He was the unstoppable storm, the mad man in a box, the impossible and the could be and the maybe all wrapped up into one being—

"Doctor! Come on!"

And he was at a supermarket.

Clara didn't seem to notice what a boring place she'd waltzed into—completely of her free will, she said, but honestly the Doctor had his doubts—and was skipping around like a little girl at a playground. Every few seconds she bounded back to their cart, but then she was off again, completely ignoring him.

The nerve of some people.

"Clara! We've been here nearly twenty minutes already! We could be somewhere so much cooler! We could be in Las Vegas right now!"

She turned around to him and raised an eyebrow. "Every time you promise me Las Vegas we always end up somewhere ghastly, like a submarine or burning asteroid. Maybe you should promise to take me somewhere like a dump truck on the universe's grossest planet and we'll actually end up somewhere nice for once."

"I took you to Milan last week!"

"It was the middle of the plague! I sneezed and they almost set me on fire!"

The Doctor looked down and grumbled. "They only scorched us a little bit." Clara rolled her eyes and continued shopping, dropping in two bundles of bananas. "And we don't even need to be here, anyways! You say the word and I could have us in the middle of the biggest banana tree in the galaxy."

Clara kept piling fruit into the basket. "And what if I want a full meal?"

"Then we'll go to any restaurant you want, any time you want! Remember? Any where, any when?" The Doctor threw up his hands. "It's like you weren't even there when I gave the speech!"

"Not everyone likes eating out all the time. You have a kitchen, remember? Honestly, Doctor," she widened her eyes and shook her hands in the air, teasing him, "it's like you weren't even there when you gave the tour!"

"Claraaaaaa! I can get us any chef in the world!" He thrust out his palm and started counting on his fingers, "I can get Lancelot de Casteau or Urbain Dubois. I could get Gordon Ramsay in our kitchen making omelets right now!"

She wrinkled up her nose. "He swears an awful lot."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he can't still come cook for us."

Clara laughed once and then her face settled into a warm smile. She reached up and set a hand on his shoulder. "Doctor. Listen. I know you could, okay? And thank you. For being willing to go and get Gordon Ramsay and those other two whats-their-names. That's very nice." She took a deep breath. "But I want to cook, all right? I like cooking. I can cook and still go on adventures."

The Doctor bit his lip and looked down. "Well, all right. Fine. But we're going to that dump truck on that garbage planet and I don't want to hear another word about it."

Clara laughed again. "You'll see, Doctor." She said with a bright grin. "Cooking can be very exciting."

"What can be exciting about cooking?"

"Lots of things! Look!" She reached into the cart and pulled out a carton of milk and another of eggs and held them close to her chest. "I'm making soufflés. They're delicious and wonderful and if you make just the slightest noise or the slightest mistake then snap! They're gone forever. Can't ever get them back the way they were before! What else in the world can possibly do that." She placed the milk and eggs down and then set off with the cart once more.

The Doctor stared after her. He didn't move.

Something wonderful. Something so wonderful that if you made just the slightest mistake—looked away for one instance, took one risk too big—then they were gone forever. And even if you tried…you could never get them back the way they were before.

He could think of at least one other thing in the world, like that.