The front door opened and Clara stopped typing, glancing to a small clock on Herbert's desk with a frown of confusion, seeing it was just a quarter to three, before she shifted towards the man who came to stand in the doorway. He smiled shyly and then reached out with a cup to her and warned, "It's terrible."

Clara's head shifted and she side eyed him with a small giggle before stating, "You brought me terrible coffee?"

He laughed, head bowing as she took it, and then he nodded, "I brought you terrible coffee."

"Thank you?" She offered in response, smiling when he chuckled and then moved past her to settle his satchel atop the bed before sitting. Clara placed the coffee next to his typewriter and she turned in the seat, looking to the perplexed expression marring his face and she asked lightly, "Are you alright?"

With a small smile, he nodded and then looked to her, to how concerned she was and how her eyes studied him and somehow he knew – if he lied to her, she would absolutely know. Raising his hand on an inhale, he managed, "Just ran into an old friend."

Clara grinned, "You? Friends?" Then her breath caught in her throat as she asked, "The Doctor?"

Head tilting slightly, Herbert laughed and offered with a nod, "Yeah, actually – how'd you know?"

Her laugh was oddly nervous and she turned back away and Herbert could have sworn the color was draining from her skin as she looked back to him to explain with a wave of her hand, "You just haven't mentioned any other friends – lucky guess, I suppose," then she gripped the back of the chair tightly to ask, "What did you talk about?"

She knew it didn't necessarily mean he'd run into the Doctor who had dropped her off. She understood it was still the late 70's and it could have meant any of a number of the Doctor's faces. She looked back to Herbert and she went red in the face because he was staring at her with a question on his mind he wasn't asking and she knew – he was reading her body language and the wavering of her voice and knowing something was wrong because somehow he could see through her in a way that sometimes made her feel terrible.

Because she didn't want to lie to him.

Brow dropping slightly, Herbert offered honestly, "You."

"Me?" Clara laughed.

Nodding, Herbert touched his satchel and grinned, telling her softly, "It's funny I hadn't thought about it before, but, you kind of remind me of him – sort of coming out of nowhere, turning things a bit on their head." He sighed, thinking to himself: the avoidance, the redirection of topics, the small lies that drove him mad…

Lips dropping, Clara sighed, "I'm sorry."

She stood slowly and looked towards her resume, sitting in the typewriter, and to the six other copies she'd managed to create while he'd been gone and she sighed, but he was standing, crossing the space between them to touch her shoulder and turn her towards him and Clara watched him shake his head before he assured in a half truth, "I didn't mean that in a negative way."

"Oh," she said softly, corners of her mouth lifting.

Herbert huffed a laugh and then his hand dropped as he took a small step back, as though suddenly aware of how close they'd been, and she blushed because his hands pushed deep into his pockets. With a small awkward wiggle of his shoulders, he asked brightly, "Get your resume done?"

She gestured back behind her and told him quietly, "Yeah, did you get any writing done?"

His head shook, but he smiled bashfully because he'd forgotten that's why he'd left in the first place. He'd intended to go to his mum's shop, or to the park for a few hours, but after seeing the Doctor, all he could think about was getting back to Clara. Of course, the Doctor's insistence on taking her back a coffee had something to do with it, but he'd been thinking about her from the moment he'd brought her up. About sitting with her and watching a movie, or going for a walk with her to laugh at the world around them, or simply talking.

Talking about each other, maybe, he thought.

"What?" She laughed.

"I love your laugh," he mumbled nervously.

Her hand came up to cover her mouth, but he stopped it gently, giving her a small shake of his head and Clara sighed and asked him again, "What?" Then she elaborated, "What are you doing right now?"

"I want to know you," he told her firmly. "I want to know more about you."

Clara glanced towards the bed and she heard him laugh softly under his breath before she went red in the cheeks understanding his meaning was purely… pure, and she prompted, "What do you want to know?"

"Where were you born?" He stated quickly, chin coming up smugly as he released her hand.

She licked her lips and fought the grin as she replied, "Blackpool."

"Carnie," he snarled.

"No," she told him on a giggle, "Though I did enjoy Sandcastle as a child."

Herbert considered it and then shrugged, "Never heard of it."

And Clara's eyes went wide because she suddenly remembered it'd opened the year she'd been born, so she laughed, picked up her cup off his desk, and walked out into the living room to drop lightly onto the couch, waiting for Herbert to join her before she nodded to him and shot, "What about you? Artist, writer, a bit of an introvert, don't believe in science fiction, and you seem to enjoy bad coffee."

He watched her take a sip just before he sat on the other side of the couch, kicking his shoes off to bring his feet up to bend his knees into his chest, "Got the mickey taken out of me regularly in school, spent a lot of time to myself, worked for a bit in the coffee shop we met at – but couldn't handle the management…" he wrinkled his nose and Clara laughed.

"Fairly popular, but mostly because I avoided confrontation," Clara asserted, "Got into babysitting to earn extra money, went out with friends with said money, and decided I wanted to become a teacher. Thought I'd do good at it."

"Were you good at it?" Herbert asked.

She smiled, "I believe I was, yeah."

"You should teach now."

"I've no references," Clara admitted, "And positions are probably filled at this point."

He watched her set her cup down on the coffee table and she brought her own feet up to cross her legs, slouching comfortably to grab at her knees before she shrugged and he told her, "When you can, you should do it."

"I will," Clara told him, eyeing him suspiciously wondering whether the Doctor had told him something he wasn't telling her, or whether he was simply encouraging her to follow what made her happy and she imagined, knowing what little she knew of Herbert, it was that. He wanted her to do what made her happy and he could read it on her – she did enjoy teaching. "What about you? When are you going to submit a novel to a publisher?"

He smirked, "What makes you think I haven't?"

"You're not published," she teased before reaching out to grab at his large toe, seeing the way it made him smile as she backed away. "I find it hard to believe one of these tales of yours would fail to grab someone's attention."

He sighed, "Problem is, I would need fresh material and, to be honest, I cheated a little on the source."

"What, plagiarism?" Clara asked, straightening with a bit of shock.

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head, then he tested her by telling her, "What if I told you all of my stories are true?"

The words were met with an odd silence as her lips dropped slightly and she stared as she held to the bright edges of her bell bottoms before asking, "How do you mean?"

Herbert let his feet slide, his left tucking itself at her side, his right dropping off the couch, and he shrugged and told her, "Well, not every bit of it – but the characters are real people, the murders did happen, the day was saved in very much the same way and somehow I saw it happen."

Mouth going dry, Clara studied the curious way he was watching her and some part of her wondered whether this was his way of admitting he'd travelled with the Doctor himself. She couldn't believe the thought hadn't crossed her mind – possibly because of how easily he'd dismissed the notion of time travelling altogether before. But maybe it'd been defensive, and maybe he'd known the Doctor not as a simple flat mate, but as his companion in the Tardis for a time.

Clara scratched at her ankles and she licked her lips as he waited, and then she asked, "How would that be possible?"

Smiling slyly, he turned away and then finally laughed because Herbert did want to make an admission, but he'd seen an odd fear in her eyes and he'd seen the way her body had tensed. He shook his head as he bowed it and then he lied softly, "I'm only teasing."

"You've got a strange way of teasing," Clara responded in kind.

He took a short breath and told her honestly, "I do draw my inspiration for characters from real people, from real events." He lifted his head to see a bit of relief wash over her and his heart broke because he didn't know how she would respond if she knew the whole truth. The reason the Doctor had come to stay with him. He scratched at his head and gestured at his notebook, "That's why I take so many notes; it's why I draw the pictures. Everyone is a character, every bit of every day is an inspiration for something unknown and wonderful."

Clara nodded slowly, feeling her heartbeat slowing as she asked, "Have I become a character?"

Smiling fondly, Herbert sighed, "You're a moment in time."

Settling her hands around her ankles, Clara feigned sadness as she stated, "Just a moment? Hardly seems important."

But Herbert raised his hands and laughed, explaining, "No, Clara – you don't understand. A lifetime is full of characters. It's filled with settings and events and dialogues and fights, but in every lifetime there are moments on which everything hinges. The whole of a lifetime depends on what happens in a series of moments, scattered along a timeline. And everything else is an influence, everything else is a factor, but it's all down to those seemingly simple moments."

"How am I a moment then?" Clara whispered, feeling her throat closing.

He swallowed roughly and told her quietly, "You've changed my lifetime."

They both went still: Herbert waiting for her reaction to his words; Clara shocked to have heard them. He was certain, after a moment of silence, that he'd scared her, and he bowed his head bashfully, hands lifting to grip at the sides of his neck as he chuckled. He shook his head and felt his eyes warm because he'd laid his heart out and Clara had responded by freezing up, terrified because he'd been too forward. His eyes closed as he muttered an apology and gave another tiny shake of his head, brow knotting painfully

Clara watched him, her own bottom lip trembling along with her chest because she knew he'd said more than he'd intended. She knew Herbert had told her how he felt unintentionally and she'd closed up against it, too scared of what it would mean to respond. In her mind, she could wave away what had happened that morning – she could pretend it didn't mean as much to her as it did – but she knew the truth. They would never be just friends, they would always be far too irrationally invested in each other to ever be just friends.

Bending forward slowly, she uncrossed her legs and then crawled closer to Herbert. Clara watched his eyes open slowly, curiously observing her as she fought her own fears and laid down atop him to rest her head at his left shoulder. She heard him huff a laugh and she peered up at him and smiled honestly. Taking a long breath and sniffling, she hugged him, her fingertips grazing lightly over his sweater.

"Clara?" He questioned, feeling his heartbeat quicken as he looked down at their bodies, strewn over the couch casually, and he was struck by how very comfortable he was with her. He would have imagined lying this way with a woman would have sent him into a full blown meltdown at the unexpected intimacy, but what he wanted to do was hold Clara even closer.

She inched up and kissed his jaw softly and then leaned her forehead into his cheek, smiling when his hand came up to meet hers atop his chest as she told him quietly, "You are my moment."

Because she understood how easily she could have left him and she understood how she could have searched out the Doctor and she absolutely understood that she had every measure of control over her life and she'd chosen, despite it all, to consider her future with Herbert. A future in 1977 apart from her family and friends because she felt more at home with this man than she'd felt in a very long time. Clara laughed and she lifted up, gently shifting her weight to grind into him seductively as she dropped her lips to his, hearing the small intake of a breath from Herbert's nose.

Clara could storm into UNIT and she could find the Brigadier and she could tell him she refused to leave except via Tardis to her own time. She could take all of her money and call him over and over until he answered. She could stage her own catastrophic event; some event she knew the Tardis would bring the Doctor to and she could slap him across the face and demand to be taken home.

But as she melted onto Herbert's body, deepening the kiss and lazily stroking her fingers through his hair, she wanted nothing more than to lay there for days. Clara wanted to know what he was writing and she wanted to know what he'd drawn and she wanted to ask him about his future plans. She wanted to hear him tell his stories and she wanted to share her own. For the first time in so very long, Clara wanted nothing to do with space travel and alien races and alternate universes.

Her cheeks went hot as his hands slid over her, finally finding their way underneath her shirt to caress at her breasts, this time more firmly and confidently than he had that morning and she felt herself slipping sideways as Herbert turned on the couch. His lips broke from hers and hungrily dove to her neck and she moaned when he worked a welt into her shoulder and then soothed it with his tongue. Clara undid his trousers and tugged at them eagerly and she was breathless when he worked her own off, dropping them beside the couch with her knickers, pushing his just low enough to free himself from his pants to plow into her.

He rocked against her awkwardly and Clara held him tightly, meeting his lips as they searched out hers, groaning to match his movements. Her shirt stuck to her skin, and her body was ablaze, but she didn't dare stop him – she was too close; too lost in blind passion. Clara shifted her head aside, pressing her temple to his cheek and she felt his mouth drop to taste her neck again as he grunted and her voice escaped on a wavering call of his name, eyes pinching shut while her body succumbed, bucking and tensing around him as he continued to dive into her.

Holding tight to her, Herbert let out a choked cry and he settled his ear to her jaw, kissing lightly at her shoulder as he tried to regain his breathing through the small groans involuntarily huffed into her hair. He felt her tilt her head into him, her hands stroking softly at his back, searching beneath the sweater now drenched and itching his skin, and she slid her palms down, holding gently to his buttocks just before she released a small laugh.

Lifting himself up as he kept them conjoined, Herbert reached down to swipe the hair out of her face, smoothing away the moisture from above her top lip before bending to kiss her again. Clara lifted a hand to hold his face and she hooked her right leg around his body, urging him closer – an unspoken request he answered by dropping his weight onto her to bury himself inside of her. An answer that gained him a long moan and a soft giggle before he looked down at her again.

It was always there in his eyes – that look of pure curiosity – and Clara smiled as she slid her hand over his cheek and then gave his chin a tug with her thumb and forefinger before telling him softly, "We should start thinking about dinner."

Herbert laughed, momentarily looking away before shaking his head and then finding her again to nod slowly and respond, "I was honestly thinking about dessert."

Clara frowned and glanced up, asking lightly, "The pie your mum left?"

He smirked, waiting for her to bring her gaze back to him to give her a bob of his head before he kissed her again. It was shy and soft and Clara responded in kind before he shifted back from her and pulled the sweater over his head, dropping it heavily onto the floor as Clara sat up and pulled her own shirt off. Herbert stripped his trousers and pants off and he reached for her hand, smiling when she stood and took it, and he lead her towards his bedroom, gesturing to the bed.

"Weren't allowed a proper post-coital cuddle previously," he told her with a small grin.

Eyebrows rising, Clara asked, "You're for that sort of thing?"

Herbert shrugged, "Why wouldn't I want to spend more time in the arms of the woman I've just made love to?"

Her heart gave an unexpected jolt at the words and she slowly nodded, shifting his sheets back to climb in, laughing when Herbert jumped in after her. He settled on his back and she stretched herself along his side, leaning her head at his shoulder before she admitted, "Our agreement's going to have to change, Herbert."

Shifting to look down at her, he frowned, asking, "Why's that?"

Licking her lips, Clara sighed, "It has an end date."

He bent to meet her lips and Clara held a palm to his chest to feel his steady heartbeat pounding there as she inched up, curling her left leg over his as she parted her lips, grinning when he immediately moved in eagerly. Clara laughed and then she sighed, making herself comfortable at his side as he asked her again about dinner as his left hand rubbed slowly up and down her arm, eventually finding her waist to hold.

They casually spoke of their favorite meals and then told each other their most embarrassing stories about being in restaurants with their parents as children – learning they had each knocked over a waiter's tray – and eventually they went quiet. Clara calmed her own heart with the feel of Herbert's because she knew this was, as he'd said, a moment. It was a moment that could potentially change a multitude of futures and the idea sent a small jolt of fear through her body, but settled the tiniest of grins onto her lips just before she dozed off, comfortable in Herbert's arms.