A/N: For Jesse (hellofabird).

"I'm taking my students to the cinema. Wanna come?"

The Doctor was ripped out of his daze at the sound of Clara Oswald's voice. He glanced up from the two weeks into the future old earthly newspaper to the big round brown eyes of his companion's. Her lips were curved in a hint of a smile that never dared to take over her face.

"The cinema?!" he was clearly taken aback by her statement, his fists coming together as he folded the papers in a clumsy manner. "You're their teacher, Clara, not their parents. It's not your job to take them to the cinema, most certainly not mine."

Clara rolled her eyes, lodging them somewhere in the back of her head. "I'm a teacher of arts. I must encourage all kinds of art."

His traits turned baffled. "You're an English teacher."

She tilted her head, frowning. "What did I just say?!"

The Doctor threw his paper aside and stood up, forcing her chin to rise up if she wanted to sustain the eye contact. "So you're taking your students to see a cheap remake of a book to spare them the effort of actually reading the book?"

"Don't be stupid, Doctor," she smacked him in the shoulder – she couldn't reach it any higher. "They're teenagers. Do you actually think they're going to read literature? At all?"

"Well, I think—"

"—The Twilight saga does not count as literature—"

"—that you underestimate them, Clara."

Giggling at his innocence, Clara cupped his jawline and caressed his cheek with her thumb, patronizing, "Oh, you silly old Doctor."

He shivered underneath her soft human touch, his voice growing raspier due to their physical contact, "Am I?"

She gesticulated yes with her head, slowly motioning it up and down. Her lips matched the solemnity of her face. "Come on, it'll be fun. You'll enjoy yourself."

He seemed to be seriously considering it before saying anything. "You do remember my rule, right?"

Clara flicked her eyes more lethargically than usual. "Of course. You won't watch any movies that aren't Disney or musicals. Which I still fail to understand why."

He opened his arms wide in disbelief. "Because they're sweet and pure and innocent!"

She made a sound with her throat, trying to contain her laughter inside of her. "Oh, you silly old Doctor, you're the sweet and pure and innocent one," she condescended, pitying him with her eyes, "You only say that because you've never noticed how perverted Disney movies actually are."

The Doctor displayed his teeth, disgusted at her allegations. "I know that you find it easy to trick me, Clara, but I'm not falling for it."

Clara huffed, the warm puff of air that escaped her lips landing on his face. "Believe me all you want, it's true nonetheless. Disney is keen on hiding sexual innuendos all over its movies."

"Li-ar," he emphasized syllable by syllable.

Shrugging with her shoulders, Clara grabbed her phone from her pocket. She typed a few words on google and right after shoved the screen onto his face. "Little Mermaid's castle. It's a little too graphic that tower, don't you think?"

His jaw immediately fell, forming an o between his lips. "Clara!"

"I know right," her tone mocked him. "Oh, look at this one. There's an unusual bump forming between the priest's legs during Prince Eric and Vanessa's wedding."

"Oh my God!" he threw his hands hard against his eyes to block his vision, trying his best not be scarred for life. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Her lips were maliciously grinning. "This one, though… Pay attention to the lion's nose. Wait, it's not a nose at all…! It's actually a woman standing on her back wearing nothing but her underwear…!"

The Doctor felt his knees growing weak underneath him and he clung hard to her to prevent himself from losing his balance and falling. Clara was quick to wrap her arm around his waist to hold him steady. "You let kids watch this sort of stuff?!"

Clara led him back to the armchair. "If you didn't notice it, why would they?"

Although he was already sitting, he didn't let go of her neck. "Well, I'm OCD. What's their excuse?"

"Perhaps being young and oblivious to the sins of the flesh?" she suggested, offering little slaps to his upper arms until he freed herself from him.

"How can adults just allow this kind of content into their children's lives?" he was still stunned.

"Um, because it's better to have movies with little innuendos than to singlehandedly offer them content with the plain reality," she explained, fumbling her own clothes after having them crumpled from his grip.

His eyes suddenly turned large. "Oh no. Did they ruin Frozen, too?!"

Clara made a face. "Why are you so obsessed with that movie?"

"Because it's a solid construction of how hard it is to let go of everything," he muffed beneath his breath, not really wanting her to hear him. "That doesn't answer my question."

"And you clearly are the worst at letting anything go," she combed his hair with her thin fingers in condescension. "But I guess not. Well, there is this scene, however, where Anna states that foot size doesn't matter, and everybody knows what foot size stands for."

The Doctor remained benighted. "What does foot size stand for?"

Clara's brows knitted together and she shook her head, obnoxiously. "Never mind."

Shooting his shoulders up and down, he moved on from the matter. "I hope you are not taking your students for a Disney Movie session."

"Of course not," she took a seat on the manchette of his chair, next to him. "We're seeing a musical."

"Ooo, sounds exciting, maybe I will go along," he prompted. "Please don't tell me it's the Phantom of the Opera, though. We've already seen that so many times I'm getting tired of it."

She rose her index high in the air. "The Phantom of the Opera can never get tiring."

He gesticulated with his hands in redemption. "Whatever you say, Clara."

She eyed him funnily, "Anyway, we're going for Les Misérables."

At the immediate sound of her words, the Doctor was quick to jump to his feet and run away from her. "Nope…! Not happening."

"Come on!" she rushed after him, meeting him by the console. "It'll be fun! The songs are really catchy."

"You obviously want me to go mad from having the songs stuck in my head for an entire month," he cried. "I'm putting my foot down."

She showed him the inner flesh of her lips, "Please. What was the last time I asked you for anything?"

The Doctor's left eyebrow was way higher than the right. "Do you really want to play that card?"

She wrinkled her nose, "Maybe not. But see it this way, if you watch the musical, you won't have to read the book. And since you're missing out on a lot great poetic stuff, it's a win-win."

He crossed his arms against his chest. "You're an English teacher. Why are you taking your students to see a French movie?"

"Because, for starters, it's a French novel. The movie itself is an English production," she clarified, "Besides, it's a world's classic! If I can't get you to read it, imagine my students."

"I don't blame them," he mumbled, defeatedly. "Fine. I'll go with you. But only as in solidarity to the torture you're about to inflict upon them."

Overly excited, Clara stood on her tiptoes and threw herself onto him, bringing him into a hug he was obliged to embrace.

The cinema room turned from darkness into light, as the movie credits began to roll on the screen.

The Doctor was startled by the sudden brightness, forcing him to shut his eyes tightly. He only dared to reopen them again at the sound of a slight sniffing next to him. He turned his head sideways and was bewildered at his vision of Clara.

"Clara! What on earth happened to your face?! It's all… wrong!"

She was quick to run the back of her hand against her wet cheeks, seizing the opportunity to hide her features from him. "My face is just fine, thanks."

"No, it's not," he argued, "Your eyes are all puffy and—oh god, are they smaller? Is that even possible? Are they leaking? Why are they leaking? Clara, I don't want to scare you, but I think the movie has broken you."

She flushed her palm onto his face to shut him up. "I guess I got a little bit emotional, is all."

"The movie has broken you!" he bluntly accused, awkward pulling her over the seats arm that separated them and offering her comfort – he knew she wouldn't turn it down. Clara wrapped her fingers around the fabric of his tee, waiting for her breathing pattern to steady itself.

The Doctor, however, didn't seem to be as accommodated as her. "Clara? What's happening? There are—one, two, three, seven, eleven—a zillion kids staring at us! Who are they? Where are their parents? This is very irresponsible of them to leave all these children unsupervised when the world is so unsubtle with innuendos!"

A whack to the back of his head was enough to silence him, and Clara untangled herself from him. "These are my students—gee, Doctor, how have you forgotten them already?!"

"I'm not that good with faces," he whispered in self-defense, immediately seeing the disapproval on her expression as she stood up to guide all the kids out.

The Doctor and Clara were back at her flat, both hurled on the couch. He was sitting straight, whilst she had her feet messily thrown on his lap, finding herself somewhere between a sitting and lying position, expecting him to give her feet rubs, but instead he just lodged his hands on her ankles.

"So?" she caught his attention by cutting the silence with the sharpness of her voice, "You never told me what you thought of it. In fact, you've been unusually quiet – which is a relief to my ears, although still weird."

Most of her words fell on deaf ears. "What did I think of what?"

Clara squeezed her eyes, completely aware to the fact that something wasn't following. "Um, you just spent nearly three hours at the theater…?"

"Oh, the movie, you mean?" he concluded, jerking back, "It was fine. Yeah, yeah. Really fine. Fine, fine, fine…"

He couldn't tell whether she had impaled her heels hardly onto his tight on purpose or not. "Doctor, what aren't you telling me?"

"A lot of stuff," he blurted, "Do you really think your ordinary human brain would be able to handle all the information stored in mine?!"

She offered him a slow blink. "You know damn well what I mean."

He diverged his eyes from the general direction of hers. "What can I say, I'm not that great with innuendos."

Clara rested her jawline on her closed knuckles, her lips half open as she studied him. "Tell me something, Doctor. What did you think of that part of the movie where Cosette and Marcus went to the circus and a big elephant almost fell atop of them?"

A muscle in his jaw tightened. "It was very odd, I must admit. Still not quite sure why the revolutionaries would fancy a trip to the circus, but hey, it's Victor Hugo. I'm sure he's got his own reasons."

"I know, right?!" her eyes became frighteningly big and she launched her torso towards him, "There is no scene at a circus, Doctor."

His face traits petrified, and he felt very powerless at the mercy of her murdering eyes. He wanted to provide some sort of explanation, but the words failed him. "Oh."

"I'm going to kill you," her voice was sweet and tender, yet the vein pulsing in her forehead alarmed him of how serious she was. "What were you doing in there if you weren't paying attention?!"

The Doctor scratched his neck, expecting his touch to alleviate his throat from the lump formed in there. "It is a very long movie, Clara."

"So?"

"So," he was being fusilladed by her, "I might have ended up dozing off somewhere during the film."

"You what!" she exclaimed, loudly, ready to attack him. "You never sleep, Doctor!"

"Exactly! Can you imagine how tired I must have been after 2000 years of running on no sleep?" he tried, but the fury darting in her eyes indicated his failure. "Please don't kill me."

"Oh, I am going to kill you!"

In a blink of the eyes, the Doctor jumped over the couch and began to run away from her. Although Clara hadn't meant it literally, she saw no alternative than to pursue him across her cramped apartment, creating a cat and mouse game and she wasn't about to let Jerry win.

Amidst their chase, he still managed to propose, "You can't blame me, Clara! I was le misérable of that place!"

"No pun is going to get you out of this," she fumed, circling around the dining table for the third time in a roll after him, to the point she was starting to get dizzy. "Victor Hugo must be turning on his grave!"

"After writing over one thousand pages, I think Victor Hugo just doesn't care," he asserted, almost tripping on his own rushed feet. "Fancy a trip to meet him?"

"You're not finding your way out of this with a trip either!" she postulated, running into his back when he suddenly stopped dead on his track. "Doctor!"

Ignoring her collapse into his body frame, he turned on his heels to look at her. He placed his hands on her shoulders pads, his arms rigid so she would remain at a certain distance – therefore she wouldn't be able to cause him any physical harm. "You're right, I'm sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?"

Slowly traveling her tongue across her own lips, she hissed, "Anything?"

"Anything," he gave her shoulders a light squeeze.

Of course, she wouldn't let the opportunity pass. "You're going to cook me dinner, while listening to the entire Les Misérables soundtrack."

His eyes glowed in terror, but he had no other alternative than to accept his cruel fate. "I hope you're aware that I'm going to be singing all the songs in your ear for the next year or so."

She merely shuddered, "It'll be for a good cause."

As the Doctor deliberately marched towards the kitchen, Clara put on the movie album on her phone. Soon enough, she was settled by the table and singing along the melody, "I dreamed a dream in time gone by, when hope was high and life worth living…"

The Doctor picked up some ingredients from her fridge and sneaked a peek at her, casually jamming to the song, the sweet tone of her voice feeding his ears and his soul.

Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps his punishment wasn't that bad after all.

A/N: Any feedback here or on twitter (dutiesofcare) is much appreciated :)