Laws of Attraction

12/Clara

Humor/ Romance/ Hurt/Comfort

Summary: The Doctor understands everything, except what makes human females tick.


A/N: Many thanks for the reviews letting me know you're enjoying the story! They definitely help keep me writing!


Chapter 2


"Clara!"

She squeezed her eyes tightly, before glancing up at him from where she sat in a heap on the floor. "Um, can we pretend that didn't just happen?"

But the Doctor's hands were already heaving her back up to the desk, releasing her immediately as soon as she was righted. His eyes quickly began roving her for signs of injury, because she knew he would never rove over her body with his hands to find out.

"Are you alright?" he asked, tilting his head to check the back of her neck as though it might have been damaged from a simple slip to the floor.

Clara brushed the hair from her eyes. "Doctor, I landed on a different part of my anatomy."

He looked at her, confused, then his eyes widened as he glanced furtively at her backside then back at her, bristling uncomfortably.

"Well, your spine is still connected to your neck, so it wasn't out of the realm of…." He stopped and cleared his throat. "You're sure you're not hurt?"

Only my pride, she thought. And my stupid fantasy of how you were looking at me just a moment ago.

"Tip-top," she said, trying to laugh, because even though he had been gazing into her eyes just seconds ago, almost (she hardly dared think it) leaning towards her, the moment had crashed into bits just as she'd crashed to the floor. From the corner of her eye, she could see his body had gone back into its usual rigid posture

"Well, that's… that's good," the Doctor said, looking down at his hands, seemingly not knowing what to do with them, before folding them over his chest, then deciding to shove them in his pockets.

They sat in awkward silence before Clara sighed.

"So," she said, "What did you want to do tonight?" Unless you'd like to start talking about all the things you want to do with me again, she thought hopefully, and then cursed herself for even having such a thought, since it was so fruitless.

Loving that willpower, Oswald, she told herself.

The Doctor frowned at her, then seemed to think for a bit. "Well, there's a Pirate Festival on the Moons of…"

"Wait, pirates?" she stopped him, broken from her reverie. "As in avast-ye, me hearties?"

The Doctor tilted his head slightly. "Well, yes, but they're not dangerous."

She smirked at him. "Yeah, that's what you said about that planet inhabited by gerbils."

"Ah, well, in retropsect, I probably should have checked to make sure they weren't in the middle of a famine."

Her grin was genuine now. How she loved watching his mind work. Even though he was no longer leaning towards her, watching that magnificent brain whir nearly made up for it. Almost. Mostly…. Or actually not at all. But still she smiled.

"Okay, so how are the pirates not dangerous, then?"

"Because they're two feet tall."

"The gerbils were two inches tall."

"Fair point," he agreed. "Any other ideas?"

Clara's eyes rolled a bit. She wasn't really in the mood to contemplate the biology of two-foot tall pirates, even if they were having a Festival, when she'd just been considering the biology of humans and Time Lords, which was an altogether more interesting topic. It was just a pity that Time Lords weren't like human males, who, her mother had always assured her, were most easily attracted by…

"As a matter of fact, I do have an idea," she said suddenly, looking straight ahead.

"Excellent, what is it?" he said brightly, and when she turned to face him, his face was eager.

"I'm going to cook for you," Clara said.

The Doctor's face immediately fell.

"Ah, right. Well," he stammered. "I don't know that that's strictly necessary.."

"Doctor," she said, sighing.

"…because, you know, the TARDIS can supply anything that we…."

"Doctor.." she warned.

He looked up, sheepish. "Yes?"

"I don't burn everything."

He considered this, then nodded. "That's true."

"See?"

"Sometimes it's half-raw."

She let out a huff of frustration. "Look. I'll do the cooking on the TARDIS. The Time Winds made a perfect turkey last time, remember?" she said, then frowned. "At least," she said, her voice slowing, "I assume it was perfect."

His brows furrowed. "Don't you know?"

Her eyes rose to meet his. "No, I….I never got the chance to… taste it," she said softly, and swallowed, because it wasn't just that fateful Christmas turkey that she'd never gotten to try, it was years with the Doctor, the ones he'd stolen from her when he'd sent her back. She'd only been back at the table for a few minutes when the TARDIS had reappeared, her hopes and her joy surging back in glorious seconds before she'd realized it was Tasha Lem flying the ship.

No, she hadn't gotten to taste any of the life she'd wanted when she'd begged him never to send her away from his side on Trenzalore.

She lowered her gaze because she didn't want him to see it all, written plainly in her eyes that he could read as easily as a book. But looking down, she saw his hands ball into fists inside his pockets. It was something that happened rarely with the man he was now, as though he'd spent the last thousand years of his life learning to control the flailing limbs that practically defined his last incarnation. It was as if he'd been determined to master any physical reaction that might give him away this time around.

"I see," he said quietly, and she felt her mouth quirk because she was afraid that he really did. "Well, then," he continued, "I have a compromise. You choose what to cook and I'll choose where we eat."

Clara felt the smile coming back. Even when he saw through her, he rushed to make everything alright again. "You'll really let me cook?" she asked.

"Of course, the TARDIS has got an excellent infirmary."

Her grin spread. "See you at 8, then," she said, and picked up the sponge to finish washing the blackboards, because if she kept on looking at him, she was going to burst into tears at how much she felt, and how much she knew she wasn't supposed to feel.

"Oh, and bring a toothbrush," he added, heading for the door.

She turned, then. "What for?"

"For spending the night," he said airily. "I'm not going to eat and drive."

"That's drink and drive," she said, sighing. "And you can't get drunk."

"No, but I can get poisoned."

She threw the sponge at him, which he dodged easily, ducking out the door, then peeking back around the frame. "So plan on spending the night, just in case."

He was gone in a flash and this time Clara was grateful. She didn't want him to see that the words, "spend the night" not just requested but ordered by him, was making a slight flush crawl up her neck, just as surely as the Doctor was now crawling through the TARDIS, getting ready for her.

She sighed, shaking her head. Well, if he didn't want her cooking, there were other ways to his male hearts. Clara hadn't spent so much time around the Doctor without learning a trick or two… thousand.

She picked up the sponge again and slapped it against the blackboard, her face flushed and determined.

"I'll put you in the infirmary, alright," she muttered, still unable to keep from smiling. "When I strangle you with my bare hands."


To be continued…