Clara is still wearing her birthday hat and she's had just a smidge too much to drink when the Tardis appears on the street corner as she makes her way back to the Maitland's. She would be surprised except that's exactly what she knows he wants, so she swings her arms calmly and crosses the empty lanes towards the opening door and the grinning fool who steps out to lean against the blue wood at the edge of his box.
"Need a lift," he offers, tilting his head back slightly so it bumps against the Tardis before he pushes off and meets her at the edge of the sidewalk, lending a hand to steady her as she steps up onto the curb.
"What are you doing out here?" Clara asks him, face shifting sideways as she purses her lips and gives him a smirk.
"I went to the Maitland's and Angie said you were having a proper outing, with friends and a dress and adult beverages – said I should check the pubs and I did," he frowns. "Boisterous lot in pubs, always want to tug the bow tie and have a row about it. Clearly didn't get the memo that…"
"…Bow ties are cool," Clara finishes with a smile and she moves to the Tardis, pushing in to find the console decorated in a radical explosion of red streamers and balloons and when she turns, he's gaping at her expectantly, standing just outside. Like an excited child. "You…" she points back, "You did this for me?"
He looks slightly sheepish and she can't tell from the color the décor is giving off, but she thinks he might be blushing. "It's your birthday," he tells her quietly.
She does an awkward twirl and giggles as she heads inside and looks up at the center beam that's glowing red to match. Clara gives the metal there a small caress of appreciation as the Doctor closes the doors behind him and moves quickly up to her side, mischievous grin playing on his face as he asks, "Birthday trip, where would you like to go?"
And her mind is instantly blank as her eyes widen. "I dunno," she tells him honestly, then shrugs, tapping her fingers along the console as she moves around it, feeling him following her casually. "I dunno," she repeats, looking back at him before asking curiously, "When's your birthday, Doctor?"
He stops, considering the question before waving a hand through the air, dismissively, as he turns to face her coming around the console. "Doesn't matter."
"I could make you a soufflé," she tells him with a smile, "Take you to a proper dinner, the kids would love to make you cards – or at least Artie would," she finishes with her bottom lip held between her teeth and her eyes on a spot at the edge of the platform they're on.
"I'm over a thousand years old," the Doctor responds, leaning slightly to meet her eyes, "Does it really matter anymore at this point?"
Clara steps up into him, nose nearly meeting his and she smiles, "Of course it matters." She pulls the hat off her head and, before he can protest, she pops it into his, watching him straighten. "So when is it?"
He removes the hat and holds it in his hands, grinning down at it and shaking his head.
"You don't remember your birthday," Clara surmises sadly. "Doctor, how could you not remember your birthday?"
Head coming up, he raises his eyebrows, "It's not entirely the same on Earth, I mean, it's not a date one writes down on a calendar – it's a measure of time – a measure of time on another planet."
"There must be some way to calculate it…" then she considers it, "Does this mean you could be more than a thousand years old?" And she shakes her head, "Wait, a thousand of whose years? Ours or yours?" And she looks up at him, "Are our years and your years the same?" She suddenly can't tell if it's the intoxication or the thought that's making her head swim.
He laughs, popping the rubber strand in the hat against the cardboard item, "Clara, it doesn't matter."
"It matters," she asserts, before adding, "Let's make it today."
"Then we'd have the same birthday," he points out with a jab of the hat.
She shrugs, "Don't mind sharing."
"Wouldn't that make it less special?" He teases.
Clara laughs, "No, makes it more special – sharing a birthday with someone you care about," and she takes the hat out of his hands and sets it back on his head, "So, come on, birthday boy, what would you like to do?"
And now it's his turn to be flummoxed.
But his confused frown, looking ridiculous under the flattened mop of hair underneath the bright birthday hat, slowly shifts upward. He moves quickly under the console and returns with a fez, popping it onto her head, then turns and begins to work at the controls. Clara laughs, adjusting the oversized red hat now threatening to fall over her eyes, and she watches him swing around the Tardis, doing a roll over her back to come to a stop at her right again.
They land with a whomp and a shared chuckle and Clara takes his hand when he holds it out for her and she walks with him towards the door, ready for whatever stands just outside. When the doors open, she lets out a half laugh, staring at the small playground that sits just around the corner from her childhood home.
"Here? This place?" She asks, pointing a finger and stepping out onto the grass that's sparkling with dew.
Moving out, her rushes towards the swings and occupies the closest one, rocking slightly and smiling up at her. Waiting. Clara rubs at her head as she walks to the swing at his side and sits, looking up at the night sky – clear and speckled with stars. Smiling over at him, she watches as he simply stares back at her and it's her turn to blush and lower her eyes, kicking her boots against the ground.
"What's wrong with this place?" He asks playfully.
Clara smiles up at him, tucking her hair behind her ears before holding onto the chains at her sides. She nods up at the stars, "You're always looking to impress – finding the impossible star, the glittering planet, but for your birthday, you choose a little swing set in Lancashire to celebrate."
"That's the thing about birthdays though," he tells her, "Anything and everything you desire available to you, but it doesn't really matter – it never did because all of that stuff, it's always there. Always has been; always will be and that's why it doesn't matter. And that's the day, the one day of year besides possibly Christmas, that you understand. Usually quietly, some time after the party and the cake and the presents... after everyone's left you settle down and you look back on the day and the day didn't matter, the place didn't matter, the things didn't matter." He smiles, "The people did. Those special people who decided that no matter where you were or what you did, they'd be there to celebrate with you." The Doctor grabs the chains and leans forward, "It's not about the destination; it's about the company you're with when you get there."
She watches him push off and give a small shout of joy as he rocks himself higher and higher beside her. The hat stays stuck on his head, magically, and she laughs at him, taking several steps back on the swing to launch herself at his side, dizzy with drunkenness and wonder. And she understands exactly what he's said because she understands that this is the perfect place to celebrate – flying by his side.
- End