A/N: I believe fluff is required somewhere out there, so here we are.

Thirty-One

Clara walked into the TARDIS and automatically knew things were not going well. For one, she could hear the ship specifically whirring and buzzing while the Doctor shouted nonsense, which usually meant that they were arguing (with intense swearing on his part). Another was simply that he wasn't there at the front door to greet her after having come home from work, which had been a distinct rarity within the past year and a half. Actually, she couldn't remember him having missed a day since she told him about the fact she was pregnant… something that she was finding increasingly difficult to hide from her coworkers.

The most telling way she knew that things were not going well, however, was that all of the railings in the console room were wrapped in foam rubber held in place by cable ties.

"Uh, Doctor…?" she called out, unsure of what might answer her. She put her bag down on the wingback chair and carefully walked around, investigating the silent, eerie mood in the ship. There was a crash from further inside the exiting corridor as she entered, the sound of which made her wince. "Are you alright…?"

Another string of nonsense-syllables and a nearby door slid opened, allowing the Doctor to fall onto his rear, a veritable tangle of cable ties, foam padding strips, and electrical tape. The ship spat a box of screws, a non-sonic screwdriver, and an assorted collection of brass hardware that seemed too mish-mash to actually have mates amongst them. A stern –braap— from the TARDIS and the door slammed shut.

"What did you do?" Clara asked with a chuckle. The Doctor's attention jerked in her direction, ears turning red as he stumbled to stand and untangle himself from the mess.

"Nothing!" he claimed.

"Nothing…? That didn't look much like nothing." She watched him as he threw the debris into the closed door, finishing it off with kicking the box of screws into the mess. "What were you doing?"

"I began to childproof the TARDIS," he admitted sourly, glaring at the ceiling. "It's not like there's a finite number of rooms or anything, so I might as well start now." The Doctor stepped towards Clara and put his hands on her hips, bending down to gently press his forehead against hers. "How was work, Clara? Did the pudding brains learn anything?"

"I think I convinced Courtney that her argumentative skills need to be concentrated in debate club and not wasted in Literature class," she nearly purred. She felt the children inside her leap in joy as they realized their parents were standing there together, cuddling the best they could for standing in the corridor. "Yes, kids; we're with Daddy again. He's having a spat with Auntie Idris, the numpty."

"I am not a numpty," he pouted.

When Clara simply laughed in reply, he picked her up and carried her down the corridor to a room that they had gotten to know well over the past few weeks. Ever since Clara had begun to experience irregular nesting urges (and the Doctor, via an odd phenomenon he couldn't explain without going deep into Time Lord hormones that served no purpose to any functioning human being), the TARDIS had gone and created a room for them to turn into a nursery. The walls had already been painted by-hand and a couple bits and bobs rescued from the interior of the ship, including a short bookcase that was sitting half-painted on a drop-cloth in the middle of the room.

"I think she wants you to confine your efforts to this room," Clara smirked. She left a quick kiss on his cheek and knelt down next to the bookcase to continue her painting project from the day before. Glad that the sentient ship kept the paint dry, she picked up the brush and continued spreading the white goop over the mismatched planks of wood.

"Did you tell your boss you're leaving?" the Doctor wondered, sitting down next to her.

"I'm giving my two-week notice as of Friday," she said. Glancing over at him, she found the Doctor's gaze upon her, soft and adoring. "What…?"

"Nothing."

"Again: that doesn't look much like nothing." She leaned into the kiss he pressed behind her ear, then behind her jaw, and lower on her jawline… "This can't wait?"

"I'd like it not to," he murmured hotly. Clara gently tapped his cheek with the tip of her brush before continuing, leaving a glob of paint on his face. He wiped it off with a nearby rag before grazing her face with the face with the wet remnants. She stared at him in false outrage, this time smacking his nose with paint. It was not too long before the two were absolutely covered in paint splatter and the TARDIS was whirring at them to stop giving her even more of a mess to clean up.

"Alright, alright," the Doctor groaned. He leaned over Clara—now laying on her back—and bent down, gently kissing her. "We'll stop being silly and shower all this off. Won't we, Clara?"

"Sure thing, my silly, daft man." She gazed up at him with a fire going through her, one that wanted to get her space-insect into the shower soon as possible. One of the twins attempted to protest, instead wanting to eat some pickles, but its mother and father decidedly ignored that as they made their way to the bathroom.

Their spaceship-aunt, however, cleaned up the spilt and splattered paint. Again.