A/N: I swear I was going to write a oneshot based on one of the lovely prompts one of you brilliant readers sent me today, but this adorable idea popped into my head this morning and I couldn't resist. Beware: this has such a high fluff content it may be bad for your health. Enjoy :)
On another note: one hundred reviews! Wooooow. Wasn't expecting that! Thank you so so so so much. Don't forget to review this chapter too, it makes my day: I do try to reply when I have time!
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.
Fish Fingers And Custard
In which Clara isn't sure which food she's craving: so the Doctor introduces her to the best combination in the universe.
"Bananas!" the Doctor announces, pulling out a bunch of the yellow fruit from the bowl in the centre of one of the kitchen worktops. He rips one of the bananas off the main stalk of the hand, examining the ins and outs of the fruit that never ceases to amaze him but is a lot less amazing to Clara. "You've got to want bananas, Clara."
Clara shakes her head profusely. She turns away, the very sight of the fruit almost making her retch up the little she's managed to keep down all day: and by little, she means nothing at all. She hasn't managed to eat since at least last night when the Doctor practically forced some toast down her.
"What?" the Doctor approaches her, peeling the banana slowly with every step he takes. Clara shuffles further back on the table she's just about perched on the closer he comes, which is considerably difficult considering her current physical condition. "How can you not want bananas? Bananas are good!"
"Keep that thing away from me!" Clara warns, trying to supress another bout of vomiting, "Otherwise I might after rush off to the toilet again, and seeing as the rushing thing is getting a hell of a lot more difficult I might not get there in time and heave all over your floor like last time."
The Doctor grimaces at the memory, deciding it's probably best that that doesn't happen again. Very messy. Instead, he backs away with a shrug of his shoulders, taking a bite of the banana as he goes. "Fine. We're just going to have to find something else, then. Still got any clues what you want?"
Clara pulls herself back onto the edge of the table so she can allow her legs to dangle freely down the side. Her face creases with thought, but she still can't seem to answer the question the Doctor has set to her. "I know I want something, but I don't know what that something is yet."
The Doctor sighs. This is probably going to take a long time. Clara couldn't even occupy herself by making soufflés anymore: something about the raw eggs when separating the whites from the yolks making her feel ill. There didn't seem to be anything she used to eat normally that didn't now make her retch, and when she did find something she could eventually keep down for a few hours it appeared to be some of the most perculiar food combinations that he'd ever seen.
(Although, he didn't mind that. He actually quite enjoyed odd food combinations, and Clara eating them as well gave him the opportunity to eat them with her without being picked on. It actually made her feel better if he ate with her, which seemed to make it a win-win situation.)
He scans the fruit bowl, grinning when he sees an abundance of oranges in there. He grabs one gleefully and shows it to Clara across the room. "What about an orange? You must want an orange because, well, they're orange and they're called oranges! Only fruit in the universe with the same name as its colour. Incredible!"
Clara pulls a face which makes the Doctor's fall. She's sad to put a dampener on the Doctor's boundless enthusiasm, but no, not oranges. "Too orange."
He picks up the six other oranges in the fruit bowl and aims to balance all seven at once: but the Doctor, lacking in the hand-eye coordination and making up for it in the clumsiness department, ends up dropping all said oranges all over the floor in a disastrous attempt of juggling.
He doesn't even bother to try and pick them all up again. Instead, he grumbles: "No, Clara, you don't want oranges. These ones are obviously broken."
Clara stifles a giggle, failing almost as disastrously as his juggling. "Whatever you say."
He grins again once the oranges have rolled out of sight, diving into that, what seemed to Clara, bigger on the inside fruit bowl. This time he comes out with two, shiny, green apples; throwing one over to Clara who catches it hastily, then just as hastily places it on the side and pushes it further away from her.
"Don't like apples." she remarks, staring at the fruit like it's going to grow legs and trot over to her any second now. "Never have."
"What about this?" he throws the second apple over to her, and when she turns it around in her palms she realises that he's carved two eyes and a mouth into the bright green skin.
"Oh great. Now an apple who looks slightly pervy." she mutters, nevertheless the notion makes her smile.
"I used to never like apples," he tells her, a sad smile on his face, riddled with nostalgia and a slight tinge of heartbreak. "So my friend carved faces into them."
She can tell by his face that this friend he's telling her about is someone that he's lost: he always does that regretful little smile when he talks about someone whose gone and it does slightly kill her every time. She still hates apples and won't ever eat it, but she clasps it to her chest in anyway and keeps it. "Maybe later. But apples are not the things I want."
He rolls his eyes: he didn't expect this pregnancy to make her this fussy. However, he can't really blame her, can he? That would be a bit unfair. She is a human carrying a Time Lord baby, after all; metabolisms do clash and, to be honest, she'd been coping so well so far. Even though he'd never seen a human carry a Time Lord baby before, he'd guessed the foetus would probably have a drastic effect on her system. Even though she'd never admitted how tiring physically as well as mentally it was for her, he could tell she was finding it difficult: horrific morning sickness, obscure cravings, the most horrendous mood swings (Rassilon, they were terrifying!)- and, from his calculations, she was only on month five of approximately twelve so, realistically, things were only going to get more challenging from now on.
He was going to be there for her every single step of the way, though. This was their baby; something he thought he would never get a chance to have again once Gallifrey burnt and he was left alone. Turns out, he just needed to find and fall in love with the right Earth girl and he could have everything he'd ever wanted.
Clara Oswald was that very right Earth girl. Everything he'd ever wished for in a partner in human form: brilliant, sassy and stronger than anyone he'd ever met.
And, now, they were going to have another little person too. This knowledge excited and scared the two of them at the same time- probably more excitement more than anything else, though.
So this craving stage was something they were both going to deal with together.
"You have to eat something, Clara." the Doctor says, running a hand through his hair. "It isn't good for you, or…"
He gestures towards Clara's front with a flick of his wrist.
Clara hugs her stomach protectively, her hands reaching her back. "Well, if this baby is anything as fussy as you, there's no hope of finding anything I can eat, is there?"
"I am not fussy!" he retaliates conclusively, throwing his hands up for added emphasis.
"I beg to differ," Clara scoffs, "Your look of utter disgust when you caught me indulging in a plate of baked beans the other day…"
"Beans are evil." he hisses quietly, his eyes narrowed.
"Exactly!" Clara argues, and then her face falls. "Didn't manage to keep those down, either."
The Doctor pulls a face, but then an idea hits him. Surely, if… Well, he/she/it is bound to like them, isn't he/she/it? If he/she/it is anything like himself…
"I've got something you might like." he smiles, walking over to her and holding her hands in his in order to help her get off the table where she's sat without killing herself.
She gently hauls herself off the table with his assistance: when she finally manages to get off, she pulls down her dress slightly so it fits over her slightly expanded stomach better. She looks slightly sceptical at the Doctor's announcement, as he's said it many times and it rarely happens to be true. "Okay. What?"
"You have to wait and see," he says cryptically, making Clara groan, "I can guarantee you, Clara Oswald, if this baby is anything like myself, you will like this."
She raises an eyebrow. "Okay… Anything is good, I suppose."
He opens the door from the kitchen to the corridor, beckoning Clara out so she can leave him to cook this delicacy without her seeing. "Go and read or something, I'll come and get you in twenty minutes or so."
She steps out into the hall, lingering in the doorway for a few more moments. She smiles up at him, this magnificent man. "Love you."
And he smiles back, genuinely, because he does. So much. "Love you too."
-x-
Almost half an hour later he calls her back through, and she's so famished that she walks as fast as her currently restricted body will allow. In the kitchen the Doctor has set two chairs opposite each other round the table. In the centre of the table there appears to be a plate of around two dozen fish fingers and…a bowl of custard?
Clara smirks, folding her arms. "Fish fingers and custard? Really?"
He grins back, pulling on her arm so he can lead her back to the table. He pulls out her chair for her and she smiles graciously as she sits down, shifting uncomfortably for a few seconds until she finds a position she can retain. She scans the food laid out in front of her incredulously; she's eaten quite a few weird foods in the past few months, but none as odd as this.
"Try it." the Doctor says, "Trust me."
And she slowly reaches out for one of the fish fingers, because when the Doctor says 'trust me' she genuinely does. Every single time. She flicks a glance up at him and he's still encouraging, so she leans in and dips it in the yellow, creamy custard.
She takes a bite, not knowing what to expect, but knowing it can't get worse than throwing up. At first the taste is a little weird, the fish mixing with the sweetness of the custard, but once she's chewed it over a couple of times it actually tastes… Nice.
As she swallows, the Doctor waits with bated breath for the moment of truth. Clara waits also, as if she needs to wait for a bit to know whether her body is going to react to the fish custard combo.
And then she grins when she realises that she has managed to keep it down, making the Doctor grin back. "I can eat it! I can actually eat it!"
"Told you so." the Doctor replies, reaching for a fish finger so he can enjoy this incredible taste sensation too. "Fish custard: the best meal in the universe."
She happily dips the fish finger in the custard again and takes another bite, and it goes on like that for the next hour: the two of them, sat round the kitchen table, chomping their way through twenty-four (and then another fifteen, with two extra bowls of custard) fish fingers and her chirping on about the most menial things and him laughing in response. They discuss their future, the scariness to come, yet how incredibly excited they are for what's to follow too. A whole new chapter in both their lives.
He can't help but smile when he looks at her; custard smeared down her left cheek and her hair scruffy and loose for ease, the light tone to her voice and the happiness present within her.
And he swears, at this moment, she's the most beautiful he's ever seen her.
