Set after Series 8, before Series 9
Clara was doing absolutely nothing.
She was sitting on her sofa, having just finished marking the essays on 'Pride and Prejudice' (a classic in her eyes, and one of the best) and had sent all relevant emails to all the right people, and was about to watch a Jeremy Kyle marathon until the early hours of the morning. A wild Friday night.
She was just getting very vocal about a cheating estranged husband and his former prostitute wife when she heard the familiar 'vworp' sounds emerging from her hallway. There would be scratch marks on her walls again. He was so paying for it this time.
"Clara!" The Doctor burst out, his Scottish accent more prominent than ever, and his hair wild, "I found a rogue Cyberman! Let's find out about it!" He yelled, then noticed Clara's unamused face.
"What have I done now?" He asked, as confused as a child she would teach, "I've not crashed a date have I? Who's the lucky fellow?" Clara made a note in her mind to get the Doctor to talk less like a 'lad'. It sounded extraordinarily odd.
"There is no date, Doctor." She said angrily, and he pouted.
"Then why are you looking like I am about to be murdered, probably by you, regenerate, and you murder me again? I imagine you would need some stilts to stab me, there's probably some in the wardrobe-" Clara cut the Doctor off before he started rambling again.
"I am not going to murder you!" Clara yelled, then quickly added, "Yet."
He looked confused again, so Clara explained herself.
"You need to come on the right days, Doctor. I told you we need to restart the whole 'Only give Clara an adventure on a Wednesday' thing, except maybe on a Sunday when I don't have tons of marking. I need some normal time." She said.
"Why? That's what PE wanted, and look what happened to him!" The Doctor exclaimed, not realising how insensitive his comment was.
"Doctor. Not good. Very not good." Clara said, her face stiff and devoid of emotion. He gulped, and nodded slowly.
"Okay..." He drifted off slowly, "So I need to stick to a timetable. Gotcha." Clara cringed internally at his use of modern phrases. That was for another time, "So I'll come and meet you on Sunday, about this rogue Cyberman."
"Exactly." Clara turned to walk away, when she heard him make an odd noice that sounded vaguely like a choke, so she turned back around again, "What?"
"Well, wouldn't knowing there's a rogue Cyberman just on the loose drive you nuts? It's like when somebody tells you not to do something, and then all you want to do is the thing you were told not to do." He said, beaming almost as brightly as the sun, which was really offputting to Clara compared to his usually solemn Scottish-ness.
"Woe is me, then." She said sarcastically, raising her eyebrows, "Look, I'm sure I'll cope. Not much will happen, will it?"
"I guess not." The Doctor looked at the floor, his expression like a schoolboy who just got caught doing something, and his excuse is 'I dunno'.
"Well then, off you go. Come back in a few days." She said, trying to act happy for his benefit, at least.
"But, if I'm here now," The Doctor started, and Clara internally groaned, "Surely I should stay, do something with you. I could even help you do some marking!" He exclaimed, and Clara was shocked. He hated when he had to help with her marking, she often just made him write results in her personal record book, and even then sometimes he couldn't be trusted to do what she asked. She'd hear complaints of, 'That's completely inaccurate', or, 'This kid clearly needs some help. Send them to me, show them what a real alien looks like', or even sometimes, 'I would give this full marks. Clara, they're getting full marks. No, I am not changing this. I am a Time Lord! An alien!" And then go off on some high-and-mighty rant about how he is the last of his kind and should not be wasting his talents on something as mundane as marking schoolchildren's homeworks and tests. And that would usually be when Clara, furious and red-faced, would shove him in the Tardis and threaten him to leave. Then go binge watch Jeremy Kyle with a tub of ice cream (preferably cookies and cream).
"If I do let you help me mark, promise me not to change anything. Absolutely nothing. Not even a dodgy looking letter, or a wonky sticker. Nothing. Understand?" Clara used her angry teacher voice on him, but resisted to point a finger at his face. That was too much.
He nodded slowly, as if contemplating his options. "What about-"
"Nothing." She glared at him, and he nodded, his eyes wide and terrified.
She walked into her living, where Jeremy Kyle was paused.
"You were watching this trash?" He said, pointing accusingly at the television, "It's clearly staged, shows a bad variety of life, and-"
"And it is extraordinarily funny and entertaining. So shut up." She sat down on her desk, whilst the Doctor perched on her sofa arm like a little girl.
"What are we marking, then?" He asked after a few minutes, as Clara started up her laptop, the brightness blaring in his face, shuffled her papers and organised her pens in rainbow order.
"Test based on the works of Roald Dahl. Year Three. Be kind." She said accusingly, before handing him a test.
"Question One: Finish the title. James and the Giant blank. This kid said tomato. Tomato?" He yelled, looking bemused and shocked.
"He's only seven, Doctor. Just write the right answer in the red pen, and don't put a cross. Just, if he gets one right, circle the answer. Got it?" She said, and he nodded. Then realised she was facing away from him, so couldn't see him nod.
"Oh yeah, sure." He mentally slapped himself. That was perhaps one of the most cringeworthy things he had ever said. And his catchphrase used to be 'Geronimo'.
He busied himself in the test of Thomas Bruwn, at least that was what his handwriting seemed to say, and made sure to not put any crosses on his paper.
It took him almost half an hour to finish marking the test. When he finished, and practically shoved the paper in Clara's face, she shoved about twenty papers into his.
"You would be the worst teacher, Doctor. Time management classes, that's what you need." She said jokingly, and he laughed just as sarcastically.
"Yeah, I'll find a guidebook in the local library : 'Time Management for Time Travelling Dummies, written by Clara Oswald and her glamorous assistant'." He said, trying to be witty, and Clara laughed. For once, he was actually funny.
"Okay, now shut up. I could finish this marking in ten minutes, if I set my mind to it. Grab my phone and shuffle the first playlist you find, please." She asked politely, before practically burying her head in the table.
He looked around, trying to find her phone, when he found it on top of the oven. She needed food hygiene lessons. She always asked him to do this, find her phone and shuffle music. Today, he decided to root through her music, and find the worst song possible to play for her. And he had heard some terrible things on her 'Bedroom' playlist. There was also 'Disco', 'Class music if I'm lucky', 'Serious things', and his personal favourite, 'I'm too cool for your playlists so I made my own - Doctor :)'. She was more shocked he had figured out how to use emojis than the fact he made a playlist with one song in. And that one song was, 'Blame It on the Boogie', by the Jackson Five. It was actually really catchy, and not as bad as most people thought it was.
But today, was a day of adventure, expedition, and exploration. The first thing he found that made him want to throw up was 'Baby', Justin Bieber. But he suspected there was worse. This was Clara, there was going to be worse than that monstrosity.
'Cotton Eye Joe' was a strong contender for worst song, as was 'Never Gonna Give You Up'. But the song he decided on made him gag. It really did. It was truly awful, a hideous beast that should have been destroyed from existence long ago.
But when Clara heard the opening bars of 'Blurred Lines', she cheered. And the Doctor wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, to make sure she wasn't mentally delusional or a clone. Because how could anyone like 'Blurred Lines'?
"I love this song! This is my jam!" She yelled, getting up and starting to dance. The Doctor wanted to erase this whole experience out of his mind. It was horrifying.
"How do you like this trash?" The Doctor shouted, "It's so awful!"
"Oh, who cares? It's better when I'm drunk and having a party with the girls, so I'll dance to it. I'll dance to anything really." She said happily, grinning like a kid in a candy shop. And that was when she extended her arm to him.
He looked at it as if she were handing him a Dalek's eyestalk. What on earth was she doing?
"Come on, dance, you old lump of bones! Have some fun for once in your life!" She shouted, grabbing his hand and twirling him around, as he shook his head violently.
"This is a violation of my human rights!" He yelled, as Clara seemed to take him into a tango, or maybe it was an offbeat waltz. Who knew.
"You're an alien, dimwit. Now shut up, and after this song you can go. Okay?" She said, bargaining with him, and he nodded. He could get through this godawful song. He had defeated hoards of Daleks, ships full of Cybermen. People slapping him, River slapping him more times than he cared to admit. This was easy.
It was about a minute into the song that the Doctor thought he might be bleedingout of his eardrums. It was horrible, and Clara seemed to be drunk without actually consuming any alcohol. Why had he decided to play this song? It was possibly the worst decision he had ever made, and that wasn't exactly a short list to contend with.
"I can't listen to this anymore, I am going." He said, trying to argue with her, but suddenly her hands were like a vice, and he couldn't move,
"Not gonna happen, mister." Clara said, shaking her head and proving why she was a teacher, "A deal is a deal. You need to stay until the end of the song. No if's, not but's. Stay here."
So he did. He barely made it through without succumbing to his violent side and smashing Clara's phone to tiny little pieces that could never be put back together again, but he did it. And the minute the song ended, he practically leaped into the Tardis and left, yelling out goodbye.
And Clara was sat back down, on her couch, doing nothing as per usual, and waiting for Sunday to roll around so she could live her life again.
An: This is surprisingly cute for me, because it's not angst *cheers*