Hello everyone; welcome to my first Doctor Who fanfiction! This takes place somewhere amidst the events of Season 8, when Danny is still alive. I have one or two real plots planned out that may take anywhere between ten and twenty chapters to complete. I will intersperse several cute and fluffy one shots in between them (prompts will be accepted for these, so if you have an idea you want me to write, let me know! And if you have a prompt that will fit into one of my longer plot lines, I can do that too). So don't worry, there will be PLENTY of cuteness and fluffiness! Many of you are probably wondering if this will be a Whouffaldi story or not. I can honestly say I'm not quite sure whether or not I ship them. It is up to you, the readers, to convince me either way. I do ship Whoufflé however, and there will be a Whoufflé one shot at some point, and more if I get prompts. Not sure how often I'll be able to update yet; hopefully a lot. This is sort of a tester chapter to see if people like it. If people do, I will be convinced to write more. Both positive and negative reviews are appreciated; I love constructive criticism!
Enough blabbing from me. Let the story begin! Geronimo!
Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Doctor Who, but if someone can find a way for me to own Matt Smith, please inform me immediately.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up." The Twelfth Doctor flapped his hands in a shushing gesture, quelling any comments from the petite, dark-haired woman who had just entered the TARDIS. He continued his frenetic pacing around the TARDIS console, not even bothering to offer her a greeting. "Whatever it is, go away. I'm busy."
Clara frowned at his even-ruder-than-usual attitude and raised an eyebrow, closing the TARDIS door behind her as she did so. "Well, hello to you too."
Raising his eyes to the heavens, the Doctor groaned loudly. "Humans! Why can't you see when someone wants to be left alone? Wait, hang on - your voice sounds familiar... that plumber I had in last week? No, not him... the bagel seller... the cucumber... nopety nope nope... ah, Clara! Clara, Clara, Clara! I knew that voice sounded familiar!"
"Excuse me," Clara demanded, "did you just compare me to a cucumber and a plumber? Where can you even find a bloody talking cucumber? And what kind of plumber would agree to fix the TARDIS?"
"You'd be surprised. And yes, I did compare you to a talking cucumber, which, by the way, you can find on exactly thirty-three different planets. You both have very similar voices: deep, sort of masculine, croaky..." His voice trailed away as he caught sight of Clara's unamused stare. "Yes, erm, I'm sure you get the picture. Anyway, now that you're here, what do you we say we - wait. Wait; stop talking; back up; how did you get in the TARDIS without a key?"
Affronted, Clara sniffed and crossed her arms. "I'm not answering till you give me a proper hello. And apologize for likening me to a cucumber." Her eyes glimmered with amusement, although her face was stern.
The Doctor finally halted in his tracks and turned to face her. "Yes, Clara, hello, good to see you and all that. Apologies about the cucumber, et cetera, et cetera. Now tell me how you got into the TARDIS without a key."
"Who says I didn't have a key?" Winking mischievously, Clara produced a silver TARDIS key from the depths of her dress pocket and displayed it in the palm of her hand.
"What? -give me that!" The Doctor snatched it from her hand and pocketed it, glaring at her with his bushy eyebrows furrowed angrily and looking for all the world like a giant pair of caterpillars perched upon his forehead. "Where did you get that?!"
"You shouldn't leave your stuff lying around, Doctor," Clara scolded him. "It was right there on one of the shelves. This is why you need me around, to clean up your messes and remind you to keep precious artifacts such as, I don't know, TARDIS keys, in safe places."
"... I see your point," the Doctor admitted after a brief pause. "Are you sure you don't work for me? You should. You're good. For a pudding-brained human, anyway."
"One hundred percent," she confirmed, choosing to ignore the insult. "Besides, you'd be a terrible boss. People usually don't abandon their employees in Germany for three entire days without money or any means of communication."
"That happened once, Clara!" Once!" The Doctor protested. "And I didn't abandon you... I simply forgot that you existed. There's a difference."
"Because that's so much better than abandoning me," Clara countered sardonically.
"Look, can we please move on?" the Doctor begged. "Now that you're here, I need your help with a thing."
Clara considered this for a moment before a wide smile broke out on her face. "Alright, fine. Let's do it. But there's something I have to tell you first."
"Are you going to tell me how you knew to find me here?" the Doctor inquired excitedly. "Because I was actually wondering that."
"Well... no, but since you asked, I just had a hunch."
"Rubbish. Human hunches have a history of being incredibly inaccurate. Usually. Anyway, I don't believe you."
Clara giggled. "You got me. Well, I don't know if you noticed, but every Wednesday at 2:42 you turn up inside this janitor's closet. So, every Wednesday at 2:42... here I am."
Astounded, the Doctor gaped at his companion. "You mean I'm getting predictable?"
"Yep."
"Time to change my ways," he muttered under his breath.
"Yeah, that might be good. Anyway, back on topic. I was going to tell you that I'm renting out my flat for a bit."
The Doctor stared blankly at her for several seconds before answering. "Fascinating. Why did I need to know that?" He whirled around and strode briskly back to the console, preparing to set the TARDIS in motion.
Clara followed him at a slower pace. "Erm... well, I was hoping you might let me stay on the TARDIS for a while."
"Sorry, I wasn't really listening," the Doctor called absently, toggling switches and pushing buttons all the while, "but it sounded suspiciously like you said you wanted to live on the TARDIS for a while."
"For someone who wasn't listening, you seem to have heard what I said pretty well," Clara commented acidly.
The Doctor's hand paused in mid-air above a shiny black button as he slowly turned to face Clara. "Wait. You want to live in the TARDIS for a while. My TARDIS. With me."
"Yep. What do you think?"
"I think it's a terrible idea!" he informed her snippily. "I already have to deal with you much more often than is good for my health. And I couldn't stand having to live with and actually take care of a sixty-year-old woman. What torture!" He shuddered, distressed by the very idea.
"You aren't half rude," Clara told him incredulously. "And how many times? I'm twenty-four! Twenty-four, Doctor! Not sixty! Or even fifty!"
"Yes, well, try telling that to your mirror next time you look into it," the Doctor countered rudely. "See if you can fool yourself."
After grasping for a suitable comeback and finding herself unable to procure one (she wasn't even quite sure what he had meant; she only knew that it was an insult), Clara finally settled for stamping her foot. "Ugh! You're insufferable."
"Good. Now stop getting off topic. I am not having you in my TARDIS with me even for a couple weeks. It'll create too many problems... I can't... you won't be able to... it's just not..."
"You can't actually find a good reason for saying no, is what you mean," Clara prompted, her lips twitching in a smirk. "Admit it."
"Well... I..."
"You're just scared that something bad is going to happen to me, aren't you?" she teased him. "You have to admit it. I can see right through you, Doctor."
"I am not admitting that!" he protested loudly, wringing his hands in distress. "Not that there's anything to admit," he added hastily. "Because there really isn't. I don't like hugging, and you, Clara Oswald, are a hugger. I will not have you being affectionate towards me on a daily basis. That is why you can't stay with me."
Scoffing, Clara rolled her eyes. "We both know that's not why."
The Doctor crossed his arms and harrumphed, pointedly looking away. "My answer is no and that is final."
Clara shrugged nonchalantly. "Alright. That doesn't mean I have to abide by it, though." She sat down on the floor and stretched out her legs, clad in black leggings and a plaid skirt. "I'm not moving until you change your mind."
He gaped at her. "I could drag you out, you know. You're so fragile and teeny-tiny. I bet it wouldn't take more than a few seconds."
"You wouldn't dare!" The look of abject horror on her beautiful face almost made him laugh out loud, but he quickly regained his composure.
"Yeah, probably not," he admitted, reconsidering as he contemplated what she would do to him if he tried.
"And I'm still not leaving until you say yes, you great big idiot!" she informed him decisively. "So hurry up!"
The Doctor considered her petite figure, the obstinate set of her jaw, the fierce glare in the depths of her captivating chocolatey eyes. Clara was absolutely right: the only reason he refused to allow her to live in the TARDIS was because he feared for her safety. He couldn't help being worried about her. Their bond was too strong for him not to be: hers was the first face this face saw; the first source of light he found in the dark clouds that followed the mental anguish of regeneration. And she was his sole confidant; the one person who was always there when he needed her to be. He knew she could take care of herself - Clara was more stubborn than he himself was; she was capable and smart, she'd be fine. But he couldn't help the initial flare of worry that burned in his hearts whenever they set off on a new adventure, never knowing if they'd even come back alive. He couldn't help being overprotective. She was his Impossible Girl, his Clara, and he'd rather die than put her in harm's way.
On the other hand... his eleventh regeneration couldn't refuse Clara anything, and neither could he (except for hugs, of course. He had absolutely no problem refusing those). Something in his chest melted every time he beheld her beautiful eyes, every time she asked something from him. Unable to resist her plea, the Doctor made an instant decision. "All right, Clara. Fine. You can stay. But only until you're done renting out your flat. Then back you go, no complaints and no questions asked."
"I knew you'd come around!" Clara cheered triumphantly, getting to her feet. "It was the puppy-dog eyes, wasn't it? Puppy-dog eyes always work on you. You're secretly all sappy and soft-hearted." She instinctively reached to give him a hug but lowered her hands as the Doctor hastily shuffled away.
"No, your eyes just look creepy. They look they're about to shoot out of their sockets and fly all the way across the room. And I am not sappy," the Doctor told her firmly. "Pudding-brained and pudding-hearted; that's you humans. I'm a Time Lord. And I still don't see why I can't just take you into the future, when you're done renting out your flat, and drop you off. That would save all this hassle."
Clara wrinkled her nose. "That's boring! Why would I do that when I could stay in the TARDIS for a couple weeks?"
"You could also go stay with P.E.," the Doctor snickered, wiggling his hedgy eyebrows. "I'm sure he's got room for you."
"I'm not telling you again, he teaches Maths! And I can't just go say,'Hey, I'm living with you for a couple weeks, let me just pop over to my house and get my stuff!'
"You're right, you can't live with him; he wouldn't be able to tolerate your habit of needing three mirrors," the Doctor remembered. "I'd forgotten. And, on the topic of your face, I'm not sure it'll be able to fit through the door of the bedroom the TARDIS makes for you; it's far too wide. Also, I'll probably have to fashion a special door to fit your height."
"One more word about my face or my height, and you will suddenly find yourself without a tongue," Clara hissed, her eyes narrowed. "Are we clear? We'd better be clear, Mister."
"Oh, Clara..." the Doctor mused inwardly. A woman of extremes, capable of being sweet and loving one moment and ready to bite your face off the next. Really, there was no greater adventure then being with her. "We're clear, Doctor Oswald," he assured her aloud.
"Good. Then let's head back to my flat. I have to pack all my important stuff and get it in here before I put the flat up for rent."
"And then can we get to the thing I need you for?"
"Yes, yes, fine. We will. Now shut up."
Satisfied, the Doctor pulled a lever on the console, setting the TARDIS in motion. Within seconds they had landed in the middle of Clara's flat.
Clara gracefully descended the steps and opened the TARDIS doors, simultaneously stepping into her living room. Once she was fully outside, she turned around to face the Doctor, a sly smile creeping onto her face. "Oh, and Doctor? I'm not actually putting my flat up for rent. I just wanted an excuse to stay in the TARDIS for a couple weeks. And you've agreed to take me now, so you can't do anything about it." Clara giggled at the dumbstruck look on the Doctor's face. "See you in a bit!" She swung around and disappeared into her bedroom, her hair falling down her back in silky waves that were several shades lighter near the bottom.
The Doctor stared after her, struck by both her ingenuity and her audacity, but finding himself quite unable to be mad at her. He chuckled hoarsely to himself. Perhaps having her in the TARDIS wouldn't be so bad after all. "I wonder what I'd do without you, Clara..." he whispered to himself, a little louder than he had intended.
"Probably nothing much," came her muffled reply from the bedroom.