Doctor's POV. Set a few days after the last chapter.

Clara sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Your impossible."

I wanted to tell her I already knew that, but she already had a bad headache and didn't need that comment or any other one I'd usually make to make it worse.

I frowned. "Do you get headaches often?"

She looked shocked I'd asked her. If it'd been a few days ago, when she'd held a gun to my head, I probably wouldn't have noticed. But I was started to watch her in new way. She was important, I could tell. I don't want her to be hurt, to be in pain. I needed her. Not now, but I would.

"Yes." She answered me.

"Do they hurt much?"

"Sometimes. They're getting worse."

I pulled my screwdriver from my pocket and pointed it at her. She flinched back, her hand going to her side arm. I pulled it back to look at it, mumbling about it not being a weapon.

"Force of habit." She answered apologetically.

I smiled at her. "I know you police type."

"I'm not the police, Doctor. I'm the FBI. You know, the Feds?" She retorted, and I chuckled. My screwdriver said there was nothing wrong with her, wasn't registering anything.

"Babe, we need you in Ops." A man she'd introduced as Eric said over the radio. I don't know why, but this had really started to bother me over the last few days. I glowered at the radio resting on the table between us.

Clara sighed. She waited another minute, then picked up her radio. "Alright, Eric. I'll be there in a sec."

"I've been meaning to ask you, Clara, why do you let him call you babe." I asked, saying babe like it was the most terrible thing to call a person in the whole universe.

She shrugged, slow to stand. "I've known him since high school. He was the only guy I ever trusted. Well, other than my dad." She answered. "He called me babe one day in freshman year and he's been calling me it ever since. I mean, my dad doesn't mind him calling me babe. He's called me babe in front of my dad, even my grandma. Never thought anything of it."

She never thought anything of it. Did she never think he had a crush on her? Isn't that what usually happens? Start off friends, end something more?

"C'mon, Doctor." She said, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. "We've got to go to Ops."

"Aren't you going to leave me with an armed guard until you come back?" I asked, shocked. Usually, when she left me, a man with a really big gun came and stood at the door. Not that he wasn't just out of sight now that Clara was in here with me.

"No." Was her simple, calm answer. She stopped at the door. "Are you coming or not?" She asked, and I swear she was teasing me. I followed her out, smiling smugly. Pleased that she'd let me go with her.

Her heels clicked, and I looked at her legs. Well, her feet. But the heels she wore were boots, black, leather boot that ended just below her knees. Her boots led to her legs, which led to the black miniskirt that was so not appropriate for an FBI agent, but was exceptable here only because it was so informal. I wished it were more formal here. Her miniskirt led to the low-cut, tight black top she was wearing, which led to her face, and when my eyes reached her face, I saw her soft lips were turned up in a smile that was only smug. I looked to her arguably equally soft blue eyes and they were smug, too.

"So." I said, averting my gaze. "What's in Ops?"

She shrugged, still smiling. "Don't know yet. We'll see when we get there."

A man stood at attention when we rounded the first corner. Clara signaled for him to stand at ease, then she waved him off when he was about to follow. He hesitated but did as was ordered. She pushed a button, and the elevator doors opened with a ding. We walked in and she hit another button, and we started moving up. She was leisurely resting against the back wall of the elevator, her breathing decidedly long and deep. Pulling. Like she couldn't quite get the air into her lungs. I tried not to stare at her. I have to stop worrying about her.

The elevator door dinged again, opened, and she pushed away from the wall and walked out, with me following her closely. Her Ops was a very loud, busy, but non-crowded room. There were only five people, now seven that Clara and I arrived, and it was louded that a room with twenty-five people.

"What is it, Eric?" She asked, putting her hand on my chest to stop me from walking any further. I placed my hand over hers, holding it there for a minute. Her hand was smaller than mine, her fingers long and slim, soft, capable of handling one, hard-

"We've got a code five." Eric said, and she squeezed my hand before it dropped away from my chest. It was cold without her hand there.

"Code five?" I asked in confusion.

At first, Eric wouldn't answer me. But Clara sent him a look that I can only say in my limit of American gestures as 'tell him, or die'. So, with a resigned sigh, he said, "Code five means that a person who is extremely dangerous has escaped and is in the general area of the base or headquarters recieving the alert."

Clara leaned down and murmured in his ear, "Thank you, Eric, but next time without the attitude?"

"Sure, babe." He answered, turning to smile at her, bringing their faces mere centimetres away from each other. I knew he was doing it to get on my nerves, he could tell I liked being around Clara, didn't like me, knew I didn't like her being called babe. Babe was something you called someone who was hot. Clara might be hot in his eyes, but in mine she was beautiful. I froze, halting my train of thought.

She was beautiful in my eyes?

Where had that come from? What did it matter to me her looks? I guess my companions were good-looking, but had I ever thought of one as beautiful? No, I didn't. And more of where had that come from, where had calling her my companion come from? She wasn't my companion. She was my captor.

"So who is it?" I asked.

"Eric?" Clara pressed when he looked like he wouldn't answer me again.

He turned his chair so he was facing her, his back to me. "Unknown." He answered. "All inmates are reporting to their heads to see who's missing. We'll be the first to know who it is."

"So you called me up here to tell me something you could have over the com?"

"Yeah, I, er, I didn't know if you wanted him-" he pointed his thumb at me over his shoulder. "-to know."

"He's not a security threat, Eric." She literally sang. It was a wonderous sound.

"Yeah, yeah." Eric muttered.

"We'll be in the common area." She told him.

"Common area? Don't you think that's a little risky?" He replied.

"Not a security threat." She repeated. "Don't bother us unless it's urgent, okay?" Eric muttered an annoyed and disappointed "okay" and Clara led us back to the elevator and to the common room.

"What's in the common room?" I asked as we entered the room.

"Books, computers." She smiled. "Comfortable chairs."

We sat down next to each other, and she undid the zippers on her boots and took them off, and raised her feet next to her on the couch she'd sat on. I'd sat at the corner of the couch next to it, a much longer one. They made an "L".

"So." She said slowly. "Tell me about the Doctor."

This probably should worry me. But it didn't. I had a more pressing issue on my mind. Sure, I could tell a possibly trigger-happy FBI agent about my time machine, and she could destroy the whole of time and a bunch of other more important problems...

But she was beautiful in my eyes?

Wasn't quite sure how to end it and I'm not sure that the last bit makes sense.