Eleven/Clara one-shot
A/N: Even when you think these characters are gone from your head, they just so aren't. This was a little fun something I envisioned as being a typical afternoon of banter and (barely) repressed sexual tension on the TARDIS- the stuff Eleven and Clara seemed to make their favourite activity. :-) Enjoy!
"D'you know," the Doctor said absently, pushing his flopping hair out of his eyes, "I really love human brains."
"Okay, you're going to need to clarify that sentence," Clara replied, eyeing him warily, "because I'm the only human in the room and you're an alien and right now, your hand is uncomfortably next to the buttons for the ketchup and the mustard."
His brows furrowed, as he lifted his hand off the controls of the TARDIS and gave it a glance before looking up at her in confusion. It was that utterly clueless look (one he didn't wear that often), that finally made her grin, to let him know she'd been teasing him. His eyes narrowed back at her, and Clara suppressed a giggle.
"What kind of barbarian do you take me for?" he cried, and Clara got a sudden rush of the image of a barbarian Doctor, beating his chest, and advancing on her, throwing her over his shoulder and bounding up the stairs. The thought made her cheeks darken, and made her wonder where in the hell that had come from.
"So what do you about love human brains?" she asked, trying to be serious.
He folded his arms and glared. "Apart from the one in this room?"
She smiled innocently and the Doctor gave her another withering look. "Well," he said, "lots of things. For example," he paused, then grinned, losing all sarcasm and instantly becoming his usual animated self simply because he was sharing something interesting with her. "Their capacity to work despite being so badly designed," he said, smiling broadly at her.
"Yeah, you say that like it's a compliment."
"It is!" he insisted, then marched to where she was standing, swiveling the TARDIS view-screen around to show her a scanned image of a human brain, the kind she'd seen on many a medical mystery television show. "Think of it. Human brains, by necessity, are completely fraught with chemicals and pathways that send utterly conflicting messages, simultaneously, all the time. It's a barrage of do this, don't do it, feel this, pretend you don't feel it." He sighed appreciatively. "It's a wonder you lot can get through brushing your teeth every morning."
She gave him her usual are-you-really-this-clueless expression. "Again, not a compliment."
The Doctor made a noise of impatience. "It's absolutely a compliment," he said. "Just think about what humans manage to accomplish with their brains, all the while being assaulted by different commands." He pointed out one section on the scan. "You might have an automatic response telling you to sneeze, but another telling you not to sneeze because your boss is right in the middle of a big presentation. And then you've got hormones on top of that making you simultaneously aware of that new secretary down the hall who wears the tight…" He stopped, looking suddenly unsure again. "..skirts."
Clara rolled her eyes. "Oh, I see, and the Time Lord brain is more organized?"
"Hmm?" he said, looking like he'd lost his train of thought. "Er, yes. Well, it has to be a bit more straight-forward. In here." He tapped the side of his head. "Otherwise we couldn't handle time travel for as long as we do."
She tilted her head, wondering why his eyes kept dropping to her hips. She checked to see if there was anything on her skirt, then shrugged, looking back up at him. "So wait, you mean Time Lords don't have any hormones at all? How do you grow?"
He blinked at her, and Clara felt herself blushing to her toes.
"I mean from being a child!" she said hastily. "How do you change into an adult?"
"Umm," he stammered, and Clara felt herself turning four shades of purple. "We do have hormones," he replied, and she wondered why his eyes had started to move from her hips and travel upwards, nesting on her the space right below her neck. "We just, er, learn to suppress them once we've reached adult-hood."
Was it her imagination or had the Doctor moved slightly closer to her?
"Oh."
"Yes."
She frowned. "That sounds a bit…boring."
The Doctor's eyes rose up to settle on her mouth, which he seemed to find extremely interesting. "It is," he said with plaintive sigh, then his eyes met hers in horror and he cleared his throat loudly. "I mean, it's not boring. It's efficient." He straightened his waistcoat and then shot her a look as though she was a bomb about to go off.
But something new had occurred to her, something she was suddenly dying to know.
"So then…" she began, then stopped, afraid to continue.
"Yes?"
"How…"
And then she had a hard time concentrating because he was studying her face as though it was a map of the universe and up to him to decipher its meaning. "Go on," he urged. "I always want to know what you're thinking." He looked furtive. "I mean, answer your questions."
She tilted her head. "Are you sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure, why wouldn't I be?"
"Because sometimes you look like you want to jump off of a moving spaceship when I ask you certain things."
"Clara," he said, in that way only he could, stroking the word with his voice. "Always ask me whatever you want."
Ignoring the way the little hairs on the back of her neck stood up, just from the low register of his voice, she began slowly, "Well, I was just wondering. If Time Lords keep their hormones suppressed all the time…" She paused and filed away the realization that suppressed hormones actually explained quite a lot about the Doctor. "…how did they ever get the urge to make…" she bit her bottom lip. "…you know, more Time Lords?"
He seemed to feel the need to pull his collar away from his neck. "Ah. Right. Yes." And Clara couldn't help but notice that his hands were shuffling over one another, as though he were trying to crumple the question hanging in the air, and she found herself suddenly amused that this was a man who could talk about the mysteries of the universe without batting an eyelash, but talking about the sexual nature of his own species turned him into a jelly.
She felt a smile creeping from the corners of her mouth. For all the tea in China, she would not have traded the view of the Doctor struggling to keep himself looking calm and professionally detached. "Yes. Well, reproduction is of course also a survival instinct."
"Oh, so you have instincts, not hormones?"
"I just said we have hormones," he retorted.
"But you suppress them." Now it was she who moved closer to him.
"Yes."
"Except when your instincts take over." She absently ran her finger along the railing of the TARDIS, and the Doctor's eyes followed it helplessly.
"Yes."
"And then…"
"Yes?" his voice cracked, leaning forward, so close to her that he was only a few inches from her face.
"Then you're just like us?"
"Like you..."
"A brain where hormones take over, making you do things you'd never normally do, where you feel things but pretend you don't feel them, when you really just want to lose control…?"
"Yes," he nearly croaked, his eyes boring into hers.
Clara let out a long sigh, and then nodded. "Could be a design flaw in your brain, too, then," she said airily. Point to the earthlings.
The Doctor's mouth hung open, as though he wasn't sure where he was. And then he quickly straightened himself, clearing his throat again. "Er, yes" he agreed. "I suppose it could be." And yet the way he was looking at her made Clara think that it wasn't Time Lord nature that was rocketing around in his brain. It was humans, and everything about them that made them so… humany. She watched him push his hair out of his eyes again and glance around, as if hoping no one had seen him gazing at her. "Any other questions?" he asked furtively.
"Lots, in fact," she said, smiling sweetly at him. Oh, there were a thousand things she still had to ask him, and most of them would just as handily knock that Time Lord smugness off his face. His handsome face with its green eyes and fast-moving mouth and…
Now it was she who cleared her throat. "But they can wait another day," she said hastily.
"Good," he said, seemingly relieved, then muttering under his breath. "Let's hope my hearts can take it."
Clara bit her lip to keep from smiling.
- The End -