The smell of burning sent the Master running. Crashing into the kitchen, he watched the brown-haired girl hitting the burning creation with a towel, trying to put the fire out.

"What-what the hell are you doing?" he asked, flabbergasted, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Putting out a fire!" she yelled back at him. When he didn't move to help, she quickly grabbed the bowl she had used for mixing and tossed it at him. "Fill it with water, you idiot!"

He caught it, too stunned not to obey, and went to fill it in the sink before Clara grabbed it and tossed the water onto the flames, finally putting the fire out. They stood side by side for a moment, staring at the soufflé, which was burnt out of recognition. The Master gaped at her.

"Well," she said softly, "I think that may be my worst one yet."

"Worst one what?" he asked, utterly confused by the woman.

"Soufflé!" she told him lightly, smiling a little as she sidestepped him to grab it with her gloves and toss it into the trash.

He quirked an eyebrow. "You were making me a soufflé?"

Clara laughed nervously. "Ahhh, no. Not exactly." She pointed at a rather meager looking sandwich sitting on the table. "That, I made for you."

He looked at the sandwich incredulously, then glanced back at her. "You're a lunatic," he breathed, tapping out the four-count beat on the counter.

She snorted, raising an eyebrow. "Speak for yourself."

He gestured to the sandwich. "You expect me to eat that? Just that?" The Master inspected the item - it looked to contain two thin slices of an unknown meat.

"What, did ya expect me to cut off the crust?" she asked with a smirk, looking at him smugly.

"No," he sneered at her, a little too defensively. He took a bite, engulfing half the sandwich, thinking. Lucy had always cut off the crusts for him. He had assumed it was customary. Apparently not...

She watched him chew unsatisfactorily, unable to keep the grin off her face. He was acting like an impetuous child.

"Why's it so damn dry?" he growled at her, yanking open the refrigerator and searching for a drink.

"Because," Clara told him, standing her ground, "Kidnappers don't deserve condiments."

He snorted, laughing into the cold air. She had spunk - he rather liked that. The Master rolled his eyes, grabbing the milk and downing it as Clara watched in horror. She resisted the strong urge to scold him. He turned around and looked at her, lowering the jar from his lips. "What?" he barked.

"You... You know we have things called cups, right?" she asked him a little tentatively.

"Obviously," he said disdainfully, "And your point, silly girl?"

"I have a name, you know," she retorted, not answering his question.

He raised an eyebrow and returned to devouring the rest of the sandwich. "Like I care," he said, his mouth full.

She turned her eyes away from him, not enjoying the view.

He swallowed and walked away slowly, turning back to face her at the door. "I want two more sandwiches, and this time they better have more meat and some mayonnaise," he ordered. The Master rocked back and forth for a moment, considering. "And cut the crusts off," he added as an afterthought, before storming out as dignified as he could.

Clara dissolved into a heap of giggles as soon as he was out of earshot. The man was certifiably insane, she decided, besides the fact that he scared her to death... but he was kinda cute too.


Clara entered the console room, her chin up. She precariously held a plate with the sandwiches in one hand, and a glass of water in the other. She watched him standing there, pushing buttons and examining the Gallifreyan words that swirled around the monitor. "Ahem," she coughed, alerting the Master to her presence.

He spun around and gave her an annoyed look. "What do you want?" he grumbled.

Clara held up the sandwiches and smirked. "Delivery for psycho kidnapper!" she told him in her most annoying singsong voice.

He glared at her and went to snatch the plate from her. She held it away from him. "Ah, no... What's the magic word?"

"Wha-what?" the Master responded, thinking, "Give it to me or I'll kill you!" He whipped out his laser screwdriver and pointed it at her.

Clara tensed up, but she rolled her eyes, determined not to show any of the fear that threatened to bubble over her calm demeanor. "Actually, the word is 'please,'" she sneered at him, but handed the plate over anyway and took a step back.

"Thanks," he told her sarcastically, before taking a bite.

Clara eyed the device in his other hand. "Is that a sonic?" she asked cautiously, handing him the glass when he reached for it.

He made a face. "No, who do you think I am? Sonic's are stupid. This-" He smirked, flipping the device around. "Is a laser screwdriver. Much more useful."

"How so?" she asked, unable to disguise her curiosity.

He tilted his head, a glint in his eye. "Sonic's are harmless, by and large... Laser devices, on the other hand..." The Master bit his bottom lip and trailed off, watching for her reaction.

"Oh," she said simply, "I see." She faked a smile, and he rolled his eyes.

"Lighten up, woman, I'm not going to use it on you," he told her, then bounced on his toes, thinking aloud, "Not yet any way. The Doctor's not likely to come if he thinks you're dead."

Clara gulped involuntary. "Right..." she intoned, drawing out the word, "And that's supposed to make me feel better how?" She fixed him with a hard look, daring him to try to make it better.

The Master shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich, thinking. "Well," he said as he swallowed, "You're free to move around aren't you?"

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she shrugged, copying his movement. "Suppose so."

"So try to be a little more cheerful. Your moping is annoying," he told her before turning on his heels to return to the console. He'd much preferred the cheeky comments she'd been making earlier. He actually liked them a little more than he cared to admit.

Clara huffed. "Moping? Who's moping?" she called after him.

"Hmmm," the Master intoned, mock speculating, "That would be you. Unless I picked up another one of your insufferable lot by mistake."

She scowled and came up beside him. "Nope! Just me," she told him, throwing on a better face, "The insufferable Clara Oswald."

He glanced at her and grinned. So that was what the girl was called. "Clara Oswald," he breathed, inaudible to the girl beside him.

"Hmmm?" she asked, looking up at him, wondering about the expression on his face.

"Nothing!" he snapped at her, returning to his previous demeanor, "Go to your room, you're distracting me."

Clara coughed, giving him an incredulous look. "Mmmm I'd love too, but I haven't exactly got one on this TARDIS," she said, adding under her breath, "you blithering idiot."

He gave an over dramatic sigh, "There's plenty of rooms to pick from. Go find one." He turned away from her, shoeing her out like a cat.

"If you insist," she said, resigned but quite irritated. She watched him for a moment before turning on her heels and leaving the console room, overwhelmed. Back in the kitchen she had thought about trying to sabotage the TARDIS, but had decided not to, considering the fact she had no idea how to do so. Clara carried herself down the corridors, knowing exactly which room she wanted - one she'd run across during her search for the kitchen. One that faintly reminded her of the Doctor.

Review? Pretty please? (: