December 11th

"I'll tell you what, though." Clara shot up from her place on the sofa at the Doctor's side, spinning around on her toes to face him with her hands on her hips. "Been cooped up in here all week."

"That we have." The Doctor muttered with a quizzical glare in her direction. "And?"

"And what do you say we pop out for a bit?"

"And go where?"

"I dunno! I can't come up with all the solutions here!"

"Okay, okay." He raised his hands slightly in surrender, but kept his eyes trained on hers warily. "Oi, I'm not doing domestics, though. Just keep that in your little human mind-" He broke off as Clara double over, bursting with laughter. "What?" He questioned loudly, raising his voice over her cracking tone. "What?! Stop it!"

"You say you don't want to be domestic." Her laugh tapered off into a sort of chuckle, and she bit her lip until it had almost fully diminished. "But look at you." She gestured with her hand to his very much domestic being. His usual black slacks were wrinkled and bunched up at the ankles, his jacket had been lazily removed, one of his shirt sleeves were rolled up, and two buttons were undone to reveal the top of his chest. To top it all off, he had a coffee stain on his collar.

"Its not my fault!" He protested with raised eyebrows. "The TARDIS locked me out, remember? I can't get fresh clothes."

Clara considered for a moment, one hand on her hip, the other tapping her temple in thought. "Well, then." She straightened with a light smirk. "Look's like we gotta get you some new clothes, then."

"I can not believe I let you drag me here."

"Oh, perk up, will you? It's not all bad."

"It sort of is, actually."

"Well then suck it up and act like a mature adult."

Silence.

"Or... as close as you can get to it. Don't strain yourself, though."

The Doctor dragged along several paces behind Clara as she strode confidently through the store, Converse-clad feet dully clacking against the tiled floor and car keys jangling in her pocket. She stuck her thumbs in her belt loops on either side of her jeans and splayed her fingers outward, turning around to face the Doctor and continuing her steps backwards. "Come on." She rolled her eyes and tilted her head sideways, slowing her pace until they were aligned again. She bumped lightly against his side and looked him over, chuckling. "Well, I can see the vanity issues have been resolved." She was pretty sure she saw his cheeks redden ever so slightly as he took in full sight of himself, but the coloring disappeared just as quickly.

"Let's just get this over with." He huffed, sticking his hands subconsciously in his ruffled pockets and slightly increasing his pace.

They went from section to section, isle to isle, all over the store in desperate attempt for something that may go along the lines of sort of pleasing him. Clara tried to sway him towards something a bit more casual that an all out suit, but he'd hear none of it.

"I'm not letting you change my preference in clothing." He scowled. "Let's just find something and get the hell out of here."

"Fine, then." She muttered, leading him to the store's largest selection. "Pick one."

"There's none with the red on the inside!" He whined, examining every inch of each suit. "Let's go somewhere else."

"Doctor, I'm not driving all round town just because you're too picky to settle on just one jacket. If you're in a such a hurry, pick one out or I'll do it for you."

"No way. I don't trust your fashion sense." He gestured to her, furrowing his brow. "I mean, look at you."

"So much for the vanity issues being resolved." Clara mumbled under her breath, and picked out a random suit jacket from the rack. Black button up with grey lining. That wasn't so bad, was it?

So much for that.

"No, no, and how about no!" The Doctor hissed, counting off on his fingers the obnoxiously long list of flaws in the clothing item. After the process repeated until they'd gone through every jacket presented, Clara gave up.

"Fine, then. Keep that old damn jacket of yours." She rolled her eyes dramatically and stomped off, the Doctor trailing behind a little slower.

"Wait." He called out reluctantly, eyes fixed on the floor and hands bunched into fists before he retreated back to the section. "This one's sort of, slightly not horrible." He muttered. "Slightly."

Clara just laughed and retrieved the black button up with wide pockets and silver lining on the inside, draped it over her arm, and headed back to the front of the store.

No matter how much he might never admit it, whether or not he'd take the secret to the grave, all attempts at arguing were futile.

Because the Doctor was going domestic, and there was nothing he could do about it.