He woke with a quick gasp of surprise, because there was a smell in the air he knew, but he hadn't expected it – something cooking. Herbert kicked at his sheets, grumbling because he'd gotten tangled in them, and he groaned when he was finally free of them, seeing the unwelcome arousal pushing at his pants. And then he remembered: Clara Oswald. His new flat mate. A woman.

Standing carefully, he stared down at himself, red-faced with embarrassment, and he looked to the closed door, hoping she hadn't peeked in at any moment. She would assume the worst, he thought to himself with a frown. Palming himself painfully, he made his way to the door and cracked it open, looking out into the empty hall and hearing something sizzling lightly. He took a long breath and his eyes closed because he knew it was eggs. It had to be; it was the only thing he had resembling breakfast really. Unless she found the sausage, he considered, taking another long breath.

He counted slowly, peering out again, and then rushed towards the toilet, door slamming a little too loudly, and he heard the small gasp she gave. Listening, on the other side of the door, as her footsteps came towards him and then stopped, then turned back towards the kitchen, Herbert breathed a sigh of relief. Clara was choosing not to interrupt him, Herbert knew, and he landed his forehead to the door with a small yelp of pain before he went to relieve himself.

Herbert emerged ten minutes later, tugging his shirt over himself as he stepped into the kitchen with red cheeks and a pounding heart and he found Clara pushing a wooden spoon through a fluff of yellow eggs. She had thrown on her clothes and leggings and was wearing her shoes and it made him smirk because he knew she'd felt awkward the day before without them. He'd caught her looking down at her feet several times and he'd thought it was the height difference, knew how those few inches made a world of difference in her eyes.

"Ah," she called, interrupting his thoughts, "You're finally awake." Then she asked, "How long do you normally sleep? Is that something you keep track of 'cause I could come in, give you a shake if you want – keep you from missing the time."

His head shook against the barrage of quick words, as though his mind had been whipped backwards and he were catching up. "How long have you been awake?" He questioned.

She shrugged, a small bounce of her shoulders and toggle of her head that sent her ponytail flopping about in a distracting way. "Few hours? It's nearly ten."

Herbert gripped the fridge and then opened it with a slow nod, finding the orange juice to pull it out and set on the counter while he searched out a glass. He could hear her hissing behind him and he turned to see her sliding the pan off one of the coils on the stove, reaching out hesitantly to flick it off before staring at it, hand held up beside her shoulder, as if waiting. As if unsure if she'd actually turned it off until she let out a small "Ah-ha" of triumph and continued pushing the wooden spoon through the eggs.

"How…" he began slowly. "Do you wake up so early?" He asked, adding, "Like this."

Clara glanced over her shoulder, eyes bright and mischievous, and she grinned at him as she replied, "School teacher, have to be up before the kids. And I have to be a step ahead of 'em or they run you right over."

"Have they done that?" He asked, bringing two glasses down to the counter beside the juice. "Run you over," he repeated as he opened the jug. "Is that why you're all…" he laughed, "Excitable."

"Maybe I'm a morning person," Clara told him coyly.

He chuckled, "Alright."

Pouring juice into each glass, he listened as she scraped the contents of the pan into two plates and he jumped slightly when the toaster went off, turning to see her picking the slices of bread with a set of quiet complaints and letting them fall from her fingers just beside the eggs. When she turned, she gave him another smile and tilted her head towards the doorway, "Come on, grumpy pants."

Herbert smiled, but remained still as she moved past him and into the living room, and after a moment she called his name and he laughed to himself, replacing the juice in the fridge and lifting both glasses into his hands to carry into the other room. He could see her waiting for him, standing just beside the couch and Herbert walked lazily in as she cocked her head to watch him.

"I know what you need," she told him firmly before she sat, looking up at him to wait as he slowly settled the cups on the small table before sitting beside her. He smirked to combat hers and she sighed, "Coffee."

Laughing, Herbert leaned back into the couch with a nod as he rubbed at his face again, squeaking when she placed the warm plate in his lap. His hands moved to take hold of its edges to keep it from falling as he shifted back to sit, and as he lifted his fork, he glanced sideways at her, already taking a bite of toast. "You've had no coffee and you're still quite chipper."

"Ah," she stated, hand coming up to cover her mouth, "This is temporary chipperness; without coffee, it'll deflate in approximately thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," he repeated, "That's fairly precise."

Clara smiled, "I'm a fairly precise person."

"I highly doubt that," he refuted.

He could feel her considering him as he began to pile the eggs onto the piece of toast and he didn't meet her eye as he folded it and took a large bite, mulling it over in his mouth a moment before nodding his approval; one that she responded to by turning away to continue eating. Herbert looked to their reflections on the television set and he sighed because he could see the rigidity in her posture, nothing like how she'd been sitting the day before.

"Did you sleep well?" Herbert asked her quietly, and now he turned to look at her, to watch the smile she'd been wearing fade slightly before she inhaled and looked to him – a betrayal of whatever lies she would say to make it seem like she was alright – and Herbert was surprised to find her simply staring.

He knew what she was thinking with little effort: she wanted to lie to him, to tell him that she'd slept just fine and that she was doing great and that she was ready for the day. Clara wanted to continue to hold up the façade that she was stronger than she needed to be and he watched sadly as her eyes began to wander – as her lips began to twitch with the need to expel the words. And then she closed her eyes and turned away and he felt himself tense in preparation.

"No," she told him truthfully. "It took a while to fall asleep and…" she sighed, the breath sounding so pained to his ears as she admitted, "I had a few nightmares that kept me up and there's a strange noise coming from your neighbor's apartment they should really have investigated because it might be a plumbing problem and if it were a plumbing problem then maybe, I mean, I'm not sure how it all connects, but, we don't want a plumbing problem and…" her eyes came up to meet his, to openly display the sadness there as she lamented, "I'm exhausted."

Herbert nodded to her and then to his plate and he sighed, "You should have stayed in bed then – you didn't have to get up and make breakfast."

"I couldn't sleep," she interjected.

He turned with a shrug, "Still could have stayed in bed."

But Clara shook her head, "No, I have to get up; I have to keep moving."

"Is this what he was like?" Herbert questioned lightly, "I mean, is this what he inspired? Not a moment to rest your eyes…" Herbert swallowed his words and uttered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way…"

She stopped him with a lift of her right hand and a nod to say, "No, it's alright." Then she added, "And maybe, maybe it's a little bit him." The laugh that escaped her was eerily frightened and Herbert watched her as she thought about it a moment – as though maybe she never had. Had he made her this person? This person who couldn't allow themselves a moment of rest? Maybe, he considered, it had just been her life – teaching and living. Some people, Herbert knew, were simply industrious.

Clara did strike him as the sort.

As though she could literally save the world if it was up to her to.

"No one's keeping a schedule here," he told her as she fiddle with her eggs.

She laughed again and then turned up to look at him with a shrug, "Sorry, suppose I'm used to having ten too many things on my plate."

He glanced down and explained, "Far as I can tell, it's just eggs and toast."

She laughed and straightened to begin talking, but Herbert chuckled and reached out to touch the hand that had come up. To take hold of it gently to stop her words before releasing it to allow her to curl it back into her lap nervously.

"Clara, I know what you meant." He smiled. "Right now you need less on your plate; you need a bit of a rest from the ten plus things. So let's try, for just a bit, to take life one thing at a time." He looked back to his plate and allowed, "Right now, eggs and toast, and maybe," he reached for his cup, "A little juice."

Slumping slightly, she nodded, perplexed look on her face, as though she truly didn't know how to function if she didn't have a jumbled mess of things on her mind. Herbert watched her stab lightly at her eggs and he watched her eat until she began to blush and look away, hand coming up to her mouth as she tried to squelch a laugh. One he mirrored before turning his attention back to his own plate.

"Was thinking of heading out for coffee," he stated, "Then maybe to the park for a bit. It's nice in the morning for taking your mind off things. Usually spend the afternoon in the bedroom with the typewriter, but I wouldn't mind just walking about." He smiled deviously, "People watching, that sort of thing."

Clara was nodding slowly, taking a small sip of her juice before asking him, "What time should I expect you back?"

"What?" He shot on a laugh.

She nodded, "Should I make you a sandwich to take with you, and what time should I start dinner?"

"Clara…"

"There isn't anything ready to cook really, do you just want me to use the TV dinners?" Clara glanced up at him sadly, "We're going to need to go to the market, get more food – I could see what I've got in my accounts, if you tell me how to get…"

He waved a hand quickly to stop her and he laughed again. "Clara," he sighed, "I wasn't telling you so you'd know, I wanted you to come with me."

"Go with you?" She questioned, face contorting in confusion.

"Coffee," he stated, "You're in desperate need of it," he chuckled, "And relaxing in the park." Herbert watched her look to what was left of her breakfast and he asked quietly, "Would you rather be alone?"

She shook her head immediately.

"Could still find a market," he grimaced, "We are going to need more food." His finger came up as he shouted, "Tea!"

"I'm sorry?" She replied.

Pointing to her, he explained, "You said you couldn't sleep, maybe what you need is a nice warm cup before bedtime." He smiled and watched her lips curl up before she nodded and laughed, fingers lifting to wipe at the corners of her eyes and he sighed because he knew they were the beginnings of appreciative tears. Herbert pushed the last of his toast into his mouth and watched her do the same and then he bent towards her to tell her quietly, "Come on, Oswald, let's have an adventure."

To his delight, she shifted towards him and, for just a moment, she touched her head to his before straightening and telling him on a whisper, "That would be brilliant."

He dressed quickly while she cleaned up the kitchen and Herbert found himself adjusting the lapels of the white button up he wore smoothly over his brown sweater, looking at the disheveled hair on his head with a groan of frustration. He ran his fingers through it and tried to swipe it away from his brow, but it flopped back and he pointed at it, mumbling, "I will cut you off, I swear!" Except he knew he kept some length to his hair to cover his prominent ears and he certainly couldn't cut them off.

"Should we bring a blanket of some sort," Clara asked from the hallway.

Herbert tried to push his hair back again and groaned before answering, "Should be a yellow dingy looking one in the hall closet."

He heard the door open and then she laughed, "Do you never do laundry?"

Looking to the bed, half-made at his left, he squeezed his eyes shut and admitted, "I sort of cleaned up a bit… in here." Then he shouted, "I'll take care of it, no worries."

"Hope it wasn't on my account," she teased from just outside of the door, and he pulled it open to find her leaning into it, straightening to smile up at him with a brown bag in her hands and a blanket slung over her right arm. Clara glanced into the room behind him and she nodded. "On second thought, if it was on my account, I'm quite pleased."

Herbert shifted forward and she took a step back as he grinned and told her, "For your information, it was on your account, but only because I have manners." Because he wouldn't dare say he wanted to impress her and he certainly wasn't going to admit he fancied her just a tiny bit with those big stupid eyes staring up adoringly at him.

"Ah, mum," she replied, raising her chin towards him.

He bashfully nodded, looking away from the look she giving him, and then lifting a hand to gesture at the door, "Let's get moving before the families take over."

They were halfway down the road on foot – Clara holding their lunch and blanket while Herbert carried his satchel – when Clara asked lightly, "Families take over?"

He scratched at the back of his neck and then shrugged, body squirming slightly as he winced and admitted to her, "I'm not really fond of families, loads of kids scrambling about, screaming and making a mess."

"I love children," Clara stated firmly. "Don't mind the noise level, or a bit of ruckus."

Herbert watched how she defiantly stared out at the space in front of her, and he felt it was a sort of challenge he didn't know if he was ready to accept. How could he explain to a school teacher that children tended to want your undivided attention – regardless of whether you were their parent or not, or willing to give it or not – and they always wanted to watch him draw. And then, inevitably, they wanted to know what he was drawing, what the story behind it was, whether he could draw them, whether they could draw with him. He nodded slowly and could see her passing quick glances up at him.

If he were writing, it would be the same. They would ask what sort of story it was. They would ask if the story had pictures or if the story had children or if the story had dragons or princesses or castles or spacemen or monsters. They would bombard him with questions as he sat stuttering, unable to put together a proper answer, until an apologetic parent pulled them away and then they gave him that stare – the one that told him his lack of answers upset them and he was left feeling oddly deflated. But he knew it wasn't really their children's fault; they were children.

"I don't hate them," he stated plainly.

Clara giggled and he sighed because it was a tiny victory in her mind. He pursed his lips when she looked up at him and then he lead her towards the small park where she threw down the blanket and made herself comfortable, shivering slightly. Herbert frowned, watching her glance around with her arms hugging her body, palms tucked into her sides, and just when he thought she might say it was a bad idea, she grinned at nothing. Or maybe, he considered, glancing around, she was grinning at everything.

There were a few trees scattered about and a playground that sat mostly abandoned – a couple swayed lazily on the swings while their toddler scampered around in front of them. He could see Roger with his dog Martin making their way to their usual spot for a mid-morning nap, and old Esther on her normal patrol, side-eyeing the dog who growled at her. He smiled and he sat and when he looked to Clara again, he was unexpectedly mesmerized by the way the breezed played with her hair as her eyes closed against it.

Then she shivered again and he looked to the ground before removing his sweater over his head and nudging her elbow with it, smiling at the confused look she gave him as he told her quietly, "Put this on, you'll feel better."

"Herbert, you'll freeze," she immediately responded.

But he shook his head and admitted, "Actually, I was a bit warm."

He could feel the fire ignite in his cheeks when she took it and carefully pulled it over her head, letting it flop off her hands after she'd draped it over her body. He grinned and turned away shyly, looking out over the emptiness around them and he heard her sigh contentedly, then there was a rustle and he glanced back to find her lying on her side.

"I never got my coffee," she whispered.

His mouth fell open and he began to apologize, but she shook her head, eyes closing.

"Maybe I'll try for a nap," she told him on a mumble, left arm swinging up to lay her head on while her right hand balled up underneath her chin.

Herbert pulled out his notebook and he read a few lines of his last story and he tapped his pencil against the side of his head, looking out over the park to try and clear his head to continue: a conversation between two men and two women about bank heist that suddenly seemed uninteresting. He looked to Clara and tilted his head to get a better look at her and he laughed silently because she was asleep, then his smile faded and he shifted, crossing his legs underneath himself and flipping to a new page.

A new story, he smiled.

A very different one.