A/N: I'm not sure where this bit is going or what it'll turn into, I never really intended to continue but I've had people ask me to, so I am. Gawd, fangirls are more demanding than my editor! (I'm a professional; published four times in the past year, two books from each of my two main series ^_^) So since I'm friendly and nice and basically have all the time in the world, I decided to oblige. My next book deadline isn't until March and I was two months early with my last … so, yah! Here goes nothing!

Some days in the TARDIS it was almost like a home, a regular house. Sure, the TARDIS had all those weird rooms and winding corridors, but it had normal rooms too and no less than sixteen kitchens. Well, fifteen. The oven sort of blew up in one when Clara was distracted from her baking by a certain Timelord doing certain things.

Today was one of those regular days, even though the atmosphere was quite frosty. Clara had awoken alone again and was getting tired of The Doctor's ways, the way he avoided ever mentioning anything that went on behind closed doors. She couldn't stop her mind wandering back to the events of the night yet she tried her damndest to lest she become too soft upon seeing him for the first time that day. She sat alone on a sofa in one of the many living rooms, watching a DVD from some boxset of some series of some show based on some book series that in her time hadn't come out yet. Well, one of the books had, maybe two, but she didn't know them.

This episode amused Clara. It was the fourth episode of the second half of a series, and at the very beginning of it, she burst out laughing. One of the characters, a fierce looking green-eyed girl with black hair, was upset with her … boyfriend, was it? She didn't know. But she thought so. Anyway, the character was upset with her boyfriend for reasons similar to Clara's upset with The Doctor; the man had simply become passive and ignored every mention or hint of the sexual relationship the two had. Clara once had the idea to do what that girl was doing: Scream at him and get angry and stomp her foot while yelling, "Why won't you talk about it!?". Ask him if her regretted it or was ashamed, something of the sort. But Clara knew she never would.

Meanwhile in some other part of the TARDIS, The Doctor was up, alert and looking around. He had a whole day planned for the two of them. He had spent most of the morning looking up planets in books, some real, some … he didn't even know if they existed or not, but they could have fun seeing if they were. But he hadn't laid eyes on Clara since he had left her sleeping with a guilty feeling inside his chest, like two snakes winding their way around his hearts. Perhaps she was still there, sleeping? Humans slept much longer than Timelords, and some humans longer than other humans. But he checked her bedroom, and she wasn't there.

The Doctor spent some time looking for Clara before he found her, scowling at a television. He didn't know what she was watching. There was some guy on screen and he was on fire, but the flames were blue, a woman was crying and the sky was black with smoke. The grass was blue. He sat down next to Clara, and she shifted right to the edge of the couch.

That wasn't good.

'Clara?' She looked up at him moodily and raised her eyebrows without speaking. 'Is something wrong?'

'No, nothing wrong,' Clara said, and her tone made The Doctor feel uneasy.

Neither of them spoke for a while, and it wasn't an easy silence, as the TV show continued to play on to the end, which it reached in about three minutes, and then there was commentary done by one of the main actors who hadn't been in the show since the first half of the series, and then Clara turned off the television with a sharp push of a button on the remote. She dropped it to the ground and continued to glare at the blank screen.

Neither one of them knew how long they sat there, but it was probably a while, and The Doctor was a loss for words, not knowing what was wrong with her. It seemed like half an hour before Clara had stopped scowling and was just staring at the blank screen with her arms folded across her chest, but seeing her face neutral gave The Doctor new hope that he wouldn't have his head bitten off if he tried to speak to her.

'Clara?'

'What do you want, Doctor?'

Her tone was flat and cold as she turned to look at him with an uninterested expression.

'I'm sorry.'

'For what?'

'For whatever I did.'

'Do you know what you did?'

'No.'

The Doctor was being honest, mostly. He had a hunch, but it was probably wrong. He was never right about humans. Or women of any species. He just wasn't … good with that kind of thing. Why did this regeneration have to be such a lovable idiot? And was it bad that she wasn't saying anything?

'Clara–'

'You know most men,' Clara but across him, her voice raised ever so slightly, 'would be boasting every day about what we've done. Most men,' she spoke louder still, 'would take it in their stride.'

So, she was talking about that. He'd had it right. He winced internally; he did not want to have this conversation. He thought he was avoiding it by avoiding any of the weird … after it stuff. But he knew he couldn't avoid it forever, and so he would try to forget who he was, what he was like, he would try and be those … other men. And explain why he was not like them.

'I'm not most men,' said The Doctor. 'Do I even look like most men?'

'Apart from the chin, yeah, you do.'

'Alright. So I might look like most men, but do most men you meet have a big blue box that travels in time and space?'

'No.'

'Have you been inside the time stream of most men?'

'No.'

'Have most men lost what I have? And you know what I've lost because you've seen my whole life.'

'No.'

'I'm not most men.'

'I know. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.'

They both spoke quickly and matter-of-factly. There was another silence, punctuated by only heavy breathing, but it was shorter and less tense than the last and when The Doctor broke it, Clara didn't try and stop him.

'I'm the one that should be sorry.' She looked at him questioningly and he pressed on. 'I know it was stupid to just … leave … all the time, but I'm not good at this stuff. My head is all wibbly wobbly … timey wimey. I didn't know what else to do.'

'Then why didn't you just say?'

'I felt stupid. Which is pretty rare for me, I'm the cleverest person I've ever met.'

This made Clara laugh, and The Doctor swelled with happiness and relief inside. There was a short, light silence once more and they both grinned to themselves, hands almost touching on middle of the couch, and Clara edged over towards him.

'I'm sorry. I should have realized.'

Clara hugged him and he hugged her, rubbing her back before she pulled away. But as she bent in to give him a swift peck on the cheek, he felt a new confidence, and he kissed her lips, long and lingering and proper.

There were two ways that could have went. They could have sat and smiled at each other and then went off on some adventure, or they could have continued and gone at it right there on the couch. And surprisingly and not surprisingly all at once, that's what they did, but this time neither one slept afterwards and The Doctor did not leave. He lay there with her head on his chest, his arm around her, stroking her cheek as she lay with her eyes open, staring at the opposite wall.

'This is what I want,' Clara said at last, breaking the silence as if answering an unasked question. 'That's all. This is all you have to do.'

'What, this?' The Doctor asked. 'This is easy.' He let out a breathless laugh and kissed the top of her head.

Things changed from then on. It was like … something had been broken, cleanly cut away, and not they could just be … open. And they did do it again. And again. And again. Just whenever. Forwhatever reason. It was almost like another unasked question, almost like they were together or something. They even kissed in public, and Clara was not always the one to be doing the kissing. If she was being brilliant, The Doctor showed her with his soft lips on hers, and he wasn't ashamed of it. Was that what it was to almost feel human?

And eventually he said the words. The words he had thought so often and ignored, sometimes even feared, and when he at last said them, she didn't hesitate a second to say them right back.

The End