If this is similar to anything, I apologize. If you don't like un-edited stories, I apologize. Sorry not sorry. I had to get this out, so here you go! I own my self, thanks.
It had been one of those days.
You know, the days where nothing seems to happen. The days where you have time to actually go frolicking in a meadow or running up and down a hill singing Julie Andrews as best you could.
Not to mention they were in a time machine. They could go anyway in time and space, and what were they doing? 'Following a lost tribble', the Doctor had insisted.
Didn't he know those weren't even real?
But of course they were. 'All fiction comes from fact, and in a universe this big there're plenty of stories to base anything on'.
Right. Tribbles in the Kastria hemisphere. Which is why they were going around and around in circles looking for non-existent creatures that couldn't possibly find this arctic disaster anywhere near delightful. Though that just had to be why they were such fuzzy little darlings, as he had said.
So Clara, naturally, was bored. How she could possibly be bored in the TARDIS, a time machine for Heavens' sake, was simply incomprehensible. Yet here she was on the TARDIS and frankly questioning whether one could actually die of sheer boredom.
The thought was actually the most activity she'd had all day, aside from the lively debate on the reality of tribbles.
That was when Clara decided to go exploring. Of course, she had been in and about on the TARDIS once before. She somewhat, in the smallest margin, knew where she was going. This time the Doctor had total control of his lady, and she assumed she wasn't in any danger... at least, she hoped she wasn't. She had no desire to go back into the fiery furnace or create another time loop, or whatever it was he'd called it.
The library was expansive, but even Clara's love of books had only managed to keep her idle for some time. The authors were mostly familiar. A fantasy novel on earth written by some alien did have an attention-grabbing cover but merely turned out to be a grumpy being's outtake on the 'less than bad' disaster that was the human race. It irritated her, so she set it down, sighed, and left the books to their shelves.
The pool was... big. Wet. And blue. Lots of floaties she didn't need. Warm water. Nobody to splash. She could only swim so many laps before having to force herself to understand that she could never beat any Olympic record, even if she did have all of time in order to perfect it.
The laboratory? One look and she slammed the door. It was doubtful the Doctor had been in there in years, and the plant had looked... put out. So that was that. She briefly wondered what exactly the Doctor had been doing, if he remembered doing it at all, and then put the thought behind her. It was probably a younger, 'more stupider' version as he liked to put it. Never mind the stupidity of his grammar which he seemed to find hilarious. She declined to laugh, so he pouted.
There was one place she finally realized she had never been. It had never occurred to her until recently that this particular room would actually be in the TARDIS, but it was. So here she was. Perhaps she could find some enjoyment in tormenting the Doctor about his fashion sense. If anything, she did have a camera phone and Twitter.
And she found it. Four right turns, eight left, six staircases, and one rope swing later, she was at the door. Giddy with the blackmail and the notion that this is what she had to resort to for entertainment; she reverently pushed open the door, flipped the light, and gaped.
There were rows, and rows, and rows upon rows of clothing, shoes, and accessories. Men's, women's, alien's - anything she could ever have imagined was right there before her eyes Some sixty's dresses with flowers, old suits and blazers, alien's jumpers... and was that a leather bikini?
Jackpot. With a flash, Clara pulled her phone out and began taking pictures, dreaming about the day she would off-handedly mention the items she found most appealing and use them to badger the Doctor senseless. Mostly to see him blush, but also as payback for her Wednesday being one of the worst it could ever have possibly been. The jackets and scarves, one impressively long and colorful, and the blue suede shoes all had their compartments.
Anything she could imagine; she only wished she had thought to include celery.
The racks of threads never seemed to end. If anything, this was one of the biggest rooms she had ever seen in the TARDIS, and after her unplanned journey through it that was saying a lot. Rather, thinking a lot. She hadn't said anything, her own voice ended up being a bother after over an hour of trying to talk to herself.
But here... here she was finally finding something fun to get her nose into. She was never, ever going to let him hear the end of-
What was that?
It looked like... no. No. He would not. There was no possible way that he could even have that many to begin with! She couldn't believe her eyes.
It was a shrine. For hats.
She laughed so hard and long she ended up on her rear on the floor, helplessly collapsed against a mirror. She didn't even hear him walk up behind her.
"Clara Oswald! Just what do you think you're doing?"
Clara immediately clamped her mouth shut, recognizing the tone of the irritated, sulking Time Lord. She looked up, which was her first mistake. She looked over at the towering stack of 'head ornament's, her second.
This time she couldn't even sit up.
The Doctor frowned down at his friend's hysteria, wondering how she could possibly find his treasured collection to be so funny. It was fantastic! Absolutely brilliant. Hats from all ages and all planets. Big hats, little hats, red hats, and blue hats. Hats of every shape and size, though some he regretted as he had taken the advice of purchasing them from some royal English cousins. However, they were his, so he left them buried underneath some sharp bowlers.
By now Clara was able to stand mostly upright, giggles still finding a way out as she made her way to the Doctor's 'hat corner'. Silly name, but when she was able to stop laughing she could find something more mocking.
"Stop it! It's not funny!" The Doctor slapped her hand when she reached out for one. "Stop laughing!"
"But, Doctor!" She withdrew one piece of felt from the stack and placed it on his head. "I want to see them all! The game is afoot!" She winked, then turned back to perusing the shelves.
The Time Lord sighed and tucked the deerstalker under his arm. "Naturally there isn't any game," he sniffed, "I haven't a pipe to play with."
Clara threw a grin over her shoulder before pulling out different hats. "You've got six bowlers in brown I've seen so far, only one cowboy hat, three bonnets from the 1700s, and one... what is that?"
"It's a dunce cap for naughty children." He tugged it out with a flourish and placed it upon her head. "Oh, look! It fits you perfectly!"
The rest of the afternoon involved Clara finding and laughing over the Doctor's many hats. She persuaded him to model some of them for her, and insisted he find the matching outfits when she learned some came with coats or ties or anything else. This resulted in many a match not being put together properly which left her sides aching and her abdominal muscles developing quite nicely.
Eventually, though, the novelty wore off and the pair wandered out, leaving the shrine in shambles, aside from the long coat and scarf Clara insist they pair with the deerstalker. She had begged and begged the Time Lord to put the ensemble on, but he had merely shooed the things away.
"There is only one man worthy of that, and I am not he!"
When she queried to whom he might be referring, he gave her the expected stormy glare. "Benedict Cumberbatch. Who else?"
Still, aside from the few arguments that no, a plaid newsboy does *not belong with the striped pink blazer, among others, the afternoon had been quite enjoyable. They hadn't run around, aside from a brief chase with Clara insisting the Doctor dress himself as the Man of Iron, but there had been no exploding planets or microscopic life forms being in danger.
Aside from the tribbles he had been so focused on earlier. She wisely left that topic unmentioned.
"I still think you should have worn the-"
"No!"
The Doctor spun around, tugging on a lever.
"Come one, old girl... come on... oh! There we go!"
It slid into place, and the TARDIS's engine began humming.
"Well then, off home again?"
"As the usual." Clara swung around the console to stare at her friend, fighting a smile. "Unless you want to-"
"No!"
Clara laughed. "Have it your way. Maybe I'll write a story about you and your hats... I can call you the Mad Hatter!"
"No, sorry, won't do. That won't do at all." The Doctor whirled away, pulling on this, twirling that, sending his lady hurtling away and back home to London, Wednesday over until the next.
"Oh, really? Why ever not?"
"Carroll already did."
Heh. Yes, I'm in love with Sherlock. Mine. All mine. Though I must say, I wrote all of this for the last... four lines. That's it. Couldn't get it out of my head until I got it down. I hope you enjoyed this is any way possible.