The planet was small, smaller than an asteroid, barely worthy of the title. It could only be seen up close by passing travellers, and even then the average alien would need a telescope to pick it out from the masses of debris that flew perilously close to the planet, some partially entering the atmosphere whenever the planet's gravity fluctuated. That, too, was dangerous- the surges of the force were often unpredictable by any kind of advanced technology and all efforts to understand it had failed. It made the planet unique, and a top spot for tourists (if they could find it, of course) but as a result taking off and landing on the planet was akin to suicide. It was a common occurrence for spaceships to take off then crash back down abruptly when gravity decided that it wasn't going to let it make it off the planet. Thousands had died from this very reason. However, for some reason, the planet was home to one of the largest single spaceports of all time, boasting two hundred separate terminals and top class passenger service. Millions of life forms used the spaceport every day, whether it was just to stop off for fuel or to risk the planet's deadly reputation in the name of sport. It was a place for daredevils; for the naive, lazy holidaymaker that had bought their family holiday cheap from an advert on their holovid and hadn't bothered to search it up on their PDA. The seasoned traveller knew exactly what to expect from the place, and, like all sensible people, steered well clear of it.

The Doctor hated himself for having to bring Clara here. Hated hated hated it. They had been in such a rush to get off Taxhyon Spaceport that the Doctor had had to beg them a lift with a sleazy merchant to smuggle them in his hold, and even then he suspected that the only reason that said merchant had let them on was Clara, who had impeccably read the ten-tentacled aliens intentions and had been making eyes at him for the duration of their negotiations. She had never strayed from the Doctor's side once during the flight, though, almost glued to his side when their host came to check on them when they were halfway there, and when the merchant had realised that Clara wasn't game he had forcefully ejected them in the escape pod onto the nearest unsavoury planet.

Which just had to be this one.

He paid close attention to the soles of his feet and the turning of the planet beneath him on it's axis. His hands were shaking like leaves and he kept a tight hold on Clara's waist, as if that would keep them both from being smashed into humanoid pulps if the gravity decided to bend.

"So this is what it's like," said Clara, lips quirking up into a hint of a smile, "travelling like normal people. Long queues and bad hygiene."

"Airports on Earth are worse," the Doctor pointed out, "and most of the long queues are formed by joyriders clogging up space lanes without asking permission from the nearest planet's space control."

"Joyriders like us, you mean?" She quipped, letting out a small laugh as he grumbled.

"I don't see you complaining most days," He answered back, smiling in spite of himself when Clara wound her arms around his waist and leant her chin on his chest. He pressed a hand to the small of her back, splaying his fingers and committing to memory the faint tinge of red in her cheeks and the soft twinkle in her eyes. He was still afraid that every morning when they woke up, bodies and bed sheets tangled together so much that they didn't know where Time Lord ended and Human began, that Clara would be gone, taken by Fenric in the dead of night, or a still ice-cold corpse with electric blue lips poised at the sensitive spot on his neck that she loved to tease. Every morning he was proved wrong, however, and was beginning to relax whenever Clara had a gap between breaths or a sudden lapse of memory. She was recovering, if slower than the Doctor had hoped.

And the psychological effects would take much, much longer to heal.

"Relax, Doctor," Clara said, calling him back to the real world, "you're all tense."

"Yeah, well," he shifted uncomfortably when the planet's gravity hiccuped, causing luggage trolleys and several holidaymakers to stagger. The staff didn't miss a beat, well used to the subtle gravity changes. "I've got a lot to be tense about."

She rubbed her hands up and down his back and kissed his cheek, standing on tip toe to reach.

"We'll be out of here soon," she assured him, grinning adorably up at him as he blushed, still flailing like he always did when Clara initiated romantic contact with him.

"I hope so."

The queue started moving again, and the Doctor hurried Clara towards their flight hand resting in the small of her back. He could sense the planet coming to life beneath him, and it made him edgier and edgier as time went on.

Five more minutes, he kept on telling himself, just five more minutes and we'll be on that shuttle. Be patient. Be patient.

They sped through customs, the Doctor waving the psychic paper at anybody persistent enough to ask for ID. He practically bundled Clara onto the shuttle, locking her securely in her seat and making sure all her safety equipment was working, continuing to fuss over her even after he had checked and double checked every single item of equipment in their compartment. Clara initially protested but eventually relented and let him do it, falling silent when she saw just how frantic he was. She only knew the watered down version of the history of the planet- that it had gravity fluctuations and was a dangerous spot to be. He hadn't told her, however, about the regularity in which space travellers died while blasting off, nor about how unpredictable the gravity surges were. She was under the impression that they were perfectly safe, which was exactly how he wanted her to feel.

"Doctor..." She said softly as he checked her belt for the fourth time. He ignored her, securing the safety catch on her luggage, and started when she wrapped her hand around his wrist, tugging him into the seat next to her. She leaned over to buckle him in herself but he had strapped her in too tight for her to comfortably move more than two inches in a direction. She undid her belt and flung her arm across his chest when he tried to stand up and redo it.

"Clara-" He protested, squirming. She shushed him and pulled his belt out of the slit of fabric in his seat, sliding it down his chest and over his hips until it met the buckle and snapped into place. The hull groaned and creaked around them.

"There," she said, plopping back into her own seat and tightening her belt around her. She settled in, laying her head on it's side and looking up at him. He cupped her face automatically with one hand, and winced when a rumble that wasn't the engines jerked the plane. The other passengers grumbled and gripped the arms of their seats tightly. Clara's eyes were round O's of surprise.

"What was that?" She whispered to him. The Doctor swallowed.

"What kind of answer would you like?" He answered.

"Oh, I dunno. Reassuring?"

"It was the engines," he told her, flashing her his best confident grin that he could manage at that moment.

"Right, yes; the engines," said Clara. "You really are a terrible liar, Doctor."

The shuttle jerked. Clara instinctively grabbed the Doctor's hand, threading their fingers together.

"Okay," she breathed, "about now would be a good time to explain what's going on."

The Doctor squeezed her hand. "I told you. Engines."

"Ah, the engines that are currently not even on."

Their fellow passengers settled back into their seats. Clara shot a sideways look at the Doctor who was sat rigid in his seat, knuckles a pasty white where his fingers clasped hers.

"Don't make me tell you, Clara," he warned, trying to keep a casual air about him for her sake. It was failing. Both his attempts at reassurance and the gravity.

The shuttle's engines fired up and it disconnected from the terminal, the cheap dirty green paint flaking off in clumps as the vessel shook. The Doctor felt the gravity warp beneath his feet just seconds before it blipped out, shuttle shunting upwards jerkily as gravity was lost then reasserted itself simultaneously. The hull bent inwards. Clara uttered a quick prayer. The Doctor reached over and cupped her neck with his other hand, feeling the fast beats of her pulse thudding against his skin and the muscles in her neck moving as she swallowed.

"Doctor-" Clara started, but was interrupted by the beep of the intercom as the pilot lifted the receiver and held it in front of his mouth.

"This is your pilot speaking. We are currently experiencing level nine gravity fluctuations in this terminal. We have been told by control that they're working to stabilize it, but the artificial gravity is too weak to help shuttles take off. We're going solo." - a pause- "Good luck everyone."

The comm line went dead. The Doctor unbuckled himself from his seat.

"Where're you going?" Clara cried as he struggled to stand upright. The gravity was now swinging the other way; it was a dead weight, pressing relentlessly on their shoulders like it was trying to pummel them into the ground. The Doctor shrugged with some effort and waved the sonic at her.

"To fly a shuttle," he answered clicking a finger and pointing it at her, "stay there, don't move."

"But, Doctor-" she began to protest. He kissed her to shut her up then swung himself down the aisle, grabbing onto the backs of chairs to push himself further and help him move faster to the cockpit. Clara waited until he had made it to the door then retracted the belt around her waist, propelling herself down the shuttle after him. He must've been truly stupid to believe that she wouldn't follow him. She slipped into the cockpit after him and stood behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder as he argued heatedly with the two pilots. He jumped, twirling around and growling frustratedly when he saw her standing there, running an agitated hand through his quiff.

"I thought I told you to stay seated!" He said crossly.

"Yeah, well, I didn't listen. You can't fly a shuttle by yourself anyway," she said back. "You can't even fly a plane."

"And you can?" he asked pointedly, already knowing what the answer was.

"No," she conceded, "but we managed it together last time."

In front of them, the pilots carried on flicking switches and turning dials, relaying information through to control as if the couple weren't squabbling behind them. The shuttle jerked again and the Doctor and Clara were thrown together, falling into a jumble on the floor as the gravity began to fail and decrease again. The Doctor rolled on top of her, shielding her body with his as the shuttle shook around them and the pilots struggled for control. Adrenaline pumped through him. He gave Clara a hand to help her up and they leant heavily on each other as gravity refused to stabilize.

"Fair point," he said, letting her win. Ordering her back into her seat would be pointless- she'd come running after him again the moment he turned his back. "But do exactly as I tell you."

Clara nodded. "Gotcha."

One of the pilots had been knocked out during the turbulence. The Doctor lay him on the ground and pulled himself into his seat, overriding the control dashboard in front of him so he had full control. Clara squeezed into the seat next to him, her legs draped diagonally across his so she fitted. The Doctor looked up at her then whipped the unconscious pilot's hat off his head and tugged the cap onto her's instead, saluting her jokingly as she grinned. Next to them, the co-pilot ripped off his headphones and stared at them.

"What the hell are you doing in my cockpit?" He demanded them.

"Saving your life and the lives of everybody on this ship. Now listen." The Doctor slid an arm around and past Clara's waist to reach a set of dials, twisting them uselessly. "We have approximately three minutes fifteen seconds until this shuttle blows."

The co-pilot reached for the microphone in his headset to contact shuttle control. The Doctor tapped his hand away while fiddling with some toggles, eyes flicking from control to control desperately.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. They don't care- they've locked us out. No turning back. Tell me"-he read the co-pilot's name tag-"James, how well can you fly this thing? Because, frankly, neither me nor Clara have a clue."

James threw his hands in the air. "I dunno! I'm a trainee! I can't fly this thing. First time out, didn't expect to get caught out like this."

"Oh, great. Well, what can you do?" The Doctor ripped some wires out of the dashboard and fused them together with his sonic. James looked at him like he was mad.

"You can't do that!" He cried, "that's...that's...intergalactic government property!"

"Tough. Now, what can you do?"

James considered, then said reluctantly, "I can keep it airborne. Like, change speed and keep the engines going and stuff."

"That'll have to do," said the Doctor, tapping in a command above Clara's head. He took her hand and guided it up to a lever up and to the right of her shoulder. "Keep hold of that and don't let go," he told her, fingers stroking hers briefly before returning to the crude steering wheel he had built out of the wires. James muttered something to himself bitterly, then began switching systems online. A loud humming started up around them, vibrating through the ancient padding in their seats. The Doctor turned on the comm system and spoke into the microphone just below his chin, voice booming throughout the ship.

"Hello, this is your new captain speaking. Sorry about the delay- the problem has been fixed and we should be leaving in about thirty seconds, give or take. What do you think, air hostess?"

There was a pause as the Doctor bent the microphone in Clara's direction. She grinned at him, blowing some hair that had fallen out of her face.

"Spot on, Captain. May I remind you that the fire exits are here, here and here-" She leaned out of the chair and mimed the actions through the open door and into the passenger compartment. A row of shocked faces stared back at her. "Our estimated arrival time depends on how fast this thing goes and if we make it off the planet alive, which, at this time, is uncertain. Our apologies. Please make sure that all tray tables are collapsed and that your seatbacks are in the full upright position for take off, thank you. Have a nice flight!"

Clara collapsed back onto the Doctor's lap, laughing. He straightened the cap on her head, then tilted it at a more jaunty angle. James stared at them.

"You're mad, the pair of you. Properly, raving, mad." He said weakly.

They both laughed harder. James's eyes went wide.

"I'm going to report you two to the Shadow Proclamation!" He said threateningly.

"Oh, I do hope so," the Doctor answered, "I need to have a chat with them."

"Is that where we're going?" Clara asked, curious. The Doctor had been unusually quiet with her recently, and reluctant to share his thoughts. But now he just grinned, flexing his fingers over the makeshift steering wheel.

"Yes and no. You'll see." He turned to James. "You ready?"

The trainee pilot let out a long breath. "As I'll ever be."

Clara renewed her grip on the lever- it really was hard to keep it upright. James held two dials in place and nodded to the Doctor, who pulled the wheel slowly into his chest. A spark lit up his eyes.

"Geronimo."

The shuttle hovered uncertainly, veering to the left then the right as the Doctor struggled to keep control. Clara shifted both hands up onto the lever, pressing forward with all her strength. James fumbled over the dash, face a picture of panicked confusion as he struggled to remember what which control did quick enough.

They pushed.

Gravity pulled.

Then, with an almighty scream of metal and a terrible sucking sound, the shuttle's thrusters reached optimal speed and broke free of gravity's deadly pull, shooting forward like a bullet up into the planet's atmosphere and bursting through to the Doctor laughed manically and dropped his head back onto Clara's shoulder, feeling her body vibrate as she chuckled with him.

James sat back in his seat and stared, eyes wide, into nothingness.

"Mad," he uttered under his breath, "completely, utterly, mad."