A/N: My most requested from you lovely people was another pregnant!Clara fic, so here it is! This will be the last one for a while though I think as I have many prompts to get on with! Hope you enjoy :)

Reviews/favourites/follows are well amazing!

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.

Definitley Not A Moody Cow

In which Clara experiences a rather violent mood swing and the Doctor has to deal with the consequences.

"What if it's a girl?" Clara asks from the corner of the room, where she's wedged in the middle of a very comfortable sofa flicking through a magazine, in between mouthfuls of some sort of food she's eating. The Doctor isn't exactly sure what she's eating: mind you, she was always eating something lately.

(Once she'd got past the stage of eating practically nothing at all she'd moved almost straightaway into the stage of eating rather a lot. And that's a good thing, most definitely, as a Time Lord baby is quite a draining thing on a human girl like her and Clara really needed to eat as much food as she could in order to keep it healthy.)

The Doctor, who is painting the wall a very bright and vibrant shade of blue, shoots her a confused look over his shoulder. He plonks the paintbrush back into the tin, which mysteriously has no label on it to distinct which shop it had come from. "So what if it's a girl?"

She tips her head slightly to indicate she means the wall, not looking up from her magazine and her bowl of… Ice cream, was it? He couldn't tell. She did like her ice cream though, especially recently. "Blue is a boys colour."

The Doctor rolls his eyes, picking up the paintbrush again. He loves Clara, he really does, but she can be so challenging on his mental state at times. "It's TARDIS blue, Clara."

"So?" she shrugs her shoulders, taking another spoonful of ice cream and swallowing. She turns another page in her magazine (what is she reading?) and her eyes widen a little. "It's still blue. And blue is for a boy."

"No," he continues to retaliate, annoyed slightly by the fact Clara isn't actually looking at him but seems more interested at some bare-chested bloke in her stupid gossip magazine. He tries not to be jealous, but fails substantially. He knows she's committed to him and he's absolutely devoted to her, but he can't help but think he can never compete with the world of celebrity culture. "TARDIS blue is for anyone. Boys and girls. Everybody likes TARDIS blue."

Clara sniffs. Even though she and the TARDIS have made some sort of agreement to tolerate each other now Clara was here to stay, they still weren't the best of friends. "It's okay, I suppose."

The Doctor grumbles at her nonchalance. He throws the paintbrush back into the tin, watching as little splatters of blue jump out of the container onto the carpet. "Well, sorry, I didn't see you having any better ideas! You're too busy swooning after artificial monsters in that magazine and eating to help!"

She pauses as he says this, another spoonful of ice cream entering her mouth. After a couple of seconds she slowly removes the spoon, pointing it at him. "One, I was not swooning. Just admiring. And two, if you haven't realised, I happen to be a bit on the large side and can't appear to stand up from this position, so sorry if I'm being so bloody useless."

He grimaces. He forgets how tetchy she can get thanks to her hormones (which he decides are best left out of this conversation). "Sorry."

Now, she's getting into full angry-Clara mode, throwing down her magazine onto the sofa for added impact. The Doctor starts to get a bit scared and almost exits the room as he knows it will take her a while to catch up with him, but even he isn't that mean.

Although Clara's moods are frankly terrifying. So he backs up against the wall.

"You know, it's been bloody difficult carrying around a bloody Time Lord baby for the past ten months, and then I have to carry it around for another two months as well as that, which is three months longer than normal!" her face has gone a little red as she gets into full flow, the Doctor trying his best to wait it out. Like a storm. Yes, accurate description. "And then you don't make it any better by having a go at me for being useless! Sorry, is carrying your baby not enough? Do I need to do more?"

"No, Clara, I-" he tries to explain as she's got it all wrong, her spur-rage clouding her vision, but he stops when Clara starts violently sobbing right in front of him. From absolute, conclusive fury to utter desolation in a matter of seconds.

He immediately darts away from the wall he's no longer pressed against in fear to the sofa, tentatively wrapping an arm her as she just wracks out more and more sobs. She covers her face with her hands as he pulls her closer.

"Hey, hey," he mumbles into her hair like he does all the time when she gets this upset. This has been rather frequent as of late, with her emotions going haywire. "What's all this for?"

She doesn't reply for a few moments, she just presses her head into the Doctor's chest and soaks his shirt with her tears. He doesn't mind. She deserves to let it all out, as he's realised.

"I'm sorry," she gasps, and he kisses her forehead.

"What have you got to be sorry for?" he queries as he strokes her cheek with his thumb, "From what I can see, it's me who needs to be sorry. I'm a silly Doctor. Stupid Doctor. Selfish Doctor. I don't know how you can stand me."

"You're perfect." she says, her sobs beginning to ease, "I'm just being a moody cow."

"You have every right to be a moody cow," and then he hastily interjects, "Not that you are a moody cow. I'm not in any way inferring that you're a cow, Clara Oswald. Definitely not. All I'm saying is, you have every right to be angry with me once in a while. I'm not the one giving birth, am I? I'm the lazy one. You're the one doing this amazing, magnificent thing while I just have to stand back and watch."

Then, she looks up at him right into his eyes, and just starts laughing.

Just like that.

"What?" the Doctor furrows his brow like the last two minutes didn't happen at all. "What? What is it?"

Clara can't speak for a good minute or so because she's laughing so hard, the tears beginning to fall for the second time but in happiness rather than sadness. He's not sure whether he should try and halt her giggles because all that laughing can't possibly be good in her position- but he worries that will just make her laugh more.

"You've got paint," she pants, trying to get her breath back, "All over your face."

He frowns, feeling his cheek with his fingertips then scowls when he realises they've been dyed a bright blue. Clara imbeds her face into his chest and he can feel her laughter on his torso. He can't help but chuckle too because, well, when she laughs he can't help but laugh too.

When she comes up for breath he wipes his fingers on her cheeks, leaving deep blue fingerprints down her jawline: which make her look incredibly adorable.

She gasps then scowls, hitting him playfully in the chest. He expects her to say some sort of witty remark to put him in his place, but instead she leans forwards ever so slightly and presses her lips against his.

He can't help but grin as he slips her arms round her waist, careful not to grip her too tight but as current Clara doesn't realise; she's so concerned by wrapping her arms round his neck and kissing him senseless to even give a second thought to the person inside her.

And, really, it's just a little bit brilliant.