"Morning, sleepyhead."
The gruff voice came from the foot of the bed where Clara was just beginning to wake up. She yawned and stretched.
"Morning." She sat slowly, drawing the blanket around her. "You're up early. Or late. I can never tell in here. What time is it, anyway?"
"No idea. I was guessing. Could be afternoon."
She patted the blankets and then stuck her hand under her pillow. "Have you seen…?"
The Doctor reached into the pocket of his jacket and tossed her mobile over. Clara caught it in one hand and checked the screen.
"Oh god, it's...Wednesday? I've been in here…" She stopped to do a quick mental calculation. "...two days? I don't even want to think about the messages I've missed." She tossed the blanket back and scooted out of bed.
"Take it easy," he said. "I had to pick you up off the floor one night when you stood too quickly and I'd rather not do it again."
She bounced on her feet, testing her balance. "I feel fine," she said. "Did you really have to pick me up?"
"Yes." He edged around a massive desk that barely fit into a corner of the room. "Don't worry about your messages. Adrian had a question about your Wuthering Heights lesson plan and we discussed it. Nice chap. And P.E. has called several times, feels quite guilty about not being able to visit you, but he's a busy man. Chess club tonight, I think."
Clara stopped scrolling to give him an incredulous look. "You've been snooping through my mobile?"
"Not snooping," he said. "Managing your affairs while you've been otherwise occupied with sleeping or complaining or making me fetch tea and blankets."
"I can manage my own affairs, thank you," she said crisply, sending off a few return texts before pocketing her mobile.
"If you say so." He set down a rolled paper bag he'd been carrying.
Clara turned to the bed and began to straighten it. The idea of lying around for another day held no appeal. She plumped the pillows and shook out the covers, folding and smoothing them as best she could. How many blankets had she used, anyway? And they could all do with a wash. She pulled the last one free from the pile.
"My gran's quilt,' she said in wonderment as her fingers closed on its familiar weight. "How did this get here?"
Before he could answer, Clara had a sudden clear memory. She'd felt miserable; feverish and fretful, almost tearful. She remembered asking for the quilt and for him to stay with her, please. And he did. She'd slept fitfully between fever dreams and waking felt like surfacing from deep underwater. All night, it was his hands reaching out for her, his concerned eyes searching her face until she could tell him yes, she was okay, no, she didn't need anything. When she could no longer stay awake, she'd turn toward him, feeling his warmth as he gathered her up, pushing fever-damp hair back from her face and then she would be gone again, sinking back under as he murmured comforting words.
Clara gathered the quilt in both arms, holding it close to her chest. Her hand stroked the warm, fuzzy fabric as she thought of how comforting his presence had been. He seemed different this morning, those formidable barriers back in place. Had she just dreamed it all? Belatedly, she became aware of a question hanging in the air between them.
"Sorry," she said, turning to face him. "Did you say something?"
"I asked how you're feeling," he said, frowning as he unrolled the top of the bag.
"Oh." She folded the quilt neatly and placed it at the edge of the bed. "Better, I think."
"You don't sound it. Have you heard yourself?"
"Didn't have to. Been listening to you," she said. "Y'know, between the congestion and your accent, for a while I thought I was gonna need subtitles to understand you."
She moved near him, touching her hand lightly to his back as she tried to look over his shoulder. Papers covered the desktop, all filled with that strange circular writing she recognized from some of his books. A notebook, a dog-eared paperback and several pens were scattered haphazardly across the surface.
"You moved your desk in."
He shrugged. "The TARDIS moved my desk in. She knew I was bored."
Clara's eyes fell on a pile of envelopes, fliers and glossy catalogs, all bundled neatly, in complete contrast to the desk's disarray.
"Is that my post?" she asked, picking up the stack.
"Yep, been bringing it in for you, in case there was anything important."
"I doubt that." Clara flipped through it quickly. "Ugh, boring," she said. "Bills and adverts and boring stuff."
"New issue of Look, though."
"Oh yeah?" She tucked one leg underneath herself as she took a seat at the desk, paging through the magazine. "This looks like an interesting article," she said, turning it to face him.
The Doctor said nothing as he lifted two polystyrene cups from the bag, setting one in front of her.
"'Ten Ways to Take Ten Years Off Your Face,'" Clara said. She studied him for a moment as he pretended not to notice. "How do you feel about moisturizer and essential oils?"
He turned, snapping the magazine from her fingers and tossing it aside. "How do you feel about tom kha gai?" he asked in a low growl.
"That depends," she said. "Who or what is tom kah gai?
"It's soup," he explained, handing her a spoon. "Chicken, coconut and lemongrass."
"Sounds yummy," she said, opening the lid and inhaling the fragrant steam. "So did you pop off in the TARDIS to ancient Thailand and bribe King Rama's cook for his recipe and then harvest all the ingredients and spend hours preparing it?"
He turned his own cup to show her the logo on the side. "No, I walked two blocks to the Royal Orchid. But your story is much more exciting. Let's go with that one."
He perched on the edge of a low chair, all elbows and knees, trying to balance everything in his hands. Clara hid a smile because he looked so grumpy about it all.
"I thought you didn't eat chicken because of some kind of moral objection," she said.
"I'm sharing."
"Sharing?" She looked toward the door. "Oh look, it's Maxwell. Good-o."
The tabby made a neat leap to the surface of the desk, pushing his head against her hand in greeting. Clara really didn't consider herself a pet kind of person but couldn't resist ruffling the soft tufts behind his ears.
"Aren't you a handsome boy?" she cooed. "Look at all that lovely ginger fur, so fluffy." She ran her fingers along the top of Maxwell's head to an answering purr.
Clara could feel the Doctor's attention drawn to her hands as she stroked Maxwell.
"I'm starting to get a headache, I think," he said, rolling his shoulders. "It was a very long walk to the restaurant."
"I thought you said it was two blocks."
"Seemed longer somehow."
"Please tell me you're not jealous of a cat," she said. "I'm not petting you if that's what you're getting at."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, Clara offering pieces of chicken to Maxwell which he accepted and ate daintily.
"He travels with you, then?" she asked.
"Not often," he said. "Short hops here and there. Always a lap cat, this one. He prefers a domestic life." The Doctor held out a sliver of chicken which Maxwell sniffed carefully before eating. "You're on your third regeneration, aren't you?" At Maxwell's hoarse meow, the Doctor corrected himself. "Sorry, fourth. Black alley cat during the Blitz, ginger and white during the London Olympics, Himalayan lapcat and now ginger and white again. It hardly seems fair."
"Hmmm?" Clara slurped up a mushroom, only half-listening.
"My hair," he explained. "Maxwell has been ginger twice and I haven't, even after all these regenerations."
"You wanted to be ginger?" She had no idea he'd even thought about his hair. He'd only ever mentioned his kidneys once and the rest of his appearance usually went without comment. "Maybe you were ginger before you went grey?"
"Do you think so?" His voice sounded hopeful.
Clara set her cup aside and leaned forward to look closely at him. He fidgeted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
"Bend your head forward." She carded her fingers through his curls. "Maybe not," she said, running a hand across the nape of his neck. "Your hair's still very dark right here. No ginger, I'm afraid."
"Ah well, there's always next time."
She frowned, considering it. She was still getting used to this new appearance. She didn't even want to think about another change.
"Clara, you do realize you just petted me," he said, sounding rather smug.
"Yeah, didn't hear you purring, though, so don't expect it again." Clara snapped the lid back on the cup and dropped it into the bag. "Thanks for lunch," she said. She stood and gave a luxurious stretch. "And now I desperately need a shower."
"I didn't like to say anything, but yes, you do."
"Come on, it can't be that bad," Clara said, lifting the neck of the jumper to her face to take a tentative sniff. The wool tickled her nose and she turned away to muffle a sneeze.
Maxwell paused in washing his face to meow in response.
"Thank you, Maxwell," she said, sniffling a little. "At least someone around here remembers their manners."
"I have perfect manners, Clara."
She scoffed. "Yeah, not so much. Isn't it customary to say something after someone sneezes?"
"Is it?" He took her vacated seat at the desk. "Because I don't remember you saying anything after I sneezed except 'don't wipe your nose on the pillows,' or 'shut up,' if you were feeling particularly rude."
Clara folded her arms, watching as he pulled a fresh piece of paper from a hidden cubby and chose a pen. "I'm waiting," she said.
"Well, what do you want me to say? How about, 'For a tiny person, you are remarkably loud.'"
"No, not an insult. You're supposed to say something nice, like 'gesundheit' or 'bless you.'"
"Seriously, though, you are very loud," he said. "I thought I heard it echo in here."
"You know what, you're right. Never mind. It's not important." Clara turned to leave but stopped when her mobile chimed suddenly. She rolled her eyes as she removed it from her pocket.
"Deputy headmistress," she said, quickly typing in a message. "Wanting to know when I plan to return." Her thumb hesitated over the 'send' button. " I've been meaning to ask you about that."
The Doctor looked up from his notes, eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement. "Isn't that your decision?"
"It's just...I got my flu jab this year," she said. "I always do, but I still caught your flu."
"Antigenic drift," he said. "Usually it's more of a gradual process, but exposure to unfamiliar genetic material must have accelerated the mutation in surface proteins of the virus. So it's not surprising that the antibodies produced from the flu vaccine weren't…."
"Yeah," she said, holding up a hand to stop him. "English teacher?" Then what he told her began to sink in. "Oh god, you've started some...some kind of mutated alien flu pandemic and I'm patient zero."
"Don't be ridiculous. Type B never causes a pandemic. And whatever this particular strain is, it doesn't seem too virulent for humans."
"Then I'm safe to go back to school? I really don't have an excuse to stay out now I'm feeling better but I don't want to risk passing it on to the kids."
The Doctor patted his pockets until he found his sonic screwdriver and then scanned her quickly.
"Virus is still active," he said. "So you should limit your exposure to anyone for a few more days, just in case. No going out and no canoodling with P.E."
Clara smiled wryly. "No chance of that. Between parents' meetings and maths club and the chess team he's been busy every night." She was surprised to find she didn't mind all that much. "What about you traipsing all over town when you're still ill? No telling how many people you infected today just fetching soup."
"I'm not contagious," he said, turning his attention back to his notes. "Now it's just an annoying cough."
"You can say that again."
"Oh yes, do go on about how annoying I am, Clara, because the noises you make are so delightful. I'm particularly fond of the bleating sound whenever you blow your nose." He did such an uncanny imitation she had to laugh.
"Shut up, I know," she said. "So, what are you working on, anyway?" She leaned over his shoulder, fascinated with his strange, indecipherable writing. It was nearly hypnotic to watch.
He made a few more careful marks before replying. "Nothing important."
"Hmmm. Looks important. And there certainly is a lot of it."
She picked up a page and he quickly snatched it back.
"Do you mind? There is a certain order to everything."
"Could've fooled me." She let the paper float back to the desk surface.
"Don't you have something else to do?" he asked.
"Nope."
"You could read."
"Nah."
"Or watch one of those ridiculously sentimental movies you love."
"Not in the mood."
"Weren't you going to have a shower?"
"Later."
He threw down his pen, squeezing his eyes shut and massaging his temples in a tired manner. "You're bored," he said.
Well, of course I'm bored. Aren't you?"
"Have been for days." He stood and pointed toward the door. "Console room. Now."
Clara ran out of the room eagerly, feeling a sense of growing excitement. "Are we going somewhere, Doctor?" she called over her shoulder.
She froze in the doorway. The low hum of the TARDIS sounded louder to her ears, the lights no longer dimmed and the air itself felt different, charged with electricity. "We are," she breathed.
"There is a place I've been wanting to take you," he admitted. "But I wasn't sure if you were up to it yet."
Clara followed him around the console, watching him punch buttons and turn dials. "I am," she said. "I really am. Tell me about it?"
"This planet," he said, "It's nearly all water. And you've never laid eyes on an ocean like this, Clara. The waters look like an aurora, all ripples of azure and magenta and emerald, constantly shifting."
She watched him as he spoke, his face appearing younger in his excitement. She thought again how much she loved his smile. Not the wide manic grin but the genuine smile that nearly closed his eyes, long lashes lowering close to his cheeks. He was smiling at her now and she closed her eyes against the sudden and unexpected urge to take his head in her hands and kiss him.
"The world has a binary solar system," he said. "And the two suns do a slow elliptical dance around each other as the day passes. At sunset, when the fading light strikes the surface of the waves, it looks like jewels tumbling over the beach."
Clara sensed him drawing nearer to her, his voice lowering as he continued talking about the soft, warm sand and the sweet scent of the air. His hands touched her wrists gently and she sucked in a breath as he pushed back her sleeves, his fingers tracing interconnected circular patterns against her skin. Clara shivered from the sensation, certain that her mind shouldn't be wandering where it seemed determined to, wondering what those fingers would feel like woven into her hair, brushing against her stomach, gripping her hips...
At that, her eyes shot open and she pushed herself away, whirling from him and pretending to study the viewscreen to hide her burning cheeks. "It sounds gorgeous," she said, trying hard to keep her voice from quavering. "When did you see it?"
"I don't remember. One of those solo trips when you were busy with your other life."
Her other life. Clara shook her head. She was having so much trouble caring about any of it lately. It seemed a separate existence from where she stood now, just her and her Doctor and the universe waiting to be taken. How could anything else ever compare?
She ran her thumb over an imaginary smudge on one of the levers, trying to gather her thoughts. He moved close again, stilling her hand with his. She held her breath, waiting for him to speak.
"When I'm alone and I see something wonderful, I always think, "Clara would love this," or "Clara should be here." He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingertips lingering against her skin. "So what do you say? Will you come with me?"
"Yes." She spoke without hesitation. "Yes, of course I will." Because as much as she wanted to watch the suns dance and dig her toes into the velvety sand and drift her hands through the jeweled water as it rolled warm and slick over her fingers, what she wanted most was to be at his side no matter what happened.
"My Clara," he said, his voice warm as he treated her to another of his smiles. "Are you ready?"
"Always, Doctor," she said, returning his grin. "Let's go."
(And that's all! Thanks for sticking around and reading and favoriting and reviewing; it was so much fun to write. I'll be disappearing for a while thanks to a bunch of Secret Santa obligations, but I might pop up after the holidays if anyone has an interesting prompt to throw my way.)