"Can you hear me?
I write so much that it makes me sick,
That it's all about you.
Let's drop everything,
And not come back 'til next fall.
Everyone knows that you've got me...
Right where you want me to be."

- A Day to Remember, "Right Where You Want Me to Be", Attack of the Killer B-Sides, 2010.

As companions go, Clara Oswald was not only the most interesting one he'd ever had the pleasure of coming around, but also the most impossible one he'd ever met. It wasn't simply due to the fact that she'd been alive, the same young woman, during at least three different points in the Doctor's lengthy life—it was because she knew better than anyone he'd ever met how to turn him 'round, how to catch him off guard and how to take the moment for herself.

It was never intentional, no, of course not. Clara Oswald was not such a woman to be so malicious. She simply did it because she was more than capable of doing it, intentionally or not. At least, he hoped that she wasn't doing it purposefully. It would speak volumes about her intelligence, yes, but it would also divide his by immense amounts, and the last thing a man like him needed was to be crazy and stupid. The TARDIS would have a field day with such a thing.

The ship let out a massive groan, dragging the bow-tied Time Lord out of his thoughts. Quirking his eyebrow with interest, he took a step towards the console, already knowing what his wayward little ship was thinking. Frowning, he smacked his hand hard on its surface, already used to the action enough not to feel the pain his hand wanted to scream about.

"Oi, no funny business," he snapped, "We've appointments to keep. Wouldn't do for Clara to be waiting for us only for us to show up when she's old and eew…ey."

If the ship had a face capable of showing emotions, the Doctor was sure it was rolling its eyes at him. He knew that his blue police box had no love for the Impossible Girl that so captivated his mind. He had no idea why. Every person he took along with him interested him in some way. What was so different about Clara to this daft machine that it simply refused to take a shine to her? It'd liked the other companions of his well enough not to give them any grief.

"Daft old girl," the Doctor teased his vessel, taking a step back once more, putting a finger to his chin, "Now, where shall we be going? Maybe Quadrant 98-ZFT? Nah, it's boring 'round this time of year, especially with that civil war the entire system just had to have. I'm in no mood for cold weather, either, so taking her to Woman Wept shan't do. Phobos is quite wonderful this time of year, but Clara has never struck me as the sporty type." The Doctor tapped his finger against his chin before turning to the console once more, his pale eyes already taking on the familiar mad gleam of the overly intelligent alien.

"Well, no point in dallying about, eh! We should go pick up the girl before she gets into a bit of a fit, maybe get some Jammies before we take off for parts unknown," he decided aloud, his hands working the controls without them even needing his help. He'd been doing it so often, picking up little Miss Clara Oswald on Wednesdays, that the last thing he needed was to think about it and over complicate things.

The secretly giant ship let out a long groan as he landed upon what he hoped to be the front of the Maitland's house, hopefully not on the yard again as the kids told him that their father hadn't taken kindly to the square imprint in the middle of the yard. The last thing he wanted was to make the good man's life hard.

Whistling happily to himself, he hardly noticed the discrepancy about the particular Wednesday until he stuck one foot out of the TARDIS, the curious crunching sound underfoot attracting his attention. Snow. It was snowing.

Did he come the wrong Wednesday?

The Doctor frowned, staring down at the snow as if it'd done something wrong to him. It'd been October when he'd left Clara last, hadn't it? Must've. There'd been a pumpkin sitting at the door, a pumpkin which he'd aided Artie Maitland in cutting out while Clara ran around the house like a madwoman finishing up the chores before she left for yet another adventure for parts unknown. There had most certainly been a pumpkin sitting there. Now… now there wasn't.

Instead, there was a wreath.

The Doctor scratched his head. It was at least December now. What was that… a month? He hardly remembered Earth's month cycles anymore. They got bungled together with other planets' in that wishy-washy wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey Gallifreyan head of his. He decided it didn't matter. What mattered was that it was a dastardly long time and when Clara saw him, she'd make sure to hit him for it. He wasn't quite looking forwards to it. Or… he could take a step back into his TARDIS and pop back a month or so to hit a Wednesday in closer approximation to their appointment.

Oh, if he wasn't so endlessly nosy, he would, he so would. But it was actually quite late at night, and there were no cars in the driveway… and yet, the lights in the house were on. Curiosity took control over the Time Lord's body as he pulled the door to his TARDIS shut behind him, walking briskly up to the front door, considering knocking but, on second thought of it, whipped out his Sonic and gave the nod a quick pulse, unlocking the door with no effort on his part whatsoever.

"So much for a lack of interest in cold weather," the Doctor grumbled as he shuffled inside, shaking the cold, cold pieces of icy cold water molecules from his hair, stomping his feet at the mat so he could get off the rest of the snow attached to him before exploring the house. Nothing was out of place to him—there was simply more stuffed into it. A tree, for instance, was shoved into the family room, the lights sparkling brightly on it for the Doctor to blink once or twice before he could really take it all in. The presents, wrapped in sparkling greens, yellows, blues and reds; each slapped with a name label and a bow of generic and boring white, were taunting even the Doctor, and he couldn't help but taking a moment to look at each gift, giving them each a shake.

Sometimes, the thousand-year-old Time Lord was more like a five-year-old child.

Deciding with certainty that not only was each gift filled (you never know) but sufficiently filled, the Doctor ascertained that the day was not Christmas yet, meaning he hadn't done too shabby. Smirking at his 'scientific' analysis, he stood right back up, clapping his hands together in that determined, cocky way that only the Doctor himself could achieve. Turning on the ball of his right foot, he walked back out of the room, into the kitchen, intent on pulling out a package of Jammie Dodgers that he could only hope Clara cared about him enough to stack up on. Opening cabinet after cabinet, he nearly felt defeated until the delicious little pastry in its bright little package, placed in the back of the middle shelf, more than likely put there in order to hide it from a certain nanny, showed its face to the alien. Grinning like a child, he pulled the package out, ripping it the rest of the way and biting into a singular cookie, the oh-so-nice jam touching his tongue and making him all giddy on the inside.

"Doctor?"

Jam biscuit still in mouth, the Doctor turned, wide-eyed like the kid who'd gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar (which, essentially, he was in this case), pale eyes locking upon the large dark ones of one Clara Oswald. The Clara in question looked disheveled to say the least. Hair out of place, oversized blue white-striped shirt hanging off her significantly shorter bod—

"Whose shirt is that?" he asked, frowning and taking a step close.

Clara, who was trying to hide slightly behind the pillar, moved further behind it, eyes widening. "M-Mine!" she blatantly lied, though the Doctor couldn't even notice the lie, what he noticed was the fact that other than that shirt, which obviously belonged to some other guy, was not only dwarfing the young woman, but she was wearing absolutely nothing underneath it.

Absolutely.

Nothing.

Now, for those who believed the Doctor to be the number-one most asexual man in the entire universe, may your world not be shattered when it is revealed that he wasn't. He's just better at hiding sexual desires than other men are, mostly because he had a good number of centuries to deal with them. However, that did not mean to say that the Doctor was all-powerful and always capable of dealing with it—and Clara Oswald would be just the girl to prove he wasn't.

She'd only done up three of the buttons, enough to keep it on her but not enough to stop the Doctor from seeing the valley of her breasts, nor her collarbone or right shoulder. Clara's brown hair was pulled haphazardly back into a ponytail, the makeup she usually wore already wiped clean away and betraying a mad blush on her cheeks. She shuffled slightly so that her body was pressed against the pillar, wide brown eyes glued upon the Doctor, nervousness showing plainly.

The Doctor's frown deepened. "Clara, are you quite alright?" he asked, trying to hide his own arousal at the sight before him.

Clara swallowed, and then jolted, a squeak existing her lips and confusing the Doctor more so. "Ah—!" she let out, blush increasing, eyes widening. "I'm fine, Doctor!"

The Doctor continued staring at her. "Why aren't you mad that I'm late?" he asked.

"Oh, Doctor, please do leave!" she exclaimed with another jolt and squeal, the Doctor flinching in response. Why was she being so abrasive? She couldn't have made her that angry. When she was angry—well, more like simply irritated—all she really did was smack him and berate him. She didn't just send him off. It actually quite hurt just a bit, and it showed enough in his face that she was immediately trying to consol him, though it was only half-way done because she was so flustered. "I-I mean… I'm quite tired, not ready for any adventures tonight, so p-pop in for tea tomorrow, open some pressies with the kids and then we can go. Okay? Okay. Bye, Doctor!"

"Clara?" he asked, confused as the young woman gave him a nerve-wracked version of her mega-watt smile, darting over to him and pressing her wonderfully soft lips against his cheek. The Doctor's eyes widened without his permission, his entire body stiffening. It wasn't like Clara hadn't ever kissed his cheek before—there was that time when they had gotten stuck in that pit on the island of man-eating fungi and the TARDIS had been on the opposite side of the planet, and he'd managed to get them out alive and uneaten (though Clara's left boot had taken the fall, sad to say) and Clara had, yes, kissed his cheek—this was different. It felt no different from the kiss he usually got, actually, and for that, he found himself growing irritated? Why?

One simple word: jealousy.

Someone else had gotten Clara's kiss tonight. He was no idiot, after all; he was the Doctor. Clara had the tell-tale signs of having had sex. Of course, the thought of Clara having sex wasn't disgusting—it was the thought of Clara, dear sweet little companion Clara, having sex with another person other than him. If there was anything about the Doctor that anyone knew, it was that he was inherently a selfish, selfish man, who hated sharing the things he loved most with anyone else.

Not that Clara was an object, no. It wasn't like he thought of her as like… his Sonic, or his bowtie. She wasn't like that. But she was… she was his. She was his Clara, and he was very fond of being able to call her his Clara. He didn't like the idea of sharing his things with some random bloke—and speaking of, who was this bloke, and why was he in his Clara's bed? Clara was his! Why should he share his Clara with some random bloke that Clara dragged into her bed? Clara was his, no one else's, and the only person who would be spending any time in that bed of hers would be him!

The Doctor nearly spat up the Jammies at that last idea.

The Doctor stared at Clara for an unnervingly long time, neither of them moving and neither of them breaking gaze, although the Doctor had a strong need to run back to his TARDIS and wallow in self pity for a couple of days and Clara obviously had business to attend to. Their breaths slow and in-pace, they kept their gazes locked, neither of them wishing to break the silence at all.

Finally, Clara took the lead, clearing her throat. "Err… Doctor…"

"Clara," he responded, voice monotonous.

She flicked her glance down. "Mind letting go of my hand now?" she asked, quirking up an eyebrow.

The Doctor turned his gaze down—alerting him that yes, he'd most indeed grabbed Clara by her pretty little wrist, and also showing him the haphazardly wrapped-up palm of hers. Swallowing dryly, he released it, allowing her a breath of relief and a small thank-you. He internally scowled. He hadn't meant to be holding her still. Last thing he wanted was to freak the girl out, though internally he was quite happy with the idea as long as he got to be selfish with her. After all, Clara Oswald, Oswin Oswald, Clara Oswin-Oswald—they were all his. They were all his Impossible Girl.

Of course, it simply wouldn't do for the girl to know how truly possessive and selfish a Time Lord hers truly really was. He may call her, 'my Clara' or 'my girl', but Clara had always been assuming he was joking or caught up in the heat of the moment, which he would admit wasn't hard to do since he was an immensely excitable man. Like a five year old. A five-year-old whose favorite toy was getting played with by some other bugger he didn't know.

Could he send him off, maybe? Raxacoricofallapatorius wasn't too good for the bloke, in the Doctor's opinion. He paused, finally paused, and considered his thoughts. What in worlds was he thinking? Clara was an adult—not compared to him of course, but in human years, an adult—and not only that, she was his friend, and he was the Doctor. Since when did he start thinking about her as a possession of some sort? What right did he have to get stark-raving mad about a man he'd never met? And why was he so interested in keeping her for himself?

And why did it feel so right to think he could possess her?

"Right. So… I'm off," the Doctor said, tightening his grip on the Jammie Dodgers.

"D-Doctor! You can't just take the cookies. Those are Ang's. She'll have a duck if they turn up missing. Artie's already snitched a few and he's sure to get in trouble for it; don't want him to turn up dead because of a few eaten cookies," Clara objected, tearing the package from the Doctor's grip with ease that would've made him quite upset if he wasn't already so.

He forced a small smile. "You're the boss, Clara Oswald," he sighed.

She frowned slightly. "Doctor, are you sure you're going to be okay? I'm sorry I can't go with you tonight, but… I was up all day making things ready for Christmas tomorrow and…"

Ah, so it's the 24th tonight, the Doctor thought as he shook his head. "No, I'll be quite alright. But tomorrow I expect a spectacular sort of adventure to make up for the lack thereof tonight. Maybe to the red cliffs of—"

"Not good to spoil it," Clara teased, placing a graceful finger upon the Doctor's thin lips. He resisted the urge to kiss the digit as he pulled back, still forcing that small smile. "'Til next time, Doctor?"

He nodded back. "'Til next time, Clara Oswald."

The Doctor's steps back to the TARDIS, through the freezing snow, were heavy, burdened, and above all, irritated; as he knew full well that every step further away he took was another moment that the bloke in Clara's bed continued to have his way with his little companion's body. The thought of some other man touching his Clara in a way that he didn't condone made his two hearts increase to a speed that would give a human heartburn, but as he was indeed the Doctor he didn't even break stride. Anger was quickly becoming his tool, and like any anger-driven intelligent being, he was soon about to make a ridiculous and stupid decision.

He inadvertently slammed the TARDIS' door behind himself, stomping his way over to the console like and impudent child, a scowl deeply set on his face as he glared down at the switches and knobs as if they had done something to him, not the girl in the house he was currently parked outside of.

"Clara, Clara, Clara!" he called aloud to himself, though he knew full well that the last thing he ever was really alone when he was within the TARDIS walls. "Dear little Clara, oh deary me!" Pulling down the lever, the TARDIS groaned enough to know that while it would do what he asked to, but it seriously did not agree. "I don't care if you don't like it, old girl; we're going! It's for Clara!"

Though, he'd never done it with Amy. Rory. River. He'd never gone back for any of them when he'd been forced to lose them.

But this was different, wasn't it? After all, his dear little Clara wasn't dying like they were. She was… simply about to make an obscenely large mistake by sleeping with the bloke and he fully intended to save Clara from such a horrid mistake. It didn't matter that Clara didn't look regretful—she, in fact, looked quite pleased, apparent embarrassment asides—but it was a horrid mistake, so horrid that the Doctor absolutely needed to help her by doing the only thing he could think to do: interfere, interfere, and interfere.

The TARDIS grumbled, interference nearly throwing him off. "Oi! Fly straight, will ya! I'd rather not plow into the side of the house, thanks much, love!" he called out, grabbing onto the console with a tight grip, bracing himself and glaring up at the. "If it were you in trouble, Clara would help you!" The ship grumbled again. "I realize that you are not quite friendly with our darling Clara, but please, do a favor, let's get there in one piece, yeah?"

The bright blue space box continued to argue with its Doctor, knowing that crossing the time continuum for such a trivial matter was not even close to being possibly ethical, and knew that the Doctor was just being a jealous, possessive old man in a box. It was no fan of Clara's to begin with, but it simply made it worse with the possessive way the Doctor tended to look over the girl. Every bit of his attention went to her, without fail, without her even needing to ask and without care to the subjects the Doctor had otherwise concerned himself with. Clara was the issue that always took the forefront of his mind, and it knew full well it wasn't because of the impossibility of Clara's existence—it was completely and totally due to the Doctor's own—

"You daft machine; work!" cried out the Doctor, hand slamming against the console of the already irritated piece of machinery. Not taking a liking to the action, the TARDIS stopped abruptly, forcing the Doctor to fall over and hit his head hard on the ground.

Groaning, the Doctor grabbed at his throbbing cranium. "Thanks, Sexy," he said, patting the console weakly before checking the date. Still December 24th. Still Christmas Eve. Still Earth, still in front of the Maitland's house, all those things—just not late at night like before.

Ducking his head out of the vessel, he looked up and down the street twice before looking out at the house before him, Mr. Maitland's car still in the driveway and Artie busy fooling around in the snow—at least, he was pretty sure it was Artie; he couldn't be sure with the incredibly orange hat pushed over his curls the puffer jacket hiding every sign of his body type. Grabbing his scarf and stepping out, he walked calmly up to Artie as he wrapped it around his neck, trying to seem calm and collected, not angered by what had happened, for him, just a few minutes ago, and still to come in his future.

Artie looked up before he could announce himself, and the smile that lit up the boy's face was megawatt. "Doctor! It's been ages! Haven't seen you since pumpkin carving!"

Inwardly, the Doctor winced. He couldn't even argue that he'd messed up a little bit on getting back to Clara again. He still wasn't used to being on appointment at the Maitland's for the young woman. Artie didn't seem to notice, the boy grabbing at the Doctor's elbow. "C'mon, we should go in! Clara would be pleased to see you—"

"Ah—not right now, I think," the Doctor argued, pulling his arm away and making the boy frown. "I'm… quite busy. Only popping in for a mo', so answer me… are you and your sister going out later with your father?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Dad's taking us out to a friend's Christmas party. We won't be back until morning tomorrow, I think. Why? Did you get us presents and don't want us to see 'em? I can keep secrets from Angie about hers if you'd like; I'm good at that."

"Is Clara going with you?" the Doctor asked next, ignoring Artie's request to see his presents—not that the Doctor had gotten him any; he was a terrible gift giver when it came to organized things like Christmas and the like. He preferred spontaneity.

"Nah. She said she wasn't interested. I feel bad for leaving her behind, though." Artie smiled. "Are you here to keep her company, like a boyfriend does, Doctor?"

He couldn't help but swallow dryly at that. "Err… no. 'Course not, don't be silly. When are you leaving?"

"Minutes. I'm just waiting for Angie to finish. And Dad, too. Clara's just doing laundry, though; do you wanna pop in and get her for your next adventure for today?" Artie said, already getting ahead of himself.

The Doctor nearly argued, before his mind caught on to an underlying point that Artie himself wasn't even aware he was making. If he and Clara went out that day—went to go somewhere fantastic and new—then that guy would be sorely put out when he found that the Miss Clara in question was not in the house, not even on planet. He could keep her out long, exhaust her, and stop something like Clara's sleeping with someone else from happening for the rest of time. Of course, he'd probably create a paradox and maybe implode the universe again, but he couldn't help but think that this time, it was worth doing.

"Yes!" he chirped happily, catching the boy slightly off guard as he laughed, clapping his hands together. "Yes, yes, yes; you clever boy! Oh, that shall be exactly what I do with Clara today!"

Artie was confused. "But isn't that what you do every Wednesday with Clara, Doctor?" he asked, but went ignored by said Time Lord as he patted the boy's orange-covered head once, twice, three times before moving with obvious cheer to the front door, ringing the door bell in the annoying, impatient way that only he, a being with all of time to spend, could do. He had no care, as always, for how peculiar he was being, because to him his quirks were entirely normal, and it was completely the rest of the universe that were the weird.

"Oh, Clara~!" he crooned in his off-key voice, calling for the much younger woman as he continued to ring the bell in that annoying pattern of his, "Clara, come out~! It's me!"

"Be patient a minute, Doctor!" Clara ordered from behind the door, the sharp bark assuring the Doctor in a weird way that he actually did what he was told, his smile and mood too elated to be brought down in any way by the authoritarian tone that Clara chose to take with him. No discrepancy in his behavior was noticed by him until Clara opened the door wide, brown eyes filled with disbelief as she looked him up and down, her hand attached to a dark woolen scarf, winter coat still open and billowing just slightly with the cold winter's air that intruded the house. A graceful eyebrow quirked up on the companion's face, rosy lips fused tightly together, smile slightly teasing at its edges. "Doctor, are you okay?"

The Doctor, happily ignorant, shook his head quickly. "Yes! Why?"

"Because you just did what I asked of you without argument or pouting," Clara responded, tilting her head just slightly. "Do you have some sort of… cold? Do you even get colds?"

The Doctor nearly choked at Clara's notice about such an important fact about him—he really did abhor taking orders from people. He more liked giving them out, because that was the sort of man the Doctor was; the one who knew enough to always be giving orders. The only person he'd really make an exception for in that regard was River Song, as she truly did know more than he did it some really important points. However, one thing that the Doctor was good at was hiding things—which he did, rather easily; hiding the fact that Clara had, once again, caught the daft old man off-guard.

"You said you were coming; I was satisfied," the Doctor said in his cheery voice, "Now shall we get going? We've only got an entire space and time to explore and only a Wednesday to do it in!"

Clara stared at him for a moment before smiling brightly, eyes twinkling—right before she punched him in the shoulder, hard. The Doctor's eyes went buggy as he looked at her. Her wide smile turned into a bright laugh as she flounced past the Doctor, wrapping her scarf tight around her neck as she turned back to look at the confused alien standing at the doorstep.

"That's for being late!"

The Doctor stared listlessly after her, brows furrowing together before he allowed himself the faintest of smiles, jogging on after her, waving his goodbyes to Artie as he followed to the TARDIS, which like always had no intentions upon opening its doors for her, which he easily did. She pouted and huffed, stomping inside both to get off the snow and to show the being that she was quite put out with it. The Doctor shook his head at his two ladies' childishness, pulling off his scarf and moving towards the consol.

"So where to today, Clara Oswald? Something Christmas-y?"

Clara paused in her display of discontent, looking up at the Doctor in thought before smiling.

"Surprise me, Doctor."

"This place looks like it fell out of a book!" Clara said with a laugh in her voice, her dress twirling around her body as she spun in a circle amongst the children, her beautiful brown hair flowing behind her in shimmering, spinning wavy locks. The Doctor fought to maintain his composure, his cool; to keep from running out to the middle of the field for his companion.

"Well, it's called 'Oz' for a reason!" the Doctor yelled at his companion, earning a laugh from her, and a bright smile meant just for him. More than excited, she turned her face towards the sun, the beams of light pointing out every feature of perfection on her. He couldn't help but smile, even though she was doing these strange things to his stomach. He liked that she was so happy. Call him a possessive monster; but when he stops the woman he cared about so from having one of the most primal things of the races without her knowing, he wanted to make sure she enjoyed the experience she was getting in its stead.

They'd gotten a multitude of presents for Angie and Artie, as the colony of Oz—with a landscape based off of the famous movie and book series—did not believe in possession, therefore making it easy to get such items. Things that in this time period were artifacts: novels that had yet to be published, board games yet to be played, clothes yet to be designed. Even Clara had gotten herself something: the blue and white pinstriped dress she wore at that moment, having changed into it almost immediately, and a warm brown woolly beanie to wear on her head when she went back home.

Clara joined hands with one of the little girls, the two of them spinning around in circles, both of them trying to out laugh the other. The Doctor smiled, settling himself a little easier on the large rock that allowed him to bask in Oz's sunlight, sipping the lemonade he'd managed to score off of… somebody. He'd never asked for their name. He was content without it, actually.

As long as he got to watch his Clara, smiling and happy and just as impossible as ever, on the yellow, blue, and red-covered planet of Oz.

So this is my first Doctor Who story. It's Whouffle. I may have made the Doctor a little... OOC I think? In the way he handles the situation about Clara? Not sure. Feel free to tell me; I won't get mad and I really don't mind. I don't know the Who-verse as well as well as I know the Naruto-verse; it's just how I imagine the Doctor handling his love for a girl.

This is a Christmas story (well, it takes place on Christmas eve). May or may not end with some smut. Haven't decided yet.

Oz is something I made up, as are the Servantiles, Captain Pox and Melee (next chapter). Please don't get mad. I just want you to enjoy the chapter.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy the chapter, and good night. I should be updating sometime soon, I think.

Definitely before Christmas.

Because it would be a sad thing if a Christmas story wasn't ready in time for Christmas.