Still don't own Doctor Who. Still procrastinating on my other story. Still 100% done with my stupid Whouffle emotions.

Incident #2: The Shower

After a particularly close call with a three headed dog named Ramsy the Rank, Clara stated that she was in desperate need of a shower because "this awful damp dog smell" didn't exactly suit her. So the surprisingly normal-smelling Doctor (honestly, it wasn't his fault Ramsy liked young human females over old male Time Lords) headed for the library looking for a book on interstellar biomatter and dynamics for a bit of light reading. No more than ten minutes had past when he heard the door creek open behind him.

"Doctor," a stern voice said.

"Ah, Clara, that was quick. Do you know where I put that book I had a few days ago? What was it..." He continued to search the pile of books that sat before him.

"Doctor, -"

"Something about life stars..."

"If you'd just-"

"The Life and Times of Stars in History? On second thought, that's a rubbish title... Why did I read it?"

"DOCTOR!"

"You'd be better off naming it Boringly Written Star Stuff, honestly it's—" He turned around and stopped midsentence, his gaze falling upon his dripping wet companion, garbed only in a damp towel. Clara crossed her arms over chest, and blood rushed to the Doctor's cheeks. "Oh."

"The shower shut off."

"Well I can see that." A water droplet rolled from Clara's shampoo-laden hair, down her chest, and disappeared somewhere underneath the towel.

"How about you divert your gaze somewhere other than my breasts, mister," smirked Clara, amused at the Doctor's reaction.

The Time Lord turned a deeper shade of red and threw his hands over his eyes . "Not my fault you're all drippy and… towled up. Can't you put some clothes on?"

"I'd much rather get all the suds out of my hair, thanks. Didn't have a chance before your wacky snogbox decided to mess with me."

"I'm sure."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Chin Boy," she said, rolling her eyes. "I've tried everything I could think of, but the darn thing just won't turn on. Can you have a go?"

Peeking between his fingers, a glimmer of enticement in his eyes. "What's in it for me?"

An exasperated sighed came from his companion, and he dropped his hands altogether. This was getting ridiculous. "You're kidding, yeah?"

"Well…" Stepping side to side awkwardly, he tried not to smile or blush yet again. Clara half considered chucking one of the books beside him, but an even better idea sprung to mind.

She shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to… stay like this then."

The Doctor's brows raised in shock. "Is that a promise?"

"Maybe. Bye, Doctor."

Clara turned and exited, again shutting the door behind her. A few minutes passed before the Doctor could shake himself to follow her. Might as well just fix the thing before she bothers getting dressed, he mused, trying to focus his mind on anything other than the thought of what had just transpired.

Three steps into his journey to Clara's room, however, he cursed himself as he made a curious discovery. Lying in the middle of the corridor, just outside the library door, was a single damp towel.

The Doctor didn't stop blushing for an hour.

Crappy ending, as always. I hate endings, I never seem to get them right. Any who I tried to get Clara right, seeing as she apparently doesn't care about stripping in front of the Doctor (I encourage every Doctor/Clara shipper to read The DW book, Shroud of Sorrow, if they can).

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