It's not often, by this stage in my life, that I find myself in a situation that might be described as 'new'. Even this one, I've been through before. It's just never been quite so exaggerated.

I've had to introduce new companions to old before. River always made herself an issue, Jack tends to do his bad penny impression at the very best possible moments… the whole Sarah-Jane thing. Now there was an awkward day, there was a day to not be the Doctor. There was a day to just shut up and look at the ground and leave them to it until it all levelled out. It did, however, level out. It usually does. The start of things can be a bit dodgy, but they usually get over it in the end. It's funny, but having a world to save or a great enemy to put down, that can work in my favour when there are two generations of Tardis-traveller hanging around. Sort of brings people together, don't you know…

Today, however, I don't believe there's a world to save or a great enemy to put down. Not yet, anyway. That might still be on its way. Wish it would hurry up. Maybe I could ring one. Must be a Dalek in storage, somewhere, just the one, just a little one, a broken one, and-

No, no, that would be very irresponsible, wouldn't it? That's one of those things that would probably backfire on me. No, it's looking like I'll just have to do things the human way, all talking and explaining and awkward silences. It's no fun. I look at Clara and Jessica and I just want to take them out to a funfair. Clara's very shrewd, and could win me a goldfish at one of the target practice games. I'm very clever and could win one for Jessica off answering questions with the super-brain. Jessica's very strong and could win one at that game where you ring a bell with a mallet and give it to Clara, and then we'd all be friends, and we'd all have goldfish, and it would all be alright.

That, however, has not crossed their little minds. And Clara at least being English, we're going to do this in a very English way; over tea, at some silly campus coffee shop. Clara wanted proper tea, after that nasty scrape she had with the green stuff in Carling's office.

Just to make my situation absolutely clear, I am sitting in between Clara, who is currently torn between her prejudice against Jessica's murderous past and her half-formed opinions of the dear girl now that they've actually met, and Jessica, who keeps looking around like somebody is coming for her, won't talk in public except in small whispers, and has taken it into her head to rename my current companion 'Clara-New-Pond'.

The second or third time this happens, Clara looks to me. "Okay, I know it's really rude to ask you when she's the one who's talking, but I've got a feeling I'll get a better answer out of you; what have ponds got to do with anything?"

"Not ponds, Clara; Ponds."

"Yes, ponds, Doctor. That's exactly what I said. You just said it twice."

"No, Clara, it's Pond. You're not pronouncing the capital letter."

She breathes in very deeply, through a terse smile, looking very much as though she'd like to tear my head off. "And to think, you were going to give me the more sensible answer…"

I'm trying not to give out any answers. The complication of the missing Mr and Mrs might yet be avoided. I turn to Jessica and tell her, very sincerely, with eye-contact so determined that her gaze follows my every twitch and gesture. "Jessica, this is Clara. Just Clara. Clara Oswald, if you have to be really precise about it, but Clara-Nothing-To-Do-With-Ponds-Ever-At-All."

She just stares back like I'm mad. "Knows that, Doctor. But is being Doctor's New-Pond, yes? Like Jack am being Captain or Riversing am being Wife?"

From the other side of the table, "What? Wife? What wife? There's a wife? And why is there a river as well as a pond now? This Captain isn't a sailor, is he? A very small sailor, for ponds?" The worst of it is, from the sound of Clara's voice, this isn't a joke. This is her really trying to make sense of things, and becoming deeply confused.

I, for one, am not confused. It's all perfectly simple, and logical, and really very easy. But that's easy for me to say. I've lived through it. I've seen it all happen. Short of sitting them both down and narrating the salient points of my last few years, there's no way to make them understand that. I believe that's why I'm moving the teapot to one side. Putting the sugar bowl on the other side of the table. Sliding the tiny, empty milk jugs over by Jessica's saucer.

All of this clears a nice big spot in the middle of the table. Into this spot, I drop my forehead with a resounding thunk that puts an end to all this talk of New-Pond and sailors.

For a while, I stay that way, enjoying the silence. And I'll tell you what, it's been a while since I was able to say I was enjoying silence… I stay there, with a good, up-close view of the patterned tablecloth, which is a rather appealing sunshine yellow. Beyond my little bubble of peace, I can feel them shrugging at each other, discussing with glances and gestures what to do. There is a pleasant tickle at the back of my neck as Clara moves hair out of the way.

"What am does, Claraperson?"

"Looking for a switch. It was like someone turned him off, just now." At least, I think to myself, she understood Jessica's question. You do get used to her, you know. And Jessica has shifted from the honorific 'New-Pond' to the safer, more generic suffix, '-person'. They're learning. I remove myself mentally from their company for all of two seconds and they're learning.

"Is not being switch. Riversing am much looking for switch before and not finds. Jessica was thinking was being joke-times? But her was looking much-really-sad about it…"

"Well, what then?"

Another silence, another pretty pause. Then it's Jessica's turn. She settles her chin on the table. Forgets her own weight at first, and the legs lift up at Clara's side. Then she corrects everything and hangs there delicately. Out the corner of my eye I see a set of tentative fingertips sliding towards me. "Doctor? Doctor am sleepy now? Is to be borrowing Jessica's dormy-bed, right-yes, but not sleeps here."

I suppose I can't leave them up there alone forever. They're lost without me, that much is obvious. "…This from the girl who was bunking down in a sandbag."

"Not because dormy-bed am not being comfy, Doctor."

"No," I say. "No," and I've found a way back into this conversation that doesn't involve them having to learn anything about each other or about anybody who isn't here. "No, not because of that, but because you were hiding, isn't that right? Because you were scared, and you were waiting for me to come and help."

"Please-yes."

"Well, then, Jessica-" In one fine arc I sit up from the table again, "Doctor helps."

"Not talks like her does," she reminds me again, "Is wrong. That's why not does speeches."

"Nonsense!" I tell her. "Speeches are easy! I do lots of speeches-"

Clara nods, with her face propped on her fist. "It's true," she mutters ruefully. "He can hardly open his mouth without doi- making, a speech." I wish she wouldn't have corrected herself like that. Not out loud, anyway.

"Knows," Jessica tells her. "Is hearing many-speechings from him beforetimes."

…Now, hold on, if they're going to start ganging up on me, I'll be putting one back in the Tardis and sending one to her dormy-bed to think about what she's done without supper. "That's not the point," I cut in, before they can become any better friends, "Clara, have you ever made a speech?"

"I've got a C in Drama at GCSE?"

"Well, then, Jessica, there you have it! Two excellently qualified, experienced teachers, ready and willing to get you sorted, isn't that right?"

No reply. Not from either of them. Jessica is not grinning and glowing and hopeful, the way she's supposed to be, given what I just said. Her head is turned toward me, but her eyes are on Clara.

And when I look round, Clara's eyes are wide. Somewhere between fear and derision. She is very slightly shaking her head. "Oh, so what?" I ask her, "Cute little alien girls with a song to sing, that's fine, you can manage that but –"

"-but little alien girls with swords that come out of their arms and who used to use them, I'm not so immediately sure about. And I don't really think there's anything wrong with that, Doctor!"

I can do nothing but look at her. I'm thinking again about the things people say, the way they stick with you. So I told Clara this one little fact right at the beginning, and she can't get it out of her head, can't keep it from sticking. What is most baffling about it all is that in a way, she's right. Who am I to involve her in this? Who am I to ask her to help? And in a way that goes for all of them, all of my friends, down all this time, and how is it that I've never thought of this before? 'Selfish' is the word that springs to mind, now, finally, and-

"What was to have been telling Claraperson, Doctor?"

-and there's really no time right now for me to be having deep philosophical thoughts. It's taken Jessica all those long, silent seconds to be able to even speak. By the time I turn she is already starting to get up from the table, adjusting the strap of her bag across her body. There is already a strawberry lace wound around her fingers, trying to find the end, searching out comfort.

"What was to have been telling Claraperson?" What can I say? She's heard it all. She already knows. "Doctor not helps. Am being sorry was asking him to come here. Was being much-annoying-times for him. Her am much sorry, okay-yes?"

For a moment, it seems that that's going to be her final word on the subject. She's starting to walk away.

Then she changes her mind and comes back, not to me, but to Clara. "Am having been before-times bad," she begins. "And then am having been badfriend to Doctor-"

I try to interrupt, "That's not tr-"

"-But am not heretimes bad, Claraperson. And might-be am not being much friend either."

This time that's her final word for sure. The rest of it is just heavy footsteps. Usually she tries to be quite light on her feet. Then something distracts her and she walks like Godzilla. I've seen her go through paving slabs while thinking about a riddle. Or when she's upset.

You could perhaps count to three before Clara punches my arm. Really hard. There'll be a bruise later on, mark my words… "Why aren't you going after her?!"

"Should I? Is that what I do now, I go after her?" Clara nods with great urgency, and a look on her face like she might punch me again. I get up so quickly I almost knock the chair over.