A/N: Yes, I know there are ten zillion Human Nature AU stories. But I've only read one – the incomparable bendingsignpost's version, so hopefully, this doesn't bare a resemblance to anything else. This just sprang up in my head and wouldn't let go. And FYI – the rating will change later.

The room wasn't much. A small four-poster bed, a plain bedside table and a single lamp, with a tiny cupboard that barely fit her clothes. She supposed it was a fitting design for a country that had just seen the end of rationing, though. Fortunately, the TARDIS had been able to supply her with a wardrobe of the latest styles that year, perfect for jaunts into the city. If she ever made it to the city. The corners of her mouth turned down at visions of what her life might look like for the next three months.

Catching sight of her image in the full-length mirror, she was distracted by the woman looking back at her. Her hair fell in ringlets to her shoulders, framing her features nicely, and she puckered her red lips in an imitation of the pin-up girls. The dress was perfect for the era, and complemented her figure beautifully. In addition, it was professional enough but wouldn't be mistaken for any kind of uniform. She hoped. Sighing, she smoothed the lines of the skirt, giving it a bit of a twirl to let the fullness flare out. Yes, it was almost as though she were made for this era. She'd blend in easily. Him on the other hand…

Another sigh, this time in trepidation as she glanced in the direction of his room. Giving herself a final onceover, she gave a quick nod.

"Here goes," she said to her reflection, setting her shoulders back.

Walking with purpose, she stopped in front of his closed door and knocked softly. "Hello?" Turning the handle, she peeked around the edge. "Are you awake?"

"Rrrrnnnnnn." He groaned, bringing a hand up to his head, which he massaged with his palm. He stretched and contracted his limbs as though he were testing them out for the first time. Which wasn't too far from the truth, of course. "Ow. Ow ow. OW."

Clasping her hands in front of her, she walked to the end of the bed, tilting her head in sympathy. "Ooh. Still in pain then?"

"Yes." He cradled his head. "You could say that. I feel – different, actually; I feel –" He raised his head to look at her and the pained grimace melted off his face. "Different."

Clara watched his eyes roam openly down her body, lingering in entirely new places that the Doctor had never lingered. "Clara…" He said her name like it was impossible, and Clara wondered wryly if that was the main component of his residual awareness that had survived the transformation.

She was hardly prepared for his gawking, though, so she cleared her throat to redirect his attention to her face. "So I've unpacked all my stuff, um…I was just checking on you before I went downstairs."

This information seemed to mystify him. "Right…" he began slowly, and she swore she could see the wheels in his head turning. "Because you're…staying here."

"Yes, I am," and she rushed through the next bit, hastily solidifying her non-service capacity role. "While I work on my book – to escape the city. All that noise, activity – harder to concentrate. More quiet here."

"Yes…" he still seemed like he was trying to catch up. "But you're also here to…spend time with me. Right?"

Ah, a more familiar relationship was being established. She breathed a sigh of relief, smiling at him. "Of course."

He tilted his head at her, then, looking at her like he used to when he couldn't quite figure her out. He reached out a hand, beckoning her. "What are you doing all the way over there? Come here."

She felt herself relax at this level of familiarity, slipping into it like a worn-in pair of shoes. She moved to his side and grasped his hand, smiling when he kissed it. It seemed that his residual awareness of her had done its job and was serving her well. And gentlemen kissed ladies' hands in the 40's - he was merely being chivalrous. She felt another sigh of relief escape her lips; this could be much easier than she'd anticipated.

He gazed up at her then, thumb drawing continuous circles, as if it could work out what his mind still couldn't. There was a thin haze of confusion over those green eyes as he searched for answers in her face. "Are we…" He moistened his lips, seeming to struggle with the question. "Are we going to be okay?"

There was such vulnerability there, such unabashed trust in her, she couldn't help the shine that rose to her eyes. No use in frightening him, though. So she gave him her warmest, most reassuring smile, the one she usually reserved to soothe a rattled Artie who'd just dreamed his mother was still alive. She squeezed his hand. "Yes. We're going to be okay. We're gonna be just fine." And she meant it.

He couldn't seem to contain the joy these words wrought. His smile was so bright and so unexpected, it almost knocked the wind out of him, and he had to take a few breaths to restore himself. It was so intense, he couldn't even look at her anymore, his gaze darting back and forth between her face and their joined hands. When it finally settled on her, though, there wasn't a trace of confusion or uncertainty. He practically glowed.

Just as suddenly, he smirked at her. "It was the ladder, wasn't it?" The question seemed to amuse him.

"Sorry?"

He rubbed at his head. "How I hit my head? Right?"

She went along with it, like he'd told her to. "Yeah, you – you hit your head pretty hard. When you fell. Off the – ladder."

He chuckled then, shaking his head at something. "Should've listened to you. You said it was ….wibbly-wobbly?"

She couldn't suppress her giggle at the familiar term, falling into their pattern of easy banter. "'Course you should've. You should always listen to me."

A veneer of…something settled over his features then. "Yes, well…we all know what happens when I don't."

It was a funny turn of mood, albeit a useful reminder that she would need to get used to this. His human moods. She seized on the opportunity to extricate herself, instead. "Well, seems like you might need a bit more rest, so I'll just – let you be." She gave his hand a pat, and then moved towards the door.

"Clara?"

She turned on her heel, her dress swirling around her hips. "Yes, D -….John?"

There was a mix of emotions on his face such as she'd never seen. Sorrow, hope and steely determination warred for dominance all at once, the impact visible in the rippling across his shoulders. "I'm going to make things right. I promise."

Was this how the Doctor felt when he heard emotional declarations he didn't understand? Her hands clasped together, and she resisted the urge to ring them. "Make what right…?"

His attention was now focused on something on the bureau, his lips in a thin line. "You'll see." It was uttered so softly, she didn't know whether it was aimed at her or not.

So, like the Doctor did when confronted with something he didn't comprehend, she breezed right past it. "Okay! Well, I'm gonna go work on my book now – did you um, need anything? While I'm up – tea? Glass of water?"

It was like a curtain had been lifted, and the sun shone through again. "Tea! Tea would be lovely. Thank you, Clara…*thank you.*"

The intensity was not lost on her, and it gave her pause. Trying for another breezy laugh, she went for the banter again. "It's just tea, D- John. It's not a…" She faltered now, realising the banter might fail her if she had to come up with something relevant to their era. "Anyway – I'll be right back." She didn't look at him again, closing the door behind her before stopping to sag against it.

So…this may not be as easy as she she'd originally thought. The Doctor with human emotions, human mood swings. She had never considered that perhaps all those emotions he couldn't express or feel as an alien might bubble to the surface, finally be set free. Or maybe these idiosyncrasies were remnants of his war experiences – she didn't know.

Still, there was one thing that hadn't changed, she was certain. One thing he had carried over from being a Time Lord…

The Doctor – John - was hiding something from her.