Inspired by an 8tracks mix of these two that I adore.

But I ain't got no one sleepin with me,
And you ain't got no where that you need to be

It Is What It Is - Kacey Musgraves

They run.

No more talk of a last Christmas, no talk of Danny. Just the Doctor and Clara Oswald, in the TARDIS, as it should be.

And after several adventures and nights stayed over on the TARDIS, Clara asks to be taken home. He's not offended. Frankly he's surprised she stayed so long in one go, given that it isn't usually her way.

So he lands the TARDIS in her living room and patiently waits until she opens her bedroom door to him. In soft flannel pajamas, she smiles at him for a moment and those eyes of hers capture him in the moment she spends looking at him before turning around.

"Everything alright, then?" He asks. He's reluctant to leave her side. Even with this new lot of adventures, he's missed her more than he would ever admit. His impossible girl in all of her short stature and wide face, with the eyes that can't be controlled and the voice that can command him where every other living being fails.

"Yeah," Clara says, but in a way that sounds more automatic than genuine, "Just weird being back." She gets into her bed but remains sitting up with her arms around her knees.

"Bad weird or good weird?" From his spot by the vanity, he watches her face intently while waiting for her answer.

"I dunno." It sounds honest, but there's a sadness in her eyes that bothers him.

"But you liked being gone?"

"Yes," she says quickly, and it's all he can do to hide his relief. Still, he's lingered too long, and those eyes are starting to make his skin prickle in a way he's not sure he likes.

"Right, I should probably-" The Doctor doesn't even manage to turn all the way toward the door before her soft voice utters two words that have him frozen.

"Don't leave." It's not a command, like so many things from her mouth are. It's a request. "Stay. Please."

Now he's fairly sure that he's the one that is all eyes. Words have escaped him and he manages to take a few steps further into the room.

"Okay," he hears himself answer, without entirely knowing why. But how could he say anything else?

He doesn't know what exactly she's asking of him until she pulls away the covers of the other side of the bed in silent invitation. He just nods dumbly, kicking off his shoes and shedding his jacket before doing as requested and sliding into the bed next to her. Immediately she curls into his side. Before he knows exactly what has happened his arm is around her and her head is against his chest listening to the steady beating of his hearts.

"Clara," he says, unsure.

"I know it's like hugging, but I'm not hiding my face." To ring her words home she tilts her head so that their eyes can meet. "But if you don't like it I can let go."

"No, it's - it's fine," he whispers, swallowing slowly, "This is good." His arm tightens around her body, and he wonders which part of his brain is responsible for that because he certainly hadn't done it consciously but is quietly glad that he had.

Clara smiles at him, her fingers brushing across the fabric of his jumper, and he can feel an all too familiar strangeness in his chest that's like a dull ache but with more flutterwings. Or do the pudding brains call them butterflies? He tries to shift his thoughts elsewhere and fails.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" She asks through a small yawn, all the while snuggling into him like he's her new comfy pillow. Or her favourite old one. He can't be sure.

The Doctor knows what he should say, that staying with her when he doesn't need sleep himself is a waste of his valuable time. But just before he can he meets her eyes. Meets her eyes and remembers the sound of her voice asking him to stay, with the lack of command that had given him how much she needs him to.

It's with a jolt that he realises that there's nothing he would rather being doing than lying there with Clara, even if she was just sleeping. For her he had all the time in the world, and then some.

"Just this once." It sounds gruffer like than a simple yes. He congratulates himself on maintaining his distant Time Lord facade and not showing just how under her power he truly is.

"Thank you."

What had happened to him? Time was that he would loathe nothing more than being stuck in a bed with some human, when he could be off having more adventures or inventing some new screwdriver. Why is it that this diminutive nanny-turned-schoolteacher of a control freak has both of his hearts in one hand and his leash in the other?

"My impossible girl," he murmurs, and he thinks he sees her smile before she's asleep and breathing evenly against him. She's beautiful. Exquisite in every detail I pretend to criticise. He strokes her soft soft hair and sighs. "Life would be much easier if I weren't completely in love with you." He leans down to brush a kiss across her forehead - a gesture of affection he would never allow to be seen in the light of day but one that seems safe in the darkness of the bedroom. "And maybe one day I'll tell you that when you're awake."

They remain in that perfect stasis (her sleeping, him finding the oddest peace in simply existing alongside her) until morning light. Clara wakes to find him still with her and the smile she gives him puts supernovas to shame.

When she asks why he's looking at her funny, he tells her that her hair is lopsided and asks her if she's considered cutting half of it off to even it out.

This is my first time writing an actual Twelve/Clara fic, but I'm glad I did because they're my babies. Please let me know what you thought, especially about the characterisation because I always worry about that the most.

The 8tracks mix that inspired this is:

/emsys/til-what-ever-we-have-is-gone

Thanks for reading, and feedback is appreciated!

-MayFairy :)