A/N: The prompt for this one was "Whouffaldi story where 12 and Clara spend the night camping out at a beach and have to share a sleeping bag."

810 words; just something short and sweet; the TARDIS just wants no hanky-panky is that too much to ask (the answer is yes)

locked out

Date Night had had been going on fairly well, all was considered. A planet was saved, Clara had gotten well beyond her goal steps and cardio in for the day, and they were now relaxing on a primordial beach, enjoying the sand that was to in another few thousand years be under the choppy waves of the Channel. A blanket was laid out, a fire was crackling, and the remnants of their dinner was settled between them.

"You're going to have to warn me next time you're in this romantic a mood," Clara chuckled. She was laying down, her face turned towards the sky, taking in the cosmos above her. "Too much more of this and I might start expecting Gomez Addams to pop out of the TARDIS in a few weeks."

"Gomez Addams wishes he was as romantic as I am," the Doctor boasted. He too was laying on the blanket, however his attention was on the woman next to him. "I know precisely what my Morticia desires."

"Being an accidental revolutionary and picnicking well before the Cheddar Man lived? I can live with that." She turned and glanced in the Doctor's direction, seeing the stars in his eyes."What is a girl not to love?"

"I'd hate to think it." He reached over the blanket to take her hand in his, bringing it to his lips so as to press a kiss to her fingers. "How about we turn in?"

"Turn in or just move to the bed?" she smirked. He remained silent, though his eyebrows were expressive enough to speak for him; it was definitely the latter. "Right, then let's clean up."

The pair of time-and-space travelers began to gather their belongings and headed back towards the TARDIS a short distance away to put their things inside before addressing the smoldering fire. They went to open the door, however, and it wouldn't budge.

They were locked out.

"...and what, might I ask, did we do to deserve this?" the Doctor scowled. A tinny ding came from the door and he opened the part that was supposed to be a phone. Instead there was a small package and a note. He took the package and read the circular writing on the note, at which he pouted. "She's decided we're too handsy to board."

"Are we now?" she chuckled. Clara then pointed to the package. "What's that?"

"It looks like sleeping bags—I guess we're roughing it for the night."

"That barely looks like one."

"Vacuum-sealed for optimal storage." He glanced over at the campfire and sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "Well that's a mood-killer; getting too handsy on a beach will lead to a very uncomfortable time later."

"...then let's just get some sleep and maybe we can get a bit in at the flat before you drop me off at work," she offered, turning her head as she put emphasis on what she was sure the ship needed to hear. He grunted in reluctant acceptance; it was going to have to do.

They trudged back to the side of the campfire and placed the picnic basket down while they prepped for the night. While the Doctor took the blanket and laid it on the sand for them to rest their heads on and avoid as much sand as possible, Clara gathered more sticks for the fire. She returned with several shrubs-worth of sticks, only to find that the Doctor had rolled out one fluffy-looking sleeping bag.

"I thought there was two?" she asked.

"I thought there was as well, but it seems that's not the case," he replied. "The old girl's got a mind to make us unduly suffer. This thing is not bigger on the inside like she is."

"We'll make it work," Clara smirked. She added some branches to the fire and got the wood and leaves to catch. Once it was going strong again, she saw that the Doctor was attempting to fit himself in the sleeping bag. It was already rather on the short side for him, and she could tell she was already maneuvering to squeeze his legs in while still leaving room for her. She left the remainder of the sticks within tossing distance and took off her boots before carefully shuffling herself into the sleeping bag. Before the Doctor could protest, she wrapped her arms around him, snugging up against his back.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked grumpily. She pinched his arm and he hissed. "Ow! What was that for?!"

"Just shut up and sleep, before we decide against it and then we end up with the Sand Problem like the TARDIS wants," she muttered. He stopped struggling and decided to close his eyes, concentrating on how unexpectedly cozy the sleeping bag was with her in it.

Really, the Doctor guessed it wasn't all that bad.