The Doctor tries to protect Clara from a vicious beast. Clara is not amused.

Whouffaldi Week 2016 challenge day one: 'not what it looks like', orange peels, bed covers.

Clara hadn't been so happy to see her flat door in a long time. It had been a rough day at the school and all she wanted to do was take a long, hot bath, which would be followed by comfy pajamas and eating unhealthy takeaway on her couch while watching mindless telly. She'd never been so grateful that it wasn't a Wednesday and that the Doctor wouldn't be there. She loved the daft old man, but he was absolutely not a restful person.

And yet, she wasn't surprised at all to open her door to find a blanket fort in the middle of her living room, a blue box winking evilly at her through her open bedroom door. Suspended from the ceiling were orange peels, like an entire nation of goldfish had committed mass suicide by hanging themselves with her sewing thread. She groaned and buried her face in her hand. 'Doctor. Whyyyy?' she moaned plaintively.

A floofy silver head poked out of the fort. 'Clara! This isn't what it looks like!'

'Seriously? You're gonna try to tell me that? Because it looks like you suddenly decided to regress a couple of thousand years to your childhood in the middle of my living room.'

He frowned, eyes darting around the living room and eyebrows twitching owlishly. 'What? Why would you say that? I know I look younger than you, but even I know I couldn't pass for a kid.'

'Dooctoooor!' She slid down her door, landing in a dejected heap on the floor. 'I just want to take a bath and watch the telly. Why are you building blanket forts in my living room?'

He blinked. 'It's not a blanket fort.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'You don't say.' She looked deliberately at the blankets suspended from her couch, chairs, and bookshelves. 'Then what would you call it?' She frowned at the ceiling. 'And what's with the orange peels, anyway?'

'There's no time for explanations!' He dove out of the fort and grabbed her hands, hauling her to her feet and pulling her behind him back into the fort. 'It's not safe!'

'What are you on about?' she meant to ask, but landed face first in one of her couch cushions, so it came out as incoherent groaning. She debated briefly just staying there. Sure, she'd probably suffocate, but that almost sounded preferable to whatever kick the Doctor was on now. She did not have the energy to deal with him right now.

However, she reluctantly decided suffocation was the coward's way out and lifted her face from the cushion. 'Doctor. You. Will. Tell. Me. What. Is. Going. On. Right. Now. Or. I. Will. Smack. You. So. Hard. Your. Eyebrows. Will. Fall. Off.'

'Clara, I'm sorry I have to tell you this, but your flat has been invaded.'

'I know.'

'It's a malicious beast probably bent on global domination. Or destruction. Possibly both. What do you mean you know?' As he spoke, he gestured wildly with his hands.

She glared at him. 'My flat is invaded on a weekly basis by a daft old man who has no concept that the rest of the universe needs thing like peace and quiet and regular bedtimes.'

He squinted at her, hands clutched in front of his chest and elbows sticking out like the wings of a plucked chicken. 'Is that sarcasm? Your face is doing that squashy thing when you're upset, but your eyes aren't inflating like they do when you're going to cry. Or laugh. Or sneeze. Honestly Clara, you need more expressions. It makes it hard to tell what you're feeling when you do the same thing with your eyes all the time.'

She pinched her temples with one hand. 'Doctor. Why do you think my flat's been invaded?'

'I saw the creature myself! I think it's a Nir'cha from the planet Kwam. They're vicious beasts, repelled only by thuumas fruit and cloth woven from ha'kaw plants. Oranges and your cotton bed covers were the best I could do on short notice, but it seems to be working.' He looked ridiculously pleased with himself, watching for her reaction with a wide smile on his face.

'Nir'cha from the planet Kwam, eh?' She sighed. Obviously she wouldn't be getting that bath tonight. 'What'd it look like?' she asked resignedly.

'Well, it looked- like that!' His voice rose – not quite a shriek, but nudging toward the higher decibels – as he pointed with one hand at a small black creature poking its nose through the blankets while simultaneously trying to pull Clara behind him with the other.

She managed to get a look at it over his shoulder and collapsed onto his back, laughing helplessly. He wasn't prepared for her weight, and they landed in a messy pile on the floor.

'Clara! Clara, get off! We have to get to the TARDIS, it's breached our defenses! Clara, stop laughing! This is serious!'

She dodged a bony elbow. 'Doctor, that's my cat!'

'Clara, run while you can I'll hold it off!' he stopped flailing. 'Your cat?'

'My cat.' She crawled over him and scooped up the tiny creature. 'Doctor, meet Plagg.' She grinned mischievously. 'He's my companion.' She started scratching the kitten behind the ears. 'He might dream of global domination, but he's too lazy to do anything about it. The only thing he truly craves is cheese,' she added over his purrs.

The Doctor glared at Plagg, who stared back through smug green eyes. 'Why would you want a cat? They're selfish, needy, attention hogs.'

She reached out and bopped his nose. 'Are you saying you're a cat, Doctor?' She laughed as he spluttered indignantly. She wondered wickedly if he would purr if she scratched behind his ears, and made a mental note to try it later. 'So,' she started as she made herself more comfortable against the cushions. 'Why are you here, anyway?' Now that the crisis had been averted, she had to admit that the blanket fort was actually rather cozy.

'I had a planet I wanted to show you, where they can paint memories and-Why are you shaking your head?'

'No planets tonight, Doctor. I'm too tired, and besides – it's not even Wednesday.'

'Oh.' He seemed to shrink into himself. 'Do you want me to leave, then?'

'Only if it's to get marshmallows from the kitchen.'

'What?'

'Oh, and chocolate. And graham crackers.'

He looked like a bewildered owl. 'Why?'

'Well, you've gone to all this effort; it'd be a shame to let such a well-built blanket fort go to waste. But if we're going to stay in here, we need snacks. Like s'mores. Do your sunglasses have a setting for toasted marshmallow?'

When he returned with the supplies, she sighed contentedly and rested her head on his shoulder. This was nice. And maybe the Doctor could be a restful person after all. 'Doctor?'

'Yes Clara?' he replied absently as he concentrated on toasting marshmallows with his glasses (burning them with the sheer power of his angry eyebrows, Clara thought a little foggily).

'Thank you for saving me from being murdered in my sleep by my cat.'

'…You're welcome.' He raised the arm she was leaning against and wrapped it delicately around her shoulders. Clara had a fuzzy picture of them as Russian nesting dolls of cuddling - she holding Plagg, the Doctor holding her - and she decided that this was the perfect way to spend her evening after all.

My first foray into prompt challenges. Sorry it's late; I didn't get inspired until this afternoon. I'm not sure how many I'll do, but I have ideas for at least a couple more. Jammy Dodger if you can spot the Miraculous Ladybug reference.