The Doctor stood at a blackboard on the upper level, scribbling equations with a stick of white chalk. He heard the door to the TARDIS open sharply and then close with a slam. Clara's heavy footfalls were on the stairs as she approached, stomping her way up to where he was standing.
"Did you give me that horrible dream?" she said pointing her finger at him accusingly.
The Doctor ceased his writing and slowly turned to face her. Her eyes were wild and pieces of her hair were standing up on gravity-defying angles.
"What horrible dream?" he asked plainly.
"The one I just had. The one you gave me after you put me to sleep with your finger."
"Clara, I did no such thing. What is this?" he said waving at her bird's nest hair and crumpled shirt, deftly changing the subject.
"What?"
"This look you're going for this morning."
"Doctor, I just got up."
"It's very.. early 21st Century hobo."
Clara fumed silently for a moment before continuing on the original subject. "In the dream, The Boneless were in my flat. They flattened everything. I couldn't get out and you were dissected on the wall." She looked quite shaken.
His eyebrows raised an inch off his face. "Clara, why would I give you a dream like that? It doesn't make any sense."
She thought about it for a moment before speaking again. "When we finished with The Boneless you seemed upset.. angry with me. I thought that.."
"Is that what you think of me? That I would give you a nasty dream like that to punish you for something?" He looked hurt and she swore that she could see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. He turned away to his blackboard and started scribbling again.
She swallowed thickly as she realised what a foolish thought it was. "I'm sorry," she offered quietly.
Clara sat down in his high-backed brown leather chair, watching him as he plotted out what looked like a planetary orbit on the blackboard.
"The truth is Clara, I merely suggested to your subconscious that you should have a sleep and your subconscious whole-heartedly agreed. You were about to spill your juices all over the floor so I put you out of your misery."
He waited for Clara to thank him but no gratitude was forthcoming. "You're welcome," he added dryly. "Whatever dreams you had came from your own head."
Clara sat in silence as she pondered The Doctor's words. It was highly unusual for her to have so many nightmares at once.
"And I think you should lay off the codeine," he said as he continued writing on the board. "I don't think it agrees with you. Switch to paracetamol."
The Doctor finished writing and dropped the chalk before turning to a nearby table. He picked up a takeaway coffee and handed it to her.
"But Doctor you said.."
"Relax. It's decaf."
He threw a block of dark chocolate into her lap. "Why are you giving me chocolate for breakfast?" she asked.
"This is the closest to a mood patch I'm willing to give you, Clara. Dark chocolate contains phenylethylamine which encourages the brain to release endorphins. I'm kind of hoping if you eat it you'll stop biting my head off."
Clara giggled. The Doctor was right though; she was not an easy patient.
"Well off you go!" He said trying to shoo her out of his presence. "Go and get cleaned up. Have a wash or something. What would happen if we were seen together? You look like a melted tramp," he teased turning back to the blackboard.
Clara smiled as she got up and headed down the stairs. Despite his ribbing there was deep affection between them. It was part of their dance.
The Doctor turned and watched her leave, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. "Clara, Clara, Clara," he said to himself quietly.