When she told him it was her birthday, the Doctor gave Clara a goldfish swimming in a teacup. "A goldfish from the Guth mountains," he said. "If you watch long enough, you'll see it change colors." The teacup was his own, from his favorite set. Gallifreyan, with circular etchings that ticked like clockwork along the surface and into the saucer that cupped it gently. Clara loved it. He asked her for one request, anything at all that he could give her. He would've given her the world, more than once, if she asked.

"I want to bake," she replied.

How do you make a soufflé? The thought kept the Doctor up at night. In the mornings he would wake up to the smell of sugar and flour and the perfect recipe in his head: seven ounces of finely chopped bittersweet Gallifreyan childhood memories, four tablespoons of lost forever companions, one and a half teaspoons of pure bravery extract, a half cup of deep and constant worry for Clara and her wellbeing, eight large egg whites at room temperature.

He took her to Axista Four, the independent Earth colony, to see the albino sea turtles swim in the green oceans in hopes that the sight would take her mind forever off baking. Clara leaned over the railing as they stood with the other tourists and he handed her a paper bag of bread crumbs to feed them, bought from the vendor at front of the pier. Clara threw the food into the water in long sweeping motions, her laugh echoing out across the waves. With the light of Axista Four's three suns bouncing off the water, her face reflected emerald green when she turned to smile up at him.

"You're being strange… why did you bring me here?"

The Doctor's hands clenched in his pockets and he looked down as one of the turtles nibbled on a piece of bread Clara had dropped into the water. "It's your birthday."

Clara tilted her head and gave him a look. "That was days ago."

"Haven't you heard? We're time travelers. It can be your birthday for as long as we want."

That made her laugh but when they got back in the TARDIS, he saw her start down the hall towards the kitchen. He called after her, asking if she had any interest in going shopping on Tara.

As Clara turned in front of the angled mirror to examine the back of the Taran gown she was trying on, she glanced at the Doctor's reflection. "Do the soufflés bother you?"

He was patiently sitting on a bench next to the mirrors, his legs crossed and hands folded in his lap. The Doctor looked up at her quickly, slightly thrown by the question. In his professional opinion, he was doing quite a good job at distracting her. This usually worked, but of course Clara was never usual. "The soufflés…?"

From where she was standing on the platform in front of the mirror, the gown Clara was wearing dropped to the floor, too long for her short frame. The skirt covered where she was standing and made her look seven feet tall, statuesque and magnificent. The Doctor had been avoiding a stare that he was always about one or two seconds from when he looked at her but now he let himself take in her entire being, the sight of her in the elaborate yellow and pink Taran gown. It was a traditional wedding gown on Tara and he could see the attendants in the shop watching the two of them out of the corner of their eyes. Clara, completely unaware that she was in a bridal dress shop, had exclaimed that she loved the colors and run off to the dressing room to try it on immediately.

Now she was standing in front of him, a little overwhelmed at the sight of herself in such a garment but when Clara saw his reflection, he wasn't looking at her. She knew him better than he thought. The question had just kind of come out. "You're flying me around, showing me all these things, avoiding the TARDIS… It's the soufflés, isn't it?"

The Doctor looked down and pretended to pick lint off of his suit pants. "Well, I—"

"Does it remind you of someone?"

The question made him snap his eyes up at her in alarm. "What?"

"You're over a thousand years old, Doctor," Clara was smiling gently, which made him relaxed and confused at the same time. "I doubt we do anything that doesn't remind you of someone." She paused and when he didn't respond, she gathered the skirt of the dress up in her hands and stepped off the platform. In a few steps she had crossed the carpeted shop floor in her bare feet, sitting down on the ornate couch next to him. "It's okay, you can tell me…"

"Clara…" Her hand slid over his and he looked up to see the shop girls tittering to each other. She was fixed on him with her bright round eyes, those eyes that trusted him so completely and followed him when he said run and stayed put when he asked her to, in his fearful voice. Those eyes that watched the oven to make sure her soufflé was rising properly. Those eyes that stared into his that seemed to ache as much as both of his hearts combined. The Doctor took a deep breath. "Never think that you're just a replacement, that's not it at all."

Clara shook her head. "I know, but that's different than… I don't know, you've seemed so distracted ever since showing me the kitchen." She craned her neck a little, trying to catch his eye but he was looking down. Their fingers intertwined, not entirely by Clara's sole initiative. "You practically run away when I try to get you to try them, Doctor…"

Her voice was lighthearted but it didn't make him feel any less uneasy. He was entirely uncomfortable with how little he knew about how possible it was for the same woman to fall to her death Victorian London, sacrifice herself to destruct the Dalek asylum planet millennia later and still be sitting with him now in a Taran wedding dress holding his hand. The soufflés felt like another nail in her coffin, ensuring that yet again he would be forced to lose her no matter how hard he resisted.

The soufflés reminded him he still had no idea what she was. If he didn't know what she was, he wasn't sure he could save her when the time, inevitably, came again.

With his brow furrowed, completely lost in thought, the Doctor hadn't realized Clara had been staring at him expectantly this entire time. "Doctor…?"

She shook his arm and he snapped to, slapping his hands onto his thighs. "I'm sorry, I—It's that I've never…" He looked down at her before looking away, trying to think of an excuse, anything to divert attention from her original question. "I don't know how to make a soufflé."

Clara practically ran out the shop door with the dress still on. After some bickering with the attendants and a pout from Clara, the Doctor pulled out the psychic paper and made some grand gestures, claiming that they were late for some kind of wedding emergency and that the dress would have to come with them. He took her hand and they rushed out of the shop, both holding the dress so she wouldn't trip over it as the shop girls watched them in complete confusion. They were in the TARDIS kitchen before long, Clara's enthusiasm bubbling over as she shimmied out of the frothy concoction of a gown. The Doctor turned his back politely, waiting until she had gotten her clothes back on and the dress was draped over a kitchen chair. "I'll teach you, don't worry," she said.

Clara was pulling things out of the cabinets that the Doctor had no idea where they had come from. He folded his hands in front of himself as he stood behind her, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his feet. After a few minutes of the opening and closing of cabinets, Clara ducked her head into the strap of an apron and tied it around her waist. "You'll want to get one too. And take that jacket off!"

The Doctor pointed a finger to his own chest before looking down at himself, frowning. "What's wrong with the jacket?"

He looked up just as an apron smacked him in the face. Clara chuckled. "Don't want to get flour on that tweed, silly." The Doctor's forehead wrinkled with stubbornness but he acquiesced, sliding his jacket off and laying it tidily over her dress on the chair. With a few grumpy mumbles, he had the apron on and was tying it behind his back. Clara turned from where she was measuring ingredients into a bowl to let out a screaming laugh.

The Doctor covered his chest with both hands self-consciously. "Don't laugh!"

"I'm sorry! You look absolutely—" She paused, putting a hand over her mouth, unable to stop laughing. "Human!"

"Time lords came first," Without thinking, he reached out and tapped her finger on the tip of her nose. Clara looked pleased and turned back to measuring. The Doctor leaned over her shoulder, feeling a bit useless. "So… what is that you're doing?"

"We need a third cup of flour and… a third cup of sugar," Her face was pinched in concentration and the Doctor turned his focus just slightly to watch her heartbeat in the pulse point on her neck, just under the slope of her chin. He licked his lips, something deep inside him pounding to be let out. He averted his eyes and looked up so quickly, blood rushed to his head. Clara turned to look up at him. "Can you cut a vanilla bean open for me?"

He nodded and diligently went to work, bent over the counter in complete attentiveness as he sliced a vanilla bean lengthwise down its center. When he held it up for her approval she nodded and showed him how to use the edge of the knife and scrape all the seeds into the bowl. The Doctor was leaned over her again, dangerously close to her neck, when he decided to ask a brave question. "Why do you like baking soufflés?"

Clara paused and he felt it, her muscles tensing for just a moment before she began counting out eggs. "My mum used to make them for me… they were my favorite. When I got older, she taught me." The Doctor didn't move away and risked the movement of setting his hands on her hips protectively. That seemed to relax her and Clara leaned back, beginning to separate her eggs. Her fingers worked deftly and expertly, each egg getting a tap on the edge of the counter before she cracked them and caught the thick yellow yolk, hounding it back and forth between the shell halves until all the viscous white had dripped into the bowl.

She hypnotized him so much that when she stopped and turned to look up at him gawking at her hands, he didn't even notice. The Doctor licked his lips again, his gaze drifting up her arms to her shoulders and her jaw and finally her eyes. She was staring at him.

"Why did you stop…?" The breath of his voice made her hair flutter against her neck and he couldn't tell but he was almost sure he saw her flush a little and turn back to begin to whip the batter.

Clara didn't answer the question. "Ever since my mum taught me, it just makes me feel safer to bake a soufflé every now and again." She cleared her throat, shifting away from him slightly as she watched the whisk turn the batter over and over until it was a thin and mixed through. The Doctor put a hand on the counter next to her, still watching.

"You're very good at it," He lifted his eyebrows genuinely, his forehead wrinkling at the motion. Clara didn't skip a beat as she looked up at him, still whipping quickly.

"I've made a lot of soufflés… after she died I made three or five a day. My dad would get so frustrated. He never knew what to do with them," Her gaze returned to the bowl and she turned, busying herself with pouring the batter into the ramekin she had found in the cabinet. The Doctor averted his gaze, feeling her uncomfortability with the subject. But she was sharing, she was opening up and sharing a part of her life with him. He wished he could do the same but when we tried he felt a door inside himself close to her. Clara was banging on the door, though, determined as ever.

"You don't have to talk about it, Clara," He put a hand on her back as she filled the ramekin and paused, putting a hand on the counter beside herself. Her head dropped between her shoulders for a moment and she took a deep breath.

"You're not forcing me, you always act like you're forcing me," With an indignant tug, she opened the oven and slide the soufflé inside, brushing her hands off as she stood and closed it. She turned with a whip and her hair slung around her face. Her curls bounced and her mouth was pursed in the most perfect shape that it made him feel a sting of regeneration in his palms. He blinked in surprise.

"I do not!"

"You do! I'm opening up, that's what friends do," Clara turned, shoving her hands under the stream of water in the sink. The inflection of hurt when she said the word "friends" made the Doctor's mouth go dry. "Besides, you're the one who asked."

He didn't have a response to that, he truly didn't. She was right. He had asked because, as much as he wanted to ignore the soufflé and whisk her off to some other distracting and entrancing planet, he knew he couldn't run forever. He had learned his lesson.

Clara was angrily washing her hands in the sink and he wasn't quite sure how to resolve this. He despised seeing her grumpy or agitated or anything but perfectly content and happy, to be honest. The Doctor reached out and brushed a strand of hair over Clara's shoulder and she stopped washing her hands. They stood still for a moment, both of them. Her eyes turned from the counter to the floor and then up to meet his where he was frozen, almost fearful of a slap or a punch or whatever cheeky response she would have for him.

Instead, what he received was a curious look and a puff of flour in the face before she burst into a giggle.

"Clara!"

Her giggle grew into a full-bodied and well-rounded laugh as she doubled over at the sight of flour during his expression. It clung to his eyelashes and his eyebrows and he sneezed, trying to brush it off before instead opting to toss a handful back at her. Clara let out a scream and attempted to duck away unsuccessfully. The cloud hit her square in the cheek and exploded out over her shoulder as the Doctor guffawed in triumph. His mouth was still open when she flung the entire open bag at him. The paper split against his side and coated him in a nice coat, filling his mouth as Clara completely dissolved into a fit of laughter.

After a few more tosses between the two of them, they were both dusted with a thick layer of flour. The Doctor threw a fistful into Clara's hair as she laughed, grabbing at his arms to steady herself. Before he could realize what was happening, he was looking down at her smile and he was holding her. A cloud of powdery flour settled onto the kitchen counters around them and the Doctor gulped. The look in Clara's eyes as she squeezes his forearms, pressed up against him with flour in her hair and on her cheeks, made him start to sweat a little. She blinked up at him slowly, her eyelashes fluttering in a way that felt so surreally perfect that for a moment he was almost sure she was a trap set for his demise. And that only made him want to kiss her more.

There was a tension much thicker than the flour dust that hung in the hair, so thick it felt like it might expand endlessly until it finally enveloped them both into oblivion.

Without even realizing, his hand was cupping her face gently. His thumb brushed over the bone under her round cheek and some flour dusted off her skin. Clara was leaning into him and her eyes closed painfully slow and the Doctor bent over, kissing her like he knew how. Her body reacted and tensed, sliding her hands over his apron as his arms wrapped around her. They were melting together, flour sticking to their lips as they parted and slipped. When he pressed her back into the edge of the counter, she arched into him reactively. It felt delicious and he could taste it in her mouth when she wrapped both arms around his neck and pulled herself up into him, standing on the very tips of her toes.

Their teeth knocked together with the ferocity of the kiss, the Doctor's head tilting to avoid bashing her nose with his and Clara in turn slid her tongue along his bottom lip. He grunted, slamming a hand onto the counter beside her. The movement sent up a puff of flour and coated his hand in white powder but her fingers were already pulling the strap of the apron over his head, scrambling for the tie at the back. The Doctor pulled back to expedite the process and tugged the knot loose, throwing it to the floor. Clara's chest was heaving as he took a moment to look at her, backed up against the kitchen counter, before his mouth was on hers again.

She made quick work of his vest and the buttons of his shirt, but he was already untying the knot of the apron behind her neck. The front flopped forward, exposing her blouse, and his fingers found the first few buttons, popping them open. Clara's bare hands pushed his shirt open and pressed against his bare chest, feeling both hearts beating under his foreign ribcage. The Doctor looked up, his fingers brushing over her collarbone to watch her face, her eyes wide as she felt the rhythm of his hearts beat beneath her palms. He leaned in, kissing her jaw desperately but her hands didn't move.

"I can never… get used to that…" She was breathless, her head tilting back to give him more room to explore her bare neck. He breathed hot against her skin and felt a few beads of sweat form against her pulse point. A few more of her buttons came undone under his fingers and soon enough her shirt was falling open. Clara practically scrambled out of it, shrugging it off her shoulders so that she was standing in front of him in her bra and skirt, plus the apron still tied around her waist. Her hands were on his shoulders as she watched his face, nodding slightly as he slowly unhooked her bra.

It fell off her chest easily and she shivered, her teeth tugging on her bottom lip and he saw her move as if she was going to cover herself. He stopped her, putting his hands on her arms so her own hands stayed firmly on his shoulders. The Doctor's palms dragged down the outside of her forearms, feeling her skin goosepimple under his touch. By the time his hands had circled her chest, cupping her breasts, he had gathered enough flour off her skin to leave two handprints.

Clara's back arched and her breath hitched in her throat as he touched her. He could feel her press into his palms and his hands slid up and down slightly, her nipples hardening. The Doctor took a step closer, feeling Clara's one lone heart pounding against his hand and kissed her. Her hand cupped the back of his neck and his hands squeezed her breast, eliciting a moan from her mouth against his tongue. She was pressing into him desperately and his foot stepped between her legs, forcing them apart with his thigh as he leaned into her. Clara whimpered and shuddered, leaning back as her hands dropped quickly, gaining control again as she got the button of his suit pants open.

His hands were still on her chest, feeling his palm against her nipples as Clara hoisted herself up onto the counter. The Doctor watched as her hands reached under her skirt and tugged her panties down, never breaking eye contact with him. She tugged him between her legs with a hand wrapped around his neck and they both paused. The Doctor looked down to realize she was waiting for him expectantly, her knees parted on either side of his hips and her back still arched to his touch. He looked up to meet her eyes again and Clara's hand slid over his on her breast, biting her lip. The Doctor groaned at the motion and her hand squeezed his, desperately pulling him closer. He shoved his suit pants down his legs quickly and let go of her breasts, sliding his hands under her ass. Clara gasped and fell back slightly, putting a hand on the counter behind herself for support before he pulled her hips closer, entering her.

Clara let out a breathless moan and her head fell back and they were moving together. Their movements stirred the flour that had settled on the counter and it puffed up, sticking to her bare thighs. The Doctor leaned forward, watching the flour handprints he had left on her chest before burying his face in her neck, groaning. Clara hooked an arm around his neck and dug her fingernails into his shoulder, panting as his pace quickened and deepened. Her other hand grabbed at his side as he set both hands behind her on the counter and leaned her back slightly, panting in her ear. When he gave a particularly hard thrust, rolling his hips into hers, Clara let out a moan and her hand grabbed his ass, tugging him closer.

The Doctor was biting at her ear, sucking her neck hard enough to leave a mark. He could taste her everywhere and her moans sounded like they were echoing across the TARDIS forever. It felt as if, years from now, he would still be able to hear her moans calling him down the halls, long after he had lost her again. His jaw clenched and he felt her shudder as she whimpered in his ear when he thrust into her particularly hard. Clara fell back slightly at the force of it and he felt her hand on his chest. The Doctor looked down to meet her eyes and he saw something in her eyes. Fear, a look that could not comprehend him and this place and what they were doing and a complete desire for it at the same time. He surged forward powerfully and kissed her as she wrapped her hands around his neck and they came together, shuddering and sweating in the flour. The Doctor sucked on her bottom lip and Clara tilted her head up to meet his lips s they tried to catch their breath.

After a few moments, they realized the soufflé was burning.

"Oh no!" Clara leaped up, still topless and covered in his flour handprints as she opened the oven, putting on her oven mitts before pulling it out. She held the ramekin out with the deflated and burnt pastry between the two of them as the Doctor pulled up his pants. He zipped the fly as Clara stood half naked, pouting down at her ruined soufflé before smoothing a hand over his hair. She looked so forlorn over her pastry and combined with the lingering feeling of where she had been wrapped around him moments before, he started to laugh. Clara glared at him for a moment as he bent forward, his hands on his knees as his coif flopped into his eyes and he shook with laughter.

And after a second, she started to laugh too.

The two of them laughed over the burnt soufflé, giggling and crying as Clara collapsed to the floor, the ramekin still in her hands. The Doctor kneeled down, cupping her cheek and she looked up at him immediately. His touch was a given now, his touch on her face and on her arms and hands. Checking her and assessing her like she was another control on his TARDIS. By now though, she knew it was more than that. He would pat her hand when he held it. He would scold her with one hand and clutch her hand to his chest with the other. He would manipulate entire crews of men for her safety, to have her secure. Clara leaned her cheek into his touch and sighed, looking down at the burnt soufflé.

"It's ruined."

The Doctor bit his lip, unsure how to resolve such a pedestrian fatality. Saving her from ghosts, ice warriors, infected wifi, that he could do. He wasn't exactly sure to save her from a burnt soufflé. So he leaned in, kissing her forehead gently and heard her set the ramekin down. "It perfect, Clara."

After a few seconds, her arms wrapped around his neck and she held up, sitting on the floor covered in flour with the soufflé between then. And in that moment, the Doctor knew he shouldn't be scared of the soufflés anymore. No matter what, she was Clara. She was his Clara and that wasn't going to change, through space, time or planet. Not even the universe, no matter how many deals he made, could comprehend how he could protect her now.

"Doctor?"

His hand rubbed over her bare back gently. "Yes?"

Clara leaned back and she could start to smirk. "I guess that means we're going out for dinner." The Doctor laughed and took her hand, the air pulsing with the possibilities he could (and would) show her.