Author's Note: Just me working through all the feels from the 2013 Christmas Special. If you're reading this after Season 8 is released, please keep in mind I wrote this before it came out.

Disclaimer: The Doctor doesn't belong to me. Unfortunately.

Clara stared. She tried not to be utterly horrified. Or, she tried not to let it show on her face. She knew she was failing. She knew she looked nothing more than a rabbit caught in a predator's gaze. Meanwhile he was staring back at her, a confused and rather hawk-like expression on his face.

"Kidneys!" he exclaimed at last. "I've got new kidneys!"

That might have been funny if it weren't for the fact that his kidneys weren't the only things to have changed.

"I don't like the color."

"Of your kidneys?"

Clara couldn't quite believe she'd heard him right. How did he know what color his kidneys were? More importantly, why did he care? Somewhere deep inside her, memories of all her other selves fractured across time, protecting all the Doctor's past selves, all his faces, swirled about. And she had fairly recently—for her, not him—met two of his other selves. So this...this would be fine. Wouldn't it?

And that's when the TARDIS started shaking.

"What's happening?" Clara cried out.

"We're probably crashing."

"Into what?" So much for this being fine, she thought.

"Stay calm! Just one question: do you happen to know how to fly this thing?"

Clara gaped at him. "You don't?"

"Not at the moment," he replied. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Do you know how to fly this thing?" he repeated over the complaints of the TARDIS.

In an instant, Clara was at the controls, clinging on for dear life as the TARDIS shuddered under her feet. She started flicking switches and turning knobs, and pulling levers at random, trying to replicate what she's watched the Doctor do hundreds of times before.

"Come on," she whispered, her voice barely louder than a breath, "come on, old girl, help me."

That's what he'd called the TARDIS before, wasn't it? She blinked away the tears that had rapidly been filling her eyes. A few fell on the control panel.

And then the new-old Doctor was at her side, frantically fiddling with the controls along with her. The TARDIS spun crazily, tipped over so far to one side that the two of them had to grip the control panel with white-knuckled fingers to keep from sliding down. With another couple adjustments to a control mechanism that looked like a joystick from a 1980s arcade game, the TARDIS finally bumped to a jolting halt. Both Clara and the Doctor were hurled to the floor.

Clara stayed still a moment, breathing hard. They'd stopped. Or...landed? Or...crashed? It was hard to tell. At least the TARDIS was still upright, or mostly; it was listing to one side just a little bit. Clara took stock of herself. She felt bruised from the rough stop, but nothing more serious. As she pulled herself up off the floor, she cast a glance at the Doctor. He was getting to his feet, too, a bit more slowly than she had. His lips were moving, but Clara couldn't quite hear what he was whispering. Then he slowly started ramping up the volume of his voice, until he was speaking in a normal tone.

"...two legs, two eyes, kidneys with a terrible color—clashes with everything else—ten fingers, two hearts, good good." He froze and met Clara's gaze. His eyes were as wide as hers had been not long ago.

"...Doctor?" she ventured, almost afraid of what he might do next. "What is it?"

The Doctor strode over to her and pulled her into a gentle hug. Had he gotten taller...?

"Are you all right, Clara?"

She thought hard before responding. "Yes. I think so."

"Good." He broke the embrace, stepping back a step. "I have a question. Please be honest. Don't spare my feelings."

Clara just nodded, looking up at the Doctor, taking in all his new features and trying to breathe normally.

"What color is my hair?"

Clara blinked owlishly. "What?" He instantly knew the color of his kidneys but not his hair?

"Clara," he gripped her shoulders and gazed earnestly into her eyes. "Am I ginger?"

She shook her head. "No. Sorry?"

He folded his arms over his chest; his sour, sulking expression would have been quite at home on his previous face. Though instead of a pouting schoolboy, with this new face he was more a glowering rain cloud.

"Well damn. It was about bloody time, I would've thought."

A moment of silence. Then embarrassment colored the Doctor's expression.

"Oh, sorry. I guess I'm still rude and not ginger." He frowned deeply. "I'll have to watch that."

Clara smiled a little. "Do we have to start a swear jar, Doctor?" she teased.

He considered it a moment. "Maybe. Depends. Hopefully not. Now then." He clapped his hands together once. "Shall we go and see where we are?"

He offered Clara his arm. After a mere half-second's hesitation, she linked her arm in his and they stepped out of the TARDIS, onto a grassy hill surrounded by people without a stitch of clothes on and completely painted blue.

"Well," the Doctor said, "I wouldn't have picked the Picts for this face's first adventure, but there you are."

Clara had to grin at that. "Here we go again."