"Clara, will you marry me?"
The Doctor's nearly invisible eyebrows hunched, the question taking him off guard and spurring an emotion in him he'd since locked away. His face narrowed to turn to Clara.
"What?"
Ignoring the comments of the children, he perched forward, fighting the urge to interject.
"You're smart, you're beautiful, and I've never met anyone like you," Porridge continued.
The Doctor slightly side nodded at each comment, as he could lie to her, but not to himself. She was quite beautiful. And he'd never met anyone right like her.
"Being the emperor wouldn't be as quite hard with you by my side. And plus, you'd rule a thousand galaxies."
The urge overcame him and he briskly stepped up to face Clara, draping himself over Porridge's shoulder.
"This sounds like an actual marriage proposal," he said, "freaky. Now, if you want my advice -"
He was cut off by the impossible girl herself.
"You, not one word. This is between me and the," she paused, making a slight notion towards Porridge, "emperor."
He huffily stepped back, involuntarily pouting. Unfinished words lingered inside his head. He could show her billions of galaxies.
"I don't want to rule a thousand galaxies," she finally sputtered.
A breath he wasn't aware he was holding let out, and the Doctor couldn't help but to give her a shy thumbs up, and the smirk he was stifling was poking its way through.
"Yeh. Silly ole me," Porridge murmured, although The Doctor felt no sympathy. An outburst as silly as that one was bound to be vanquished.
"I'm really sorry."
"But that's stupid," Angie said. "You could be queen of the universe. How could you say no to that? When someone asks you to be queen of the universe, you say yes."
The Doctor smiled inwardly. She was much too humble to be that of a queen, although just bossy enough. And, between him and Clara, he quite liked her as his queen. Something more than just a mere thousand galaxies.
His mind drifted from pleasured to doubtful as the emperor said executed.
"Get out of here, all of you, before I change my mind."
/
"Thank you, Doctor," Clara said, tugging at her ponytail. "For taking the children out."
He nods approvingly, flipping switches in the TARDIS that most likely do absolutely nothing.
And before he can stop them, or even hesitate to say them, the words tumble out. "Thank you for not marrying Porridge."
"What?" she says, in the same tone as that of the proposal. "You think I would marry someone just because they're emperor status? That's absurd."
"Quite right," he murmurs. "Silly of me to assume."
He looks down at the console again, catching a glimpse of her eyes, which are now glimmering.
"Besides, there's so much more than galaxies. I'd much rather travel with a madman in his blue snog box."
"It's not a snog box!" he yells, but she's out the door before his retort is audible.
"There's so much more to see," he repeated her words. "Clara, my Clara, the best has yet to come."
