A/N: This'll probably be a short one, only three chapters or so. Just exploring Eleven's and Clara's relationship, all that comes with it, etc. There will be M rated content, so watch out for that later on. Oh, the timey-wimey angst, it's killing me! Here we go!

Songs to inspire feels: Saving Josh by Trevor Morris

Dark Rift by God Is An Astronaut

Clara Oswin Oswald: the impossible girl. According to The Doctor, the only mystery worth solving. In his infinite wisdom that comes with being a nine-hundred-something-old Time Lord, through rifts and tears in space, how could such a phenomenon be wrapped in such a…tiny skirt?

And from the UK.
Why are they always from the UK?

She was a question that needed answering; a puzzle in desperate need to be solved, and he would solve it if they had to travel to the end of space (which, admittedly, he'd done a handful of times before). There was only one thing in the universe that irked him more than not knowing all the answers. Something so basic yet so complicated that it annoyingly clung to him with each regeneration.

There it was in front of him- tight skirt and all, checking into the Oceanic Hilton of Besipaari like she wasn't five-hundred-and-eighty-seven light years from Earth. There he was, watching her from behind a tourist brochure with that softened expression of pride. Between them, a vast emotional canyon filled with unspoken words, left turns, almost touches, and snarky banter. And The Doctor, infinite in wisdom and everything timey-wimey, was teetering dangerously close to the edge of it all.

He sighed deeply, brows slightly furrowed, and leaned against a large pillar in the lobby.
Clara, my Clara. Perfect for me in every way he thought as she made her way over to him with two holocards in hand.

"Chin-up Chin Boy! What's bothering you?" she quipped in her usual assertive, quirky voice. "Feeling guilty about manipulating our way into staying here, because it was your idea to do this for my birthday…But yeah, psychic paper; good for everything, that is."

The Doctor stared on vacantly before responding. "No, no, that's not it. I was just…reminiscing." Unsatisfied with his answer, she quirked an eyebrow. "Fond memories. I've been to this planet before, Clara, nothing to worry about." He cupped her cheek lightly and the corners of her mouth turned up into a crooked smile.

He's doing it again, turning off his thoughts like a light. He doesn't have to be like this…like he can't tell me…he could tell me anything…

"Oh, so he doesn't just kidnap girls in his blue snog box. He takes them to fancy hotels too!" Clara handed him his holocard. "Well, you are full of surprises, aren't you, Doctor?"

Blushing profusely, he grabbed his card and stammered in embarrassment. "This is not…I never…we didn't…it ISN'T a 'snog box'!" he hissed.

"Whatever you say, Chin Boy." She said and turned on her heels towards the lift. "I'll see you upstairs!" she shouted as the lift doors closed, completely oblivious (or extremely intentional) of the implication.

Now fully aware of the stares he received, he hunched his shoulders and marched outside to park the TARDIS inside his hotel room, mumbling all the way.

The outside of the hotel was stunning, a massive chrome sphere sat atop a flatter lower level in the middle of the Besipaari Ocean. However, it didn't compare to the view from the penthouse suite she had checked herself into. Floor to ceiling windows framed the sun's dissension, a brilliant pink melting into a cerulean sky. In the East shone two beautiful violet moons, both larger than Earth's, being that this was an entirely aquatic planet.

With all her luggage in the TARDIS, Clara dashed around the suite to explore. One large bathroom equipped with his and her sinks, a jet pool tub, and a fully stocked vanity of cosmetics. Fireplace, sitting room, mini bar; all the essentials. And then she saw the bedroom. Oh yes, the psychic paper was definitely going on her Christmas list this year.

Oh my God….

Clara immediately sprung for the bed, kicking off her shoes along the way, barely acknowledging The Doctor leaning casually against the doorframe.

"You..sure..do..a..lot of..leaning, Doctor," she panted between jumps.

He passed off her statement, entirely unamused. "Did you know we're booked into the same room?" he asked attempting to sound calm, turning the holocard over in his hand.

"Did you know that this is a hover-bed?"

"Did you tell them we were a couple?"

"I told them I was your companion."

"Clara!"

"Doctor!"

"Clara!"

"Well, it's true!" she exclaimed, hopping off the bed and going into the TARDIS to grab her belongings. He followed close behind her. "We're two people traversing space and time together. So technically we are a couple."

He was glowering now, a proverbial raincloud hung over his head while he sulked in his little corner of woe. "Yes, but, we don't do…'couple-y' things, you know," The Doctor pursed his lips, doing the most childish kissing impression Clara had ever seen; she couldn't stifle her laughter. "It's not funny Clara."

She grabbed her pack from the guest room, stuffing her clothes inside. "Actually, yes, it is."

"No, it's not, because what you did downstairs now suggests something, and we are not something…ing," he emphasized, flailing his hands for good measure.

Clara clucked her tongue. The Doctor was genuinely considering this an issue.

Beneath that bowtie and floppy hair, something was clearly wrong. Clara noted that he had become increasingly guarded during their travels together. Just when she thought he was going to let her in, he panicked and pushed her back out again. Is this what he did to all of his companions? Show them everything and everywhen, break down the walls of all they knew, and then place iron bars around the one who saved them?

Clara turned to look at him, to search those ancient blue eyes for a sign that might show her what exactly was going on inside his brilliant mind, but she couldn't reach him. The canyon still lay between them and there the canyon would stay unless he reached out to meet her halfway.

She'd had enough of it.

"So what?" she asked.

There, plain and simple. No more dancing around the subject.

"What 'so what'?" he replied despondently.

"So, who cares what they think? I've been travelling with you for…a very long time, now. We've stood up against Daleks and Cybermen and zombies and gods…" Clara watched his eyes grow dark and she knew she was prying open a part of him that probably hadn't seen the light of day in centuries. "Since when did The Doctor care what anyone thought of him?"

He breathed in heavily and closed his eyes, subtly increasing the distance between them. Clara noticed. "It's not anything for you to understand, Clara. It's me, it's not anyone else, I simply can't…"

"Yes, yes you can." Clara took a step forward. "Time Lord of Gallifrey, Lonely God, savior to a billion worlds, and you can't even speak coherent sentences to me!"

"Who says I have to!" he snapped. He had never turned on her like this before, and she flinched when he raised his voice. "I'm the Time Lord with the TARDIS, and no where does it say in the history of everything that I have to explain myself to anyone."

She was angry now and The Doctor could see it. Angry because he was a stubborn little boy trapped in an ancient alien's body and he wouldn't admit it.

Clara was shaking ever so slightly, throat tight from holding back the tears that welled up when she was frustrated, her voice nothing but a whisper. "I didn't say you had to tell me anything. You've told me you knew me in two different lifetimes, expect me to believe you, bring me near death…And you, you scare me more than anything else in existence. But I handed you my life when I walked into all this, Doctor. I just thought that maybe you'd share more than your life with me."

Whatever he was masking with his outburst was trying to break free. She needed to remind herself that anger wasn't an emotion, but a reaction to being hurt in some way. And he was only hurting himself with whatever he was guarding from her.

The tension was thick between them, the silence screaming a thousand unspoken words which echoed across that vast canyon. Neither of them looked at each other, too openly wounded to face another round.

The Doctor gently cleared his throat and made for the door, pausing briefly before leaving. "I'll sleep in the TARDIS tonight, Clara. It's your birthday you should…you should enjoy it." He glanced at her through his fringe, offering that subtle smile which didn't quite reach his eyes. And then he was gone, leaving her a bundle of frustration and confusion.

Clara wiped her eye with her sleeve.

And he thinks I'm impossible…