A Nanny and a Single Father

Twelve/Clara

K+

The grass tickled her skin as she and Hannah lay out in the garden, dinner settling into their bellies as they stared up at the stars. Like most children her age, Hannah preferred being outside than staying cooped up indoors, so Clara indulged her as often as she could. After dinner stargazing had become one of their rituals.

"Dad says you can see them better outside of the city," Hannah told her, as if Clara had no knowledge of the stars herself. "He says he and my mum used to go on trips to the country where they could see all the stars."

"That sounds lovely," Clara replied with a smile. She loved it when Hannah talked about her mum; she'd been so young when she died that the Doctor worried she wouldn't remember her. "Did your mum like the stars?"

Hannah nodded. "Yes. Daddy used to show her the stars with his telescope. He named one after her for her birthday."

"Did he really?" Clara replied with that astonished tone reserved for children. "Do you know which one's hers?"

Hannah squinted an eye shut and pointed past a cloud obscuring their view of the eastern sky. "It's back there, I think. Hiding."

She pouted and lowered her gaze back to Earth. Sensing Hannah's sadness, Clara rolled onto her side and wrapped an arm around the girl's middle before pressing a kiss to her fluffy blonde hair. Hannah giggled and squirmed away, but Clara held her tighter and peppered her face with kisses until Hannah laughingly asked her to stop. Clara pulled back and propped herself up on her elbow, continuing to smile at the girl who looked rather disappointed that she was no longer being showered with affection, even though she was the one who'd asked it to stop.

The back door to the house swung open, and both girls turned to see the Doctor descending the brick steps that led into the grass. Clara grinned when Hannah jumped to her feet and ran towards him, her arms open wide for a hug that she leapt into. The Doctor lifted his daughter from the ground and held her tightly, a reclusive smile appearing on his face.

"How's my girl?" he asked as he ran a hand over her downy curls. "Sleepy?"

Hannah pulled back with a yawn. "N… No."

Clara stood and wrapped the tartan shawl she'd brought out to keep herself warm even more tightly around her shoulders while she watched the two interact. The Doctor worked long hours at the new clinic that he'd helped open up in town, and it was a long commute to and from his house on the edge of the city, but he didn't want to give any of it up. Clara couldn't fault him for it, even if that meant he saw his daughter less. He'd lost too much already.

Hannah cupped her hand around her mouth and leaned in close to whisper something into her father's ear. His gaze lifted to Clara, who raised a curious eyebrow at this exchange, and then he laughed softly.

"I don't know where you get you're imagination," he said to Hannah.

"From you!" she insisted gleefully.

Clara's face hurt from smiling. She loved seeing them both smile; they hadn't done a lot of that when she'd first come to work for them almost a year ago. She wished she could take the credit for returning laughter to their home, but time was all they needed to heal. Time and a little help around the house.

The Doctor took Hannah upstairs to wash up and put her to bed, something she was a little old for at the age of six, but he so rarely saw her that neither was eager to give up on the ritual. Clara went into the kitchen and filled the sink with hot, soapy water so she could wash all the pots and pans and plates from dinner. It had been just her and Hannah, and yet somehow they still managed to make enough mess for four people.

She was drying off the small saucepan when she heard the Doctor's footfalls on the staircase. When his shoes hit the linoleum, she tossed the marigolds on the edge of the sink and turned around to smile at him.

"She in bed?"

He sighed. "Yes, but whether or not she was really asleep when I left her is anyone's guess."

Clara laughed. "I think she might have inherited your sleep cycle."

"Yes, I'm afraid that might be the case. Poor girl."

Clara had arrived one morning to find the Doctor still dressed in the same suit from the night before. Did you sleep in that? she'd asked with a worried laugh as she entered the house. He'd stared at her in bewilderment before replying, Oh, right—sleep.

"Oh, I should write you your cheque," he said, patting the pockets of his jacket. "So you can deposit it tomorrow before the banks close."

He spun in a slow circle as he search the room for his chequebook, which Clara happened to know was in its usual place in the study.

"It's fine," she assured him. "You can get it to me tomorrow if you'd like."

"Don't you have bills to worry about?"

"Yeah, but I can take a picture of the cheque with my phone and deposit it through an app. It's very handy."

The Doctor raised his hands helplessly from his sides. "Modern technology."

"Have you had anything to eat recently?" she asked, crossing over to the refrigerator. "We had some of that casserole you like for dinner; there's plenty left if you'd like me to warm it up for you."

He protested like he always did when he felt like she was going out of her way for him, but Clara never listened. She heated up a good chunk of the casserole in the microwave and then asked him about his day while the cheese sizzled in the background. The Doctor said it was more or less routine, but she knew he was making light of what he did—saving lives and all that. When the microwave beeped, Clara grabbed a fork and a napkin and then retrieved the hot plate so she could place it on the kitchen island in front of him. He continued talking as he ate, but when Clara moved to grab the empty plate to wash in the sink, he swatted her hand away.

"You don't have to wait on me hand and foot," he said, brushing past her so that he could wash the dish himself.

"I know. I just like helping."

He glanced at her over his shoulder and then turned off the tap. "Yes, I know." He turned around to face her, his hands folded behind his back as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "You're a tremendous help, Clara. I don't know what Hannah and I would do without you."

It was one of those things she never knew how to respond to, so instead Clara just bowed her head and smiled. He matched her smile with one of his rare ones and her heart fluttered in her chest, more out of excitement at such a rare show of emotion from the man than any attraction she had long since refused to acknowledge.

"It's late," he said. "You should head home. Unless you want to stay in the guest room again."

She'd only stayed the night one weekend several months ago when there had been a heavy rainstorm that few people would have ventured out in. The Doctor brought it up often, her staying the night. He'd originally offered her a position as a live-in nanny, but she'd insisted on keeping her flat and making due. She loved Hannah, but she didn't want her job to consume her life.

"Another time, maybe," she said politely, but her smile fell quickly when she realised how much that sounded like a promise to stay the night for something else.

If the Doctor had picked up on it, he didn't show it. "OK, well… have a good night."

"You too."

She didn't think about him on the train ride back to the city or during the walk up to her flat, but he was there the moment she closed her eyes. She thought a lot about him at night, which was something she'd never admit to anyone, let alone herself.

The Doctor growled at his laptop and pressed his mobile to his ear with the impatience of a stockbroker. Clara picked up on the third ring.

"Hey."

"Clara," he said. "This stupid laptop's malfunctioning again. I don't know how to get it to stop showing me bloody stock options."

He could practically hear her grinning on the other end of the line. "I told you not go with Windows 8."

"They were all Windows 8!"

"Not the Apple ones."

"You seriously expect me to use one of those MacAir ProBook thingies?" he replied dryly. "I can barely figure out how to set up my mailbox."

"It's easier on a Mac, you know. You want me to come over?"

He heaved a sigh at his foolishness. "No, no—of course not. It's your day off."

"I don't mind," she replied lightly. He could hear her shifting around like she was getting ready.

"No," he repeated in a deflated tone. "It's too long of a train ride in from the city; I can figure this out on my own."

"Can you?" she replied sceptically.

He puffed out his chest even though she couldn't see. "I'm clever enough."

"Clever? Yes. It's patience you lack. Don't chuck it out the window before I can get there."

The Doctor stared at the phone after she hung up and wondered why he was so surprised. Clara Oswald had proven herself self-sacrificing and endlessly generous enough times for him to know that she would drop anything to help him even with the littlest thing. He hadn't intended for her to come over; he'd just hit an obstacle and she was the first person he thought of. He was helpless without her.

About an hour later, he heard her knock on the front door. He switched off the telly (he'd given up on the laptop about two minutes after their phone call) and ran a hand through his unruly hair before opening the door. Clara was wearing one of those oversized knit cardigans that made her look even smaller, and he felt the absurd urge to hug her. She looked so cosy.

"Show me the beast," she said with a light grin before passing by him.

He heaved a sigh and started listing off the machine's numerous inadequacies while Clara sat down on the edge of the sofa and started clicking away at the keys. She looked up at him expectantly after about ten seconds, and he abruptly stopped talking.

"You've fixed it already, haven't you?"

She smiled the sort of smile that was born from suppressed laughter and then patted the cushion next to her. "Come here and I'll show you."

What took her ten seconds to fix took him ten minutes to understand. It was embarrassing how easily modern technology foiled him; it made him feel old. He didn't like feeling old, especially not when he was sitting next to his twenty eight year old nanny.

Well, she wasn't his nanny.

Not that he ought to be dwelling on that distinction.

"Where's Hannah?" she asked, eyes searching the room. "Is she out in the garden?"

"No, she's visiting her grandparents this weekend."

"Oh, right. How are they doing?"

The Doctor shut the laptop and leaned back against the cushions, his arms stretching out across the back of the sofa. "Well enough. I worry Hannah might be a bit much for Rory—he's got a bad back and she likes him to lift her up so she can pick apples from their tree in the back garden. It was fine when she was smaller, but she's getting awfully heavy. I told him to get a ladder."

Clara laughed. "Yeah, but no granddad can resist the plea of his granddaughter."

"I suppose not," he said. The Doctor examined her features curiously for a moment. "I hate that you came out all of this way for something you could have told me over the phone."

She shot him a look. "Do you honestly think you would have understood my instructions over the phone?"

"Ha—no, I suppose not. But it's a long ride in from the city."

She shrugged. "I'm used to it; it doesn't bother me."

An awkward but not altogether uncomfortable silence settled over them. They weren't used to being alone without Hannah running about somewhere or upstairs in bed, and even then Clara was usually gone after they ran out of things to talk about, which happened rather quickly on evenings when he got home from work. It was refreshing to see her on a Saturday afternoon when he wasn't bone tired or aching all over.

Clara's stomach took that opportunity to growl loudly, breaking the silence. Her eyes went wide and she cradled her belly as an embarrassed laugh burst from her lips, a laugh the Doctor echoed.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She bit her lip. "I might've napped through lunch."

He gave her a disparaging look that would have been more effective had he not paired it with a crooked grin that drew her attention to his lips. He rose from the sofa without another word and started rifling through the fridge.

"Ah, we need to run by the shop. We've got a bunch of ingredients that don't go together."

Clara shuffled into the kitchen after him. "I thought I restocked this thing the other day."

"Hannah eats like a teenage boy."

He sighed at the meagre offerings of his refrigerator before shutting the door and turning to the petite young woman leaning against the kitchen island.

"I'll take you out to eat."

Her laugh rang like a bell. "Take me where? There's nothing good around here except takeaway."

"We could go closer into town. Or just order takeaway. I know you love that Indian place. The whole house stank of curry after you watched the house in February."

"Says the man who can't go for a curry without dripping it on his shirt. You forget who does your laundry."

He blushed. She smiled.

"Curry sounds good."

He called in their order for delivery and Clara disappeared into the lounge. He had to keep shouting at her to confirm her order and Clara groaned loudly after the second time he checked on her naan preference. "Should I be doing this?" she groused.

He hung up the phone and then walked into the lounge to find her sitting back on the sofa with his computer perched on her lap, her fingers clicking away at the keys.

"What are you doing now?" he asked. "Updating your twitter?"

"I'm downloading Chrome—I think half of your problems will be solved if you stop using Internet Explorer."

He scowled, even though he was sure she was doing something he'd appreciate. "Just don't download a virus."

"Yes, Captain."

He traced the contours of her profile with his eyes, his gaze lingering on the curve of her lips while her eyes remained glued to the computer screen. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the delivery man rang the doorbell and he hopped up to retrieve their food.

He nearly ran into Clara on his way back to the sofa. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To the table. To eat."

"No! Let's eat here; this way we can watch the telly."

He might as well have suggested they dump the food on the carpet and gobble it up on all fours considering the scandalised look she gave him. He forgot how strict she was with Hannah about eating in the kitchen.

"Live dangerously, Oswald," he teased.

She relented with a sigh He couldn't help but smile as she helped him pull containers out of the large paper bag; this felt normal, almost to the point of déjà vu. But he and Clara had never eaten takeaway together, let alone sit and eat in front of the telly.

He dropped the remote next to him when he found an old movie with Katherine Hepburn. "I don't suppose you watch black and white movies, do you?"

She tore a piece of naan and dipped into the chicken tikka masala sauce. "Well, most of the movies I've watched recently involve fairy princesses and talking sea creatures, so I'll go for anything with real people."

They watched the movie in relative silence, one that was punctuated by the occasional question about Cary Grant and the pair of them having a good laugh when the Doctor dripped curry sauce onto his jumper. Clara jumped up to retrieve a wet rag from the kitchen and he sat there stiffly while she bent forward and tried to rub the stain out.

"You should just take it off. I'll put some washing liquid on it; should help get the stain out."

He was wearing a thin white t-shirt underneath, so he pulled the jumper over his head and handed it to her before dashing upstairs to find something else to wear. She was already back in her spot on the sofa with her knees curled to the side when he returned, now sporting a worn, faded blue jumper that had to be older than she was. Clara gave it a once over when he sat down and then returned her attention to the TV screen.

About halfway through the movie, she shifted to where her body was curled towards the centre of the couch and her head lolled against the cushion behind her. The Doctor hadn't really noticed until her head slid forward and her cheek pressed against his shoulder.

She was asleep.

He stared at her, unsure of what to do. He considered nudging her awake but she looked so peaceful. His eyes swept down the delicate curve of her nose to its pointed tip and he felt something stir in his chest. He wanted to reach up and push her hair out of her face, but instead he returned his attention to the movie. By the time it was over, Clara had snuggled up against his chest and he'd been inclined to wrap his arm around her, his hand resting lightly at her waist.

The noise from the TV had put her to sleep, but as soon as it shut off, she stirred against him.

"Doctor?"

Their faces were close, barely inches apart, and Clara stared at his lips as she struggled to remember when she'd fallen asleep. She remembered waking at one point to feel his arm wrap around her, and even though that was something unfamiliar and strange, she hadn't questioned it; she'd just fallen back asleep.

She felt jolts of electricity shoot from his fingertips into her skin, carving a path to her heart which started beating rapidly in response. Her breathing grew shallow and heavy, and the Doctor watched her with the most curious expression, one she didn't fully understand until their lips met.

The sound of their lips separating was absurdly loud in the quiet of the dimly lit room. The Doctor lifted his hand to the side of her head and kissed her again, his thumb brushing against her cheek as her breath shuddered against his mouth. She waited for that feeling of panic to set in—she was kissing her boss, a man who was nearly her dad's age—but it never came. She then waited for him to panic, but he only continued to kiss her with his surprisingly soft lips, lips that parted to envelop her lower lip between them.

She pulled back. "Doctor…"

He waited for her to continue, but she didn't. She just stared at his neck as her heart rate accelerated, and when she couldn't take it anymore she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him passionately, her fingers snaking through his hair as he slipped his hand inside her woolly cardigan to grab her waist.

The Doctor dipped forward to kiss her neck and Clara breathed loudly up at the ceiling as his lips pressed into her skin. His movements slowed and he held her tightly as he struggled to compose himself, but his restraint didn't feel like a rejection. His hand found its way into her hair and he sighed against the back of her neck, their bodies sinking comfortably into the other's embrace as the cogs turned in their heads.

It wasn't difficult to process. They'd known each other in a limited capacity for a year, and while their interaction had been confined to early morning conversations and late night cups of tea, their attraction and compatibility hadn't gone unnoticed. In fact, it had been so apparent that both had struggled to keep their feelings in check for fear of what it would mean to be together. The Doctor was afraid of taking advantage of the young girl who worked for him, of ruining the relationship his daughter had with her, and Clara was afraid of the same thing, but in reverse.

"I'm going to tell you a secret," she whispered into his ear. "Don't laugh."

He couldn't help but chuckle in response. "No promises."

Clara's fingers curled at the back of his neck. "I came to see you today because I missed you." She broke her own rule and laughed softly. "Is that crazy?"

He kissed her cheek and then pulled back to gaze at her fondly. "If it is, we're both mad."

Her father wasn't there to greet her when her grandparents dropped her off the following evening. Frowning, Hannah listened to her Granny and Granddad call his name up the stairs, both arguing that he had to be home because his car was parked out front.

Following a hunch, Hannah dropped her backpack near the entryway table and walked into the dining room to peer out the window to the back garden. One of the street lamps from the road behind their house cast a light on the two figures lying curled up on a blanket in the grass, their eyes cast upward at the night sky. Hannah beamed at them and then ran to the back door to fling it open.

Her dad and Clara both sat up in surprise when they heard her bounding down the steps and across the grass. Hannah flung out her arms as she sailed into them, nearly knocking them both back onto the ground.

"Daddy! Clara!" she giggled excitedly as her father helped her sit up.

"You're back early," he said with a smile.

"What's Clara doing here?" Hannah asked, turning gleeful eyes to her nanny. She could hear her grandparents shuffling onto the back porch. "Were you showing her mummy's star?"

"No, sweetheart," he said as he watched Hannah crawl into Clara's lap for a hug. "I was showing her yours."

A/N: These last few installments have featured 12/Clara mostly because I've got the largest number of prompts for them (and the most interesting prompts, imo) and also because the recent episodes have me super excited for them. The next few installments should feature both 10/Clara and 11/Clara, so here's your heads up!