It is already past midday when Clara and the Doctor leave the inn the next day, feet still a bit sore from the day before, and their hands intertwined. Their plan is to admire the Christmas decorations which people have put up on their houses since yesterday; garlands and lights in the most beautiful of colours are everywhere, and it is obvious the town is preparing for a good, old-fashioned Christmas celebration. However, they barely make it out the front door before being side-tracked by someone loudly shouting their names. "Doctor! Miss!" They spot one of Arne and Gunhild's mates from yesterday, a boy of 9, jogging towards them. "Sir! I have a letter for you! I think it's for the dinner tonight!" he says when he reaches them and eventually catches his breath. "And which dinner would this be? …Thomas, yes?" the Doctor asks, as Clara takes the envelope they are presented with. The child gapes at them. Gunhild and Arne have quite clearly downplayed their ignorance about all the local traditional village happenings. "The Mayor's annual dinner party, sir! All the important people are going, sir! And he wants you to come, sir!". This is quite clearly a big deal, judging by the excited look on Thomas' face, but before the Doctor can ask him anything else the child spots some other playmates and is off, chasing down the street after them. Meanwhile, Clara has reclaimed her hand from the Doctor to open the envelope, and is pulling a card from within. They huddle together to read it, the Doctor using both hands to cover it from the snow which has started to fall. On it, in neat, hand-written ink, it reads:
Dear Dr. and Mrs. Smith
I am hosting my annual winter dinner tonight, and have invited several prominent members of society from the entire region. It would honour me if you would come. Apologies for the late invitation, I am sure you understand. The dinner starts at 7 pm. Formal wear is expected.
Sincerely,
Mayor Einar Krohnvold
They look at each other. "It seems we might have to tell Arne and Gunhild that we can't help them with their snow palace today, then. I'm getting the feeling this isn't the sort of invitation you can easily turn down". "I'll have to track down a formal dress from somewhere, too. And you'll need a proper suit". "Oi, this is a suit!". "I mean a real suit". "This is a real suit!". "But where do we get it? You wouldn't happen to know what passes for 'formal wear' for what may or may not be a posh dinner for the elite on this planet which is far in the future but still looks like Victorian England, would you?". "Not the foggiest. But I know just who to ask…"
They find Gunhild and Arne by one of the sweet stalls at the square,trying and failing to persuade the owner to lower the price on fudge just for them. Clara and Doctor, with the expertise of a well-worn and highly experienced team, split up; The Doctor handles the fudge, while Clara handles the children. Clara quietly explains the situation to them, and watches their eyes grow big. "No way! You got and invite! That's amazing!". "But what is it, exactly? It doesn't seem like a regular dinner to us". "Oh, it isn't. Every year, the Mayor invites a bunch of important people for dinner, like ambassadors and lords and them lot. The only one in our town who is important enough to get an invite is old mister Thorne, and that's only because he's insanely rich and his donations cover half the town's budget. I can't believe you got an invite, that is so cool!". The Doctor joins them with a bag of fudge as the children start discussing what might have warranted their invite: Maybe the mayor had heard of their exploits on the salve galley and deemed them heralds. Or maybe some of the visiting dignitaries had contacts in the families they had eloped from and requested their presence so they could capture them! The Doctor chuckles as Clara fills him in. "So formal wear, yeah? Suits and gowns all around?". Gunhild pipes up, "Yes! This is the happening of the year, practically, you have to look amazing!".
Gunhild proposes their preparations should start at the most capable person in town, i.e. her mother, and so they all head back to the inn. Gunhild sends Arne running ahead to explain the situation as she elaborates on the dinner: Who used to come every year, what food they were served, how the village children would sometimes sneak in the back door and nick a sausage or two. Idun smiles warmly at them when they arrive, an excited Arne practically bouncing at her side. "So you're going to dinner, I am told. No time to waste! People usually get their invites months ahead; he must have had a last-minute change of mind. Now, I think I've got a dress just your size, Clara, I'll get it out in a minute. Arne, you'll have to run to Winifred next door and ask her nicely to come over when she's cot the time. She's a hair dresser," she adds for Clara and the Doctor's benefit as Arne bolts out the door, "she'll sort you out nicely. Now, Doctor… I can't think of what to put you in. Karl has certainly never been your size". "We could just take him to mrs. Hemstad," Gunhild suggests, "her son's size isn't that off and since she's a seamstress she can do some fitting. And she won't mind because her husband is a mechanic who works at the workshop, and they all worship the Doctor". Idun ruffles her hair affectionately. "Clever girl. Well, off you go! There's no time to waste".
The Doctor barely has time to raise his hand to wave Clara goodbye before he is dragged from the inn and down the street by Gunhild. It is quite the sight: A young girl determination in her eyes and joy in her heart, and an old man who looks young and has given up all pretence of not enjoying himself. Gunhild leads him down the street and into a shop with a big pair of scissors over the door; surely, this must be where the seamstress lives. The inside corresponds with the outside: stands of fabric along the walls, and mannequins clothed in dresses or used for fitting. The Doctor does a double take at a particular one in a corner, which is dressed in very suggestive lingerie. It is sometimes easy to forget that they actually are in the future. Gunhild has walked up to the counter and explained the situation to the woman behind it, who must be mrs. Hemstad. She is a small woman with happy brown curls, and she seems almost as excited as Gunhild at the prospect of sending the Doctor to the Dinner, henceforth referred to with a capital D. She quickly steps out from behind the counter and pushes him onto a footstool and starts undressing him, all the while talking continuously and thereby blocking out his muffles protests. She loudly declares that no second-hand garments will do, and that she will make him brand new ones. One she has him down to his underwear she totters off to a side room (still talking) and emerges with vast quantities of fine fabric and a measuring tape. The Doctor raises his eyebrows at Gunhild, who giggles; They are obviously going to be there for a while.
The snow fall gets heavier as the wind increases over the next two hours, in which mrs. Hemstad coaxes all the local gossip about the Dinner from Gunhild, all about Clara and their travels from the Doctor, and somehow manages to assembly most of a beautiful suit in black velvet at the same time. She has just stripped him down to his underwear again and taken Gunhild with her into the spare room when the bell by the door sounds, and who should walk in but Clara, carrying what seems to be a dress in her hands. She hurries in, not immediately spotting the Doctor, and slams the door shut from the wind and snow. She speaks to the room in general when she stomps snow off her boots and starts "Sorry, is this the tailor? I'm looking for…", but trails off as she looks up to see the Doctor, on a footstool, naked but for his underpants. The Doctor probably expects her to blush; expects her to turn around, and be embarrassed on his behalf. After all, that is how he usually recovers from these things. But not this time, apparently: This time, she takes a while to let her eyes roam all the way down his body and up again. And when she meets his gaze, though there are many emotions swirling in her eyes, embarrassment is not one of them. There is affection, yes, and mirth. Surprise as well. But there is also something darker, rawer, which the Doctor can't quite identify. He can feel a blush rising on his cheeks now, but he can't seem to look away from her eyes; like there is an electric pulse keeping him in place. "Hello dear! Can I help you?" Mrs. Hemstad emerges from the spare room holding the finished suit, with Gunhild trailing after her, and all though Clara jumps out of her skin she has just enough time to reverberate back into the happy, friendly Clara she usually is. "Yes! I've got a dress here that needs looking at. It fits fine and everything, but some of the seams need repairing. Is it possible to have it done by tonight?". "Oh, I should think so" mrs. Hemstad says, as she takes the material from Clara and examines it. Her gaze flickers to the Doctor who is now blushing profoundly, and she smirks. "you wouldn't happen to be the infamous Clara, would you?" "I would indeed! I see you have already pinned down my husband" she says, casually nodding in the direction of the Doctor and grinning. "It would seem I have. Well, I don't see why I can't have this done in a couple of hours. You could send one of the kids around for it, I'm sure Idun has a long list of things you need to get though!" "Got it right here, actually!" Clara says, producing a long list of neat handwriting from a pocket. "Can scratch off the tailor now, let see… shoemaker, hairdresser, I didn't even know you had a goldsmith here!". "Well, you better get started! Let me know immediately if there is anything else I can do to help. And you", she turns to the Doctor, " can now put your clothes back on".
The list takes its time to complete, but as evening draws near our two lovebirds eventually finds themselves back at the inn, which has been decorated for Christmas while they were away. The inn is slightly fuller now: the guests for the Dinner have started to arrive, and some of them require bedroom for the night. Arne had picked up Clara's dress earlier, and Clara had a very satisfactory moment of walking down the stairs with it on and stunning the Doctor into open-mouthed silence. It is a beautiful thing of cream coloured silk, and Winifred next door has done Clara's hair up like she had it in Victorian London several lifetimes ago. Idun and Gunhild are currently sat at the kitchen table with mugs of steaming hot chocolate, debating whether to have them fashionably arrive on foot or call for a horse and carriage. Clara is leaning against the door way, watching them and smiling, and the Doctor has disappeared into the sitting room behind her. She eventually turns around and walks over to where he is standing admiring a painting of the mountains above the village. "Keen, aren't you?" "Yes, you know, I was talking to Karl and he said they've built a snow cave up in those mountains where you can spend the night and get a wonderful view of the northern lights. I thought we could make a crack for it one of these days, provided we survive this dinner". Clara smiles. "That sounds lovely, Doctor, but it's not actually what I meant. Look up". "Eh? Up?". He follows her instructions, and finds his gaze resting on a green plant with white berries and a red bow dangling from the ceiling: mistletoe. He is standing directly under it. He looks down at Clara again, who has already moved closed with a small smile. He grins nervously back at her. "What is the probability of me convincing you this was unintentional?". "Not a chance", she says as her smile grows and she stands on her tiptoes to lazily drapes her arms around his neck. "Now shut up". "Yes ma'am", he smiles, casually wrapping an arm around her waist and cupping her cheek with the other as he brings her lips to his.
The kiss was meant to be kind, loving, and lasting a few seconds at the most. However, when Clara pulls back a centimetre, her parted lips almost but not quite leaving his and her soft breath slowly caressing his skin, something happens. It is like the electricity from the earlier at the tailor's is back, like a pulse between them. The Doctor finds that his breath against Clara's mouth comes rugged and unevenly, and he can feel her heart rate speeding up. It is an instant change, but the Doctor suddenly realises what that electricity and the unidentifiable part of Clara's expression earlier is: lust. Pure, unadulterated lust. The mere thought sends his own double-hearted pulse racing. Their lips are still, barely, touching, but when the Doctor opens his eyes he finds that hers are already wide open: surely, she must feel this too. They stare at each other for 2 incredibly long seconds. Three. Four. It is pure agony. The Doctor is acutely aware of all the places his body is touching Clara's, who is trembling slightly in his arms. And then, as lips start inching towards each other, eyes flicker shut and hearts stop completely, Arne bursts into the room, loudly announcing that the horse and carriage has arrived. The two would-be lovers spring apart at the speed of sound, but Arne leaves immediately to go shout at his sister, which gives Clara and the Doctor a few moments to stare at each other in slight confusion and awe at what just happened. Then Arne reappears, and is aided by his sister in pushing them both out the door and into the waiting carriage.