John Smith was an ordinary fellow – or rather, as ordinary as one could be teaching History to students at Coal Hill while living in a simple flat and spending his free time reading old documents and reminiscing about ancient days he'd never experienced. Or rather, as ordinary as he liked the people in his life to think.

With a smile, he turned as the final bell rang and he raised a hand, offering with a lifting of his chin, "I know it's the weekend, but please do remember to read chapter 13 and consider your projects! I expect your initial presentation synopsis on Monday!" And his hand fell away as he muttered, "Or Tuesday after I remind you on Monday."

Sighing and dropping his shoulders, he turned to the clear board that stood behind him, cluttered in his mess of hand writing and drawings, and as he began swiping away the words and pictures he grinned, considering his own weekend. And that's when she cleared her throat and his lips parted, an eagerness settling on his features as he swung around to see her leaning against the door to his classroom, eyes roaming over the last few students who departed before meeting his and giving him a tilt of her head.

She was the Doctor. A time travelling alien from the planet Gallifrey and today she was wearing a brown ensemble – long tweed coat over a pleated skirt and cream colored blouse – that made her look much less like the thousand year old space visitor who'd offered him the stars after he'd helped her save the world last year and more like a colleague of his hopping over from the next class hoping to borrow a marker.

"You're late," she told him simply, arms crossing at her chest.

Glancing at his watch just as she flipped her wrist to glimpse at hers, he shook his head to offer, "Absolutely not – you're early, class has just let out and…" he trailed to drop the eraser down, "You've got a time machine, Doctor. Perfectly capable of showing up on time."

Throwing her hands in the air, the Doctor pushed off the door frame and scoffed, "Oh yeah, fancy time machine, can just pop about when it's convenient for you humans with your ever changing schedules!" She twisted her wrist and pointed, "Five after, as promised, and you're still mopping up your mess."

"Erasing the board," he gestured, chuckling because she was frustrated over a few minutes. Of course, John knew, a few minutes to the Doctor could be life and death. It could also be a few days in her blue box, whipping through the galaxy.

"Don't sass me, John – you do know your dates are wrong," she gestured, finger wagging over the board as she narrowed her eyes a moment before plucking a set of round-rimmed glasses to settle atop her small nose. He watched her consider the information before she sighed.

He simply smiled in response and allowed, "I know, Doctor."

"Never understand the officials who decide what's historically correct," she grimaced, shaking her head as she turned from the board. "They've never even been to half of the places they purport to know about and I can guarantee they've weren't there to assure the validity of their statements." She leaned against his desk and nodded shortly, "They'd be right surprised to find out about Queen Elizabeth the first."

Head dropping, John turned, "That the one you married."

"Well," she sighed, "Back then I suppose you'd just call it an over exuberant lesson in girly frivolity."

He eyed her, pushing his notebooks into his satchel before slinging it over his shoulder to straighten and ask, "And where might we be travelling today, Doctor?"

Pushing off the desk, he could already see the twinkle in her large dark eyes. Sometimes he imagined she had the whole universe in those eyes, and he couldn't help but stare into them, waiting for her answer as his heart began to quicken its beats, sending a rush of adrenaline through him. The Doctor approached him in two quick hops and she whispered, "How does a week in ancient Rome sound?"

"Dangerous," he responded lightly.

"Oh," she waved a hand, taking a step towards the door before doing a half twirl to tell him, "Always on about the danger, John – how are you ever going to correct the history books if you don't live dangerously!"

"Carefully," he responded, moving behind her towards the hallway where she giggled and ran her hand along the wall, flicking absently at a piece of paper before turning and bumping the back door open with her bum and a laugh. "What's wrong with carefully?"

"Less fun in carefully," she pouted.

"Less death in carefully," he reminded.

"You've not yet died in my company," the Doctor asserted before glancing aside and lamenting, "At least not that I'm aware of. John," she raised her eyes to him, "Have you died in my company?"

He laughed, shaking his head as she beamed proudly before removing her Sonic from her inside breast pocket to flip it absently as they walked towards the Tardis that sat beside a garbage bin. "It's not like you know how to travel carefully anyways," he teased.

"I beg to differ," she shot back, "I travel carefully all of the time." Then her head toggled from side to side as she wrinkled her nose and admitted, "Can't really control the circumstances after we land," she looked up at him to finish, "But I do try not to lose my head."

They pushed into the box, the Doctor pocketing her Sonic, and he teased, "I believe you lost your head ages ago – probably hidden somewhere in this very Tardis."

The Doctor smiled, skipping up to the console and beginning to work at controls he could only wonder at, controls that blinked and beeped at him as the glowing time rotor at the center hummed angrily at him a moment while he stood just inside of the door. "Oh, come on!" The Doctor shouted.

"She doesn't like me," John grunted, pointing up at the Tardis as he dropped his satchel into a chair just inside the console space before he moved to the metal instruments before him, drifting back just in time for the Doctor to come swiftly around in front of him. "Last week she moved my bedroom, spent half a night trying to locate it."

The Doctor slid a hand along the edge and she pouted up at the center before offering, "Perhaps she's playing a game with you – getting to know you."

"She made a holographic toilet and I wet my feet."

Laughing, she gestured at him and swung a lever up, taking them into the time vortex where John leaned against the console and glanced sideways at her. She was still moving daintily along the controls, brow knotting occasionally in concentration, and he sighed because he wished he knew what went on inside of that mind. He'd learned long ago not to ask personal questions. The look on her face when he'd discovered her name had been enough to silence her and he knew that was an accomplishment.

Clara.

He wasn't allowed to call her that. She'd told him to strike the name from memory and never think on it again, but in moments like this – before the adventure; before the insanity – he liked to watch her and imagine that she was a normal human being who happened to own a spectacular time travelling machine. And he liked to call her Clara in his mind. An ordinary girl named Clara who came along and, of all the people she happened to come across, found him just special enough to be at her side.

"What's so amusing?" She asked, not glancing up from the keyboard she was typing on.

He saw the quick dart of her eyes in his direction as she looked to the screen above her head and he sighed, shifting slowly to her side, "You never slow down."

"Can't slow down," she chirped, "Too much to do."

"You ever consider the things you miss? Rushing about like this?"

The Doctor turned towards him, leaning against the console to look up at him as he stared down at her and he waited as she considered him. He knew she was working over his words, trying to map them out so she could plot their course… steer the conversation where she felt comfortable. "Have I missed something, John?" The Doctor asked slowly, voice lowering slightly, the look in her eyes darkening for a moment that sent a shiver over his spine.

He shifted towards the console, pressing his waist into it before shaking his head, "Nah," he breathed, "You don't miss anything, do you?"

"No, John," she prompted, "What have I missed?"

She moved to his side, fingers curling over his elbow to give his arm a gentle caress, one that always gave him a sudden jolt of butterflies in his gut he couldn't explain. With a smile, he looked down into her eyes and told her slowly, "Nothing, Doctor." Then he smiled up at the time rotor and nodded, "So ancient Rome – should I find the old Roman soldier costume in the wardrobe? To better fit in?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she laughed, fingers lifting away to find the controls in front of her, "On second thought, I might not mind the escort."

"Escort?" He squeaked.

"Well," the Doctor breathed, head tilting back as she blinked up innocently at him, "I imagine I'd pass as a Roman goddess fairly easily and a goddess needs her escort."

Smiling back at her, holding her gaze just long enough to see it affect her in that subtle way he can, John pushed off the console and made his way towards the corridors with a simple, "Never disappoint a goddess, especially not the Doctor."

"John," she called just as he'd reached the archway. He held the edge to stop himself as he turned to look back at her, curious expression on her face as she momentarily refused to meet his eye – some look of apprehension, of contemplation crossing over her delicate features before she raised her head, "Suppose the Doctor is an awkward name for a woman in ancient Rome."

"Suppose it is," he agreed with a shrug.

Picking at the buttons in front of her, her shoulder shifted awkwardly before she told him, "Suppose, just this once, you should maybe call me something else." Then she met his eyes and nodded, "Clara, just this one trip, you should call me Clara."

Clenching his jaw to keep from smiling, he nodded slowly and replied, "Then I shall, as the Roman escort of the goddess Clara, fetch you an appropriate dress."

He watched her swallow anxiously before she smirked and nodded, and John turned to rush towards the wardrobe with a small nervous laugh because she was allowing him to break her rules and the notion churned his stomach and moistened his palms. Because he'd long ago established a rule for himself, one he'd tried very hard to maintain, and he knew calling her by her name – calling her by her real name – would make it nearly impossible not to break.

Because his one rule was not to fall in love with the Doctor.

But today she was just Clara.