Clara and The Doctor go grocery shopping. Clara tries to keep things healthy. The Doctor has other plans.

Rating: K

Warnings: Food mention, job mention

Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap.

Clara glanced at The Doctor over the rim of her computer. He drummed his fingers on the table, his eyes unfocused.

"You bored yet?" He asked, a whine pulling on the end of his sentence. "Tell me you're bored, Clara."

"Why? You calling me boring?"

"I'm calling your life boring," he said, getting up and crossing his eyes. "Your worky life. Borrrr-ing."

"Well, fine, I won't take you job hunting with me." He gave up making funny faces—she wasn't looking at him, anyway, and there was no point if he didn't have an audience—and collapsed back into sofa, aligning himself disastrously with the crack in the cushions.

"Good."

"Fine!" She looked over her laptop to glare at him, failing miserably once she caught sight of his pout. It only makes his chin look bigger, she marveled to herself. That's almost impossible. She closed the laptop.

"How did you lose your job, anyway?" He asked.

"Oh, but that's wrong," Clara told her students as they huddled around her on the carpet, her eyes bright, her legs folded under her dress. "The Doctor visited America first."

"Oh…dunno, they just let me go." She shrugged. "Just happens sometimes." She placed her computer on the coffee table neatly and got her purse. "If you're not letting me get anything done, we're going grocery shopping." She paused by the door. "Coming?"

"But we already have soufflé ingredients!" He reminded her. He got up anyway. He'd much rather take her on a real adventure, but the TARDIS was out of commission for a bit after she'd found herself smitten with an asteroid. He knew his box was fine, just resting, but being away from the ship always made him a little comfortable. Not to mention sitting in one place drove him mad. Waiting for time to catch up to him—how did Clara do it?

"I don't just make soufflés, you know. I cook normal, healthy meals for growing people." She took in a breath sharply. "Do Time Lords go through an intense growth spurt? Or are you always hormonal, like an eternal teenager?" The Doctor ignored her question, gracing it with a tight crossing of his arms and a toss of his head. "Though you're more of a five-year old."

"And you're a…" He fumbled for the right word. "Adult."

"You say that like it's a dirty word." She winked at him. "Come along. We have vegetables to purchase!" He made a face on his way out, a shudder shaking his whole body.

"Vegetables."

"Doctor, stop. We do not need another box of cereal." She picked it up, glancing at the colorful packaging. "Why do you want this, anyway? Looks awful." He mumbled incoherently. "What?"

"I said, it has a toy inside. 50/50 chance you get a racey car." He straightened out his jacket. "What?"

"Doctor, if you ever want to set foot inside the TARDIS again, I suggest you stop. Now." He scoffed to himself and restrained himself for whole aisle as Clara picked up cartons of chicken broth.

"Doctor!" He jumped, caught in the act. "This is the third time you've put marshmallows in the cart. Do I need to have you walk in front of me?" He clutched the bag.

"…No."

"That's right! Now put it back." He stared at her. "Fine, fine! We'll keep the marshmallows. Instead—" she looked at him warningly and jabbed a finger into the cart. "Instead of all this other junk." The Doctor grudgingly agreed, and folded his hands over his chest. The contents of his coat gave a loud crinkle, but Clara didn't seem to notice.

Clara unpacked the groceries as The Doctor unloaded packages from his jacket. It had taken quite a bit of maneuvering to pay for the candy without her noticing, but it would be worth it.

"Doctor? What is that?" He winced at her pose, eyes flashing to the hands on her hips.

"Ingredients for a special treat." He rubbed his hands together, a quiet smile lighting up his face. "Time Lord S'mores."

"Time Lord—are those even a thing?"

"They are most definitely a thing! Best s'mores in the universe." He tore open a pack of skewers and slid a few marshmallows on each decisively, maintaining eye contact with that infuriatingly innocent gaze of his. "Caramel sauce or raspberry?" She put a finger to her lips. This is what happens when you invite a time traveler into your life, Clara. She shrugged. Can be nice, if you don't count the calories.

"Raspberry, definitely."