Rating: M to be save

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. These characters are not mine.

WS

Part One

He sat at his desk, engrossed in the process of marking. Pesky business, really, but a lot had to be said not only for having a somewhat mundane task that helped him clear his mind, but for the pleasant solitude, a welcome by-product of nights on Earth when everything was asleep and the world felt somewhat uncompromised.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed a dark figure standing perfectly still in the doorway of the TARDIS and he almost jumped out of his skin.

"Wha— how long have you…you know you're not supposed to be here," he stuttered and her silence, her lingering in the shadows like that, unnerved him immediately. He shouldn't ever have allowed her out of the vault in the first place. But, admittedly, she hadn't taken liberties, and surprisingly, she hadn't come close to even stepping up to that line.

"Fine. Do come in. Have a look around."

The rustling of her skirts disturbed his perfect silence, her sudden presence in the room astonished him, and all his senses heightened almost automatically. She avoided stepping into the pool of light from the lamp on his desk, and stood in front of a bookshelf.

"Just so we're clear, that," he said, pointing to the door on the far side of his office that lead into the hallway, "is out of bounds. Completely out of bounds."

She didn't speak, just lifted her hands up in surrender, telling him that she'd heard him, that she'd understood.

He went back to marking and let her be, only every once in a while did he look up to find her pulling a book from the shelf, flicking through it before putting it back. She wandered around his world like a tourist, unsure, and maybe a little bit lost.

"Come live with me and be my love," she read out loud, then sniggered before proceeding to read out the entire poem whilst walking up and down the length of his office.

"Marlow's beyond you," he told her when she was finished. "You don't have the hearts for poetry, Missy. It sounds like an insult when you say it."

"Doctor, how utterly rude of you," she faked outrage. "But I can see how this little ditty is far more up your alley than mine."

"Oh yes, most definitely," he told her, eying her up. "I'm great at poetry. In fact there's a particular one that springs to mind looking at you right now."

"Come live with me and be my love?"

"Oh no, no, no, not that one, no. No. Yours goes like this: There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very good indeed, but when she was bad she was horrid." He smiled at her like the Cheshire cat and she replied with a grimace.

"I didn't know you did cute, Doctor."

"Oh yes, you did. You love it when I do cute."

"Please," she exasperated and lifted the book up to her face. "Come live with me and be my love," she started again and finally stepped out of the shadows to perch against his desk right next to where he was sitting.

"Reading poetry increases your empathy and emotional intelligence. May I suggest you keep going?" he said to her, trying not to notice her sudden proximity.

"And we will all the pleasures prove."

"And now once more with feeling," he suggested.

"Stop interrupting me, Doctor. I can do with feeling."

He leant back in his chair and looked at her. "I know you can, actually. I've got excellent memory, you know? Truly excellent," he pondered and looked her up and down. "I think you were wearing a lot less, though."

He could almost see her brilliant brain trying to come up with a smart retort, but he didn't let her finish the thought and snatched the book from her hands.

"Come live with me, and be my love," he read, getting to his feet, gesticulating madly.

"So what, you're an actor now?" she asked and crossed her arms.

"I'm the passionate shepherd," he explained, and stood right in front of her, too close, really, because he had to be careful not to let himself fall into her eyes. "Come live with me, and be my love. And we will all the pleasures prove that valleys, groves, hills and fields, woods, or steepy mountain yields."

"I hate to tell you this, but love and prove don't rhyme," she said to him, completely deadpan.

He lowered the book.

"Especially not in your accent," he told her.

"Snap. You certainly are the passionate shepherd, aren't you? All alone with your flock, your pets. And you're just sitting around…keeping watch."

He knew she was criticising, waiting for a reaction from him, but he didn't rise to it. Instead, he held her gaze. Looked into those eye.

"Tell me, Doctor, you must get terribly lonely. Did you miss me?" She asked and flippantly poked his chest with her index finger.

"Nah!" he said. "I've been too busy. Places to go, people to see. You know how it is. Why? Did you miss me?"

"Well, no, of course not. I'm sure you can appreciate that I've been incredibly busy too," she said, her accent coming through thick and heavy.

"I didn't think so, anyway," he mocked and gave the book back to her. "Here. Keep reading. It's good for you."

"Like eating your greens?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes before moving to sit down opposite him at the desk.

He shook his head at her and returned to his work.

Stillness settled around them and suddenly they simply existed in the same moment. Only when the night threatened to lift did he stand up, walk around to her and offered her his hand.

"Time to put you back. I'm sorry," he whispered not to break the spell. "Take the book if you like."

She took his hand after a moment of contemplation and let him pull her to her feet. When their fingers gently entwined, he realized he wasn't sure who'd started it, and when he saw neither a sarcastic glimmer not a smile in her astonishing eyes his heartbeats quickened and he pulled his hand away as if she'd burned him.

Her eyes became ice cold immediately and she laughed faintly before turning away and walking back into the TARDIS, and into the vault.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.