It's still dark outside when he wakes. Sleep seems to become more of a rarity with every day that passes, but somehow he doesn't find himself caring all that much. He's never been much of a fan of sleep and now he doesn't want to waste what little time he has left to see the world lying with his eyes shut.
The kettle is put on to boil downstairs and the Doctor places an English breakfast tea bag into his favourite mug – it's blue with the distinctive design of a police box printed around it. He adds his customary four sugars and seats himself at the kitchen table with a book. These days he has to wear glasses to read, and even then the book ends up directly in front of his face to make the words legible. He doesn't like to think about the notion that one day soon he won't be able to see the words at all.
Outside, the sun rises without much notice from the Doctor. His nose is so deeply buried in a copy of 'Advanced Quantum Mechanics' that he doesn't acknowledge the hours ticking by in front of him on the kitchen clock until there's a knock at the front door. He glances up in alarm. The clock tells him that two and a half hours have passed since he first sat down at the table to read. He hasn't even taken the time to dress yet and Clara's probably waiting on the other side of his front door.
"Fuck." He curses under his breath and jumps to his feet. Briefly, he considers ignoring the knock and letting her leave, but the idea is discarded as quickly as it comes because a voice in the back of his head reminds him that he'd rather like her company for the morning. There's no time to dress, so he's left with one option – answering the door in his boxer shorts and a vest.
A second knock comes before he makes it to the door, and he steels himself before tugging it open to reveal a far more respectable looking woman on the other side. "Apologies for my state of undress… I lost track of time." He explains hastily before she can comment. She seems to do little more than stare in reply, so he continues: "Just come in and make yourself at home. I won't be a minute." There's some more staring, during which he finds himself feeling extremely exposed, before she seems to snap out of it and looks up at him with a slight smirk.
"No need to apologise. I don't mind." It might be his imagination, but he swears he detects a hint of suggestion to her reply. He pushes the thought to one side and steps back to allow her entry into the house. Clara peruses him for a moment longer. "Nice…" There's a pause and he feels his eyes widen in his head. "Glasses." She finishes with a grin and steps into the narrow hallway of his house.
With a clear of his throat, the Doctor turns away and hurries up the stairs to find something to put on that doesn't make him feel as though he's bared for all the world to see. In his wardrobe he finds a pair of dark grey jeans and slips into them in a hurry. He slides a belt around his waist and changes his vest for a black long-sleeved shirt. On his feet he puts a pair of navy blue socks and gives himself a quick glance in the mirror. Much better. His hair is still a little on the dishevelled side, but he can't bring himself to care all that much. He slips off his glasses, places them on the dresser and heads back downstairs to find Clara.
She's stood with her back to him when he walks into the living room, one of the many portraits he keeps displayed on his walls hanging in front of her. He clears his throat from his position a few feet behind her. It makes him smile ever so slightly when she jumps, even if it probably shouldn't.
"Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people like that?" She cranes her neck to look back at him over her shoulder.
"Well it's usually just me here, and in my experience it tends to be rather difficult to sneak up on yourself." Sarcasm finds its way back into his tone as his hands slide into the depths of his pockets.
Clara ignores the remark and turns her attention back to the portrait in front of her. "Who is she?"
The Doctor pauses for a moment before answering. His eyes roam over the detailed drawing of a woman reclining on his sofa and a small, sad smile finds its way onto his lips. "She was my wife." He states softly. Melody Pond. It's taken him some time to be able to look at the drawing without finding tears in his eyes. Even now, a lump situates itself in his throat at the memory of her and he's uncertain whether the topic is one he's really comfortable discussing.
"Was?" From the sound of her voice alone, he can tell that the question is one Clara had hesitated on. Nobody keeps pictures of their estranged wives on their living room wall – the answer to her question hangs in the air without any need to say it.
"She died." He murmurs anyway.
"I'm sorry." It's the sympathetic response he's become accustomed to hearing since the incident. There's a moment of silence in which neither of them say anything, and then Clara breaks it with: "she was beautiful."
"Yes." He can't deny it because it's true – Melody had always been beautiful. In truth he'd probably never really been good enough for her.
After what seems like an eternity of silence, the Doctor finally clears his throat and turns away from the drawing on the wall. "Anyway, enough of that. I don't like to dwell on the past." He brushes off the topic because to dwell on it puts him in a mood he doesn't want to be in around Clara. "Can I interest you in a cup of tea?" It's an effective way to cut off the conversation.
Clara seems to hesitate for a moment, before turning around to face him with a smile. "I'll have a coffee instead if it's going."
He mutters something about women being fussy under his breath and hears the sound of her giggling behind him as he stalks off into the kitchen. Thinking about it, he should have had her pegged as a coffee person.
The kettle's on and he's reaching for a couple of mugs in the cupboard when Clara's voice sounds from behind him. "Advanced Quantum Mechanics… Bit heavy for a Tuesday morning, don't you think?" She remarks and he finds himself smiling.
"I get bored easily. I like to keep my mind active." There's a shrug of his shoulders as he makes the remark casually. He's always had a wandering mind, and keeping it stimulated helps to stop him from going completely insane. Sometimes he wonders whether losing his eye sight will push him over that bridge. "Besides, I might as well make the most of my eyes whilst they still function semi-effectively."
There's the sound of a few pages turning behind him. "But how do you even understand any of this?" She asks, puzzled.
He shrugs his shoulders, places a spoonful of coffee into a mug and pours boiling water from the kettle over the top. "I'm a clever man." It's stated like a fact. He says the words as though he's telling her that the Earth goes around the Sun, or that gravity is the force that draws a dropped pen to the ground. "Sugar?" His hand hovers over the pot of sugar as he waits for a response.
"Not a particularly modest one though." Clara teases and he hears the hint of a smile in her voice. Another pause and the turn of a few pages, before he hears her set the book back down on the table. "Just milk, thanks."
"I don't believe in modesty." He quips back as he sets about pouring himself a mug of tea. When he turns around, he sets her coffee down in front of her and moves to take the seat opposite at the kitchen table.
"Actually, that doesn't surprise me." There's a half-smile on her lips as she brings the mug of coffee up to them. He quirks an eyebrow at her curiously. "You have a sort of… egotistical air about you." She answers his wordless question and he gives her an affronted look.
"Charming." He regards her over the brim of his own mug, and she laughs.
"It's not necessarily a bad thing… some women like a man with an ego." The Doctor thinks it's supposed to be reassuring, but it just brings an uncomfortable rush of heat to his cheeks. Clara seems to find this equally amusing and he hides his reddened cheeks behind his police phone box mug.
For a moment they simply watch one another. "So where are you going to draw me today?" Clara finally asks as she warms her hands around the mug of coffee. He's never been one for feeling the cold, but he wonders if perhaps he ought to turn the heating up a bit given that it's the middle of December.
There's a pause during which he ponders his options. "On the windowsill in the living room, I think." He muses out loud in response. Outside it's grey and dismal, but it should provide a stark contrast against Clara's bright radiance.
Silence descends over the kitchen as they both sip their respective drinks. Occasionally he glances up to find her watching him, and then promptly stares down at the cover of 'Advanced Quantum Mechanics' to keep himself from growing embarrassed under her continued gaze. He's not sure why she'd choose to look at him of all things anyway.
"Right. Ready to draw then?" Clara finally asks after finishing the last of her coffee. He follows her lead and promptly swallows the last mouthful of tea in his mug.
"As ever." He remarks and pushes himself to his feet. Then his eyes are drawn back down to the book on his table and his brow furrows in thought. "Could you read this for me?" His fingers reach out to pluck the book off of the table as he poses the question to her.
There's a look of confusion on Clara's face when he looks over at her. "Why would you want me to read that? I'm an English teacher, not a Mathematician."
"It's Physics." The Doctor corrects on instinct.
"Well I don't teach that either!" She looks exasperated now and it almost makes him laugh.
"You don't actually have to read it. Just pretend for the sake of this portrait." A smile finds its way onto her lips as he explains.
"Okay, I think I can manage that." He's glad to hear her agree and promptly hands the book over to her. She reaches out to take it from him and her fingers brush ever so lightly against his. Instantly, he jolts back as though she burns and notes the way her brow furrows up at him. He doesn't stick around to explain his discomfort over being touched again and disappears out of the kitchen to set up his easel.
He hears her footsteps on the carpet behind him as he's pulling up his stool. "Just sit on the windowsill with your knees bent and look as though you're reading the book." It probably doesn't require an explanation, but he feels he needs to break the silence somehow. Clara does as she's told without complaint and positions herself on the windowsill with the book.
"Like this?" Her head turns towards him for clarification and he nods sharply in reply. She turns her gaze back down to the book in her hands and he lifts his pencil to the paper in front of him and starts to draw. Reading has become difficult, although he'll be damned if he gives up trying any time soon, but drawing is like second nature. His eye sight is failing and yet he still manages to capture every detail in his portraits. It's only the thought of watching his view of the world around him fade day by day with every portrait he draws that really gets to him. It was one of the many reasons he'd made the decision to make yesterday's drawing his last one. Then Clara had jumped into his life and brought today along with her.
"What does Fourier transform mean?" She asks as he's sketching the outline of her hands. The Doctor's brow furrows both in concentration and curiosity.
"I thought you didn't want to read that."
"Turns out it's rather hard not read something when you're forced to stare at it for long periods of time."
His fingers guide the pencil along the curves and contours of hers, filling in the intricacies of her hands as he thinks. "It's a function of time." He explains vaguely. To go into more detail would not only bore her, but probably confuse her to match.
Neither of them say anything as he continues to draw and Clara continues to read the page in front of her. Then she breaks the silence with an exasperated sigh. "Couldn't you have chosen even a marginally more interesting book than this? This season's Argos catalogue would make for more exciting reading."
"I don't keep the Argos catalogue lying around." He catches her roll her eyes at that.
"So you don't have any other books in your house at all?" She's struggling to keep her head in position in favour of wanting to turn to face him instead.
"I do, but they're all upstairs." He doesn't want to admit that he wanted to draw her reading this specific book.
She frowns. "Well couldn't you have gone upstairs and picked another one?"
"No."
An exasperated sigh. "You're insufferable."
"You were the one who invited yourself round again." He explains simply as he starts to add in the finishing touches to his drawing. He doesn't add that he's quite grateful that she did.
"And I'll be inviting myself round again tomorrow." The surprise on his face is hard to hide – not that Clara has taken her eyes off of the book in her hands since he started to draw.
"Surely you must have better things to occupy your time with than posing as a life model for a half-blind artist." It's a statement he whole-heartedly believes. He has never been the best of company, in fact he often wonders how he managed to convince anyone to agree to marry him, and with Clara sitting at a good couple of decades younger than him, he can't quite comprehend what she could possibly find to desire in his company.
"Actually, not really." It's not something she sounds ashamed to admit. "I'm not sure what that says about me though." She adds with a soft burst of laughter.
"Everything." He responds on instinct. Then he catches himself and hastily spits out: "I mean nothing." He takes a moment to clear his throat, adds a touch more definition to her nose and then sits back to observe the finished product. The lines are blurred through his damaged eyes, but from what he can see it's no worse than the portrait he drew of her yesterday. Slowly, he lifts the pad up from the easel and turns it in his hands to show Clara. It takes her a moment to notice he's finished, but when she does she swings her legs down off of the windowsill and steps closer to take in the drawing.
"I really don't know how you manage to draw so perfectly… It's beautiful, again." She remarks in a slightly awe-struck tone. Reaching out, she ghosts her fingers feather-lightly over the lines on the paper and smiles. "I look forward to seeing what you come up with tomorrow."
"I haven't said yes to you coming over yet." He states matter-of-factly. There's a voice in the back of his head that laughs at him for even thinking he could say no to her company. It's only her second visit and already he can feel himself getting used to her company in a way he really ought not to be.
"No, but you will." There's a smirk on her lips now.
"And you call me arrogant." The Doctor wonders when he made the conscious decision to engage in teasing her.
"Maybe I don't believe in modesty either." She steps away from him and moves towards the door and the smirk on her lips seems to broaden. It's almost enough to make him smile in return. "Until tomorrow, Doctor." It's an effective goodbye and he watches as she disappears out of the living room door. He thinks he likes the way his name sounds when she says it, and promptly curses himself for having such thoughts in the first place.
When he hears the sound of the front door closing behind her, he turns his attention to the portrait still clasped in his hands. His gaze flicks up towards a space on the wall near the window and he decides that Clara reading his favourite book would fit quite well there.