Aaaaaaand there's mooooore. Thank you all for the amazing reviews :)
Chapter 10
The Doctor held the car door open for her as Clara slid inside. She scooted over so he could take the seat next to her. Again she found herself giggling in excitement.
"I can't believe I'm actually in Scotland. This is crazy," she said, laughing.
"I'd have said it's great, but crazy works, too," he replied once he had sat down. The Doctor bent over to her side and cupped her face in his hand, bringing her closer for another kiss. His fingers buried deep inside her hair as he gently sucked her bottom lip. Clara hadn't even noticed how her own hands landed on his thighs, her fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans.
"I'm still here by the way," Clara suddenly heard Ralph's voice coming from the front of the car, "Just thought I should let you know."
The Doctor bit down on her lip and reluctantly pulled away.
"Sorry," he said to Ralph, that happy grin still on his face and eyes remaining on Clara.
"Don't apologize. At least now I know what it must have been like for you when I met Cynthia," Ralph commented.
Clara thought she should at least try to contribute to the conversation. Ralph was a nice guy and she hadn't really spoken to him since her arrival. She felt a little bit guilty. "Cynthia's your wife, right? I'd love to meet her."
"The one and only Misses McGraw. Most beautiful woman on earth," he said with a hearty sigh.
From the corner of her eyes Clara saw the Doctor move. As she turned back to him she saw him smiling and shaking his head and eventually pointing towards her. He mouthed the words "you are" and Clara found herself giggling yet again.
"Yes, you and Cynthia should just come over tomorrow night. We could have dinner and I've still got a Monopoly game that hasn't been used in a few decades," the Doctor suggested.
At the mention of dinner Clara suddenly realized how hungry she was. She hadn't eaten since she had boarded the train in London.
"I'm sure Cynthia will love the idea," Ralph said.
"Speaking of dinner," Clara said carefully.
The Doctor suddenly turned around, looking rather shocked. "I'm so sorry, Clara, I should've asked. You must be starving," he gently took her hand in his, "I know a nice, little restaurant not far from here. Do you like Italian?"
"Actually," she hesitated, "I don't really feel like sitting down in a fancy restaurant. I've been on a train for hours. I just want to kick off my shoes and relax."
"Well, what do you suggest?" the Doctor asked her.
"There's always the drive-through," she shrugged slightly.
The Doctor broke into laughter. "I am not taking you to McDonald's."
"Why not?" Clara asked, "It's fast, it's cheap, it's practical and we don't even have to leave the car."
"I will not let fast food from McDonald's be the first dinner I buy you," he insisted, still laughing.
"Why? Is it not rock 'n roll enough for you?" she mockingly raised an eyebrow.
"It's just not classy, Clara. Let's go somewhere nice."
"Oh, come on. I'm hungry, you're probably hungry, too, Ralph can eat with us without looking like an awkward third wheel and look," Clara pointed out of the car window, "There's a huge, shiny, golden M right there."
The Doctor groaned in defeat. "Ralph?"
"To McDonald's?"
"To McDonald's," the Doctor confirmed and turned back to Clara. "There. Happy now?"
Clara leaned in and pecked him on the lips. "Very."
Ralph pulled up at the drive-through window and placed their order until Clara suddenly thought of something else she would like to have.
"Uh, and a milkshake," she added.
The Doctor rolled down the window on his side and leaned outside. "Can you add a milkshake to that?"
Clara watched as the employee's mouth fell open.
"Uhm. . . uhm . . . errrrr. . . what. . . flavour?" the young man stammered and slowly raised his hand, pointing at the Doctor, apparently either in shock or awe.
"Strawberry!" Clara shouted from her side of the back seat.
"Strawberry," the Doctor repeated with a grin.
"Uhm. . . sorry. . . aren't you?" the employee babbled on, "Sorry, can I get your autograph?"
"Is it always like that?" Clara asked, amused, as she took a bite off her burger a couple of minutes later.
"No, not always," the Doctor replied, his voice suddenly taking on a much more sombre tone, "Every once in a while I get recognized, by a fan or a journalist. Does that bother you?"
She looked up from her food, slightly confused at the question. "Why would it bother me?"
"I don't know," he shrugged, "It can be annoying. You never know when it might happen. Might be when you're out grocery shopping or at dinner in a restaurant. Sometimes a person snaps a picture for their private collection, sometimes it ends up in a newspaper. It's . . .," the Doctor sighed, "I don't know. Maybe it's not what you're expecting."
Clara found herself frowning. She didn't really understand where this conversation was headed or why he seemed sad or even insecure about the subject. "I'm not really expecting anything."
The Doctor nodded and quickly turned his attention back to the food in his lap.
The drive to the Doctor's home took about half an hour, which the three of them managed to fill with small talk, although the Doctor seemed more laid back than he had before, it was almost as if he was lost in his own thoughts. His mood only lightened when Ralph finally pulled up in driveway.
"Take the car home. I don't think I'll need it tomorrow," he said absent-mindedly, "Just bring it back when you're coming over for dinner."
"Whatever you say, boss," Ralph replied.
The Doctor took Clara's luggage before she even had the slightest chance to reach for it herself and carried it inside. She followed close behind, now really curious about what his real home might look like. The house he owned in London had not met her expectations, but as it had turned out, this one definitely would.
They crossed a small corridor and when the Doctor switched on the light in the living room, Clara found herself in a cosy and comfortable looking house. The first thing that caught her attention was the fireplace that was framed by a brick wall, firewood stacked up to both sides of it. An ocean of carpets, pillows and beanbags surrounded a small coffee table. She couldn't spot a sofa or chairs, but no less than seven guitars and a big book shelf.
"I'm sorry. This place is the ultimate bachelor pad," the Doctor said, laughing coyly.
"Are you kidding?" Clara turned around to face him, "I love it. It's beautiful. You could maybe add a plant here and there, but other than that it's perfect."
"I've had plants. Plants and I," he shook his head, "We don't really work out."
"Poor souls," Clara muttered under her breath.
"Do you want to see the rest?"
"Of course!"
The Doctor led her through another corridor into the bright, rustic kitchen, which Clara also approved of immediately. The downstairs bathroom was big with a tub and shower and the guest bedroom held a small bed, another book shelf and a desk with computer.
"You could have this room if you wanted to," the Doctor said casually.
"I'd rather have a look at the other bedroom first before I make my decision," she winked at him, "Just to make sure."
"Well, of course the master bedroom has the more comfortable bed."
"Oh? Do show," Clara said impishly.
She took the Doctor's arm and followed him upstairs, past another small bathroom and a storage room before he opened the door to the master bedroom.
"Yeah," Clara concluded with a smile, "I think it's this one."
The bedroom walls were lined with dirty, grey wood. One corner was occupied by a big wardrobe, the other by two more guitars. The large bed took the centre of the room in front of a massive window.
"You should look out there in the mornings," the Doctor said, "When the fog rolls over the fields. One of the perks of living in the countryside."
"Hold on," Clara suddenly noticed something, "Where is your telly?"
"I don't own one," he said simply.
"Why? Everyone owns a telly."
The Doctor shrugged. "I did, at some point. It broke. I didn't miss it enough to replace it. But if you want to watch something, we can go out tomorrow and buy one."
Clara opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself. The Doctor had offered to buy a TV . . . exclusively for her. He had shown her around the house, insecure about its looks as if needing her approval.
"That's not what I meant," she said after a moment of confusion.
"Well," he began and stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and looking at her, "We could watch something together. I haven't seen a good film in ages."
"You really don't have to do that just for me."
"It's not just for you. It's for us to enjoy together," the expression in his eyes changed from happy to contemplative once more, "I want you to feel comfortable here."
"Why?" she breathed. Somehow her knees were growing weak again. Was this the moment? Was he going to tell her all about him now? She felt more nervous than she should have.
"Because I'm serious, Clara. You and me, I would like this to be something serious."
She swallowed hard.
"I can see that you're reluctant and I don't blame you. You know I keep secrets, you've only just met me," he said, "I know you need to get to know me first and I understand that. But I just wanted to let you know that I'm not playing games."
Clara nodded and a moment later started to laugh shyly. "Wow, and you picked the control freak for this."
"Clara?" he asked, still very serious. He wasn't laughing, not even at her control freak remark.
"Yes?" she replied, staring at him. What was coming now?
"I just want to know if you," he paused, his eyes wandering to some other point in the room, "If you at least consider us something potentially serious?"
"Yes," Clara replied softly, although she didn't know where the answer had come from. He was right, he was absolutely right. She didn't even know him, she only knew he had secrets that he would be telling her about in the near future and the control freak inside her was keeping its distance, it was trying very hard not to fall for a man she didn't really know. And yet she was drawn to him from the first moment. She was crazy about it. And so far the Doctor had turned out to be absolutely lovable.