At first he hadn't noticed.

He hadn't noticed the way she walked flat-footed down the steps, not daring to bend her feet. He hadn't noticed the way she had opted to walk bare-footed around the control room. He hadn't noticed the little intakes of breath she took when taking steps away from the console, the console she had been leaning on for most of the morning.

He hadn't noticed.

She always walked funny. She was Clara. Scruffy, old, make-up less Clara. On her stumpy little legs, she never walked normally. If she did, that's when he would have noticed.

But then he did.

He saw something he couldn't understand.

"What are you doing?"

She turned to face him briefly, the sound of his voice making her jump. She was sat on the black jump seat, her one foot pulled up and crossing over her knee.

He took a step closer, frowning. He couldn't work out what she was doing. Between her fingers was a strip of sticky, flesh-coloured fabric and for some reason, she was delicately applying it to the back of her heel.

"Is it a new type of make-up? Is that what it is?"

Clara's head snapped up, her frown evident.

"Make-up?" she queried, glancing back down at her foot and then to the Doctor.

He pointed towards the sticky fabric. "You're trying to make your foot look good?"

Clara let out a harsh breath. "What?"

The Doctor was unfazed. "You need some for your face."

Her mouth dropped. "Excuse me?"

"You need to put the make-up on your face."

He explained it so innocently it would have been funny if she hadn't have been in discomfort.

Ignoring the sting on her heel, Clara sighed. "I'm already wearing make-up."

The Doctor looked genuinely shocked, slowly moving his face closer to hers.

"Really?"

She nodded rapidly.

"Oh…" he shuddered, moving away.

He circled around the console, leaving her confused and somewhat offended, nothing new really. She'd learnt to deal with that part of him not long after his regeneration. It was who he was now. Part of her was sure he didn't understand just how disheartening he could sometimes be.

The sharp sting returned as the soft pad touched the tender area. Damn the night before.

It had been one of her teaching colleague's birthday party. She hadn't intended to go but then Danny had asked her to be his plus one. She couldn't say no.

The party had been down the local pub and saying it was dull was a massive understatement. She actually jumped at the chance when Danny suggested they get the hell out of there. They'd ended up walking for almost an hour, not really doing much other than talking. It'd been bliss… until her feet began to rub against the backs of her new high-heeled shoes. And that had been it.

Danny had taken her to a bar in order to buy her a drink, aware she wanted to have a sit down. They'd barely found a free table before she began walking half out of her shoes to the bathroom. She needed to sort her feet out.

For the first time ever, she wasn't carrying plasters in her bag. She had to settle with wet tissue folded up and put into her shoe. It was slightly relieving once she got over the initial sting but it didn't help the moment she tried to walk again. The damage had been done.

At the end of the night, she give up with her shoes and ended up walking bare foot when Danny offered to walk her home. She didn't dare allow her feet to rub any further. The back of her right heel had already lost a layer of skin and was stinging like hell. Even the air was hurting it, the back of her shoe would have been deadly.

Danny had offered to call a taxi but she refused. It was only a thirty minute walk home and with company, she could deal with that. Her feet could too, glad that her shoes were hanging off her fingers as they walked.

Once home, Clara had immediately put plasters on the offending blisters. She had hoped they'd sooth the painful areas and ensure they didn't bleed throughout the night. That way, she could deal with them further in the morning.

"Are you awake yet?"

It was still dark when she heard his voice, one which made her shoot up from her bed rather suddenly. For a few scary moments, she hadn't realised who the figure sat on the edge of her bed was. However, when she dared to look around, she could clearly see the brightly lit writing through the darkness, writing which indicated the police box was nearby in the room.

"D-Doctor?" she rubbed her eyes, scoffing to herself upon feeling the unremoved mascara marking her hands and the area around her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm bored."

She sighed tiredly, dropping back against her pillow. He had a time machine. Why had he come so early?

"I'm tired." she told him, snuggling under her duvet and turning onto her side facing away from him, "Come back in the morning."

"I found a place trapped in an eternal winter."

Clara shifted against her pillow. "Narnia?" she wondered sleepily.

She could almost feel his eyes roll. "It's a kingdom!"

She rubbed her eyes again. "Arendelle?" she shifted, pausing for a moment, "You know what, I don't care. Come back in the morning."

He had. She guessed it was only a matter of seconds for him but at least it gave her a few more uninterrupted hours of needed sleep.

He took her to whatever it was called, the kingdom trapped in an eternal winter. It was beautiful, unbelievably beautiful but it was also cold. Extremely cold. Even her thick fur coat hadn't provided much protection to the climate.

She had sincerely enjoyed being there but no matter how much she wanted to stay longer and continue looking around, she couldn't. She didn't tell him but she was mightily relieved to return to the TARDIS. Her feet just couldn't handle it. They couldn't handle the freezing temperature or the boots supposedly protecting them.

And now she found herself sat in the control room, her feet reminding her who was boss after having just been offended about her face apparently lacking make-up.

The Doctor glanced around the centre console, his eyebrows seemingly dancing in sync with his growing frown.

"It's not working, you know?" he piped up, capturing her attention yet again.

"What's not working?"

He pointed. "Your new make-up."

Her eyes did roll. "It's not make-up!"

She dared to stand, moaning as she put pressure on her feet.

"They're plasters." she explained, "Band aids… whatever you call them."

The Doctor stopped, glancing down at her feet. "What for?"

Clara took a step, gritting her teeth and silently cursing as she did so. The one blister just wasn't being nice to her.

"My shoes rubbed me last night."

The Doctor scoffed. "Well that was stupid of them. What did they do that for?"

Clara shook her head, her hands clenching as she tried to ignore the sting.

"It's not like they chose to do it." she dared to laugh lightly.

The Doctor considered it. "So it's your fault?" he wondered, pointing to her.

Clara was confused but it wasn't obvious to him. "What was my fault?"

"That your shoes rubbed you…?"

Clara shook her head adamantly. "No."

"So it was your shoes fault." he pointed again.

"No!"

The Doctor hands flew out in front of him. "Then whose fault was it?!"

Clara rolled her eyes. She wasn't going to win this battle and if she was really honest, she didn't want to try.

"Mine…" she relented, knowing it was easier to give up now, "It was my fault."

The Doctor shook his head. "Well then, Clara. That was silly of you. You could have hurt yourself."

Her eyes rolled involuntarily as she scoffed. She couldn't take much more of it.

While he got on with something she guessed was vitally important to him, she retreated into her TARDIS bedroom. She was in dire need of putting her feet up and get away from the Doctor. It may have been a bearable, non-life threatening pain that she was experiencing but she couldn't deal with it and an oblivious Doctor.

Replacing the plasters hadn't worked out in her favour, the pad having stuck to the one blister and pulling away the healing skin. She didn't scream but her painful moans were rather loud. It hurt.

"You're making yourself bleed."

She was aware. Her moans continued as she used a clean tissue to dab the area gently, each dab making her squirm due to the sting. He just was stood in the doorway, watching.

"Let me help." he offered, walking from the doorway to her bed. He sat on the edge.

Clara shook her head, grateful for a moment he was actually being considerate.

"It's just a blister." she sighed, smiling gently when their eyes met, "I don't need a doctor."

For the first time all day, his confused frown wasn't present. For the first time all day, she knew he understood.

"I never said you did."

His smile was soft, highlighting his aged features. He may not have been the Doctor she met back in London banging on the door of Mr Maitland's house but he was her Doctor… in more ways than one, it seemed.

The sting was evident as he gently took the tissue from her and used it to gently wipe her blood away. The muscles in her foot and leg did clench as he did but she could bear it. She could do it for him.

While she watched the hand on her foot, she missed him reaching into his pocket. Within one slick movement, he applied something dangerously cold to the area. That time she did scream very briefly. She hadn't expected that.

"Damn it, Doctor…" her eyes were almost welded shut, "A little bit of warning would have been nice."

He glanced up sheepishly. "Sorry."

At first she hadn't noticed.

She hadn't noticed the way the coldness had soothed the sting. She hadn't noticed that the reason she had opted to walk bare-footed in the control room all day had vanished. She hadn't noticed the pain was miraculously gone.

She hadn't noticed.

He smiled softly. She was Clara. Funny, brilliant, clever old Clara. Her brain still hadn't realised. If she had, she didn't show it.

But then she did.