The following days passed by like a breeze and before anyone knew it, it was the weekend.
Clara and the Doctor had gone through the week as if nothing was out of the ordinary. They kept their distances at work, only arguing when the situation called for it, such as when bumping into each other in the break room, either by accident or on purpose.
The rest of the department had gone quiet on the rumour as they had assumed the two mathematicians were back to their old habits again, much to Jack's dismay.
John had decided to tell Clara about Idris' pregnancy when she arrived at his home later in the evening. He thought it was best to talk while nobody was listening and in the privacy of his home. Besides, it wasn't like Idris was going to give birth today.
He was boiling the pasta on the stove when he heard the doorbell rang. Making sure that the kitchen looked presentable and discarding the apron he was wearing the Doctor made his way to the front door.
"Evening, Dr Oswald," he greeted as he stepped aside to let her in.
"Dr Smith," Clara replied. She was dressed casually by wearing a plain jumper and jeans.
John had taken the liberty of cleaning his house earlier in the day so as to impress his date.
"You've taken the hoover out of its resting place, have you?" she teased.
"I do clean my house once in a while," he grumbled in reply, shutting the door. "You look nice in that jumper."
The Doctor's hour of googling how to compliment women paid off as Clara beamed.
"Um… make yourself at home," he said, returning to the kitchen switching off the stove. "I'm just preparing the pasta."
"Didn't take you one for cooking," she commented cheekily when Idris suddenly ran past her.
There was something about the feline's behaviour that was off. It made Clara follow her to the kitchen where the black cat tugged her owner's trousers with her teeth.
"What is it?" John asked, furrowing his brows before it finally hit him. "Bloody hell," he muttered, tossing the spatula into the sink. "Please tell me it's not happening now."
Idris then ran back upstairs, waiting for the Doctor to follow her so she can show him her nest. One she had discreetly made in his closet by compiling some of his graphic t-shirts.
"What's going on?" Clara asked in confusion.
Perhaps he should have told her sooner.
"I should have asked you this, but," he replied, walking up the steps as she trailed behind. "Is Mr Darcy neutered?"
She paused for a second, putting two and two together before quietly saying, "No."
Together, the two mathematicians followed Idris as she led them to the master bedroom.
"It's our first date and I'm in your bedroom," she commented lightly.
"What a date," John muttered when he spotted the nest Idris had made. "No, no, no, not my t-shirts."
The Doctor went to the en-suite to find some old towels while Clara stayed put, looking into the small closet. It was best she kept her distance as she didn't want to agitate Idris.
He returned to the bedroom several moments later, carrying a stack of towels in his arms, replacing the graphic t-shirts.
"I guess we can leave her now," John said awkwardly. This wasn't how he had imagined his first date in a long time, let alone with Clara Oswald.
His pet yowled in protest, prompting his date to giggle. "I think she wants you to stay."
The Doctor frowned. Was his own pet trying to ruin everything he had planned? "The pasta is going to get cold," he argued.
"You might want to forget about that because she's already pushing a kitten out."
"What?!" he almost yelled, peering into the closet. After a moment, he left the door open just a bit. "Um… I'm sorry this happened."
In response, Clara laughed, finding the whole situation amusing. A date which turned into cat sitting was a first for her. "It's alright, at least I got to watch a cat give birth… both beautiful and slightly disturbing."
They sat down on the edge of the mattress.
The Doctor fiddled with his hands. He could still save the date. Hopefully. "I could bring dinner upstairs… I mean if you still feel like it, that is."
She had lost her appetite the moment she witnessed Idris eating her own placenta and the Doctor looked quite worried. "Why don't we just stay here and chat while your cat produces a litter of kittens for you?" she suggested. She felt bad that she was in a way, responsible for this.
"They're yours, too," he added.
"Yeah, can't believe Mr Darcy is the father."
John arched a brow. "It's expected when his own owner didn't neuter him."
Clara playfully slapped his arm. "Oh, shut up, you're just as guilty, and for your information, I didn't have the heart to neuter him."
"You have the guts to drive a massive bike and nearly hit my car with, but you can't take him to the vet?"
"Don't put it like that, you didn't spay yours."
"Because she used to be the only cat in the neighbourhood."
Clara smirked. "Are we getting into another argument?"
"Well, technically speaking, this wouldn't be happening if-"
She cut him off by kissing him. "You talk too much," she commented, a small smile playing on her lips.
"How else am I supposed to communicate?" he retorted, eyes staring directly at her lips. His hands were still holding her face.
"With your lips," she replied, a twinkle in her eyes.
He bent forward, about to capture her lips when a series of mews were heard coming from the closet.
When the Doctor pulled the door, they were greeted by the sight of the new mother licking one of her two kittens. The new-borns looked to be tortoiseshell cats. That was surprisingly efficient and fast. Then again, this is Idris.
"Is this it?" Clara asked.
"Seems like it," John answered as he knelt and softly brushed Idris' head with a finger.
Half an hour later, the two lecturers were having their dinner. They talked about their respective childhoods and where they grew up, the trivial matters.
The only thing that Clara knew about her date was that he's Scottish. And also slightly obnoxious, and loves his beat up old car a bit too much. So she couldn't miss the opportunity to listen to how he first procured the vehicle.
"I got the car from my grandad after graduating from uni," the Doctor explained. "He had it for two years and then offered it to me since I was moving to London."
"So that's why you're stuck with it."
"She may be an old girl, but she's a reliable car."
Clara thought it was best to keep her mouth shut over mentioning the times the blue Mercedes showed signs of ageing. She brought the glass of wine to her lips. "You speak as if you're married to the inanimate object."
The Doctor smirked. "She has a mind of her own," he countered. "Do I sense jealousy?"
She laughed. "Do I look like I'm jealous to you?"
"Your face is red."
She touched her left cheek. "No, it's not," she argued. "So much for not being into banter."
"This is not banter – this is a date."
"What's next?" she said. "Dad jokes?"
The smile on his face dropped, replaced by a look of confusion instead. She really should think first before opening her mouth.
"That's not what I meant," she stammered. Why did she even say that?
"So I guess I am a handsome, genius Doctor."
Clara pursed her lips. "That's taking it too far."
"I think I'll call myself from now on," John quipped.
She merely rolled her eyes as they finished their meal in silence. "The pasta is lovely," she said quietly, flashing him a smile as she helped carry the dishes to the sink.
"Expect the best from this handsome, talented, genius Doctor."
"Alright, you need to stop that," Clara giggled.
He merely smiled and then came to the realisation that dinner was finally over.
What now?
The Doctor had been out of the game for so long that he couldn't even recall what to do on the first date.
"Doctor, are you ok?" his date asked, eyebrows knitted.
"Yes… why do you ask?"
"You look as if your brain just stopped working."
He avoided eye contact and wondered how the hell she managed to figure that out. He couldn't be that obvious, could he? Should he ask her if she wants dessert? No, that sounded a bit wrong. "Would you like some ice-cream?" he blurted, surprising her.
Confusion washed over her face. "I'm good… the pasta was filling."
What is he supposed to do now? Is she going to leave? Did he screw up?
"Why don't we just finish the wine?" she suggested. When was the last time he was ever on a date? "You could have something playing on the telly."
"That's a great idea," he replied, smiling.
Soon enough, the two were lounging on the sofa, a sci-fi movie playing on the telly, but neither of them paid much attention to it, especially the Doctor.
There was some distance between them, and Clara was getting rather impatient for him to make a move, so she resorted to doing it herself. So much for taking things slow.
She scooted closer to him and rested her head against his shoulder, causing his whole body to stiffen. She rolled her eyes. "This is the part where you put your arm around me," she whispered, and he obeyed.
He gently leaned his cheek against her head, hand subconsciously caressing her arm. "This is nice," he confessed.
Clara looked up and smiled. "It is," she murmured before brushing her lips against his.
The Doctor closed his eyes and brought both hands to cup her face, savouring the taste of her lips. He suddenly felt like a teenager again, feeling much younger.
She pushed him down on the sofa as their kiss grew more desperate.
"Whatever happened to taking things slow?" John asked, smirking. He lied down on his back, drinking in the sight of her. Face flushed, lips slightly bruised, chest heaving.
"Let's just forget about it," Clara said before continuing to kiss him. Her hand travelled down to his upper torso, popping open the top two buttons.
To hell with taking things slow.
The tension between them that lasted a year gave no room.
Once she successfully unbuttoned his shirt, Clara attempted to unbuckle his belt and he thrust forward.
John pulled away. "Do you want to take it upstairs?" he asked quietly, caressing her thigh.
Where Idris was currently residing with her litter of kittens? Wouldn't want to traumatise the poor animals. "No."
He grinned. "Thought so," was all he said before capturing her lips, hands fumbling to take off the jumper she was wearing.
What a date, indeed.