Clara's tinkering and it's unnerving, watching her fiddle with the controls, jamming them when she should be pulling them, or twisting them when she should be pressing them… and the Tardis is none too thrilled – quite upset, actually. Possibly, very likely, this is why she stares at her funny when her back is turned, giving her an annoyed hum or a chastising blare of a horn when she thinks I can't hear.

She's delicate.

Of course, so is the woman leaning into her, fingers exploring the console because I've told her to – told her it would be a good idea to get acquainted with the settings and the layout. One day she might have to helm it for me again and this time I'd prefer not to have the wind knocked out of my lungs on a misjudged swoop to pick me up out of a pocket universe.

"Doctor?"

The question is quiet and curious, instantly turning my concerned frown into a satisfied grin because she needs me. I'm not sure why the notion is so preposterous. She needs me. Not in any deep personal sense, but she simply needs a question answered, a quandary in her mind settled with my knowledge of the machine she's opening her palms towards, unspoken words moving her lips ever so slightly as her head comes up to find me, mouth working easily into a smile.

"You said there were blue stabilizer buttons, but I can't find them," her brow furrows suddenly as she adds with a look up to her left, "Unless she's moved them," she looks to me, "Can she move them?"

The laughter in my throat is quiet, reserved, as I clasp my hands and move to her right, searching out the buttons in question before giving her a sheepish smile and admitting, "Wrong console, they were on the previous – with the Ponds – but since the redecorating," I raise a finger over the panels, making my way around before coming to a sliding stop across from her and nodding, "Now it's a red lever."

"It's like a glorified pinball machine," she laments, before shrugging, "Never any good at them."

"Oh, Clara," I reply with a beaming grin that defies any semblance of maturity I'd been trying to maintain before continuing the circle to end at her left, watching the smirk of amusement she gives me – the one that gives both of my hearts an unexpected jolt every single time I see it – before grasping the edges of the console and nodding my head at her, "It's nothing like a pinball machine."

"Lots of lights," she responds quickly, looking away, but never for long, "Lots of buttons and switches, and lots of silly noises."

The Tardis responds with a buzz that lifts her right hand with a surprised purse of her lips.

"And it bites," she adds under her breath.

With a chuckle, I shift quickly behind her and point and she glances up at me, momentarily leaning back before catching herself and shifting forward. But there was the instant that her back tapped my chest and it was enough to empty my mind of cohesive thought and I know she's caught the awkward flustered look that passes over my face as I consider what it all means.

How does she have such an unequivocal effect?

How does she have that effect on me?

And so simply?

Effortlessly.

"Doctor?" She questions, hand hanging precariously over a button that would, in that moment, vent the air out of the room and very possible – no, actually – kill us both.

"Ah ha, no," I shout out quickly with a shake of my head, hand lifting hers absently away from the button. "You never want to push that button."

She tilts her head back with a quick turn, her ponytail slapping against my chest lightly, "Why would you have a button on the console that you should never push?"

"In case one day I have to push it," I retort to the look of confused enjoyment on her face and it's not lost on me that her hand is still in mine, held lightly, but securely, as she looks back to the console.

"And under what circumstances… should this button be pushed?" She asks, the pause in her sentence just enough time for me to take a breath as she turns back to the offending raised red circle our hands now hover over.

I nod, releasing her and dropping my fingers to my waist, "Under the circumstances that you are in a space suit."

"The red jumper?" She remembers, then makes a face.

"You like red," I point out, "You wear it all the time."

She smiles up at me and in that moment I feel caught because I've noticed her outfits and now she knows I have. Not that I could help it, the floaty skirts that bounce about as she rushes after me, short legs pumping to keep up with mine… or the tighter numbers that… I straighten, accidentally bumping her backside before shifting away and lifting my chin.

Clara meets my eyes, a knowing smugness there.

"Might be enough exploring for today," I mutter, moving away from her and seeing the disappointment that creeps onto her features.

She nods slowly, still leaning against the console, fingers of her right hand tapping for a moment before she turns around and crosses her arms over her chest, jutting her chin in my direction and accusing, "You don't really want me to learn her, do you?"

"What?"

She nods her head back, "You don't really want me to learn to pilot the Tardis."

With a quick shake of my head I assure, "That's not true, that's absolutely not true – it's actually quite important that you do learn to pilot me. Her. Pilot the Tardis." Mouth clamping shut, I lean away from her when she pushes off the console and smiles, standing just before me.

"Fairly sure piloting you would be easy compared to this," she gestures up at the tubes behind her with a scowl that that Tardis returns in the form of a whomp from somewhere below. "Hunk of unappreciative space tech."

I only nod and the space around me goes red for a moment as she looks back up at me and smiles, one eyebrow raised slightly before she shifts to walk around me. "Where…" I start.

"My room," Clara replies, twisting on the spot, "You and your girl need a little alone time."

There's a small giggle as she turns back and moves into a corridor and I can't help the grin on my face, thinking about her trying to locate her room again. And I know the Tardis has moved it again. Looking up at the glass casing, I wag a finger and chastise her with a thought before looking to the corridor. Alone time. With my girl.

The thought is fleeting – there was a small chance Clara hadn't been speaking of the Tardis – and I immediately press it to the furthest reaches of my mind. But the mind has a funny way of being manipulated by the heart and mine's been ganged up on, bringing the dark eyes and mischievous grin back to the front and it isn't long before I'm sulking through the corridors looking for the girl whose lost in the bowels of the machine.

I find her stomping her foot and shouting at a wall. But when she turns she smiles, and I know by the way my posture shifts and my lips lift that she's absolutely right.

She can pilot me just fine.

*End