He'd shown up on the wrong day. Clara checked her calendar three times with a frown on her face as she pushed her feet into red fuzzy slippers to make her way down the hall to greet him because she knew he was enthusiastically making his way up the stairs. She'd watched him once, coming home from doing groceries to arrive just after he had. And she'd watched him drum his knuckles at her door, a large grin plastered on his goofy face as he bent too close and waited. Just as she imagined he was doing now, rubbing her brow as she went to where the knocking had just begun.

"Clara!" He called. "Clara!"

"Oh, I'm coming," she shouted in response, the laughter in her voice unavoidable as she yanked the door open and found him, fists in the air, mouth open in a wide smile, brow rising as he took in the robe wrapped tightly around her body and the slippers on her feet.

He straightened and glanced sideways a moment before checking his watch, "Friday?"

"Yes," she smiled, "It's Friday."

"No, it's Friday; we had arrangements for Friday."

"No," she tilted her head, "We had arrangements for Wednesday."

He pointed, "No, this Friday. This particular…" he considered it, "I might have told you a week early – or a week late; sometimes it becomes difficult to keep track…"

"Doctor," she interrupted, "Come back Wednesday."

The door started to close, but he stopped it with a palm and a nervous laugh, "But we've arrangements, Clara."

"I'm in my nighty," she laughed. He pushed inside, cramped in the small space with her, gulping anxiously and she noticed it then, asking, "Doctor, what are you wearing?"

He tugged at the collar of the tuxedo, new purple bow tie snug against his throat and then he gestured at his head, grinning, "I've got a top hat – top hats are cool."

With a shrug of acceptance, she began to shuffle back to her bedroom, "So, fancy outing some version of me has agreed to, yes."

"Yes," he answered simply and she turned to take him in again. The black tuxedo, cream scarf hanging at his neck, the shiny dark shoes, and the way his hands clasped at his sides, face green as though he were going to ask her to donate a kidney and didn't know how to go about bringing up the topic.

Clara closed her bedroom door in his face and she went to her closet, considering her clothing before slipping a hand to the back and pulling out a dress she'd gotten years ago. On Valentine's Day. From a stranger. With a smile, she looked over the deep purple dress with the light shawl that matched his scarf and she passed a glance back at her door, tempted to go ask him if he'd sent it to her, knowing this day stood in their future, but she decided against it, changing quickly and then going to her dresser for makeup before doing her best with her hair.

When she pulled open the door, he stiffened, eyebrows rising as he looked her over and then melted slightly, half-grin lazy on his face as he held out a hand and Clara couldn't help the giggle she released when she took it and they dashed out of her flat. Down the stairs in a flurry and across the field and into the waiting Tardis where he burst onto the controls with a small huff of laughter in her direction as he nodded to the doors and she snapped her fingers, another giggle when they closed and the center of the room began to spin.

"Where are we off to?" Clara asked excitedly, rushing beside him around the console as he worked the knobs and buttons and when he only gave her a devious grin, she matched it.

"Third moon of Trouse, just a few galaxies away, for cocktails and…" he held out a hand again, waiting until she took it to offer, "Dancing."

He twirled her underneath his arm and she landed with a small grunt against him, feeling her cheeks burn when he released her, tapped her head, and moved towards the doors, holding them as he waited. Clara took a breath and she rushed to his side, hooking her arm through his as he opened the door and they looked over the ballroom.

"Won't they notice the Tardis?" Clara asked, glancing back.

Waving a hand, he scoffed, "That old thing – in all of this?" He smiled down at her, "Nah."

"Do you dance, Doctor?" She asked with a laugh as they did a circle around where people of different shapes and colors and tentacle sizes were weaving and shifting like a choreographed ocean of dancers. She looked over the lanky figure awkwardly dividing the patrons standing to the sides in front of her, imagining he would trip over his own feet and she'd find herself sprawled on the dance floor in embarrassment, and smiled.

"Of course I dance," he replied with a laugh, and then he tugged her onto the dance floor, immediately twisting her into him, clasped hands shifting into the air as his other landed at her waist. "Clara Oswald, may I?"

"You may," she replied, curiously.

He leaned sideways, head dropping so his mouth hovered at her ear and he breathed hotly, "Let me lead," and Clara wasn't sure if he'd uttered it because he'd never been allowed or because she wouldn't know the dance moves… but the breath had sent an unexpected shiver through her body.

When he lifted back up though, he was smiling innocently, eyebrows rising high on his forehead and when she simply nodded, he seemed pleased, lips pressing together in concentration and then they began moving. Clara slipped her feet along the floor with him, letting out small gasps of surprise when they changed directions suddenly, with the crowd, and after a moment she realized – he knew their dance. He knew their dance and he was leading her along perfectly.

A dip to their right and a glide in a circle and a swing to her left and she was staring up at him in amazement because he had a grace in his steps she hadn't anticipated. But somehow he'd expected it of her, never once offering advice or giving a warning; he simply knew she'd drift with him, dancing along as they'd been doing for over a year.

Because he knew she knew their dance well.

It wasn't about the steps involved, or the pace of the music. It was about being in tune with your partner and Clara realized, lips rising in a satisfied grin as he dipped her to end the song, they absolutely were. He was breathing calmly, watching her with a sparkle in his eyes she'd never seen and when he spoke, words slow and quiet and with a minute nod of his head, she thought she might collapse.

"Oh, Clara, I could dance with you forever."

And as soon as he'd uttered them, he brought her back up and released her, as if he'd spoken aloud thoughts meant to stay inside of that cluttered head of his. Clara bit her bottom lip tightly as he looked to the ceiling, another slower song beginning, and she reached out to take his hand, slipping her fingers between his before stepping into him, inching up to breathe, "Then let's dance."

He released a breath of relief and she wondered, was this what had him so anxious before – the notion of going, not on a casual trip, but on an actual date with her? Had he planned to tell her what he'd said; had he considered she'd reject him? Clara smiled up at him as he watched her, contentment easing onto his features as she nodded and gave his hand a squeeze, waiting for him to reciprocate to nudge his foot, urging him on.

They moved on the dance floor, this time slower. This time his fingers curling a bit lower, slipping over the dress to press his palm delicately at the small of her back, holding her to him as they swayed. There were fewer couples, but Clara didn't notice, she only noticed the fluidity of their movements as they danced, eyes locked on each others, exchanging smirks and little rises of their eyebrows and she wasn't surprised they ended up back in the Tardis, shifting against one another in the bottom bunk of the companion's bunk beds, a dance of an entirely different kind taking the breath from her lungs and lighting a fire in her stomach.

She bent into his movements, voice lost in gasps against his right shoulder, in tandem with the grunts he offered between kisses and caresses. Clara tightened her arms around his neck just as her body clenched onto him and she mirrored the moan she coaxed out of him, relaxing and then shouting out alongside one last burst of spasms when she felt him release with a quick thrust of his hips against her. She laughed, gently, fingers coming up to stroke through his hair as a shudder rolled over his body.

Tucking himself into her once more, the Doctor rolled her on her side, smiling with earned satisfaction as he reached up to smooth her hair behind her ear. "One hell of a dénouement," he managed between breaths.

Eyebrow rising, she inched closer and kissed his lips, whispering, "Who says that's the end?"