A/N This is for the Seven-Days-of-Whouffle event! My contribution to day 1 – 'Firsts' is a series of short one-shots detailing first dates, first kisses, first child and, of course, first attempt at cooking for each other! I do not own Doctor Who, nor do I claim to. Reviews are greatly appreciated!

~First Date~

"So, where are we going?" asked Clara, circling the console, watching the Doctor as he pressed buttons and pulled levers, sending them hurtling through time and space, though Clara could hardly tell they were moving. These days, it was the take-offs and landings that shook the place, not the actual flight. This trip, however, was different to the others the pair had been on. It was their first date. Clara had suggested it, and to her surprise, the Doctor had agreed. So there they were, flying through the time-space vortex on their way to a time and place decided upon by the Doctor. Hopefully.

"Hold on," he said cryptically, grinning round the console at her and Clara instinctively grabbed onto it, because they were landing… somewhere. As soon as the grating noise had died down and the shaking had stopped, the Doctor was bounding over to the doors, with Clara just behind.

"The gardens of— oh," said the Doctor suddenly disheartened. Clara stuck her head around the door as he had done to see… destruction. A city was burning in front of them and she exchanged a glance with the Doctor.

Instinctively, they both began to run towards the city, while the Doctor looked around for any sign of the year, worried he might have got the date a bit wrong.

When they reached the city, the Doctor still hadn't found a clue towards the date, and there appeared to be some kind of mob attacking the city, setting fire to the houses and people – aliens – were running, screaming. Clara looked at the Doctor, and his face was stormy. She took his hand uncertainly.

"What's happening?" she asked. "Doctor?"

Suddenly, he took off again at a run, dragging her behind him. He darted inside a house where the front door had been left swinging off the hinges, but it hadn't been burned down… yet.

When Clara saw what the Doctor was looking at, she was astonished. "They have calendars?" she asked in amazement. He nodded absentmindedly, tearing it down from its hook to check the date.

"Humans made an impact," he told her. "A few live here, but we have to leave. Now." He was already halfway to the door and Clara was following him, trusting him, but a bit unsure about what she was being asked to do.

"You mean we leave them all? Doctor, they're being attacked!"

"I know," he said, heavily. "And we have to let it happen. I'm sorry Clara, there's nothing we can do. This is a fixed point. This planet lived in harmony until a new virus started to spread. It affects the mind; turns people hostile. That's what's happening out there. Those affected the worst are destroying everything. There's no cure. Everyone is either killed by the fires, or eventually by the disease. And if we stay here, Clara, the disease will take us too. Humans are particularly susceptible to it."

"There's nothing we can do?" she whispered, hesitantly.

"No," he said. "All we can do is leave." Still conflicted, torn between the knowledge that if the Doctor said they couldn't help, there was nothing to do and the burning desire – no pun intended – to help. The Doctor reached out a hand to her – a plea for her to come with him before it was too late – and she took it, afraid for her own sanity and life. Together, they ran back to the TARDIS, not stopping to look back.

~First Kiss~

(A/N Set after TNotD; 11 and Clara just got out the Doctor's timestream)

"Clara? Clara, please." Somewhere in her mind, the desperation in the Doctor's voice registered. He sounded like he was crying.

Clara stirred, fidgeting uncomfortably and groaning. The Doctor's hand was cupping her head just above the floor and his other hand was stroking her cheek. "Are you OK?" he asked, concerned.

"I… yeah… I did it, didn't I? I stopped him?" asked Clara, a little shaken. The Doctor pressed his lips to her forehead and rested his forehead against hers.

"You did it," he reassured her, breathing deeply and pulling her into an embrace. Her shaky breaths started to regulate as he held her close, though her heartbeat was still erratic. But she knew that wasn't from the shock she had sustained.

"I was scared, Clara," he admitted, still holding her against him tightly. "I thought I'd lost you."

"You'll have to try harder than that, Chin Boy." It was a feeble attempt at a joke, but a joke nonetheless. She hadn't realised until she said it that it wasn't her that called him Chin Boy… it had been one of her echoes that he noticed. Oswin Oswald, the girl who'd been converted into a Dalek. He pulled back and stared at her in concern.

"You… remember it?" Clara had to think.

"Not all of it – not consciously, anyway. I remember quite a bit, from different echoes though."

"I'm sorry Clara; you never should have had to do that. What you don't remember will probably come through in your dreams… you might be having a lot of nightmares."

"It was worth it," Clara murmured. "I'd do it again."

"But you won't have to. You'll never go through that again, I promise." He pulled her close again, breathing in the scent of dirt and ashes that was lingering on her. This time, Clara was the first to pull out of the hug.

"I remember Victorian London," she told him. "Angie and Artie… they found a photo of here – me – there once. The snowmen, the kids, their dad…"

"He fancied you," the Doctor said, pointlessly.

"But what I remember most about that lifetime wasn't any of that." Their eyes locked, for a long second, then Clara pulled him close and kissed him. This time, he kissed her back, still holding her protectively. Her lips were just as he'd remembered them, not that he'd taken a special interest in that kiss… he didn't fancy her… did he? But he was kissing her back and he was noticing differences to the kiss in Victorian London with her echo. It was longer, he was kissing back and she tasted like… destruction and like she'd been living in a derelict ghost town, which in a way she had. And that made the message he'd sent when he'd first met the original Clara all the more important to him. She was under his protection.

~First Child~

"So what do we call her?" asked Clara. She was in a hospital bed on Earth, having just given birth to a baby girl.

The Doctor had offered her all sorts of various different types of care while she gave birth, but nothing he'd said had swayed Clara from her decision. The baby was hers, and she was human, so her daughter would be born on Earth.

Clara was cradling the baby in her arms, and the Doctor was sitting next to her, apparently talking to the baby. "Well I could tell you what she's got to say but I don't think you're going to call her Lady Amelia Rose, ruler of the cosmos."

"I'm not calling her Amelia or Rose!" The Doctor looked at her as if she'd just kicked his puppy. "I'm sorry, but I'm not naming her after your mother-in-law, best friend, or the love of a previous life." Ouch. That hurt and now he looked as if Clara had kicked several puppies.

"But any other suggestions are welcome," she said hastily, trying to make it up to him. "Just remember I know ALL your companions names." The Doctor scowled at her, instantly banishing about 100 names from his mind.

"How about a compromise? We can give her 2 middle names, one your choice, one my choice and we can choose someone to name them after. As long as they aren't a previous relationship." Clara thought about that, and nodded. She had wanted to name her first daughter after her mother, so that was an easy decision to make.

"Well, I choose Ellie. After my mum." The Doctor nodded; he had watched as Clara said goodbye to her mum for the last time. "And I like the name Arianne."

"I like Arianne too. Arianne Ellie Sarah Oswald?" Clara nodded.

"After Sarah-Jane?" she asked. The Doctor didn't respond except with a small sound that Clara took to mean 'yes'. Arianne was trying to grab at the Doctor's fingers, making Clara giggle.

"Arianne Ellie Sarah Oswald," she agreed. "So, you, no more adventures." The Doctor pouted.

"What if I go on adventures and leave you two in the TARDIS?" Just the look on Clara's face was enough to make him back off. "OK, OK… you're the boss," he muttered and Clara smiled.

"I am the boss," she said, leaning over to give him a quick kiss. "Arianne isn't going anywhere near danger. We'll live on the TARDIS, or we can live on Earth. I don't mind, but if we're on the TARDIS, we stay on the TARDIS. No alien planets, because you just attract trouble." The Doctor pouted again, but he knew it was true. Everywhere he went, something bad happened. He'd be lucky if he managed to live on Earth uneventfully. Maybe the TARDIS would be better, in all. He could get out sometimes while Clara was asleep – he'd just be careful not to wake her – and it was a controlled, safe environment. Everything was onboard that ship, and they could even park her on Earth so Clara could visit family whenever.

"We'll work it out," he assured her. "Arianne will be safe, I promise." Clara nodded, exhausted, placing her trust in him and allowing him to take Arianne in his arms while she drifted off to sleep.

~First Time Cooking a Meal~

~Clara~

Humming to herself, Clara set to work in one of the TARDIS kitchens, getting together the ingredients to try to make a soufflé for the Doctor. Somewhere else in the ship, he was attempting to make some kind of main course; only she wasn't sure what.

She hadn't explicitly told him she would be making soufflés, though it was quite obvious he knew, seeing as all 3 versions of her that he had met recently had made soufflés, or tried to. None of her soufflés had ever worked but Clara was determined that this time, they would. If the TARDIS liked her, which seemed to be the case at that particular time, maybe the two could work together. With the help of the TARDIS, Clara was sure that her soufflés would turn out fine. However, the TARDIS wasn't playing nice.

Whenever Clara turned around, something would move, or change or she'd notice that an ingredient was out of date, even though it had been perfectly fine seconds ago. "Come on," she said, speaking to the ship.

"Please, just let me do this. For the Doctor. Your Doctor. I'm just tagging along for a bit. You know that." Apparently, the TARDIS was listening to her because the next time Clara turned around to find the baking powder (because she had trouble making them rise), the eggs and milk and flour were sitting on the counter, perfectly in date and neatly lined up.

"Thanks old girl," grinned Clara, beginning preparations. She weighed ingredients, sifted flour, separated and beat eggs, folded ingredients in, and finally, she had finished the making part. All that she needed to do was bake the soufflés and, to be honest, that was where it all went wrong.

After 7 minutes in the oven, Clara bent down, but she couldn't see the soufflés properly through the oven door, so she tried to open it to check on them, but something was stopping her from opening the door.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" she asked the TARDIS, assuming it was her doing. The ship obviously couldn't reply, verbally at least. Clara felt a sensation, a warm one, pass through her brain. The TARDIS worked telepathically, she knew that and Clara quickly realised it was the TARDIS' way of communicating.

"OK, well… can you… do that again when they're ready to be taken out?" she asked, hitching herself up to sit on the counter to wait patiently for the signal.

A couple of minutes later, Clara was lost in a daydream; until an urgent sensation passed through her mind, jolting her back to the present. Pulling on oven gloves, Clara opened the oven door, which opened as smoothly as a freshly oiled door, and pulled out the tray. The soufflés weren't undercooked. They weren't overcooked. And, most importantly, they had risen.

"Yes!" cried Clara, jumping up and down. "Thank you!" she said, patting the counter affectionately. "You're just a big softie really, aren't you?"

~The Doctor~

Somewhere not far from Clara's kitchen, the Doctor was setting a table. He knew exactly what Clara was doing and he guessed the soufflés wouldn't work, seeing as Clara always complained about them not rising, or not being cooked properly. Oswin and Victorian Clara had been the same, and he wondered if it was a recurring theme with all of her echoes, or if it had been a coincidence the ones he'd met had had trouble baking.

Anyway, he knew his cooking would be quicker than Clara's; he had a frying pan, a microwave, fishfingers, a microwavable bowl and a tin of custard. It would take him 20 minutes, tops, to stick the custard in the microwave and cook the fishfingers.

Then all he had to do was stick the custard in a bowl and put the fishfingers on plates. Simple. Seeing as he would have 25 minutes spare, he had set a table, expecting to be rushing around, looking for appropriate cutlery and table decorations – Clara liked white roses – but after the first 5 or 10 minutes were spent looking for items, the TARDIS seemed to know what he wanted and had it ready, which surprised him. She usually refused to help when he was doing something to do with Clara. Had the girls become friends while he wasn't looking?

He shrugged and strode off to the kitchen to cook fishfingers. And custard.

Bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, he waited impatiently for the microwave to 'ping' and for the fishfingers to be cooked.

While he was waiting, he got out plates and bowls and, from some speakers he'd forgotten were in that room, the TARDIS started to play Beethoven. "That's me! Playing the tambourine!" he laughed, spinning around the kitchen, reminiscing. The ping of the microwave brought him back to the present and he poured the custard into bowls and checked the fishfingers. They tasted fine when he dipped them in custard, so he assumed they were cooked, and carefully carried the food through to the dining room. A few minutes later, Clara came in, looking flushed and pleased with herself. She was carrying a tray bearing soufflés that looked perfectly cooked and risen. "Wow," she stated, looking around the room. "This is impressive."

"I had some help," the Doctor admitted. "At first, she tried to hide everything, then she had a sudden change of heart and everything was right where I wanted it to be. Did you say something to her?"

"I did, actually, we had a chat and I think we've come to an understanding. She helped me to cook as well; she told me when to take the soufflés out." The Doctor gave her a quizzical look; how did the TARDIS tell her? Clara pointed a finger to her temple and realisation dawned.

"Did you go into Clara's brain?" he asked. "You know you're not supposed to do that," he scolded.

"Oh no, it's fine! It was just a kind of warm sensation that I felt. We used it to communicate I suppose. Anyway, she's already in my head, to translate."

"Oh yeah." The Doctor grinned and pulled out a chair for Clara to sink into. "Well then, let's eat, soufflé girl!"

"Is that… fishfingers and custard?" asked Clara. The Doctor just nodded, happily.