A/N: Here's a prompt fill that takes place during the incubation of James and Alison.

Now that she was fully moved into the TARDIS, Clara found herself in a position she had never been in before: living with the Doctor. She had spent a couple nights in the ship before, when she wanted to make sure she was wholly recouped before returning to her students, but it was nothing like seeing the daily routine that her time-space beau had… or didn't have, more the like. While her life on Earth wasn't exactly regimented by any means, it certainly had a lot more stability than his.

"Come on, Clara—time to rise and shine!" he said. The Doctor flicked a switch on the wall and the false window projecting a quiet wood lit up into sunshine and birdsong.

"You are going to die," she growled, pulling the blanket up over her head.

"We all do eventually, though I'm not sure why you're mentioning it now…"

"Pregnant women need their sleep, which is what I'm going to keep on doing thank you very much." She made sure the covers were snug and curled up underneath them. "Get me in two hours."

"Except we need to start the day now," he insisted. He tugged at the blankets, hoping she's relent. "How am I supposed to know which socks to wear if I don't know what you're wearing?"

Clara poked her head out from underneath her blanket cocoon. "You match your socks to my outfits?"

"I match a lot of things to your outfits; come on," he urged. She watched him as he exited the room—in bare feet, sure enough—and got out of bed despite her body's aches and pains. It all had to do with the pregnancy, she told herself, which was frankly the only reason why she even tolerated it. A lumpy red jumper and a pair of black yoga trousers seemed suitable for the day, as they were both large and stretchy enough to hide the distinct protrusion beginning to form in her midsection. She wanted to be pregnant, by any and all means, yet that did not necessarily mean she wanted to constantly see it… yet.

Walking over towards the kitchen, Clara sat down at the table while the Doctor put together breakfast. Sipping at her coffee—decaf—she scrolled through her phone, catching up on the daily news thanks to the TARDIS's wifi patching her into her native time. Things here and there, in the UK and abroad, happening despite the fact she wasn't on Earth anymore. The world kept spinning while she was adrift in the time vortex.

"Anything interesting?" the Doctor wondered, putting down two plates of eggs, bacon, and toast. Clara shrugged noncommittally, which caused him to nod in reply. "I see. Well, it's a good thing we have a full schedule ahead of us for the day."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, we have to go over your progress, make sure you've got the necessary bits doing the necessary things, then pop on over to the shop and see what we can get for the children now, and…"

"Doctor, we have a lot of time left, don't we?" she asked. "I mean, you don't want to take this slowly? It's not like we've both got jobs to keep us from running errands, and the TARDIS should make getting there a breeze."

"That's true, but I'd rather be on top of things before the time we do have simply vanishes," he replied. "Being with you reminds me that time isn't forever."

She watched him eat breakfast for a bit, pondering on those words. It was true that he wasn't normal as she knew it, being a nigh-immortal space-alien and all, except in this case, wasn't she the space-alien? The alien whose life was so fleeting that it made beings like him appreciate the passage of time and how fragile things were? He was probably overcompensating, but that wasn't as big of a revelation.

Then again, he was also wearing red socks.

It was good to know that Ikea made it to the Outer Galactic Rim, Clara thought as she and the Doctor walked through a building staffed by all sorts of sentient lifeforms planning to sell them easy-to-build furniture that was likely to be anything but. A small tray of meatballs (at least, Clara thought they were meatballs) in-hand, the Doctor wandered over towards a room display meant to be a nursery in order to inspect the furniture. He looked everything over critically, a contemplative frown on his face which seemed unfettered by him shoving meatballs in his gob periodically.

"What's the matter?" Clara wondered. She placed a hand on her stomach, feeling closer to their children somehow, and attempted to look her space-stick-insect in the eyes. "You look like these won't do at all."

"I'd rather they use the cot I did as a baby, but that's only a one-seater," he explained.

"You still have your cot?"

"Passing down the first cot is a tradition of sorts. I even let the Ponds use my cot… that was, before I found out their daughter was River."

"Sometimes your personal life never ceases to amaze me," she deadpanned. Nudging him gently in the side, she gave him a smile that would cheer him up with any luck. "How about they take turns? We can get two of the full-sized ones, and while they can, switch off whichever child gets to stay in Daddy's old cot."

"That sounds nice, but what happens when both need to be down for a nap?" he asked. "I highly doubt that they'd both fit in there very well, even if twins are born slightly smaller than normal children thanks to their shared gestation period."

"That's when you switch which one gets the old cot and which gets their new cot—weren't you listening?"

"It still doesn't sound right."

"It's the closest thing to 'right' as we can get," she said. Putting a hand on the display's changing table, she wiggled it around to test the sturdiness—passable. "We're going to be parents soon and parents don't have the luxury of second-guessing all that often. Might as well get into that mindset now while we still can."

The Doctor popped a meatball into Clara's mouth and kissed her gently on the forehead. Handing her the tray, he climbed into the display cot, bouncing slightly and leaning on the high bars. "Could be worse."

"Doctor, get out of there before we get kicked out."

"I'm testing it for faults—no one can kick us out for that."

Clara ate another meatball and sighed as she watched the father of her children play on the display furniture. How her life had become this, she had no idea.