"I knitted you a jumper!"
The last words were fazed out but still painfully audible as the Doctor withdrew the phone from his ear before they had the chance to bleed.
"Wait-" His aging eyes squinted to examine the phone screen until he found the speaker button and tapped it, resting the device on the table and stepping well away. "Right, try that again and see if you can manage without busting my ear drum."
"I knitted you a jumper!" Her voice was as squeaky as ever. "Gran came over and taught me. It's not... well it's not great, but it took me about three days, two sore hands and one warm heart to finish."
"You can take the Christmas spirit down a notch, Oswald."
"Oh, shut it. Hey, it's got a neck whole and two... damn-" There was a stalling pause and the sound of shifting fabric followed by a deep breath of triumph. "Okay. Yes. Two arm holes. It's got a sort of hipster-slash-goth rock star vibe to it but for some reason I feel that fits you. So what do you say? Come try it on for me? How fast can you get here?"
"Well seeing as you live downstairs I'd say, oh-" The creaking doorknob through the phone sounded louder than his voice had been... wait no his voice seemed closer too. "Five seconds? Maybe six."
Clara's phone slipped down to her side and she smiled at the sight of him. All tousle-haired and bright eyed as he usually was. Smiling of course, a bit strained maybe. Had she upset him?
"Ah. Someone just woke up from a nap."
"I'm old and work in a sea of children four days a week. Sometimes I nap." He shrugged and dropped the hand previously rubbing his eyes.
"It's Christmas break."
"Sue me."
Clara just giggled something exasperated and walked up to tug his forearms. "Come on! I want you to see it!"
"Weren't you a twenty-nine year old woman last time I checked - or have you aged a few decades? Damn. Long nap." The more he spoke the more his voice lost it's edgy - groggy vibe and grew to match the joyous man Clara had come to know and love.
"I had some spare hours!" She defended. "Come on, I think you'll like it!"
The Doctor's brow quirked challengingly. "Let's see it then."
The brightness in Clara's eyes was back but dwindled at his reaction. "Don't you like it?"
The black jumper in her outstretched hand was... very homemade. A bit... stringy? Was that the word? Looking tattered - holes all about it, but hey, she got his size right.
And it actually looked a bit comfy...
He pried it from her grasp and let it dangle from in between his thumb and forefinger for examination.
"Well?" The word came muffled through her anxiously nibbled lip.
He looked thoughtful - feigning impression. "It's a jumper alright." At that he felt a hard smack delivered to his shoulder and he hopped in surprise. "Oi!"
"Spare hours, I said! Note the hours bit! This thing took me ages!"
"You poked it a few too many times with your little knitting needle or whatever it's called." He hadn't realized until now how hard he was... laughing. It wasn't funny. Of course it wasn't funny. Clara worked hard. He should be more appreciative.
God, it was hilarious.
She made to hit him again but this time the Doctor seized Clara's flying fist in his controlled grasp. It was weak, still. At this point his laughter was making him go week at the knees. "I love it!" It was the complete and utter truth. A perfect cross between a legitimate and a gag gift. His favorite. It was amazing. "Clara, I love it!"
Her eyes were narrowed and one finger pushed roughly against his chest. "Don't patronize me."
"No, Clara honestly." Everything in him screamed amusement and nonsense though his laughter managed to subside to a degree. "Honestly. I love it so much." Her grip on his arm was now fierce with shock and lingering anger and the Doctor shrugged it off to step back, tug his current old grey jumper up over his head. For a long instant his vision was blinded but the first thing he noticed upon it returning was Clara's wide, admiring eyes raking over his chest. "Oh, shut up."
She physically jumped and blinked... precisely six times before her eyes shot back to his face. "I didn't say anything!"
"You said enough last time you saw me shirtless for it to flow into this time 'round. You weren't very nice." The fresh top was pulled over his head to reveal a happy face despite what his tone suggested. His hair stuck in every direction and his eyebrows were more wiry than usual from the static. And with that still sleep grin and his new cozy black jumper Clara couldn't help but picture him as a five year old child rolling out of bed on Christmas morning.
"Oh, you know I was jokin'. I was just trying to distract you from the pain!"
"I had a single bruised rib. Nothing in need of such a-" His words caught and he cleared his throat to get them going. "Thorough examination."
Maybe the distraction hadn't been such a bad idea.
Clara's own cheeks were a fierce red, he noticed - and that was enough encouragement for the subject to change completely.
"Well?" The Doctor put his arms akimbo then flopped them back against his sides with a thud. "How do I look?"
She teased her bottom lip between her teeth and he knew was was coming. He'd known her long enough to read the signs, by now. The way her eyes crinkled - breath caught - occasionally she nibbled on her thumbnail before... there it was.
Clara erupted into laughter.
"God, you look like an idiot!" Her voice must have raised a dozen octaves from the way the squeak was loud enough for the Doctor to jiggle one ear lobe. "Oh my god you look like an absolute idiot."
"Correction - the jumper makes me look like an idiot. And that bit is your fault, thank you!"
Clara's head shook amidst the laughter in protest. She stepped forward to reach up and flatten out the array of curls that refused to settle. "No. You're an idiot."
His head tilted manipulatively. "But I'm your idiot."
"Yeah." The hands slid from his hair, delicately down his cheeks then rested emphatically on his chest. "Suppose you are."