could get some work done and forget this conversation all together.

"Oi, where do you think you're going? Sit still! I'm just teasing!"

"Fine," the Doctor stilled his movements and sat back and glared like an impetuous child that had just been scolded. Clara hummed in triumph and took his hands again.

"Really though, what can I say? I have stellar genetics," she commented innocently, trying to throw the Doctor off his game.

But this was not the flailing, easily flustered Doctor. He was sharper and occasionally had the wit and tongue to match Clara's.

"Yes, do remind me to thank your Gran next time I see her, won't you dear?" he replied on beat, his eyes twinkling. Clara scowled at him. He was well aware that Clara hated it when anyone ever brought up the physical age difference between then – even if it was a subtle jab like the Doctor had just done. After all, whenever they visited the Earthen past, people automatically assumed the Doctor to be her uncle or dad, and when she tried to correct them they then assumed that she was his mistress of some sort. It was exhausting.

The Doctor squeezed her small hands in his own to let her know he meant no malice towards her. Clara smiled and accepted his silent apology and went back to the task at hand. She brought his hands to her lips and blew hot air on them, kissing his knuckles as she did. The Doctor shifted slightly underneath her but held her steady gaze.

Clara took his hands and set the back of his hands flat against her cheeks, slowly dragging them down to the curve of her neck, and held them steadily there.

"Clara," the Doctor looked scandalized, "What are you doing?"

Her eyes fluttered open (she hadn't realized she closed them) and answered, "My neck is warm and your hands are cold. I'm warming you up." She spoke as if she were explaining simple addition to a kindergartener.

"Like this?"

"Tell me it's not warmer and I'll stop," she retorted. Once again the woman had stunned the alien into silence. He shifted underneath her again.

"Oh, stop fidgeting! You'd think you'd never touched a woman. And I know you were married, more than once! Virgin queen," she muttered off her scolding.

He glowered, "Shut up. And don't talk like that."

"Like what?" she questioned.

"Like – like – you know what!" She was acting like she did with the old him. Her flirty persona shining through, why couldn't she understand that he wasn't the same man anymore? He wanted her to love him for who he was now.

Clara observed the Doctor for a few moments. She had never seen him get flustered before in this body, honestly she had thought she didn't have that effect on him anymore. But now that there was a chance that she might? Her eyes flashed with wickedness as she contemplated her next move.

"Sorry," she answered innocently and quietly. However her actions drowned out her words, as she slid his hands further down her body so that they rested at the base of her neck by her collar bone, just lightly grazing just above the tops of her breasts. The Doctor swallowed visibly. Why did he let her wear such a low cut dress?

"I fail to see how this is helping," the Doctor said warily.

"It's much more effective for keeping your hands warm, don't you think?" she sent him a cheeky smile. The Doctor's mind spun into overdrive as he became hyper aware Clara's body against his, feeling her soft curves against his hard angles. It frazzled his brain. And yet, this time he didn't attempt to remove his hands from her grasp this time. Perhaps it was a reminder of the way she had acted with the floppy-haired man, or maybe he had just truly missed her touch, but for some reason he seemed content to keep his hands in their position.

"Yes, I suppose so," the Doctor replied in a gravelly voice, "I'm quite warm now thank you."

"Well, next time you get cold you should let me know. I can help," Clara responded happily, but not quite releasing his hands yet.

"What, like this? You realize you're essentially just gave me permission to feel you up, right?" the Doctor couldn't help the jab as it came out of his mouth.

Clara dropped his hands into the man's lap again, "Your words, not mine."

"Only a true description of your actions," he quipped.

"Well, you seemed to enjoy it just fine. So keen," she teased.

The Doctor spluttered for a few seconds before Clara cut him off again, "But still, the offer stands. If you want me to help you warm up, then you know where to find me." Even a fool could hear the emphasis on the words and see the double meaning.

Clara patted the Doctor's shoulders and sprang out of his lap before gliding down the stairs, calling back, "I'm going to go make some tea. I'll bring you some, yeah?"

Oh yes, Clara Oswald was the boss.

For the record he didn't take her up on the offer. Not really, well not straight away anyways. But whatever had happened between them that day, it was like a switch had flipped in Clara. She seemed to take it as an invitation to invade his personal space all the time now. Not that the Doctor minded much, it was however terribly distracting.

"What are you doing?"

The Doctor stilled his movements of turning the lever on the console as he felt Clara's body heat against his own. He looked out the corner of his eye and found Clara flush against him. She was up on her tiptoes trying to see what the Doctor was working on, her curves pressed lightly against his back.

"Nothing much, there's a planet I wanted to take you to. No, that's not right; I wanted to take you to a moon of a planet. Yes, that's it."

"Okay, why?" Clara asked slowly.

"Well – actually no, wait. I want to surprise you," he smiled at her.

"A surprise huh? Haven't done that in a while, I'm excited! Do you want help flying the TARDIS?"

"What, your help? Love, the last time you tried to fly the TARDIS you nearly flew us into a supernova," the Doctor replied sweetly, sarcasm soaking his voice.

Clara smacked his arm lightly, "That wasn't my fault! She has it out for me! I swear she does!"

"Whatever you say," the Doctor sing-songed as he smiled to himself.

He could hear her mutter an 'I do' and he expected her to leave in a fit of rage. But instead she leaned into him with more purpose, a hand positioning itself onto his bicep and then slowly stroking down to his forearm. He tried very hard not to notice how her lips pressed against his sleeve as she tried to bury herself into his side.

"If you're tired, I can take you home if you want? The surprise can wait," the Doctor gulped inaudibly as he awaited her answer.

Her fingers squeezed his arm, "No, I want to stay with you. I'm perfectly fine right here." She looked up and gave him her most innocent smile. Which meant she was messing with his mind on purpose. The Doctor huffed and spun some dials to land the TARDIS.

"And we're here. Should be starting any minute now," the Doctor gestured to the doors behind them. Clara grinned and skipped out the doors, the Doctor followed her out with a blanket.

"Where are we?" she asked amazed as she always was whenever she stepped onto a new world.

"It's called Ilansya, well the planet is anyways. We're on their moon. Every two years, a meteor shoots through the atmospheres between the two bodies and causes a meteor shower. Apparently, the natives collect the rocks and grind them into dust and mix it into their soil to grow crops. It's quite an auspicious time, and I've heard it's quite the spectacle. I thought you might enjoy it."

Clara beamed at the Doctor as he set out the blanket on a hillside and settled onto it, waiting for her to join him. She knew he had only taken her here because she was whining the other day that she had never seen a shooting star. He had been preoccupied at the time and she thought he hadn't been listening, but this was the Doctor – her Doctor. No matter what he was doing, it seemed as though whenever Clara wanted something, it took up the majority of his attention.

As she bit her lip, Clara scurried over to the Doctor's side and settled in between his legs, pressing her back to his front. He stiffened for a few seconds. Clara shimmied back a bit more trying to silently urge the alien to relax, he obliged. He didn't attempt to hold her, but was happy with her mere presence none the less.

"Look, it's starting," he whispered roughly into Clara's ear. The young woman let out a small gasp as her eyes watched the heavens open up. Streaks of colour shot down and crashed into the fields below. Red. Pink. Green. Blue. It was like falling northern lights.

"Oh my stars. They're different colours, how's it doing that?"

"The planet and the moon are so close that the two colliding atmospheres cause a change in colour. It causes the meteor to bend towards the moon and then the atmosphere takes the meteor and splits it into different colours. Kind of like Earth's atmosphere does with sunlight and makes the sky blue…Do you like it?"

Clara snapped around and to look at the Doctor, "It's breathtaking, I absolutely love it! Thank you so much!" she said sincerely. She wrapped her arms tightly around his middle, nuzzling her face into his chest. The Doctor sat catatonic for a moment before awkwardly patting her back. He never quite knew how to deal with these unscheduled hugs Clara seemed so fond of. If his nerves were frazzled when she got close to him, then his entire mind burnt blank whenever she hugged him. Still, after the awkward hugging, instead of letting go the Doctor placed his hands lightly on the small of her back. Clara quietly nestled into the embrace.

"You won't be able to see much with your face against me like that," he commented quietly. Clara turned and flipped to her side to look at the sky, but kept her small body pinned to the Doctor's. He probably couldn't tell, but the Doctor had started tracing circles onto her the side of her hip. The hand stilled when he felt Clara tremble against him.

"Are you cold?" he asked as he pulled her away slightly.

"Just a bit nippy out here, that's all," Clara smiled. The Doctor held her cheeks and studied her intently, trying to tell is she was lying. She placed her hands on top of his and squeezed them.

"Your hands are cold again," she whispered.

"They're always like that," he murmured.

"Do you want me to help?" she smiled impishly. She had done this a few times. Grabbed his hands and kept them warm. For the most part she behaved herself and only held his hands; but occasionally she would put them on her cheeks or neck (never further than that though), waiting for a rise out of him. She never got one. Maybe because it did do wonders for keeping him warm or because he took pleasure in her methods to comfort him, in any case he never questioned her actions any further. However, he also never made the first move.

Except for this time.

"No my dear, I think this time I'll help you out." The Doctor stripped off his coat and wrapped her small figure with it.

Clara grabbed the lapels of the jacket and snuggled into the warmth, sandwiched between the Doctor and his coat.

"And what about you? Are you planning on freezing to death?" she asked rhetorically.

"I'm fine."

"Liar," she accused. She poked her hand out and snatched his arms and readjusted the jacket so it covered both of them, the Doctor's arms now wrapped around her middle.

"There all better," Clara looked rather pleased with herself as the Doctor had a hearty chortle over his companion's antics. The girl rolled her eyes then started squirming.

The Doctor sighed, his irritation getting the better of him, "Now what? Can't you at least try to enjoy the show? It's going to be over soon!"

"My legs are cold," Clara gestured annoyed. The Doctor rolled his eyes and took her calves and curled her underneath the jacket properly.

"Serves you right for not wearing stockings in this weather," the Doctor berated.

Clara gasped, "Seriously, cold hands Doctor. You should get those checked out."

"Or maybe you should get your unnaturally high body temperature checked instead," he snapped.

She smiled seductively, "Or maybe you'll let me help you out again." Her own hand took his off her calf and trailed it up her leg before positioning it somewhere up her thigh. It was only when he felt her hand covering his own through the thin material of her dress did he realize what she had done. His hand was up her skirt.

"Clara, you can't just –"

"Shhh, Doctor. I'm trying to watch the meteor shower," she silenced him before ignoring him completely. But she kept a tight grip on his hand; as if afraid he would move it from its current position. He wouldn't. Instead the old man sighed and relished the feel of his companion's body pressed against his out of her own accord.

"Impossible Girl," he muttered, "Completely and utterly impossible."

(He thought she smiled because she remembered when eleven had given her the nickname and remembered her love for him. She thought he called her that because there might still be a chance her could fall in love with her. They were both a bit wrong.)

He doesn't know why, but after that night it seems like he can never quite keep his hands off of her. He doesn't touch her as often as his old body did, nor does he touch her as innocently. Perhaps it's because she has given him a seal of approval to do as he likes. Or maybe it's the way her eyes flutter shut as his fingers map her out. He likes to use the excuse of having cold hands though.

Either way he finds himself spending a lot of his time with his head in her lap. Her hands rake through his curls, soothing him after a long day as she reads to him; while his hands run up and down her legs. She never likes to wear stockings anymore, she blames the summer weather. He doesn't question it, although he's certain that's not the only reason.

Occasionally if he's feeling bold, he'll reach underneath her skirt again – never too far, mind you! He still has some sense of propriety in this regeneration. The first time he does it, she's in his lap (she always makes an excuse to claim that spot whenever possible) as they're sprawled out on one of the sofas in the library. He supposes he felt nostalgic of the night of the meteor shower and felt rather impulsive that day. In any case, one second she's reading a book to him and the next she inhales sharply as she feels his hand creep up her leg.

"Everything alright?" he asks innocently. If she gets to torment him, there's no reason he shouldn't have some fun too.

"Nothing, cold hands again?" she asks indifferently (though a tad breathlessly) as she keeps her stare on the pages of the book.

The Doctor gives a little shrug, even though she can't see it, "Maybe," he breathes into her ear, "Will you keep reading to me?"

She picks up where she left off, with a few changes. Though she does her best to keep it steady, the Doctor can still make out the shaky inflections in her voice. Her hand is on top of his, keeping it secure with only her dress separating them. And she's biting back a smile as she reads, so the Doctor guesses she's okay with their current positions.

Once, he wonders if he takes it too far, but Clara is laughing and smiling, so he can't bring himself to worry too much.

He finds the human in the TARDIS kitchen reaching for a bag of flour on one of the higher shelves. Even with the step ladder she's just barely grasping at the edge of it. The Doctor doesn't let himself enjoy the view for too long, because he really does sort of feel bad for her. He supposes it's not her fault she's so short. It's genetics.

"Need some help?" he calls her attention, not bothering to keep the mirth out of his voice.

Her head snap backs for a moment as she acknowledges his presence and then back her current hindrance, insisting she's fine. The Doctor rolls his eyes. The woman could be utterly stubborn sometimes. Not caring about her dismissal, he climbs onto the lowest step of the ladder and wraps an arm around Clara's waist to keep himself stable. Then he reaches past her already outstretched hand and grabs the flour bag.

"I could have done that!" she rebukes.

"No, you would have tried and fallen and broken your skull if you weren't careful," he argues with her. He might be overreacting a little.

"Like the TARDIS would let that happen," she mutters more to herself than the Doctor. He does agree with her statement though. Clara and the TARDIS have an unusual relationship to say the least, but neither of them is spiteful to the point of harm towards one another. At least he hopes not.

Still, he chooses not to comment, because his line of sight has caught something far more interesting. During her stretching, Clara's shirt rode up, and the Doctor can't help but notice how his hand now covers her bare stomach. He doesn't think she notices just yet, and just to make sure he applies pressure against her skin.

She releases a strangled breath as she leans back against him, her eyes closing in bliss again. His hand is now completely underneath her blouse, but she hasn't voiced any complaints yet. Instead her hand reaches on top of his, interlocking their fingers. He doesn't allow himself to enjoy it anymore. He tightens his hold on Clara and spins her around to place her flat on the ground, her squeals of excitement filling the air as he does so. As the Doctor steps off the ladder to hand her the bag of flour, his hand grazing the swell of her ass as he steadies her properly.

The way she's looking at him reminds the Doctor of how she had looked at his old self. So full of love, hope and happiness. He thinks bitterly, that he probably reminded her of how affectionate he used to be. This body doesn't like to indulge in such niceties. Then his mind wanders to their last Christmas, and how the bowtie adorned man had given her ass a rough squeeze in front of her family. He drops his hand quickly after the thought passes, hands her the flour she wanted and attempts to retreat through the door.

Clara doesn't let him get that far. She calls him back to help her make a soufflé (honestly he's beginning to think she has a legitimate baking addiction) and he grumbles. Never the less, he attempts to help her.

(They make a mess and laugh as the batter splatters all over the walls as they get into a food fight. The soufflé comes out half uncooked and their clothes are completely ruined. But he thinks, looking at Clara's brilliant smile, that it's one of his most favourite memories and he'd love to do it a second time, if only to make her laugh so carelessly again.)

There's a certain tension always lingering around them now. Words go unsaid, and touches are more frequent. It isn't awkward like it used to be. Instead it's the unspoken promises and the echoes of what could be that fill the air.

The TARDIS might have picked up on it. And she might have gotten fed up. Either way, it somehow takes one Captain Jack Harkness to deal with their tangled relationship.

The TARDIS lands to pick Clara up, but never starts up again. So they're stuck on Earth, with nothing to do, when of course there's an alien attack. This is why the Doctor never stays for long, something bad always happens.

The usual happens. They save the world. They team up with Jack, Gwen, Martha and Mickey as well as corresponding with Kate Stewart from UNIT. So they save the world through some half-baked plan, but at the end of the day they're safe. Earth is safe.

Earth is safe. There's a lot of wreckage to clean up. And Clara's father is calling, worrying about her. The Doctor thinks it's rather endearing as he teases her. Clara thinks it's annoying as she walks a little ways to answer her ever ringing phone.

The Doctor laughs and settles into the chair at the new Torchwood HQ and keeps Clara in his eyesight at all times. The TARDIS showed up a few minutes ago, but refuses to move again. The Doctor can't comprehend why.

"Would you like some tea?" Martha Jones (or Smith he supposes now) interrupts his train of thought.

The Doctor looks up and smiles at her. He's happy he's retained some fondness for his old companions.

"Love some, thank you," he replies as he takes the cup from her.

"So Scottish accent. And you're older now," she comments.

"You should have seen my last body. He had the face of a twelve year old. Maybe you would have liked that one better?" bitterness seeping into his tone.

"Sorry, just meant it's different. Last time we saw you, we thought you were going to die. Well I did; then Mickey explained the whole regeneration thing to me."

"Yeah, you should 'ave seen the first one I knew," Mickey strolled up behind her, hooking an arm around her shoulders, "He had big ears and a Northern accent. 'Cause 'lots of planets have a north.'"

"They do!" the Doctor argued.

"Do lots have a Scotland too?" Mickey retorted.

Well actually…

"Oh shut up!" the Doctor knew he could have made a more scathing reply, but the last time he insulted Mickey's intelligence Martha had slapped him and Clara hadn't stopped her.

"Same old Doc though! Even if you've got grey hair this time around," Mickey commented. It almost sounded like a compliment. The Doctor rolled his eyes in response.

"I think he looks great," Jack trailed up behind them, joining the small group, "He's a silver fox this time around." The American winked. "But I gotta say, I'm kinda disappointed I missed out on the last one. Think I'd have a chance with him?"

"I'm still waiting on that drink, Jack," the Doctor bantered.

"What are we all talking about?" Clara rejoined them shutting off her mobile as she did so.

"How the new Doctor's a silver fox. And you, Ms. Oswald have been keeping him all to yourself," Jack flirted.

"Well of course I have. I mean, have you looked at him?" she asked flirtingly as she sat on the arm of the Doctor's chair.

"What did your dad say?" the Doctor asked before Jack could cut in. He was desperate to get the attention off of him.

"Oh he's just worried about my safety, again. And he's back on his government conspiracy theories," Clara waved it off.

"You know, some of those might actually have some merit to them," the Doctor commented.

Clara playfully hit his shoulder, "Don't you start. You'd only encourage him. Also, he wants me to come visit, make sure I'm okay. Do you mind giving me a ride there after we're done here?"

"You actually want to take the TARDIS?" he asked incredulously.

"Sure, if the Old Cow starts working again," Clara shrugged.

"Don't be rude!" he scolded, "She's probably just taking the time to fuel up since we're here. Oh, do you want to go right after this? Because I still want to take you to Osylleus – they have mermaids!"

"What could you possibly need mermaids for?" Clara questioned.

"I've heard they're some of the most exquisite creatures, and that they have the loveliest voices. Where do you think the idea of the Sirens come from?"

"Don't Sirens try to drown you?"

"There are some nice ones! Honestly, where has your sense of adventure gone?"

"It left when we had to save the world from a dreadful alien attack," she responded deadpanned. "Besides, I don't want to go to some planet just because you think the mermaids are 'pretty'" she mocked.

"Oh calm down. Would it help if I said you are far more beautiful than they can ever hope to be?"

"It might," Clara trailed off.

"Clara, you are far more beautiful than those mermaids could ever hope to be," the Doctor repeated robotically. Then he pleaded, "Come on Clara. Please?"

"Oh alright, we have a time machine after all. My dad can wait, I suppose," Clara grinned. She would have said yes right away of course, but she liked making him work for things.

"Aww, look at you two! So cute it makes my teeth hurt," Jack's sweet voice floated through reminding the pair that they were in the presence of people. "So, how long have you two been shagging for?" Jack asked bluntly.

"Do you fall in love with all your companions? Did you at least check if she had a boyfriend first, Doctor? A man could get territorial," Mickey interceded.

"Well she's not blonde," Martha commented with a smile, "So I take it your type's changed."

Clara wore the same deer-in-the-headlights look she had when the Doctor had first seen her after his regeneration.

The alien spluttered for a few moments before barking, "Honestly, humans! Where do you lot get these preposterous ideas from?"

"Well for starters Clara's hand is in your hair," Martha began.

"He has curls. They're fun to play with," Clara defended herself, but she didn't sound the slightest bit ashamed, more like she had just stated a well-known fact.

"And the Doctor's hand is up your skirt right now and it was on your ass when he introduced you to us," Jack butted in.

"And the inside jokes and intimacy. Yeah, I've seen that before," Mickey said, remembering the Doctor and Rose.

"Yes, well it's not like that between us," the Doctor snarled. Clara loved the eleventh doctor, and for whatever strange reason, she seemed to be content to settle for the twelfth. He focused so much on terminating their wild thoughts that he missed Clara's fading smile at his words. She had hoped they were something.

"And yet your hand is still up her skirt," Jack announced. The Doctor looked down with the clear intent of removing the offending hand – how was it that he didn't even notice anymore? – but Clara stilled him. She enjoyed his gentle touch. The Doctor started at her wordlessly, trying to understand the desperate look in her eyes.

Then he heard the wheezing noise and the cloister bells. The TARDIS was working again.

"Clara, will you please go see what's wrong with the TARDIS?" the Scottish man asked kindly.

"Why, are you going to send me away again?" Clara asked harshly.

The Doctor was taken aback by the poison in her words. He hid his shock and narrowed his eyes, "No, I have no reason to. You're not in danger and besides, you'd only hold on and make her late by 300 years again."

"I would," Clara stated angrily. She refused to budge from her spot.

"Clara, please? I'll only be a minute. I promise. I just want to say my goodbyes," the Doctor begged. He squeezed her hand and finally Clara gave in and sauntered off to the TARDIS.

"Don't take too long or I'm coming back out!" she warned as she marched away. The Doctor waited until she shut the doors and the alarms stopped ringing.

"Right then, I should be off as well. Shouldn't keep Clara waiting," the Doctor jumped up and clapped his hands. He needed some time away from his companion to clear his head. She always made his rational thinking process rather scrambled.

"Martha Jones, sorry Smith, lovely to see you again. Mickey…well you better take good care of Martha or I will be having words with you. Jack, you're still not getting that drink." The time traveler attempted to wrap up his goodbyes quickly (he still hated those apparently) and wandered over to the TARDIS before a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"What is it Jack?" he sighed exasperated.

"Have you even told her yet?" Jack implored.

"Told who what?" the Doctor turned to face the immortal man.

"Told Clara that you love her!" the Doctor didn't attempt to deny his feelings for the most important woman in his life, but he didn't confirm them either. But his silence spoke volumes.

"Doc, you gotta tell her. You never told Rose and she got trapped in a parallel universe, without her ever knowing. You can't do the same thing to Clara," Jack said sympathetically.

"Tell her what?" the Doctor seethed the words tumbling out after being held back for so long, "Tell her that she makes my hearts beat ten times as fast when she's around? That whenever she gets close to me I can't even think straight? That from the moment I laid eyes on her I knew that she was the most beautiful sight I would ever see? Tell her that she's the only reason that I still believe in goodness? Because some days it all gets too heavy and just her smile can lift my spirits and be enough to save a world? Or maybe I should tell her that I absolutely hate having to drop her off at the end of the day because I'm scared that she won't want to come away with me next time? Or the fact that I am absolutely terrified of the day I'll lose her, because she'll either leave me or I'll be standing over her dead body, because I'm pretty sure that I'd tear the universe apart to keep her safe. And once she's gone, I won't know how to carry on without her. So yes, maybe I should tell Clara that I've essentially been in love with her since the second I saw her. But there'd be no point to it, Jack. Because Clara Oswald doesn't love me. She loves a man who I used to be, and he's dead. He's dead, he's not coming back and I'm not him. She only ever loved him, not me."

"Is that what you think?' a quiet voice piped up from behind him at the end of his rant.

The Doctor whirled around to find the voice. Clara was in the doorway of the TARDIS, a hand still gripping the side of the blue door, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She had clearly heard most of it. The Doctor exhaled, softly saying her name.

"I told you I'd come back out if you took too long," Clara softly explained trying to meet the Timelord's eyes.

"So I'm going to go ahead and let you two talk, maybe you know, figure out your relationship. Okay, let me know how it goes. Good luck. And hey, if you ever get bored in the bedroom, you have my number," Jack winked.

The Doctor restrained is anger for the innuendo filled man and pushed his way onto his ship, immediately heading to the console. He heard Clara give Jack a quick good bye and then the doors shut. The Doctor felt extremely cold all of a sudden.

"So, are we going to talk about this?" Clara broke the silence. Her footsteps echoing as she walked up the stairs to stand beside the Doctor.

"Don't know what there is to talk about," the Doctor avoided the subject. He walked around the console, but Clara just followed him around. "I suppose you'll want to go home now, or to your dad's?"

"Thought we were going to the mermaid planet? Or I suppose, since I'm the most beautiful sight you've ever seen, you could just stare at me all day," Clara broached the subject again. The Doctor was amazed how she managed to sound cold and playful at the same time.

"Clara, I didn't mean – can we just forget about it?" he asked.

"No, we can't! Do you honestly believe that I only ever loved the last Doctor?" she demanded.

"Well I think you've made that very clear!" two could play at this game, "You still wear his ridiculous bow ties sometimes, Clara!"

"I also keep my mum's leaf and book, but I know she's not coming back," Clara retorted harshly.

"You're only ever happy when I talk about him, or act like him! Isn't that what this is all about? Whenever you touch me or give me a hug, it's because you would do all that with him. And I'm not him Clara, I'm me."

Clara shot daggers at him as she marched straight up to him. She brought herself to full height (not that it was much compared to the Doctor), planted her feet right in front of him, raised her arm and struck him across the cheek.

"Ow!" The Doctor touched his burning cheek. "What the hell was that for?" he asked.

"For being a bloody idiot!" Clara fumed.

"What? Clara-"

"No! Shut up!" Clara interrupted, "You got to talk; now it's my turn. You can be completely stupid sometimes, you know that? I'm not confusing you with the man that pranced around before you. I know who you are. You are the most irritable person I've ever met, and you have a horrible temper! You hardly ever have anything nice to say about anyone and you rant about the stupidest things in that Scottish accent of yours. And it is absolutely exhausting having to argue with you all the time."

"Can't imagine why you stay with me then," the Doctor cut her off quietly as he rubbed his stinging cheek.

"Because you're still the Doctor. Because you have the most sarcastic sense of humour I have ever seen. Because you have a sweet tooth and always eat all of my soufflés even when they're burnt. And you bring me presents whenever you end up on an adventure without me. Because you always listen to every single word I say, even though you pretend you're too busy to care. And even though you don't want to show it, you still care about all the people on the planets that we save," Clara looked sincerely into his eyes, "Because you're my Doctor. And I don't think I could ever stop loving you. In whatever form you are."

She stated it all as if it were a simple fact. Like someone had asked about the weather and she had recited what she had seen out the window. Like it was common knowledge to everybody. Clara stared straight into the Doctor's owlish unblinking eyes, waiting for a reaction.

"You know, if this is how you treat all your boyfriends – by slapping them to tell them you love them, well it's no wonder you've been single for so long!" the Doctor joked, attempting to lighten the mood while getting the upper hand in the argument.

Clara giggled and pressed the side of her finger to her smiling lips; a nervous habit she had.

"Oh shut up! I didn't even hit you that hard! And you deserved anyways!" They always did this; scream at each other until their throats were sore and then one of them would always break down laughing.

"Yes you did, look at it! You were wearing your rings, Clara. It hurt! I think it's still red," the Doctor whined.

"Good it'll match the inside of your ridiculous jacket."

"I suppose I should be grateful you didn't punch me instead," the alien conceded.

"Yes, you should. Here, sit down. I'll have a look at it." Clara led him over to the chair and sat him down, and eagerly cushioned herself into his lap. Smiling, she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the Doctor's pink cheek and announced that he was all better now.

Clara's fingers curled around the lapels of his jacket. She took a deep breath before she spoke, "You know, I spent over a thousand years watching over you. Hundreds of lifetimes, and you hardly ever noticed."

The Doctor clenched her arms, intent on interrupting. He had to explain to her that it wasn't him. He would never let Clara go unnoticed. Those were the other idiotic versions of him, running around and allowing the other angelic versions of Clara die for him. Without so much as a thank you. This Doctor could never hurt his companion in such a way.

"No, Doctor let me finish this," Clara halted his thought process, "Because, the thing is…I knew going in what it would do to me. I knew what would happen before I jumped into your timestream. And, I don't even know if it actually happened anymore since you didn't die at Trenzalore…but I still have the memories of my echo lives. Not all of them, but a lot. And in every single lifetime, I always knew…I just knew that I was waiting for someone. Like my heart had been locked up for someone special, and only that one person had that key. And it was you, it was always you. I knew that the second I saw any of your faces. Because, my echoes, they have always been yours. I have always been your Clara, even if you didn't see me. But I've never had just one Doctor to myself. Not until now at least. Because now I have you. I have you and I love you."

"I've wanted nothing more than to be yours since the second I looked at you," the Doctor admitted quietly, "But you know I'm not him. I'm not an optimistic, bowtie-wearing, young man anymore. I don't like hugs very much and I'm not as touchy-feely as he was. I'm not the Doctor that you jumped into the timestream for and I'm not the Doctor that you clung to the TARDIS shell for."

Clara shook her head, "No, no. You're still not getting it," her Lancashire accent slipped through as she got frustrated, "I know that, and I don't care. It's not the face that matters to me. I don't care if you look older and have a Scottish accent. I would do all those things for you all over again. Because you're my Doctor in every way that matters. You make me feel just as loved as the old you did."

"Except that I love you more, in ways he couldn't even begin to imagine," the Doctor corrected.

"So, just to clarify: I love you, and you love me, right?" Clara confirmed.

"Yes, very much so. I believe we've established that."

"Good, then I can finally do this."

Clara leaned over and crashed their lips together. The Doctor let out a gasp as she tangled her hands into his curls, pulling him in closer. The Timelord quickly recovered and kissed her back with just as much fervor, releasing all the pent up passion he had held onto for months.

"God, I've wanted to do this for so long," Clara panted into his ear.

"Not as long as I have," the Doctor growled as he tugged on her legs so that she ended up straddling him. His hand reached up her skirt, this time with no restrain and gave Clara a rough squeeze. She moaned in pleasure and rocked her hips against his. The Doctor pressed a hand to the small of her back and pushed her closer to his body.

He reveled in the feel of her body against his. Her figure fit perfectly with his, their movements in sync. He loved the breathless sounds she made as he left a trail of kisses down the column of her throat and she dug her nails into his hair. It was only when Clara had the Doctor free of his jacket and he was popping off the buttons of the top of her dress that they were interrupted.

The TARDIS lights started flashing and the Old Girl started making wheezing and beeping noises at them. She clearly wanted the couple's attention. Clara squeaked as she pulled back from the Doctor, who merely sighed in annoyance at his ship's actions.

"What's going on? Why is she doing that? Is something wrong? Are we in danger?" Clara asked worriedly.

"No not particularly," the Doctor leaned back in to kiss his companion. At the same time the TARDIS flashed her lights again.

"Doctor!" Clara stopped him, "What is happening?"

"Oh she's just a bit annoyed. I don't think she appreciates us snogging in her console room."

"Why? Because it makes her an actual snog box now?" Clara snickered. The ship lurched so that Clara tipped onto the Doctor, her head bashing his chin.

"Oi!" Clara yelled at the sentient machine.

"Dear, I would prefer it if you would try and refrain from hurting my Clara. There's no need to be jealous, you've never looked particularly good in green anyways!" the Doctor rebuked.

"You called me your 'Clara'," his human companion smiled softly.

"Of course I did. You're my Clara, my Impossible Girl. You always have been," the older man brushed his thumb across her cheek. He kissed the smile off her face and peppered kisses along her jaw, moving back down to her neck.

"Doctor, seriously you have to stop," Clara breathed as she tightened her grip on his shirt.

"Why?" he murmured as he sucked her already bruising skin.

"Because the TARDIS is very aware of our every move and I'd rather not have her know about us snogging! It's like kissing you in front of your mother!"

"Well what's wrong with that? You know plenty of cultures-"

"Not in my human culture! Some privacy would be nice, but apparently that's not bloody possible on this stupid ship!"

"Don't insult her," defended the Doctor, "But, if you want privacy…the TARDIS turns a blind eye towards my bedroom."

Clara raised an eyebrow and teased, "So keen."

The Doctor grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, "Like you're not."

Clara leaned over and whispered into his ear, "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

The Doctor grinned as the delicate woman pulled him from his seat and dragged him towards the hallway, a suggestive smile on her face.

"And what about your father?" the Doctor couldn't help but ask.

"Doctor, please do not mention my dad at a time like this! Besides, we have a time machine. We can take as long as we like."

Later, after they've made love to each other and whispered all their secrets in the safety of the darkness and confessed all their hidden feelings, they'll lie in the sheets tangled up in each other, smiling in bliss.

"You were wrong," she'll say as she leans over him, her hair falling like a curtain to the side of her face.

"Was not," he'll respond gruffly, "About what?"

"The old you, he said that everything ends."

"Yes, well he was kind of an idiot, wasn't he? Couldn't even tell you he loved you properly."

"Shut up, like you really did either. But you were wrong. Because love doesn't end. Not always. Not for us."

"No it doesn't," he pulls her down to his chest and they fall into a peaceful sleep together.

(Their love is as endless as time itself)

There we go! 13.5 K words finished! I'm still not completely sure about the ending, and I'm worried I didn't get the characterizations right, but whatever! I hope you enjoyed it, and please leave a review! And feel free to let me know if I missed something in my hurried editing. Thank you!