A/N: Just a little domestic!twelveclara to celebrate mother's day.
Clara looked around herself, squinting her eyes. She had her hands placed on her hips, feet far separated from one another so she wouldn't lose her balance. Both her nose and chin were up in a wider angle than the usual as she carefully circled around herself.
"I don't like it, Doctor."
The Doctor's expression became confused, although he didn't lose his patience. He wore a white tee and loose trousers, however the achromatic of his outfit had long disappeared — he stood there covered in paint, from head to toes. Just like her, he also had his hands on opposite edges of his waist.
"What is there not to like?" he questioned, one eye fixed on her, the other on the just colored walls. He had spent his entire day lodged in that room somewhere inside the TARDIS, transforming the foil of its walls into art. "It looks perfect to me."
Her arms followed up until they were crossed right above her swollen breasts, resting calmly above the nearly gigantic bump of her belly. "She's brainwashed you, Doctor. Your judgment is clouded."
He almost gasped at her accusation — or at least, attempted to. "So you're just saying I couldn't have picked this shade of blue on my own and have willingly dedicated hours of my life that I'm never getting back to paint this room, but was instead being used as a puppet by the TARDIS?"
"Yes, that is exactly what I'm saying," she agreed roughly. She wished there was somewhere she could sit down; carrying a child inside of her caused her body to be all tired and sore, all day long. "Besides, I never asked you to. You didn't even tell me what you were up to, you simply disappeared before I even woke up and left me alone in your time machine."
"You're never alone inside the TARDIS, Clara," he corrected her, scratching the scalp underneath the sea of silver curls that his hair was made of, forgetful of the ink in his hands and consequently dying his head with it.
Clara made a face. "That is just creepy and not at all comforting—"
He didn't pay much attention to her bantering, trying to untrap his fingers from the mess his hair was gradually becoming. He mumbled so softly she doubted he had any intentions of her hearing him, "I wanted to surprise you."
His simple confession of love and devotion for her sent electrical discharges down her spine, brushing her ears like an artist touched his palette — a comparison that made even more sense in their situation; he was, after all, covered in paint. Keeping her distance, she pondered, "Why didn't you have the TARDIS paint it for you? Isn't she engineered to engineer new rooms?"
The Doctor hid his lips behind his knuckles, coloring them with blue lipstick. "You wouldn't be as surprised."
She had to hold back a laugh at the image of his more stained by the second figure. Dazzling with her legs, she approached him, although he was too busy analyzing whatever was wrong with the color of the walls to notice it. Not until he felt the palm of her hands against his chests, dirtying themselves with the still wet paint of his jumper. "Doctor, every day with you is a surprise. I never thought I'd be here, with you, with our child, traveling amongst the stars. One more surprise and my heart might not handle it."
He tried to keep his head away from her, but she was the north to the south of the magnets of their eyes. He threaded carefully, "I really don't want to give you a heart epiphany of some sort."
Clara merely chuckled, her mouth closed, the warm breath that escaped her lungs circling around his neck and ticking his hair. "Neither do you want to blind our child with the extravagant of these walls."
"I don't?" he tilted his head sideways, his chin coming slightly closer to her forehead; she had complete power over his mind changing decisions. "I think it's alluring. She has no reason why not to like it."
"For starters, she's still months, if not years, away from having opinions of her own," her hands went up to his shoulder pads, in a patronizing manner. "Doctor, she's a baby. She needs calm peaceful colors that will smooth her to sleep and welcome her when she opens her eyes. She doesn't need to be swallowed by this piercing TARDIS blue."
Although his eyes were implanted on her, his vision focused on the color of the wall right past her. "I don't understand, Clara."
Sighing quietly, Clara cupped each side of his jawline — the tint from her fists would barely made a difference against the art across his own features. "Close your eyes, Doctor."
With a bit of reluctance, he did as he was told; even with his sight obfuscated, he could see still the gentle smile that shaped her lips. He counted to twelve before the tenderness of her voice asked him to open them again. As soon as he adapted himself to his surroundings, he shielded away immediately, almost like he was afraid of her. "No. Clara! You can't paint the insides of the TARDIS of any other shades of blue! This is a blasphemy! A blasmephy!"
Clara threw her hands in the air, in pure disbelief. "It's just pastel blue, Doctor. Baby blue! It's a win-win, the TARDIS gets the blue she's so fond of, you get the blue you were brainwashed with, our daughter gets to sleep peacefully at night and so do I."
The muscles of his jaw were twitching in the most hideous ways, matching the horror written all over his face lines. If she were to guess, Clara would say his brain had broken down. "Clara!"
She paced back until she had her body anchored against the wall, her legs risking to collapse underneath her — she really needed a comfortable place to rest. "Doctor, come one. Let's be reasonable here."
Shaking his head sideways vigorously in denial, the Doctor held his thumb and middle finger together, and, with a click of them, the walls were painted of TARDIS blue once more. He ignored how she exhaustedly threw her head back, commenting, "Now this looks good."
Her eyes showed all the repression her lips refused to say — hence why he daren't to initiate the eye contact; he knew she would burn him down. Clara huffed, "So how does this work, I can have anything I want here with a click of—"
Before she even managed to complete her line of thinking, a rocking chair appeared in the nearest corner of the room. It was beige, accompanied with a brown pillow to accommodate one's back. She didn't waste a single second to sink herself down on there; it was certainly the best chair she had ever rested upon. The cushions were shaped exactly for her body frame — she owned the TARDIS her thankfulness for that.
Like he had forgotten all about their still ongoing argument, the Doctor's smile widened at that image of her. He walked towards her, "You look so beautiful there. Not that you don't look beautiful out of there, I know your hormones tend to misinterpret everything that I say, and trust me when I say you're the most beautiful thing in the entire universe, but, god. You look stunning there. I can already see you, a few months from now, rocking our daughter in your arms while she feeds on you, singing her sweet lullabies you learned from tales and civilizations that aren't your own, while tears of joy pile up in the corner of your eyes because she's just so perfect. She's the most precious treasure this universe has ever been gifted with."
He was rambling, and she found him adorable. She could blame it on her pregnancy hormones on how glassy her eyeballs had become, although she understood her reasons to be the effect his words had on her. Clara didn't even notice how her hands were suddenly caressing the fabric around her belly, filling the child with love long before she was even born. She smiled as he seated down by the footrest, bring her legs in the air until they were stretched against his lap and he could massage the soreness away from her.
He carried on, his fingers leaving blue paint trails against her bare skin — neither of them cared anymore, too consumed by the moment. "She's going to be the most loved child, until one day she'll grow to love like nobody else. Just like her mummy taught her to."
Clara was torn between closing her eyes to feel the rubs he offered her more intensely or leaving them open and witnessing the words departing his lips amongst the smile they left behind. She settled on the later. "I want her to see the stars, Doctor. I want them to be the last thing she sees before dozing off in the comfort of her crib. I want the stars to be her friends ever since the day she is born."
His grin enlarged, and he motioned to the ceiling with his head. "Look up, Clara."
Like magic, the TARDIS blue of the ceiling had been decorated with stars and planets and nebulas and galaxies. Clara could almost the feel the stardust falling down and blessing the with its purity. In her eyes, the reflection of their magnificence sparkled the black holes she held inside. "I guess your hard work had at least one purpose. To painy the sky that'll bring peace and safety to our daughter, protecting her as she dreams of adventures she has yet to board."
He leaned closer to her, the traits of his face struggling to remain serious, "Does that mean we'll get to keep the TARDIS blue in the walls?"
"Only in the ceiling," she allowed, between giggles. She reached out with her arm until her fingertips touched the walls; they became the brush and the wall, her canvas. With a single touch, their color had been replaced by pastel lilac. "She just told me she loves it now."
The Doctor shuddered, "That's not fair, you know I can't communicate with her. Therefore I can't proof you're not making this up."
"But I'm not making this up," she assured in an amusing tone, pressing her palms against her belly, "She says it reminds her of the palette of the sky when the sun is about to fade away in the horizon."
Comprehending he was fighting a battle he had never had the chances of winning, he simply let it go. He didn't even realize how his hands had traveled on their own and landed right above her own. If he concentrated enough, he could feel their daughter's heartbeat underneath the mother's heartbeat. They were beating in the same rhythm. "I guess I can't argue deny our daughter's own unique and perfect view of the skies."
Clara bent forward, at the exact moment the baby kicked inside of her; usually, her hard kicks would send electrical shocks down the mother's entire body — that day, they brought the most amazing sensation she could ever feel. The sensation of being alive and carrying life itself inside of her.
The Doctor followed up to the arm of the chair, wrapping his own arm around Clara's shoulders and nesting her inside of his embrace; building the two girls he loved the most a home inside of their unearthly home. It was uncertain who had been thinking of a crib when it suddenly appeared right next to the rocking chair; perhaps, they both were.
The crib was also beige, matching the color of the chair. It wasn't that big, the time machine had probably assumed the child would inherit Clara's petite frame. A little darker purple puffy rug came to life underneath their bare feets, taking over the entire floor of the room, so the kid would have a soft surface to play as she started to grow up. A wardrobe filled with newborn outfits from the most exquisite colors and patterns also popped up in the opposite side of the room, accompanied by a diaper changer table, both with the same color as the rest of the furniture.
At last, the TARDIS gifted them with several toys shattered against the floor, toys the infant would still take ages to start playing with — Clara was certain she only did it to piss her off; she had been forced to build a room, therefore Clara would have to pay for it by tidying the place up. However, she was too happy to even care about the machine's grumpiness.
She wrapped her fingers around the dirty collar of his tee; their close contact guaranteed them both to be colored in tint. "And here I thought building our child's room was supposed to be stressful."
The Doctor chuckled, planting several kisses to her forehead. "Only to the people who don't have a TARDIS under their mercy," he elaborated, a grin stamping both his face and soul. "Do you like it? Do you think she will like it?"
Clumsily — and with a little bit of a struggle —, Clara managed to hop onto her feet. She walked around the cramped room, carefully not to trip over, arms protectively embracing the hugeness of her bump. "It's perfect, I love it. She loves it."
He mimicked her movements by standing up as well, although he kept his distance. "I know you're far too oblivious to the stupid earthly holidays of your kind, but it's mother's day today."
Even if she had his back to him, he could still hear the sweetest sound of a laugh that escaped her lips. "You are the oblivious one, Doctor. I'm surprised you remembered it."
He crossed his arms, a little baffled by her allegations. "So you knew what day it was, and you were just waiting for me to screw up by not remembering the meaning behind this random ordinary day."
Clara slowly turned around to face him; unlike his previous predictions, she had a smirk in the corner of her mouth. "I had no expectations you would recall what day it was, Doctor. And it's fine, it's just a silly commemorative day. Besides, our child isn't even born yet."
He pathed towards her with hesitant steps. "I agree with you. Mother's day is no more than a capitalist hoax to yank money from people," he assented, "Hence why I didn't get you any gifts."
"Are you kidding me?" Clara had one brow higher than the other, "Doctor, you've already given the greatest gift there is to give. You gave me a daughter, our daughter. Nothing could ever beat this."
The Doctor stood inches away from her, separated only by the giant belly where their child rested. "So… You're not mad?"
Clara whiffed, glaring at him with eyes full of love. "Of course I'm not. I never expected you to engage in humans' silly traditions. It's not like you don't already make me and our daughter feel like the most important beings in all of time and space everyday."
"That's, Clara, because you are," his voice was low and hoarse, and she found herself drowning inside his ocean eyes.
The Doctor fell to his knees, his head being at the same level as her bellybutton. He raised her shirt until the skin of her rounded stomach was showing, and he cupped it with his big hands. Clara stroked his hair with her hands, trapping curls between her knuckles and caressing his scalp with her thumbs.
Her heart tightened inside her chest when he pressed his lips to her belly; leaving there a blue kiss. "Our little heaven," he uttered tenderly, "I can't wait to meet her, Clara."
Clara smiled with a thin line, feeling the light shift of the baby inside of her; because of her parents' affection for her, she knew.
A/N: Any feedback here or on twitter (dutiesofcare) is much appreciated :)