Several weeks later, the Doctor was sitting at the bottom of the stairs leading up from the console room to the upper level of the TARDIS. The nervous energy he was under was visible from the way he tapped one of his heels, and fidgeted with his hands that rested one each on his spread-apart knees. After a few moments of mumbling under his breath, he brought his legs together and leaned his elbows on his knees, his hands folded together under his prominent chin. He was staring fixedly at the doors to the TARDIS that led to the outside world. That outside world was the field in front of Clara Oswald's block of apartments.

He stood up abruptly, and strode to the control panel in the center of the room. "I could just take a short hop around the Ophiocles Nebula and take a peep at the gas cloud surrounding it." He danced around the control panel, flipping switches and hitting buttons with abandon. "It's supposed to shimmer several different colors if you view it from just the right angle. I've been meaning to do that for ages. It would only take a moment." His hand paused on the lever that started the TARDIS on her way. Then he drooped over it.

"It would figure that just as the TARDIS materialized, Clara would be right outside those doors, wondering why I was running off," he groaned, drooping over the lever, but not pulling it down and activating the powerful time machine. He let go of it and twirled around, facing the front doors again. "Argh!" he moaned aloud. "Why is this so hard? It shouldn't be so hard! We're getting married—this should be a time of happiness and joy. Why am I so worried about telling her?"

In his hearts he knew why…that which he needed to tell her might cause her to call the whole thing off. And that was the last thing he wanted. Rejection from her would be devastating. His whole being was poised for this moment in time—when the two of them, himself and Clara, would become one. This was part of it. But he knew how strange…how alien it might appear to Clara.

He stood straight, to his full height. This was all a part of their joining; he shouldn't be afraid. All he had to do was make it sound as natural and normal as it was on Gallifrey. He could even try wording it so she would be eager to do it. With a smug smile and narrowed eyes, he swaggered towards the door. Let her come in now. He was ready for her.

And at that exact moment, one of the doors swung open and Clara skipped into the TARDIS, all excitement and animation. "Doctor!" she cried, quickly coming down the ramp to join him at the console. "I've finally settled on a gown. I tried it on today and it's just exquisite. Just wait 'til you see me in it!"

She literally cannoned into him, arms wrapped around his waist, swinging him around with her until her back was to the console and the Doctor towered over her, slightly dizzy from the spin. With a grin she looked up into his eyes. "Happy to see me?" she asked.

His equilibrium restored, the Doctor smiled back, the complacent expression still on his face. Inside the jelly he'd been only moments before was starting to return. "I've been waiting for you with anticipation," he quipped, leaning down to kiss her briefly on the lips. It was at least a half-truth. He'd been anticipating with dread the thought of trying to explain the strange and unusual to a human mind—one that might reject the notion outright. And he couldn't, no he couldn't chance that. This was important.

"I found the dress at Sylvie's—that's a new wedding dress gallery in the Brunswick Centre. They've got the most gorgeous dresses you've ever seen there. It took me ages going through them to make a decision. The shop girl was very helpful, though. She was very sweet about all the rejects I was tossing her way as I tried them on. Took a long time to figure out which one looked the best. I was torn between two of them—one a kind of ivory color, and the other—Doctor," Here Clara came full stop, tilting her head to one side and looking quizzical. "You're not listening to me, are you?

"Yes, of course I was. Sylvie's. Wedding dress. Patient shop girl. See? I was keeping up," he stated, scratching his cheek as he worked up his nerve to bring the topic around to the reason why he'd asked her to meet him here in the first place. "Sounds wonderful. I can't wait to see it on our wedding day. I'm sure you'll look a dream in it. And speaking of our wedding day, I…I've got something I need to talk to you about, " he ventured, finding his mouth going suddenly very dry.

"If it's about having jammie dodgers and fish fingers and custard at the reception, Doctor, we've already had this discussion and it was no," Clara remarked, a look of finality gracing her features. The Doctor sighed.

"No, no, it's not about that," he replied, squeezing his eyes up and gritting his teeth a bit. He released the gentle hold he'd had on her arms and turned away from her. "It's…something else. Something…important."

Clara, watching him move away from her, took in his body language. There was definitely something on his mind. She could see it in the way his shoulders hung, and the ambling way he walked across the room. Moving to one of the chairs lining the wall of the console room, he plopped down into it, crossed one leg over the other, folded his hands in his lap and looked at her. At that moment, an inspiration of how to begin this most tender topic occurred to him.

"Have you ever wondered what the wedding customs on Gallifrey are?" he asked. Clara crossed over to another chair facing his, and sat down slowly on it.

"I…I never gave it any thought," she confessed. "I guess I took it for granted that you wouldn't mind a human—English—ceremony."

"I don't mind that at all," he remarked. "I find your customs charming, and I'm happy to participate in them. It's just…there are a couple of Gallifreyan customs I'd like to incorporate in our wedding." Now that he'd broken the ice, he felt a bit less nervous about approaching the subject.

"I probably wouldn't have any objection to them as long as they don't involve the words 'naked' or 'obscene,'" she replied.

"What do you take us Gallifreyans for, barbarians? We are an old and ancient culture, Clara. Hardly uncivilized," the Doctor sniffed, a little insulted that she'd imply such a thing. "No, I have in mind one that would involve your father, and one that would be strictly between the two of us."

"You'd better tell me the one that includes my father first, as he'll be the hardest to convince participation out of," she remarked, dryly.

"Nothing more alarming than giving the bride away," the Doctor assured her. "It actually involves the three of us. You and I take a strip of cloth, about a foot long, and wrap each end of it around one hand. We hold it taut between the two of us, then your father gives his consent to our joining by stating, 'I consent and freely give.' If your mother was alive she'd state it too, but since she's not…it'll have to be just him."

"Is that all he has to do? That's very similar to an Earth ceremony…the father of the bride gives the bride away. He can do that without any trouble," Clara grinned.

"That's all he has to do," the Doctor replied. "You and I…well, if this was on Gallifrey, it would be much more complicated. But we'll leave it at the simple version. After your father consents, we each lean over to the other, one at a time, and confess our true names."

"But…I know yours already," she frowned. "And I don't have a 'true' name, it's just…Clara. Nothing timey-wimey about that."

"True," the Doctor stated, looking down at his shoes. "I guess that'll have to do. We'll just exchange names and leave it at that."

"Okay," Clara replied, clasping her hands and leaning forward on her knees. "So…what's the other custom you want to do?"

"That…will have to be done alone…between the two of us…on our wedding night," the Doctor murmured, giving Clara a veiled look that made her feel suddenly apprehensive.