The Doctor hadn't known what he had expected Danny Pink to be like. Human? Yes. Male? Yes. Teacher-y? Definitely. He wanted Danny to be geeky, nervous- somebody who Clara would never look twice at, but would be doted on by. A nice tale of unrequited love that ensured that the Doctor always came first in Clara's affections. Selfish, he knew, but he just couldn't help it.

This idea was only enforced when Clara told him that Danny was a maths teacher- you almost never get good-looking maths teachers. They were almost always middle aged, female or boring. Another point to the Doctor.

So when he opened the door to Mr Pink, confident and with his chest puffed out, the reality of Clara's new Gentleman Friend froze him to the door mat in shock.

Danny Pink was young, if slightly older than Clara- the Doctor estimated his age at twenty nine, maybe edging into his thirties. He was dark skinned, the colour of oak, and sported a close shaven hair cut and a well trimmed black beard that accentuated his strong jaw line. His eyes were brown, so dark they were looked black. There were secrets in those eyes, but they still held a faint promise of kindness if you were fortunate enough to unlock it.

His body was no improvement to the Doctor either; he was broad, strong; he had sombre gravity to him. When he entered a room, he filled it, commanded it even. He was much more manly than the Doctor. Much more suited to Clara's needs in a partner. He was also a good few inches taller than the Doctor, which annoyed him immensely.

The only thing that the Doctor really liked about him was the colour of his jacket. TARDIS-blue. The rest of him just annoyed the Doctor to no end.

"Hello, I'm Danny. You must be the Doctor?" He smiled warmly, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I would shake your hand but..." He raised his hands pointedly. In one was a Tesco carrier bag holding a large box of chocolates and several huge hand-made cards and in the other was the biggest bouquet of flowers that the Doctor had ever seen. White Peonies- her favourite.

"Yep. That's me. Hello, Danny," he said, jealousy bubbling up in his chest, "would you like any help with those?"

Danny looked down at the items in his hands. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll manage," he politely declined the Doctor's offer, "didn't spend nine years in the army for nothing," he added cheerfully.

"Quite," replied the Doctor. They stood there awkwardly for a while, the Doctor unconsciously blocking the door so Danny couldn't get through. He considered how best to kidnap the man and, flowers and all, bundle him into the TARDIS and shove him in the nearest black hole. He probably wouldn't have much of a chance though. Clara would notice if her colleague went missing.

There was a squeal behind him, jogging him from his thoughts. He whipped around, frowning and leapt quickly out of the way as Clara came zooming down the narrow hallway at high speed calling Danny's name. When he saw her, Danny's smile widened considerably and his perfect white teeth (another thing the Doctor immediately disliked, those teeth were too perfect) flashed as Clara braked and skidded to a stop a few inches from his shins.

"Hello, Chocolate." Danny's eyes softened when he saw her. It was blindingly obvious that he loved her- it was written in every line of his face, they way he gazed at her adoringly in her chair as she chuckled at her nickname.

"Are those for me?" She asked him cheekily, tilting her head and grinning when he hid the flowers behind his back.

"No, actually- there's this lovely old lady that lives down my road, I thought she would appreciate them. Turns out she likes peonies as much as you do."

"I never knew you went for old ladies. Then again, you are a maths teacher," Clara deadpanned.

"Says the woman who reads Shakespeare for fun," he shot back, "what's your type, Charles Dickens?" He gave her the flowers all the same though. The bouquet was so big Clara was lost behind it. She smelled them appreciatively then passed them up to the Doctor, who grudgingly took them feeling sick to his stomach.

"Put them in a vase, would you?" She asked, barely looking at him as Danny shifted the carrier bag further up his arm and grabbed hold of her handlebars, spinning her chair as she shrieked with laughter.

"If I can find one big enough," he joked, heart swelling a touch when she turned her brilliant smile on him before she refocused it on Danny, who was teasing her about her taste in movies.

The Doctor left them to it, and went into the kitchen to locate a vase. He had to empty several cupboards until he found one big enough, pushed right to the back and coated in a layer of dust. He pulled it out and washed it with a bowl of soapy water and a cloth until it shone again. It was an old fashioned vase in the style of Art Deco, each triangular pane of glass a different colour. The Doctor carried it back through to the living room and placed it in the centre of the dining table. Under the pretext of arranging the peonies, he peered through the gaps between petals at Clara and Danny, who were both sitting on the sofa talking. Clara was clearly uncomfortable with her positioning; she kept on trying to move herself into a better angle but without a cushion she just slid down again, inch by inch. If Danny had noticed he wasn't showing it, his eyes rounder than most planets the Doctor had taken Clara to.

Never mind him, the Doctor told himself as the man stretched his arm along the back of the sofa towards Clara, get her the cushion.

The Doctor strode out from behind the flowers, making Danny jump out of his skin. Clara stayed still, unsurprised- he often turned up in her flat unexpected and after the first few scoldings she had given him didn't deter him she had learned to live with it. The Doctor took pride in the fact that he was as welcome in her home as she was in his TARDIS.

Clara looked up at him and smiled with something akin to relief as he tenderly tucked a cushion into the small of her back and took hold of her waist, helping her back to settle into the cushion. He shot a triumphant grin to Danny who glared stonily back.

Hah, thought the Doctor gloatingly, bet she never lets you hold her waist. One- nil to the Doctor.

Pleased with himself, the Doctor plopped himself onto the sofa directly between the pair and draped his arms along the back of the sofa so Clara's head was resting on one and Danny was shrinking away from the other. "What's in the carrier bag?" He asked brightly, electing to ignore the daggers Danny-boy was shooting at him and Clara's exasperated sigh.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" She questioned, annoyed.

He shrugged. "Bored, concerned, take your pick. Thought I'd come along and see how you both were."

"We're fine," Clara said flatly, drumming her fingers on her leg. It was Danny's turn to look smug.

"I thought so. Always good to double check. What's in the bag?" he asked again, persistent. If he left now, Danny might take it to be a weakness. Clara folded her arms.

"Chocolates and cards from students. I'll show you later," she promised, flicking her hair deliberately in his face with enough force to sting as she turned to look the other way, pointing at the bag. The Doctor winced as approximately one hundred thousand hairs whipped his skin at high speed. Danny laughed, and the Doctor wondered whether it was rude to deck guests.

"You can show me now, if you like," he offered, "I'm sure Danny won't mind, will you?" He directed the last part to the man sitting next to him, who looked to be a mixture of irritated and midly amused.

"Doctor..." Clara warned, voice dropping an octave or two. Both mens' eyes darkened at the low register her voice had just reached and the Doctor sidled closer to her on the sofa protectively.

"Yes...?" He answered, voice plummeting even lower than her's had and it was Clara's turn to shiver as his eyes bored into her own. The Doctor noticed the subtle change in her facial expression and hedged his bets, moving closer again and curling his arm around her shoulders.

Clara closed her eyes, clearly composing herself, then said in a carefully controlled voice, "isn't there something you should be doing right now?"

"Like what?" He kept his voice low, increasingly aware of the effect it was having on her.

Clara squirmed and bit her lip. Now it was the Doctor's turn to be distracted; the sliver of pink revealed when her teeth worried her lip almost too much for him to bear. It made him want to kiss her so badly it felt as though his whole body were aflame, and he clenched his fists as the feeling tore through him, all master plans of defeating Danny flung out of the window as he studied an equally conflicted human girl unsuccessfully bottling her emotions in front of him.

"Doctor.." Clara managed eventually, licking her lips. The tension was so thick he could cut it with a knife.

The Doctor made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. He was way beyond the point of talking. The way Clara was staring at him now, he was ninety percent sure that if he kissed her she would reciprocate. He lowered his head and waited, barely breathing as he strained to hear her whispered answer.

"Please...just leave," she told him sadly, "I need to tell Danny something."

The Doctor's hearts deflated like a punctured balloon; loudly, and blowing one last defiant raspberry to the world. He looked at her like she had kicked a puppy, all wounded eyes and drooping smile.

"Oh," he said, retracting his arm from around her shoulder and immediately missing her weight against it, "if that's what you want." He left the statement hanging in the air until she nodded dejectedly, gazing at her slippered feet that never quite reached the floor. The Doctor gently held the back of her head with both hands and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead before he left, rubbing her cheek with a thumb and telling her to call if she needed him, to which she smiled and muttered a simple yes back.

He didn't leave the kitchen after that.

He fetched the fold-up chair from the narrow gap in-between Clara's counters and the wall and sat there for the last half an hour of Danny's visit, picking listlessly at a Jammy Dodger as their voices drifted through the open door. He felt physically sick, hearing Clara laughing and teasing another man. The Doctor had never reacted well to his companions having romantic relationships- he had been quick to dismiss Mickey as Rose's pet and even Rory, at first, hadn't inspired much of his confidence. He had broken up Donna's relationship (to be fair, he had been in league with a giant female spider at the time) and had been the object of Martha's affection for a time. He was no stranger to the human desire to love and be loved. But Danny was different- he could not be cowed or intimidated like he had Mickey and Rory. The man could easily stand up to and put down the Doctor if he wanted to, much like how Rory had been towards the end. Only, much, much, worse because Danny stood in-between him and Clara and if he was to have any chance with his feisty companion, the Doctor would have to effectively remove him from her life or convince her to let him go. He had the sinking feeling that a man like Danny would not give up a girl like Clara easily.

The Doctor munched his way through half the biscuit before he noticed raised voices coming from the living room. He leaped from his seat so fast it tipped to the ground, biscuit falling from his fingers to the floor as hope began to grow in his chest. Was Clara shouting at Danny?

As quietly as he could the Doctor tiptoed down the hallway, listening. Yes, that was Clara shouting- and could he detect a hint of guilt in Danny's answering tones? He almost did a jig on the spot. Goodbye untouchable Clara Crush, hello Mickey Smith Mark Two. He straightened his bow tie and strode confidently into the room, feigning surprise at the tense situation within. Clara was sat rigid in her chair, cheeks flushed, leaning forward on her palms as she spat something so fast at Danny that the Doctor missed what she was saying completely. He didn't bother to listen to his reply, instantly moving to Clara's side, but he could tell that whatever it was Danny had said upset them both.

Clara looked up when the Doctor reached her chair. Her face was a hostile mask, the default emotion she displayed when she was hurting. He placed his hand on her cheek and she closed her eyes, mask cracking as his thumb stroked over her ear.

"What's going on?" He asked them both, a mixture of concerned and defensive. Clara shook her head and Danny averted his gaze, standing awkwardly but angrily in the centre of the room.

"Just...make him leave," she sighed, mask softening as his thumb continued to stroked down her cheek to her jaw, rubbing over tear tracks that had carved clear tracks through her make up and dried there.

"If that's what you want..."

She nodded. The Doctor slid his hand from her cheek and marched over to Danny, looking a lot more confident than he felt.

"I'm not leaving," Danny stated boldly, folding his arms across his chest, brow furrowed. The Doctor copied him but the effect was much less threatening when the lanky Time Lord did it than the muscular, ex-army maths teacher.

"Yes, you are. You have thirty seconds. Door's that way," the Doctor pointed in the general direction of the front door. He knew that behind him, Clara was itching to grab the man by the collar and fling him out headfirst by herself, but with her legs that was just not possible.

Danny stood resolutely still. The Doctor the watch on his wrist deliberately slowly to face him and counted down the seconds out loud. Annoyingly, the man ignored the hint and still didn't leave.

"Why are you still here?" The Doctor said rudely once the allotted time had elapsed.

"I want to know who it is," he stated to Clara. Her face paled.

"Who what is?" The Doctor replied, genuinely confused.

"Who is so important that she won't even consider, after all these months we've known each other, dat-"

"Leave. Now." Clara stressed, eyes flickering from the Doctor to Danny and back again.

The Doctor felt like he was missing something, something important. He clicked his fingers as Clara fiddled nervously with hers, some other emotion getting the better of her anger. He looked at Danny, but all he was getting from him was anger. What was going on?

Danny, perhaps seeing an opportunity in the Doctor's confusion, tried to quickly run around him. The Doctor was quicker, though, and caught him by the arm with one hand all thoughts of Clara flying from his mind.

"Get out," he told him dangerously, shoving him towards the door.

"But-" Danny protested. The Doctor grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, adrenaline pounding through him, and practically dragged the man down the hallway as he shouted threats at him. The Doctor ignored him as he twisted in his grip and calmly opened the door, throwing Danny out onto the concrete floor outside Clara's flat and shutting the door firmly in his face.

"Right," he said to himself, brushing off his hands. He locked the door then re-entered the living room. "What was that?" He demanded of Clara, uncharacteristically angry with her.

Clara swallowed. "I told him...I told him something personal, he took it badly and we argued. What is there to say?"

"Clara, I just threw a man out of your flat for you without any explanation! There is a lot to say!" He ran a hand frustratedly through his quiff, mussing it up so it stuck out in all directions. It would have been funny if he hadn't been so irritated.

"I know!" She snapped back fiercely, tense, "I know," she repeated, softer, "thank you, Doctor. For getting rid of him."

He nodded then replied quietly, "Why won't you tell me?"

Clara fiddled with her nails. "It's personal," she argued, "I don't want to talk about it."

One look at her face told her that he wasn't going to get anywhere with this line of attack. It was set in another of her masks; the calm, reserved one this time. He sighed. "Well if you do," he said waving a hand nonchalantly in her direction, "I'm always here."

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. The Doctor once again retired to the kitchen when Clara's friends arrived, harbouring no desire to spend an hour with a bunch of giggly women. One was enough at the best of times.

Once they had left (sobbing and leaving two empty boxes of chocolates) the Doctor found Clara asleep in her chair in the living room. He frowned in concern. All she ever seemed to do was sleep. Sighing, he gathered her up into his arms and walked her back into her bedroom and deposited her on the bed, covering her with a thin blanket to protect the evening chill. The TARDIS glowed blue in the corner, and the Doctor wondered exactly when he had given up his life to look after Clara. Where once his head was full of stars and planets and wonders to take her too, now he worried over the amount of medication she was taking; whether he needed to increase or decrease the amount, if he had given her the right doses of the correct tablets that morning. He worried if she was comfortable, he agonised over what food he should cook and if it was good enough for her and if it gave her the nutrients she needed to survive. He was anxious about her mental state; what she was thinking, how she was feeling, how her condition was affecting her. He lived in fear that Fenric would come back and finish her off before her illness would. He placed his head in his hands. Whenever he stopped to think all these doubts and fears would crescendo, clamouring for his immediate attention, and it was all he could do to keep a lid on it all. One thing at a time.

The Doctor checked his watch. Six-fifteen in the evening. He needed to have a rummage through Clara cupboards to see what she had, then plan some meals for the next week. He had no idea how he was going to accomplish this; maybe he should wait for Clara to wake up before he attempted it. Focus on tonight's dinner first, worry about the next few days' when he had the time and the knowledge to deal with it properly. Nodding to himself, he reached into his pocket and produced two compact baby monitors. He switched both on and checked that they were on the same frequency before placing one on Clara's bedside table and, leaving her in the room with a kiss on the forehead, settled the other one on the counter next to him in the kitchen. He could hear her breathing through it, reassuring him that he would immediately know if her condition changed. Pulling a few recipe books from the shelf just outside, he sat down in his fold out chair and began to read.