"You know," Ashildr huffs, "I think we should visit New York."

Clara and Ashildr are in the middle of running as fast as they possibly can from a heard of kinetic snakes on some underdeveloped planet in deep space, and Clara is quite positive Ashildr's mind is far from focused.

"And why, in the name of all things good, are you thinking of this now?" Clara asks incredulously; she doesn't have time for this – the snake-like creatures are gaining on them, and she's trying her best to move her legs just a little bit faster. Clara has no interest on becoming snake food anytime in the immediate future.

"Because there is a chance that the snakes will catch us and then proceed to eat us, and in the case of that happening, I would have never gotten the chance to voice that I would like to see the city." Clara groans in response to Ashildr's statement, but she doesn't think that visiting New York (if they make it out of this mess alive, or sort of alive in her case) is a bad idea.

After a few more minutes of sprinting, Ashildr and Clara make it back to their TARDIS mostly unharmed. They both smell despicable and they're both drenched in sweat, but that's a small price to pay for not dying.

Clara forces Ashildr to clean herself up, which leaves her alone in the console room. Clara plugs in the coordinates for New York City; Ashildr is in for quite the surprise; usually Clara blatantly disregards her requests (because they're usually for some back-water planet full of organisms that want to eat them – hence, the kinetic snakes, and before that were the weird octopus things with teeth as sharp as razor blades – along with countless others that Clara does not have the time or patience to think about.)

She punches in a date, but tells the TARDIS to surprise them with the year – as long as it's not any time before the twentieth century. It's not like another surprise could kill them (well, she supposes, depending on what the surprise was, it could be potentially deadly; Clara decides there's more to her sort-of-not-really life then worrying over when they are going to be visiting the city.)

Her only hope is that they don't end up in New York the day it was invaded by those aliens (the name of them is slipping her mind at the moment); it's not like she and Ashildr would be unprepared (dealing with aliens is sort of her thing), it's just she would prefer to at least have a day (or two, or three) where she isn't fretting over things that are trying to kill her.

After the whirling of a few cranks and the pressing of a few buttons (along with a content groan from their machine), the TARDIS takes off into the vortex – its sight set on New York City.

Ashildr enters the console room, where Clara is leaning against the railing with a contented smile, when she finds out Clara listened to her request (that's met with a million promises of "I'm apologizing for any conflict in advance" and "You won't regret listening to me" along with some other exceptionally snarky remarks that Clara cares not to share.)

Clara goes and tidies herself up, taking a quick shower so that she gets all the sweat and grime off her tiny body; then, she slips herself into a little red collared dress (one of her favorites; she's going to New York, for god's sake – she hasn't worn the dress in a while and she feels it quite fitting for her first journey to earth since The Doctor (who she tries her hardest to avoid thinking about) had put her death on hold) She pulls her hair into a tight little bun at the nape of her neck. She slips on a pair of black heels (which are just the right height where she can still sprint in them) and decides she's ready to return to the console room where Ashildr is most definitely waiting to scold her for taking so long to get ready.

When Clara manages to meander her way back to her friend, she finds that their ship has already landed. Ashildr is the one that points out the year (it's sometime in the year 2017; so everything should still be pretty familiar to her; shout out to their TARDIS for actually listening for once)

"I'm just glad we actually made it to New York this time."

"The trick, my dear Clara, is that I didn't fly the damn machine this time, you did." Ashildr grins (the TARDIS beeps in protest; it does not appreciate being insulted), "You're the one with the, in the words of the Princess of Ryloth, 'magic hands'."

"Shut up, you." Clara laughs, tilting her head back. Ashildr opens a drawer and searches for the American currency that's been mysteriously floating around the TARDIS for months (years? Clara isn't sure; between the not-actually-being-alive spiel and the constant traveling, she hasn't had a moment to worry about how long she's been traveling with Ashildr.) When she finds it; she holds it up triumphantly. (They've only get two-hundred sixty three dollars between the two of them, but with Ashildr's handy (but not quite legal) skill set of pick pocketing, money shouldn't be an issue.

And it's not like the two of them are just going to buy everything in their sight; Clara is frugal as hell and Ashildr has always been fond of keeping money instead of giving it away (which has caused a few problems with in their interstellar travels; Ashildr is a thief in the simplest of ways).

"C'mon, Oswald – you're wasting time."

"Please don't make me hit you." Clara whines as she's dragged out of their spaceship and into an alley somewhere close to the hustle and bustle of the city.

They share a shit-eating smile before bursting out of the alley (not sparing a glance back at the TARDIS disguised as an American diner behind them. They spend their day admiring the buildings, browsing clothing stores, and wandering through the Metropolitan Museum (in which they found many things that they've seen in the past and wondered how this place had somehow acquired them.)

At the end of the day, the two women stop at a corner Starbucks (holy shit, Clara has never seen so many of these places in her life; they are literally on every street corner – it's insane) and get drinks before returning to the TARDIS.

When they make it back to the alley where the machine is parked, Clara is just about to say something along the lines of "there is nothing that could happen which could ruin this day".

And that's when the TARDIS just disappears.

Clara cusses in tongues she wasn't even sure she knew while Ashildr just smirked. Of course, this day was too good to be true – there wasn't a single goddamn alien threat, and she and Ashildr actually had a relaxing day for once, and the TARDIS actually cooperated that morning – perhaps that's when Clara should have picked up on something.

She lets out another groan of frustration; she supposes it could be worse (and she has been in many much more terrifying scenarios on much more hostile worlds.)

Clara should really know not to think of things like that – because it can always get worse.

Apparently her array of swears attracted the attention of three shady looking men. Clara and Ashildr have taken on things much stronger than these people, but it's still a little bit disheartening.

"At least they're not killer snakes."

"Please, not right now."

And that's when the men all break out into killer grins (and by killer, Clara means savage – they look beast-like in the night glow of the alley) And Ashildr, having never been one to sit out of a fight, charges them with the knife she always seems to have on her. (it's a bit primitive, but it's come in handy; Clara's much better at using guns, but she can't be seen carrying firearms from thirty-eighth century Sontar without getting questioning looks)

So she settles for grabbing a broken baseball bat out of the dumpster that's conveniently sitting right next to her, and she attempts to smash the guy charging at her with his gun drawn. She feels silly, bringing a half a wooden stick to a gun fight, but's she'll have to make due. With a deep intake of breath, she lunges at him and swipes her bat in the direction of his knees – if she can get him on the ground it will be much easier to severely maim him.

He fires three shots, and at such close range, it should have been exceptionally simple to at least hit her with a bullet, but his stupid ass is such a terrible shot he misses every time (she almost pities him; almost.)

She's able to smash his kneecaps with the splintered edge of the bat, and he tumbles to the ground gracefully; Clara doesn't have long to keep him down, and as he's attempting to stand, she whacks him with all the strength she can muster with the bat between the shoulder blades. He lets out a grunt as his body carelessly flops onto the dirty pavement beneath them. He's not dead, but he won't be waking up anytime soon (that's for damn sure.)

Ashildr is still occupied with the two other guys, and Clara decides to lend her a hand. She decides to try and sneak up on them, but apparently she didn't hit the asshole hard enough (and he's not as bad of a shot as he was letting on) and he shoots her in the shoulder.

She feels the metal graze her arm, and it's surprisingly not as painful as a laser blast, but it's up there. She's not bleeding (her pulseless-ness is strange, and she doesn't question it anymore), but the wound hurts. She doesn't have time to go back to the guy that shot her – one of the douches attacking Ashildr has taken notice of her and is swiftly approaching. She readies the bat and aims for his face.

(It hits with a satisfying crunch as the guy collapses. She's pretty pissed by this point, and gives him another blow to the head; it's a little violent for her, but she can't say the guy didn't deserve it.)

And then Ashildr decides it's a fan-fucking-tastic idea to slit the other guy's throat. So not only are they broke, alone, and covered in sweat (and blood), but there's also a good possibility they're now criminals. (Which again, is nothing new, but still.)

Clara's sure that someone heard the gunshot – and they decide that it's in their best interest to get the hell out of the alley. Before they leave, however, Ashildr points out it could be helpful to take one of their guns.

So they do.

Unfortunately, they've seemed to acquire an audience (and by audience, Clara means two incredibly handsome, buff guys who look like the personification of justice.) She's not sure if the looks on their faces are amused or foreboding, but she's gotten to the point of being so done with her sort-of not-really life that she just doesn't care. (Perhaps this is how Ashildr feels all the time.)

Clara ignores them and turns to the woman beside her. "I'm seriously starting to regret ever listening to you."

Ashildr rolls her eyes and shrugs, "You say this every time; besides, it's not like every time we go out we get mugged in an alley."

"Because it's usually other things that are trying to attack us!" she quietly shrieks. Clara is sure that the two men watching them are trying their damnedest not to laugh (and she's pissed off, has a throbbing pain in her shoulder, she's and still has all that adrenaline pumping through her veins, so she decides knows as good a time as ever to approach them.)

"Oi," she starts, baseball bat still in hand, Ashildr attempts to stop her. "You two – tall and brooding – please tell me you're not here to try and beat the shit out of us – we've had a rough day and I'm really not in the mood, well, actually, smashing a couple more bodies would make me feel better but, I'm not exactly that type of person."

Ashildr butts in, "My darling friend, you are exactly that type of person." Clara smiles wickedly, the reddish gleam the lights of the city illuminate her body, slick with sweat, in a pink glow, and Ashildr finds it absolutely terrifying. (She's pretty sure the two men would agree with her; their starting to look a little apprehensive.)

That's when the blonde one starts taking. "Sorry, Ma'am; just looked like you and your friend there were in a bit of a predicament; we decided to see if you needed any help, but it seemed that you had it under control." He keeps rambling, and she takes this moment to repay examine his face – it's familiar. Not that she knows this man personally, but she's defiantly seen his face before (perhaps a history book). And that's when she's hit with a ton a bricks.

"Bloody hell." She then takes to examining Steve Roger's friend and she just knows he looks an awful too much like James Barnes for this to be a coincidence. "Ashildr," she absentmindedly says, "screw the painkillers, I'm going to need several boatloads of Aldebaran brandy."

(She does, contrary to what she would like people to believe, remember the lives of her echoes; and in this case, she remembers all too fondly dancing with James at the Stark expo. And by the expression on his face, he seems to at least recognize her from somewhere.)

This is bad; this is so very not good – her timelines haven't crossed, but things like this weren't supposed to happen. (Damn time travel honestly; it's more trouble than it's worth.)

"Do I know you?" James asks her; Steve gives him a look that Clara has received far too many times (Ashildr is giving her the same one right now – Clara isn't sure when she walked up to stand next to her, but she needs all the support she can get at this point.)

"Probably; I don't know." She sighs, "I just really need a drink – tell you what, if you two gentlemen take the two of us ladies for a drink – preferably somewhere that would make your grandmothers roll over in their graves, I'd be happy to make my acquaintance." She turns to Ashildr and whispers "I feel like I'm gonna pass out –"

And so she does. (And falls right into the brooding ones chest) He catches her and looks up at Ashildr confused. She just shrugs at the two men in front of her. "She'll wake up in like ten seconds, just hold on." He supports Clara's weight as they share a look. No sooner does Clara spring awake.

"Every bloody time!" She groans, "Ashildr, please do yourself a favor and don't die – oh hello." Clara looks up at the man who's holding her. He feels familiar – it's like they've done this before. (And then it comes back to her that she threatened to beat Captain American and James Barnes with a bat; good god, the universe must really have it out for her.)

And then James has the audacity to smile at her (a smile that almost melted her back in nineteen forty-three and she's pretty sure it still has the same affect)

"Connie? Right?"

"Well yes, but also no; I swear this conversation will go over much better with an exuberant amount of alcohol." Ashildr nods in agreement. James and Steve do that weird speaking-without-actually talking thing.

"I've never been one to turn down a good looking dame, so I don't see the issue."

Clara pushes herself out of his grasp, and smiles. "Great, lead the way, boys."

Needless to say, Clara re-discovers that earth liquor is for the weak, tells her tale of woe (or how she's dead (but actually not) and how she managed to be America during the nineteen forties. She also really wants to run her fingers through James's hair, but that's very weird and she'd never hear the end of it is Ashildr ever found out.

And she would just like to thank Ashildr for pulling the Clara works with UNIT card (because that guarantees them free room and board at Stark Tower until their stupid TARDIS decides to show up again.

It's been a week.

The TARDIS is still missing, her arm still has half a hole in it, she's stared at the pristine white ceiling of her room every night because she's physically unable to sleep, and everyone is avoiding her and Ashildr like the flu. (With the exception of Tony; he's been all too happy to poke and prod them with primitive scientific instruments. He finds Ashildr's inability to die 'incredible' and Clara's state of being not-exactly-dead 'unbelievable'; she'd have to agree with him.)

She and Ashildr make a conscious effort to try and make friends with their neighbors (if that's even the right term for it), but so far, the only one they've gotten to talk to them is Clint Barton. He's funny and ridiculous and he quite frankly distracts Clara from all her pent up rage (and the fact that James literally won't stop acting like he's hot shit around her – not that she's complaining, but he's being such an asshole and she's not sure what she's going to do about it.)

In the meantime, she and Clint exchange stories about misadventures regarding super humans and aliens. Ashildr and Wanda (she thinks that's the girl's name) are talking (and by talking, Clara actually means flirting profusely.)

All in all, her week's been pretty good – no one's tried to kill her and she hasn't tried to rip James's stupid(ly hot) metal arm out of its socket.

Another week passes, and there is still no sign of the TARDIS; she has Tony tracking the influxes of the vortex and has him monitor the cameras throughout the city to signal an alarm at the tower if a diner just appears out of nowhere (which is followed by many questions about why her time machine is an American diner. She tells him to bugger off; she's been asking that question since she broke the chameleon circuit.)

James decides to actually strike up conversation with her, which is nice. It's mostly just pointless flirting (and bantering and arguing), but Clint doesn't let her live it down (and Ashildr is so caught up in Wanda that she's not even paying attention to Clara (which is fine and dandy; Clara's still caught up in the need to strangle her for getting them caught up in this disaster.)

Clint manages to get her involved in a prank war with Steve (which naturally involves James, and that's a disaster in and of its own dimension.) They were forced to call it off when Doctor Banner honest-to-god thought she was dead after lying on the floor of the lab for three hours without taking a single breath.

(And just for the record, she and Clint won, despite what Steve keeps saying; and the hole in her arm is still as present as ever.)

Week three comes by in a blur, and Clara's starting to think that the TARDIS being missing was some elaborate attempt to put together by all those whom she had at some point wronged to get back at her.

Because now, not only is she still physical unable to sleep, but she's taken out of her three a.m. revelry of the kitchen counter when James decides to enter the room (in all his restless, shirtless, messy-haired glory).

Good lord above, she wishes she was dead – this just isn't fair.

"Can't sleep?" he sits down next to her with a bowl of cereal in hand.

"James, darling," she sighs, "I haven't slept since two-thousand fifteen, so that's a century give or take." She wasn't expecting him to chuckle; she's got to catch him at this hour more often if he's going to laugh at her jokes and dramatics and eat cereal (and not wear shirts; she's a big fan of that.)

"Sleep isn't all it's cracked up to be, doll." She snorts; that's a fact she knows better than most – nightmares had plagued her every night when she was actually not a walking corpse.

"Tell me about it; I just miss it sometimes, you know?" she babbles, "It was a constant – like I could count on just passing out after a long day of saving some alien world, or earth. Do you know I've saved this planet more times than I can count?"

"Is that so?" he questions.

"Did I ever mention how I managed to stop an invasion of dead humans turned cybernetic men by my sort-of-not-really psychotic girlfriend who actually wasn't my girlfriend?"

"I can't say that you have, but I'm certainty intrigued." So Clara tells him about Danny and Missy and The Doctor (who she really tries not to dwell on; there's too much heartbreak and she's not sure she's quite ready to deal with that.)

He's listening intently to her whole story and it's nice to not be interrupted every time she says a word (she is most definitely not alluding to Clint). By the time she's done retelling her account of saving the world, he looks amused and intrigued and quite honestly a bit perplexed.

"Anything else worth knowing."

"I once kissed Jane Austen." He spits out the spoon full of cereal he just shoveled into his mouth, "and let me tell you, she's exceptionally fond of using her tongue – also we had a prank war that could put Clint's dying of Steve's hair to shame."

She stands up and leaves the room on that note (he's still wearing that shocked expression on his face and she's trying very hard not to laugh.)

(Later that morning, Tony repairs the hole in her arm with some machine that can reconstruct tissue. She can't stop the swell of pride she feels for the human race when she hears of this advancement.)

Needless to say, from after that morning, meeting him in the kitchen during the early hours of the morning becomes a routine (he tells her about his life, and she returns the favor; it takes his mind off the nightmares and gives her something to do besides staring at the ceiling. (Plus she appreciates the aesthetic of James – he's one hell of a man and she's quite sure he knows it.)

He's an ass, but she can give it right back to him.

(Clint's on her case – she's pretty sure Steve is in on it too, but she really couldn't care. She's got all of time and space to worry about – the last thing on her mind is her super-human friends (acquaintances?) bothering her because she finds an ex-hydra assassin (who took her dancing in nineteen forty-something, so he's hardly a stranger) rather good looking. Although, she could do without Clint's constant nagging of what she'd like James to do with that metal arm of his. (Even if he isn't that far off with his assumptions; it's none of Clint's business.)

She's pretty sure Ashildr and Wanda are properly going out now; Clara is happy for her friend.

So, basically, everything is lovely – and that means something catastrophic is going to happen sometime soon. (Because Clara knows from experience that good things come, but they don't stay.)

She's not sure if this constitutes as a bad thing or not, but she's pretty sure being locked in the pantry with James would be something right out of her nightmares (if she, you know, actually had those).

She's not sure how Steve and Wanda roped her into playing this stupid game of hide and go seek. (She's basically a senior citizen at this point – she should know by now that this was going to be a terrible idea)

She has no idea how on earth she and James managed to hide in the same place (never mind fit in it – his giant, muscular body is taking up most of the room.)

And while she would on most other days find this being in a closet with a super-hot ex-assassin on the top of her to-do list, now is not that time; in fact, she's rather stressed. Ashildr and Wanda are literally right outside, and if either she or James move just a little bit, they'd be risking not only losing the game, but you know, being caught in the pantry (and would surely be accused of doing something drastically out of her character.)

Wanda and Ashildr talk a bit more (it's almost like they know that there are two people pressed tightly together in the pantry) before they leave, slamming the door with an exaggerated thud. (And now she's sure there was some ulterior motive for this silly little game of hide and go seek – motives that involve getting her and a certain James Barnes to hide in the same kitchen pantry)

It's times like these where she misses the Doctor's snog box.

She doesn't mean to say that aloud, but she can feel the laugh rippling thought his chest (which she is conveniently pressed into)

"Don't dis the pantry – I've kissed plenty of pretty dames in closets and pantries before." She tries her best to look up at him in the darkness. She can't really see all that well but's she knows that he's doing that stupid pouty grin and she desperately wants to wipe it off his face."

"Well, James, I think you're all talk."

"That so, doll?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"Yep."

And that's when he bends his head down and kisses her – it's not as gentle as she was expecting, it's a little rough, but sweet none the less. He's running his fingers through her hair, while her hands play with the hair at the nape of his neck. She's smiling and she can feel the grin break out on his face. Soon she dissolves into quiet giggles.

"I've been meaning to do that since I took you dancing back in nineteen forty-three."

"I can honestly say I wasn't expecting to snog you in a pantry today." She laughs and goes in to kiss him again. He melds into it and this time, it's gentler and a little less frenzied. Goodness gracious, she doesn't want it to end. (He most certainly has had a lot of practice with this sort of thing, then again, so has she.)

And of course, as it's a law of the Universe to personally ruin every wonderful moment of Clara Oswald's life (or lack thereof), this is the moment where Clint and the rest of the super-human gang (with the addition of Ashildr) decide to open the pantry door.

She's just about ready to cuss them out when James politely tells them to "fuck off." (Thank the gods that they're smart enough to listen; she and James are rather eager to get back to snogging the faces off each other (without an audience; not that she's embarrassed – she just doesn't want to be encouraged.)

That morning, when they meet in the kitchen due to their shared sleeplessness, he kisses her again. It's nice, being kissed by James; maybe it's the forties charm he still manages to possess– either way, she doesn't really care – he's treating her like she isn't a liability, like she isn't almost dead – like she has a pulse.

That's what it is; James makes her feel alive and she loves it.

(And he's pretty good kisser – not as good as Jane Austen, but she's sure with a little practice, he'll get there.)

Weeks turn into months, and Clara is starting to hope the TARDIS takes its sweet old time to return. Ashildr was looking the happiest Clara has ever seen (which is something because she knows how much Ashildr hates this godforsaken planet)

She'd like to personally thank Wanda, but you know, the two love-birds always seem to be too wrapped up on each other to even notice the rest of the people in the tower.

And then there's James and his super sweet ex-assassin self and his stupid arm and his incredulous self-loathing, and his pretty face – just the thought of James makes her happy (and if she had a pulse, it would be constantly fluttering.)

Either way, she finds herself liking James more and more as the days (months) pass.

There are several instances where she and James get caught in sketchy positions by the other residents (and by that, she means Clint and Steve and Sam; apparently those three have nothing better to do than torment James. Although, she can't say she doesn't mind joining in on their teasing of him. She doesn't think that scolding him for 'corrupting a nice, young(ish) lady in a broom closet goes against everything his mother taught him' will never not be amusing.)

Effortlessly, she falls in love with James. (And of course, when that one good thing happens to her, all things go to hell.)

It been eight and a half months since they were stranded in New York City, about seven since she'd stopped hoping for the TARDIS to return, and three minutes since James decided to tell her that she's 'his best girl', and of course, that's when the stupid machine decides to show up.

Clara doesn't know how it found enough room to materialize around her and James, but it did. She doesn't know why it decides to show up now, but she should have expected it – something always goes wrong when she's finally happy (and no scared of being lost again).

It happened with the Doctor, it happened with Danny, and why shouldn't it happen with James.

He's still holding her hand in his metal one, as he looks around the console room. He's admiring the weird circles on the walls, the cleanliness of the console, and the futuristic feel the whole room gives off.

"Doll, what the actual fuck."

"Yeah, well, if you think this is weird you should see the outside – hell, if you go down the hall and take three lefts and a right, there's an actual library."

"Again, what the fuck?"

Clara shrugs carelessly, "it's bigger on the inside." He nods to himself, then his face puts on a very confused expression, "just don't think about it too much."

There's short silence before James speaks up again.

"I'm pretty sure it would be a bad idea if Tony ever got his hands on this thing." Clara rolls her eyes in response and the TARDIS groans (and beeps a few times.)

"Shut up, you –"Clara begins, James peers at her curiously, "how is it my fault that you just popped off after dropping us off in an alley?" There are more moans from the TARDIS (and James is still very confused). "Okay, so maybe I forgot to put on the parking brake on –" and then the tone of the beeping changes, "oh my god, James, I think the TARDIS has a thing for your arm."

He does that stupid little smirk when he thinks he thinks he's being clever, and Clara wants to punch him.

"Well, she's not the only girl to think so."

"You're incorrigible."

"Whatever you say, doll."

There's a banging on the doors of the TARDIS, and James and Clara dash over with the hope of trying to open it, but when they near the door, they can hear Tony's voice rambling on about how he can't wait to get a look at the machine (and something about how she wasn't kidding about the time-and-space machine being modeled after a diner; she blames the Gallifreyans and their malfunctioning chameleon circuits.)

"Oi, James," she begins as she turns to face him slowly; she's got a terrifying grin on her face, "you wanna really get Tony angry?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Fancy a trip to the Planet of the Coffee Shops – it's voted the number one world in the Top Ten Destinations for the Discerning Traveler." She pauses, "I also have a coupon for a free coffee, so you know." James laughs and rolls his eyes.

"Why the hell not." He replies with a shrug. Clara kisses his cheek and rushes to the console where she proceeds to press buttons, rotate cranks and push down levers.

"Alright, James - be prepared for sudden bumps and or stops along the way. Also – be a doll and press that button right there."

"Yes ma'am."

And with a press of the button, the two of them are off soaring though the cosmos, Tony's left whining like a seven year old until they return, and Ashildr and Wanda have placed claims on the TARDIS when Clara and James return (from whatever it is they're doing).

All is well (until disaster hits New York again and the TARDIS decides to run its own course (and continually ignores the coordinates Clara and James plug in) and there isn't really anything more any of them can ask for.

I am so sorry about this – I saw civil war like two weeks ago and James Buchanan Barnes made his way back into my heart (and I fell into the hell hole that is this).

This is project two weeks in the running, it's compete crack- and I'm so sorry. This was supposed to be a short lil thing but you know, I just kind of ran with it and it developed into this 5k word monster and once again, for that I apologize.

If anyone is actually reading this, please review – tell me what you think, because I have another much more serious thing for these two in the works (along with several star wars fics that I just don't have time to finish yike) and if this is well received, I'll try to post the other one sooner.

(Even if this isn't well liked, I'm still going to post the other one, but you know – encouragement is encouraged, so please, review (and favorite and follow)

Also on a side note Clara is bi and Ashildr is my gay space child.

(Ryloth is a planet from Star Wars, and the brandy is from Star Trek. The coffee shop planet is a real thing from Doctor Who, in case you were wondering. the title is from Walk The Moon's song Avalanche.)

I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your Saturday!

bleuboxes