Author's Note: This was written as a Secret Santa present to oswinyoswaldy over on tumblr, who is entirely lovely and you should definitely all follow. I wanted to write more, but it's gone midnight and I needed to get it posted before I go to bed… If there's enough interest in a second chapter, then I'll see if I can't throw something together Boxing day. Enjoy, and Merry Christmas everyone! 3
"No, no, no, no, no!" Clara exclaims as she pulls open the oven door to reveal a smoking, blackened soufflé. It's her third attempt so far and if anything they seem to be getting worse rather than better. Everyone is expecting soufflé for starters at Christmas dinner tomorrow, but at this rate they won't be getting anything. She could have sworn it was never this difficult the last time she'd practiced making one…
Sighing in defeat, she dumps the ruined soufflé in the bin and prepares to get started on her fourth and hopefully final attempt. Milk, check. Eggs, check. Four different kinds of cheese, check. Onion, check. Butter, check. It takes her no time at all to have each of the ingredients weighed out and prepared. She mixes the butter and flour into a paste, taking particular care to follow the recipe printed out on the worktop to the letter.
"I wouldn't stir it like that if I were you." Comes a deep Scottish voice from the doorway of her kitchen. Clara jumps out of her skin and promptly drops the mixing bowl in her hands on the floor as she whirls on the spot to face the Doctor.
"You know most normal people knock before they come into someone's home!" She exclaims as her heart races in her chest. God only knows how she's to be expected to get this soufflé recipe right when her mixing bowl is now lying in pieces on her kitchen floor.
"Knocking is completely overrated." The Doctor throws back with a wave of his hand. Then he turns his gaze down to the mess on the floor. "Well… I hope that wasn't anything important."
Clara feels her blood spike a degree. "Well it was important! I've been trying all afternoon to get this bloody soufflé right! Now what am I supposed to do?" She takes a few steps closer to him as she her voice raises several decibels. Getting angry with him probably isn't the solution, but it makes her feel a little better to take her frustration over the entire soufflé debacle out on a living being.
"Language." He chastises in his low Scottish drawl and she wants to smack him in the face with her oven gloves.
She gives a frustrated shout and spins on the spot. "Don't." It's a warning that doesn't really invite arguments and the Doctor actually decides to heed it for a change.
Hesitantly, as though approaching a riled grizzly bear, he reaches out to lift the soufflé recipe on the worktop up to his scrutiny. "A quick hop in the TARDIS and you could have a perfectly crafted cheese soufflé." He voices his thoughts out loud as he sets the recipe back down where he found it.
"Let me guess, you're best friends with Gordon Ramsey?" She asks flippantly. The offer is probably her best hope if she wants to have any chance of serving soufflé as a starter tomorrow lunchtime, but Clara's reluctant to accept help from the Doctor when he's already gotten on her nerves.
"Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't waste my company on that foul-mouthed pudding brain." He argues with a frown. "Besides, the best soufflés aren't made on earth anyway."
Clara's brow furrows in confusion at that. "You mean aliens can bake soufflés?" She asks for clarification.
"Clara, there are lifeforms out there with a mental capacity one hundred times greater than any human being. I think they can manage to bake a simple soufflé."
"Fine. Go hop in your TARDIS and bring me back one of these space soufflés then." Clara folds her arms across her chest and gives him a challenging look. Call her suspicious, but she's unconvinced that he'll be able to get her a perfect soufflé just like that.
"Come on then." He encourages and turns towards the kitchen door.
"I'm not coming with you." She answers with her arms still folded across her chest.
"Why not?" Now he's facing her again with a look of confusion on his face.
"Because it's Christmas Eve and I have things to do." Clara doesn't like to admit it, but she's been extremely unorganised this year. It's seven o'clock in the evening and she's still got a dozen or so presents to wrap.
"Time machine, remember?" He argues in his best 'duh' voice, and she supposes he has a point.
"Fine, I'll come with you. But if we're not back here by seven thirty this evening then I swear to god I'll smack you so hard your next regeneration will feel it."
"Yes boss." He agrees, and the slight smirk on his lips makes her want to smack and snog him in equal parts. Then he turns on his heel and disappears out of the kitchen.
The TARDIS is predictably squeezed into her bedroom and the door is left ajar where the Doctor has already gone straight inside. Clara closes it behind her and comes to a standstill a few feet away from where the Doctor is moving around the console, pulling and pushing at levers and switches.
"Klapton, 5063." He remarks, turning to glance in her direction before pulling down on the take-off lever and setting the TARDIS in motion.
Somehow their trip to retrieve the soufflé manages to prove uneventful. Clara thinks it's the first time she's been anywhere in the TARDIS and hasn't had to run for her life once she's landed there. It's a surreal experience, but not an entirely unpleasant one given how much she has to do in preparation for Christmas day.
"Won't it be ruined by tomorrow afternoon?" Clara asks as the Doctor carries the largest soufflé Clara has ever seen out of the TARDIS and into her kitchen.
"Of course not. Alien technology. It keeps the soufflé in stasis until it's ready for consumption." He explains matter-of-factly. "You could leave it sitting on your kitchen worktop for the next six months and it would still be perfectly edible."
"Well six months isn't necessary; it just has to survive until tomor-," Clara is cut off by the sound of the buzzer for her flat. Instinctively she finds herself frowning. Who on earth could be calling round at seven o'clock on Christmas Eve?
Then her gaze turns towards the kitchen window and catches sight of a stream of sunlight peeking through a gap in the blinds. "Doctor, what time is it?" She asks, her tone holding an edge of warning to it.
The Doctor balks slightly at her sudden change in demeanour and sets the soufflé down in order to check the time of day. He walks back through the open doors of the TARDIS and promptly steps up to the console display screen. The expression that slips onto his face is far from reassuring. Suddenly she gets the feeling they've landed in the middle of July…
"It's 12:45." He answers hesitantly. Clara's brow furrows. 12:45 isn't the end of the world… The buzzer sounds again and she's turning to leave the TARDIS and answer it when the Doctor pipes up again from behind her. "Christmas day."
She's going to murder him. Then after he regenerates she'll murder his new face, and continue on in the same fashion until she thinks he's suffered enough for ruining her entire Christmas.
The buzzer sounds for the third time and Clara curses under her breath.
"Language!" She can tell he regrets scolding her almost immediately from the way he looks away sheepishly afterwards.
"Don't you dare. Just shut up and stay where you are." The order is bitten out, and the Doctor straightens up silently like an obedient dog. She leaves him to stand in the TARDIS whilst she heads over to the intercom.
"Hello?" She answers almost hesitantly. She knows who's going to be on the other end, but a part of her prays that it's carol singers or the church collection group in order to avoid facing the reality of her family arriving with nothing to feed them on.
"Clara dear! We thought you'd never answer! Are you going to let us up?" The distinctive voice of her gran sounds on the other end and Clara thinks she'd actually quite like it if they had shown up in the middle of July – at least that way she wouldn't be stuck in her current dilemma. Yet again, she made a mental note to kill the Doctor later. "Of course. I'll just buzz you up now." She answers with forced cheer as she presses the button to allow them entry into the building. She has approximately thirty seconds to deal with the Doctor.
When she heads back to the TARDIS, he's still standing sheepishly by the console where she left him. "Well? How do you plan to fix this?" She demands with her hands on her hips.
"Fix what?" He asks, his eyebrows pinched together in confusion.
"My family's about to knock on the door and I haven't cooked anything for Christmas dinner!" There's panic in her tone as she starts to pace along the length of the console room.
"I thought that was what the soufflé was for?"
"The soufflé was for starters! There's supposed to be a proper Christmas dinner on the table afterwards!" Her voice is starting to sound shrill even to her own ears as she paces faster.
"Oh. Well… I could try to steal you one of those too?" The Doctor offers as he runs his fingers absentmindedly over the buttons to his right.
From outside the TARDIS, she hears a knock at the door. "Oh god… how am I even going to explain you to them?" She asks as she stares at him in mild horror. "I can't exactly introduce you as my boyfriend anymore."
"Of course not. You're far too old." He remarks as he slides his hands into his pockets.
"I am not old!" She exclaims defensively.
"That's it. Try to keep your spirits up." He thinks he's being encouraging, but the only thing that keeps her from slapping him around the face is a second knock at her door.
"Just stay here and keep quiet. I'll deal with you in a minute." She all but growls before disappearing out of the TARDIS. She deliberately closes the door to her bedroom, shielding the time machine from view and making her way across the flat to answer the door.
"Merry Christmas!" She greets the small gathering of people on the other side with forced enthusiasm. The grin on her lips is quite possibly the falsest expression anyone has ever seen, but it will have to do for the sake of saving what's left of Christmas day.
Her gran is the first through the door and she greets her with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug. "You never told us we'd have an extra guest joining us for Christmas." The older woman murmurs in Clara's ear before pulling back from the embrace. Clara frowns and follows her gaze round to the space behind her.
There in the centre of the living room is the Doctor. So much for staying put. "I er… guess it must have slipped my mind." She lies awkwardly and closes the door behind her guests.
"Who's this, Clara?" It's her dad's voice this time. He's eyeing the Doctor with intense scrutiny, but the Time Lord pays him no mind. Clara, on the other hand, I left awkwardly fumbling for an explanation. "This is er…"
She doesn't get a chance to test the creativity of her lying. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Oswald. I'm Clara's boyfriend." The Doctor flashes her dad a charming smile and extends a hand for him to shake. Oh hell no.