The Doctor was true to his word when it came attempting a normal Christmas. To his credit, he really did try. He could make a real nuisance of himself though. One moment, he would be sitting by Clara's side, playing the part of the witty guest. The next moment, he was gone, only to return later looking slightly more disheveled than he had previously, wearing a look of practiced innocence, and generally being the world's worst house guest.

Vastra and Jenny wouldn't have him be anything other than who he was. Despite his seeming impatience for social gatherings he could be charming when he wanted to be. It was thanks to him, in fact, that Vastra and Jenny had a new favorite Christmas carol.

He surprised them all, including himself, when he discovered he could play piano. While the piano skills were a shock, his ability, or inability, to remember lyrics, was just shocking. No matter how much Clara insisted, he could not retain that it was "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire," and not "Roast your chestnuts on an open fire," which he sang in an otherwise beautiful voice that managed to be both rocky and naturally resonant. Funny as his lyrics were, Clara was determined that she would hear more of his voice in the future. It really was a thing of wonder.

"Well that explains why Mel tried to punch me. I thought it had something to do with Marilyn," he shuddered at the memory of his harrowing escape, from Marilyn more-so than Mel. He shrugged, "But I like my version better." Vastra and Jenny certainly did.

Clara wasn't even surprised. After all, he had a band with Marcus Aurelius on bass, Buddy Holly singing, Jane Austen on guitar, and Shakespeare on drums. No wait, he'd probably say not to be silly. Shakespeare was a terrible drummer. Marilyn Monroe was his groupie, why not? All she could do, all you could ever do with the Doctor, was laugh.

As the evening wore on, he finally ran out of things to not fix, and songs to not remember, and was getting bored. It was best to leave him be when he got like this, so Clara ignored him when he last disappeared, continuing her visit with Vastra and Jenny unheeded. It wasn't until she perceived the change in them that she turned her head slightly, to find him sitting at the other end of the couch, just staring at her.

This was embarrassing, even for him. Willing him with eye rolls and hand waves was an exercise in futility, as she tried in vain to continue her conversation with Vastra and Jenny. Maybe it was time to head back… home. The Doctor, feeling the shift in her, got up with an unceremonious "Bye," already heading out to the Tardis.

Not even angry, she rose to make her excuses to Vastra and Jenny, but she needn't have bothered, they understood completely. They were among some of the best allies he was ever bound to have. Clara promised to keep giving him hell, and with a hug for each of them, she headed quickly back to the Tardis herself, glad to have a new Christmas tradition to look forward to when not saving planets.

By the time she reached the Tardis, the Doctor was under the console, the red of his waistcoat visible between the mess of wires, fusing connections for who knew what. The Doctor paused his fiddling to ask her where to next. Clara wanted to grab some needful things from her flat, but that could wait. She shrugged, "How about somewhere with a beautiful view."

Busy hunting the bookshelves, she didn't catch the devilish raise of his eyebrows at the mention of a beautiful view, before he punched in the coordinates to drift in space. He knew just the place, a place she would find spectacular, that they could explore later.

Having found the book of poems she was after (Perhaps the Tardis didn't mind her so much anymore?), Clara barely took notice when he returned to fusing connections under the console. Tardis Life had taught her to drown out the inevitable snapping and sparking that went along with such projects. For now, she had a project of her own.

Vastra had undoubtedly chosen the excerpt from that poem in the Christmas cracker based on its title, "Jenny". Clara remembered it well, having herself written a paper on it. At the time, she took a hardline view against its misplaced Victorian ideals. While she loved the speaker's attempt to understand the object of his affection, the speaker both objectified, judged, and forgave a passive subject with no voice of her own. She loved that it pointed to a waking social justice, but yet it was also steeped in the misogyny of the time.

It was why she was so surprised at dinner. Yes, Vastra and Jenny kept the pretense of mistress and maid more than was strictly necessary, but she always viewed them as more equal than the poem would suggest. Vastra did choose a rather poignant passage though, and only Clara had seemed to mind the choice of the poem itself.

Always one to cast a critical eye, and eager to learn, Clara resolved to approach the poem from a fresh perspective. What she found in her re-read was a poem fraught with the same problems she found before, but with a love there she wasn't previously willing to see. It wasn't a perfect love, but it was there, and it was true. Snapping the book shut, she leaned against the rail, watching her own imperfect poem toiling away below the console.

Like the poem in the book, she loved him from the start, and also like the poem, she had too quickly decided he wasn't right for her. In her case, it had been mistaking love for addiction. What was it that made love different from addiction?

Love was a positive force, it made you want to be better. Addiction was one-dimensional and all-consuming, leaving you drained and empty. No, it was never addiction between them. She never felt drained or empty with the Doctor. No, she felt full, and complete.

She chided her grey-haired alien stick insect for his faults, but the truth of the matter was they were too alike in all the ways that mattered. What a strange trip they had to take in order to fully realize that. Now that it was realized, she wasn't about to squander the second chance she'd been given.

In an effort to get his attention, Clara stretched luxuriously as she pulled an ostentatious fake yawn. She didn't really think that would work, and it didn't. The Doctor continued fusing wires together, in his own little world. She cleared her throat a few times, each time increasing the volume, until the last time saw her actually scratching her throat.

"Are you coming down with a cold?" the Doctor finally asked, wires popping and sparking around him. His attention was still fixed on the problem at hand. Immersed in his work, he failed to notice her eyes widen in annoyance.

"No, I don't have a cold, but I am suddenly very… tired." Deciding to up the game, she pressed on. "Ok then, that's me off to bed." She made her way a few steps down the corridor, still eliciting no response at all from him other than a mumbled reply to sleep well.

Her blood started to boil a bit once she was at her door, she stomped back down the corridor. "Aren't you tired?"

"You know I don't need much sleep, and I got plenty of it last night. I'll be on a full tank for months." The Doctor replied offhandedly, not even bothering to look up.

"Oh, I think you're tired."

"I'm really not."

The wheels in his head finally started to turn in the right direction. Was she angry? Why was his sleep suddenly a concern? Was she talking about sleeping? He really needed a manual. "I am?"

"Yes, you are!" She nearly stomped her foot in frustration, opting instead to cross her arms, she commanded, "Do as you are told."

Unable to detect any movement from him, Clara threw up her hands in frustration and marched back to her room. The more things changed, the more they really did stay the same.

She got as far as halfway when she noticed the sound of footsteps behind her. Resolving to ignore him, she continued to her room. Two could play that game. She got as far as the door when an arm against the wall prevented her from going further. He thought he was going to get away with that? She'd been rejected in favor of the Tardis. Boys and their toys.

She wheeled to face him, annoyed at his apparent lack of interest. Whatever witty comeback she had planned evaporated at the the sight of his hooded eyes, aflame with desire. She wasn't prepared for that. At a loss for words, she watched as he pressed past her, opening the door and sauntering into the room with a Timelord swagger that made her nerves spark.

Pausing and turning, he leaned in close, his eyes fixed on hers. In a low, rumbling gravel that took her breath away, he whispered softly, "Yes, Boss."

A/N: I'd like to thank apocalyptic-scenes for her tireless work in editing this monster. If not for her, we'd be in verb-tense, repeated word, typo hell. Head to Tumblr and give her your follows.

And please, let me have your honest feedback. This may be my first attempt at writing, but I prefer honesty even if its brutal. But if you love it, that's fine by me too. :) I truly did love writing it. You can find me here and on Tumblr if you have questions, comments, concerns. I loved writing it so you can bet I love talking about it.

It's not the last DW work I have planned by a long way.