"I noticed that once you realise someone's watching you, it's pretty hard not to find yourself watching them back."

Meg Rosoff | How I Live Now

Chapter Three: The Right and the Left in a Green Room.

The Doctor

The Doctor watched her take in the space of the lounge. He watched how her head swiveled on her neck, the skin bunching right by where neck met shoulder. She seemed awestruck by the place. It wasn't much of anything. Far from a Five Star hotel. Hell, far from a Two Star hotel.

There were four rooms. A lounge, a kitchen, a toilet, a bedroom. And a hallway. The flat was right in front of the public toilets and just above an leather shop. It was technically two levels, but it was more of a loft than anything, with a hall that met you just as you opened the door and stairs that lead to the actual living space. Climbing the stairs lead to the upstairs hallway and along that hallway were the four rooms. All on the left. Lounge first, kitchen second, toilet third, and bedroom last.

Everything was green. The carpet was sort of olive-y, and it hurt The Doctor's eyes. The single sofa and matching chair were velvety green. Clara didn't seem to mind. Even the wallpaper, the sickly, stained wallpaper, had a slight tinge of lime greenness to it.

He had Amy buy this place when they first started working together professionally. He loved coming here. After a particularly well received article he'd escape and drive to Frinton, enjoying the beach and the people. Away from civilization he could pretend everything was okay; he could get lost.

It took him a moment to realise he was staring at Lancashire and a moment longer to realise she was staring back. "What?" He asked slyly, lifting an eyebrow and trying to stop the grin that threatened to crack his cheeks when he saw her blush.

"Nothing, I was just admiring." She said the words casually, but they made The Doctor's heart thudump in his chest. "The view from this window is spectacular." Her eyebrow cocked up and she smiled mockingly.

"You tease," The Doctor sighed, his pulse still thrumming faster than normal speed. He looked down at his own case and picked it up, walking over to where Lancashire stood by the window. She'd cracked it open and he could smell the sea.

Clara turned to him and he choked back a gasp when her forehead hit his chin. She stepped back, away from his larger body, and he tried not to be too hurt. "How many rooms?"

Smiling now, The Doctor grabbed her bag and nodded his head, an indication that she should follow. He led her out of the lounge, away from the horrible crushed velvet sofa and chair, all the way down the hall to the bedroom.

There was one bed; a queen sized with fresh white sheets and an ugly green thing cast over it that looked like maybe it was trying to be a duvet but was failing miserably. The Doctor set down both their bags and spread out his arms.

"Your room, my queen," he drawled, turning to face her.

Her eyes were wide again. She walked immediately to the window in the room, the one that spread all along the wall and had odd pale green blinds. Daringly, The Doctor watched her climb on the chest-of-drawers and stand up to get a better view.

She frowned. "It's just another building."

"Well, we are on a sort of strip, Lancashire. Buildings left and right, that sort of thing," he had mentioned this earlier while they were on the train, but it was probably when she wasn't paying attention.

"I want to go back to the lounge. There's a street view there." She hopped down and The Doctor moved to stop her from leaving, putting his hand out and gently tapping her shoulder. She went still.

"We need to settle in."

"And I can do that in the lounge. Where there's a street view," she argued lamely, hanging her head so her eyes peered up at him through lashes of silk.

The Doctor chuckled and turned her body around. She surprised him with how easily she gave into his shoves. "Just decide which side of the bed you want and then you can go admire the window all you like."

Her head snapped around so fast The Doctor feared it might fly off her neck. "We're sharing that thing?"

"Would you rather I slept on the floor?" He asked, all mopey-like.

Clara placed a finger on the point of her chin, pretending to think. The Doctor would not admit that he found it extremely sexy. More because it was weird to find a chin sexy than anything. "That's an idea, actually."

"Just pick a side, Lancashire."

"No."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because there's only one bed."

"That's a horrible excuse."

"Because you've always dreamed of sleeping next to the world's most attractive freelance journalist?"

"That just makes me want to vomit. All over the left side of the bed."

He'd caught her.

"So you want the right side?" He asked, pointing to said portion of the bed.

Clara shook her head and gaped at him, "what?" She sounded annoyed.

"You take the right and I take the left. I'll even sleep in your vomit if I must. It's a comfy mattress, nothing could keep me off it." The Doctor waltzed away from her with a lingering smirk on his face and he pretended not to catch her shuddering intake of breath.

"You're insufferable," she whined pathetically, stomping her feet on the ground as The Doctor placed their cases to the right and then left respecitvely.

His smirk spread into a grin. "You say it like you're just finding it out now."

He watched in entertainment as Clara threw her hands up. He was glad he'd invited her along. As long as he didn't remember there were men with fucking guns chasing after them.

The young Lancashire native trudged towards him and he took a few steps back, suddenly afraid for his life. He couldn't help but compare the sight to when he would watch BBC wildlife documentaries as a kid and the graceful lioness would magically transform into some untamed beast on the prowl.

Her hands reached out and he involuntarily flinched, his eyes shutting. What the hell? When was he afraid of a woman's slap? But she didn't connect her fist, or palm, with him. He heard the sound of unzipping and carefully opened his eyes. Clothes spread along her side, neatly folded and all adorning some sort of band logo. The spitfire gathered a couple of items of clothing and spun on her heal. She walked away from him and his look of shock, turning around at the last second for a brief moment and yelling, way too loudly, something about needing a shower.

Then she slammed the bedroom door with such force he was sure the owner of the shop downstairs would be banging on their front door any second. That never came either, and soon enough he heard the sputtering of the shower start. And Clara's scream as she was hit with a stream of constantly changing hot/cold water.

Staring at the door, The Doctor's mind couldn't not wonder what was going on in the bathroom. A sudsy Lancashire, soft brown hair all tangled and wet around her chin (what is it about the chin?), some form of loofah. . .

The Doctor shook his head, half-heartedly willing the images away. His heart had taken to thrumming again and he placed two fingers against the pulse point in his neck, watching a minute pass on his watch and counting the beats as they throbbed through his fingertips. 128 BPM.

This was not normal.

Deciding he needed to fully take his mind off a wet, naked Lancashire, The Doctor dug around for his phone and dialed Amy's number. It rang and rang and he imagined Amelia Pond sitting at her desk, red hair flowing down her shoulders, anger throbbing at the vein in her forehead as she contemplated throwing her phone against a wall.

"Hello?" A deep voice asked.

His heart stung and he attempted to hide the twitch in his voice when he answered, "Rory Pond, how are you?"

There was a sigh the other end of the phone and The Doctor rubbed his face, flinching away from his jealousy. "It's Williams, Doctor, we've covered this. It's always been Williams."

Opening his mouth, The Doctor began to speak, but Rory cut him off, probably already guessing what would be tumbling out The Doctor's throat. "Do you need something?" He sounded tired. The Doctor wasn't surprised.

"Um, just calling to say we've arrived. Best tell the wife and all. Is she there -"

"We?" Rory interrupted again. The Doctor tried not to hate him.

"Yes, we," he breathed.

"You've not had a 'we' in a few years. What's gotten into you?"

"My sexual desire, Pond," The Doctor deadpanned.

There was a laugh, a cackle really. The Doctor was tempted to hang up. "You've never had to drag them along with you to get them in the sack, Doctor. Is she really that pretty? Or did she say the only way she'd put out was if you showed her the life of a man on the run?"

An inexplicable anger, anger he refused to admit was directed at the man the other line simply because he'd badmouthed the brunette currently showering just a few feet away from him, forced its way through The Doctor's veins at a rate F1 racers would be envious of. "Don't talk about her like that," he growled, and then stopped himself. The Doctor didn't care, he never cared.

The man, the man who felt a thousand years older than he was, inhaled deeply and sighed out, rubbing his hand over his face again. "Sorry, no, she just seemed to have caught the attention of Torchwood and I didn't want to risk them getting her."

Lies.

"I'd believe my story better than that one. You never could resist the thrill of the chase."

Rory's words were true, but The Doctor was too prideful to admit that to anyone, let alone Rory Williams. No, Rory Pond.

"Just - is Amy there?"

"Sorry, mate, she's getting a checkup. Bad stomach pains and whatnot. I tried telling her it's normal, but who believes the nurse when you've got Web MD on hand?"

The Doctor had to laugh. Amy was always a bit of hypochondriac. "Will you have her call me? When she gets back, that is."

"Sure thing, Doc."

The Doctor hung up without another word.

He threw the phone on the bed, kicking his shoes off and climbing on to the left side, settling himself up against the pillows, his back hitting the headboard. Finding the notepad hidden deep within his duffel bag, he flipped through various notes on his current assignment, trying to come up with a catchy and smart way to begin the article. His biggest article yet.

There was an entire section on the illustrious River Song (codename Melody Pond; The Doctor was always quite pleased with that one). Words upon words of description, patterns, and secrets.

July 12, 2013 (5:14 p.m.)

Arrived at Cardiff. Air chilly, sun hot. Visual on the Waterguard. MP has yet to make an appearance. Usual time for appearance at pub: 5:15-5:19 p.m.

July 12, 2013 (5:17 p.m.)

MP has arrived. Will wait three minutes before entering Waterguard after her. No plans for immediate contact tonight.

As he searched through the various words, written with The Doctor's handy chicken scratch, he noticed the door to the bedroom had mysteriously opened. Keeping his gaze planted firmly on his notes, he saw a shadow out the corner of his eye. Wet, semi-tanned legs, the fluffy ends of a towel, the sweet, sweet smell of mangos.

"You're horrible at being sneaky, Lancashire."

There was a squeal and The Doctor lifted his eyes to see a towel-draped Clara clutching at her bulging chest, said towel having dipped slightly in her shock.

The Doctor nearly swallowed his tongue when he quickly moved his eyes around the rest of her. She was even more beautiful than his fantasies, albeit brief fantasies, allowed. Taller, almost, than when she had clothes on. Water droplets dribbled down her body, landing disorderly on the shaggy green carpet beneath her feet. Her wet hair did in fact cling to her chin (again with the chin?), and her shoulders. Her collarbone pushed against the skin of her shoulders and the base of her neck, the hollow of her throat, was so appealing The Doctor nearly threw away his inhibitions and dipped his tongue right there.

But he had self control. However dwindling it was.

"Forget something, dear?" He asked, moving his eyes from her throat - he swore it was calling to him - and to her severely pink dusted cheeks.

"Underwear," she squeaked, reaching down again, one hand still gathered at the fabric saving her from The Doctor's ravenous eyes, and grabbing at plain black underpants and a bra that looked like it had The Tweenies faces on its cups. Then she dashed out the room before The Doctor could even come up with a witty, sexually driven reply.

He used her absence as time to calm down, inhaling deeply five times and going through the entire periodic table until he could think clearly without seeing the burning image of an almost naked Lancashire behind his eyelids.

Clara returned to the room moments later dressed in a Green Day "American Idiot" shirt and faded, torn jeans that had been rolled numerous times at the ankles. He stood up quickly upon her reentrance and she jumped slightly, pressing her hand to her chest.

He definitely had something to say, but he couldn't think anything other than that was what he did whenever he got startled.

"You're staring, Doctor."

Clara's voice snapped The Doctor's thoughts and he remembered what he wanted to say. "Right, we need to go somewhere!" He exclaimed, rushing past her and out the bedroom. He heard her light footsteps moving quickly behind him.

"Where?" No arguments, just 'where?'.

"The pub. Very nice place. I know the owner. It's just down the street." He started walking down the steps, key in hand ready to lock the door when they left. "Oh, here," he threw her the extra set. She caught them. "Just in case."

"You mean you slept with her."

The Doctor turned around on the last step, holding his hand to the wall and bannister, trying to figure out how she figured that out. He raised his eyebrows in question, hoping she'd continue with an explanation.

"That was a lucky guess. But now I know what you sound like when you're talking about women you've slept with." She said smugly, walking past him and to the door. "Ready?"

He approached her cautiously, bunching his eyebrows together. He leaned over her and watched her try to shrink into the wall. "Is there any band you don't like?" He asked finally, after staring into her eyes for way too long, pinching the "American Idiot" bleeding heart grenade thing between his thumb and forefinger.

She pushed him back and he straightened, watching her unlock the door and step outside. The sun settled on her skin like it was there just for her, she shone gloriously. He saw her take in a breath, place her hands on her hips, and turn around to face him.

"Probably."

The Doctor smirked at her reply and went in front of her, leading the way.

-O-

The Lock and Barrel pub hadn't changed much in the time The Doctor had been away. There was a sign saying that all minors had to return home after nine o'clock. That was a rubbish new rule, The Doctor thought.

He placed a hand on the small of Clara's back and lead her inside, past the smokers outside talking politics like they knew a thing or two about it. She went willingly and he took it as a good sign when she peeked over her shoulder at him and gave him a warm smile. The slightest lifting of the corners of her mouth. It sent a shiver down The Doctor's spine.

Guiding them to the bar, he plopped on a stool and motioned for Clara to do the same. She struggled slightly, but just as he was about to offer help, she landed correctly next to him.

It was quiet inside tonight; teenagers still in school getting their work done at home instead of getting illegally drunk, old men trudging through work while pretending not to stare at the new temp with big breasts, women at home with the babies knowing that if only they'd been more careful that night months ago they could be at the pub with their friends.

The lights were dimmed, the sunlight faintly receding. Clara's skin still glowed. Her eyes still lit up like his own personal sun.

"Doctor!" Someone called from behind the bar. He turned away from Lancashire's shy face and saw Sally approaching them, an excited smile cracking her lips.

"Sally Sparrow, how are you?" He asked, leaning forward on his chair to encircle the small blonde in a hug. "And where on earth did you hide all your hair?"

Sally laughed in his ear and pulled back, giving him access to play with the straightened dirty blonde strands. "I got a pixie. All the cool girls are doing it."

"I like it. Not as much as the curly locks, but it suits you. Makes you look more grown up."

"Please, I'm only three years younger than you. What are you doing here?" She asked, punching his arm with a closed and tight fist.

Laughing, The Doctor looked at Clara for a second before turning back to Sally's over excited face. "Just visiting, thought I'd bring a friend along." He nudged Clara's side and heard her giggle. He'd have to keep that mind - she had ticklish sides.

Taking notice of the Green Day clad young woman beside him, Sally walked the few steps until she was in front of her. She held out a polite hand and smiled brightly when Clara took it. "And who might you be?" She asked, her tone incredibly and embarrassingly suggestive.

Clara looked at The Doctor desperately, like she didn't know how to answer that. Like she didn't know she was; to him or to herself.

"I told you, Sally, she's a friend." Clara mouthed a thank you and he winked.

Sally looked between the two and nodded her head like she understood. "Ah. But I want to know her name."

Clara laughed, more of a giggle really. It made The Doctor's lips twitch. "Oh, Clara. Nice to meet you, Sally."

"How long are you two in town?" The blonde asked, ignoring a cat call from some teenage-looking boys who'd just walked in.

"A week maybe. Dunno," The Doctor answered truthfully.

"Well, best get you both a drink. What's your poison?" She asked Clara, already preparing a rum and coke for The Doctor.

Clara looked bewildered. "Um," she squeaked, looking behind Sally at the different array of coloured liquids stacked on shelves. "Gin and tonic?"

"Is that a question?"

"What? No, no. Gin and tonic." Clara clarified, enunciating the heavy K sound at the end of tonic.

"Perfect," Sally replied, handing The Doctor his drink and getting started on Clara's order.

He swiveled a bit, swigging some of his dark drink and wincing at it burned his throat, the bitter taste something he'd never quite gotten used to. Well, until he was three drinks in and couldn't remember his own name. Not that anyone knew his real name.

"When can we go to the beach?" Clara asked suddenly, her chipper voice making The Doctor wish he could take her right now.

He smiled gently at her, placing his foot on a rung of her chair. "Tomorrow, Lancashire."

A glass clinked on the wood in front of Clara and Sally raised an eyebrow in his direction. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "A nickname, huh?" She whispered just loud enough that he could hear. He glanced at Clara who took a small sip of her drink and set it back down.

"Didn't know her name when I first met her," he defended.

"You never gave me a nickname and you didn't know my name when we first had sex."

The Doctor grimaced, remembering that night well. "Bar wench is a nickname, I think."

"Nah, it's a title. You like her, don't you?"

He looked at Clara again, neck turned away from him and Sally and eyes trained on something The Doctor couldn't care less about. Did he like her? She definitely intrigued him for reasons even he didn't know. But liking her was taking it to a whole new level.

"Maybe I just wanna get her into bed?"

"Did Amy believe that when you told her you were taking Miss Lancashire along?"

He rolled his eyes again. "I don't know why I took her. Look, I need you to keep an eye out for some people while we're here, okay?"

"So you're not just here to see me? Or to sweep some small girl off her feet?" Sally almost sounded hurt.

"Of course I'm here to see you," he chastised loudly admiring the grin that spread on Sally's face. "But I'm also kind of on the run."

"When aren't you on the run?"

"Don't be sardonic with me, young miss. I'm still your senior."

Sally shook her head and tried to hide a laugh. "Just tell me who you need me to look out for."

The Doctor didn't give any information about who they were, he simply slid her a picture of all the Torchwood team after him. Five people, all with fucking guns.

"Right, I'll keep a watchful eye. How've you been, Doctor?" Sally asked sadly, her words melting The Doctor's heart.

Reaching a hand out, he tapped Sally's nose. "Wonderful. Longest time undercover. Just got out a little while ago. How's the husband?" He asked, pointing to the large ring on Sally's finger.

Sally blushed and started fiddling with it. Sally was a fiddler. It was one of the first things he'd noticed about her. "He's at home right now."

"I always knew you'd settle down, Sparrow."

"It's Nightingale now, Doctor. And you'll get there eventually," Sally's gaze drifted to Clara. She probably thought she was being inconspicuous but The Doctor saw everything. He rolled his eyes despite the nerves twitching in his belly.

He and Clara left when the sun did, walking out the pub and into the blackness aided only by various street lamps. He walked behind her, figuring it would be safest. She didn't mind, just kept on going, swaying her small hips.

When they got back to the flat, he was exhausted and she seemed a little tipsy. "How many drinks did you have, Lancashire?" He asked, mentally reprimanding himself for calling her that. He didn't like her. He couldn't like her.

"One," she replied when she fell on the bed. On his side.

"That's my side, lightweight." He stood by the door, crossing his arms leaning against the doorjamb.

"I don't care, I'm sleepy," she mumbled as she started kicking off her jeans.

He tried not to stare.

"Just, roll over." He took deliberate steps towards the bed and nudged her slightly until she had gotten to the right side of the bed.

She didn't make anymore sounds and he chuckled mirthfully when she hiccuped. He noticed she still had on her shoes, so he stood to his full height and wandered to the edge of the bed where her feet were. Her trainers were old and battered, a lifetime must've been lived in these things. He untied the laces, careful not to jolt her too much, and slid the shoes off easily.

After he'd taken off his own clothes and put on some random pajamas, he picked up the sheet and draped it delicately over his own body and Lancashire's. She snuggled underneath it, mouth gaping.

The Doctor made sure to keep a good distance between them as he turned over on his left side away from her. It wasn't long before he joined her in the land of sleep.

O-O-O

Clara

The first thing Clara was aware of when she woke up was the slight pounding going on her brain. Like monkeys with cymbals had crawled through her ear in the middle of the night and decided now was the perfect time to practice their routine for the "Monkey Band Competition."

The second thing she was aware of was the sound of light snoring.

Clara turned around, blinking against the harshness of sunshine filtering through the window, and saw the body of a man. A half-naked man who was only wearing boxer shorts. A fairly toned half-naked man.

The Doctor.

Vaguely, she remembered last night. Meeting Sally, ordering a drink, then stupidly drinking all of it. She'd never been able to hold her liquor. Gin was her weakness.

Clara noticed how spread apart The Doctor and herself were. There was at least two bodies worth of space between them. It wasn't like in the movies where the people with obvious sexual chemistry sleep in the same bed despite the protests of either one or both members of the two-person party. Usually those people ended up spooning or somehow draped over each other. And then there would be that awkward morning hello when they detached themselves and either went on pretending neither of them was exploding from sexual desire or they jumped each other right then.

This was real. Not a movie.

She woke up on the complete opposite side of the bed from him, just where she imagined she'd fallen asleep. She was sweating. Naturally, her and The Doctor repelled each other during the night. Too much body heat between them. (And not in the 'sexual' way.) The sheet had been stolen by him. Their gender roles had been completely switched. This was real. And she was kind of wishing it wasn't.

Deciding she wanted to not wake the sleeping bear, Clara slinked carefully off the bed and pressed her hot feet to the cool carpet. Her legs were bare. Great.

She picked up a change of clothes (Queen - News of the World) and the towel from her shower yesterday. There was an obvious ache in her belly, but she wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, hunger, or the smallest part of her (okay, the biggest) that wanted to go back into the bedroom and climb all over The Doctor.

Cold shower. She needed a cold shower.

The shower head in the single person shower stall was blocked in a few places, but it was easier to get constant cold than constant hot. Yesterday, she had been hit with both. She combed through her hair, reminding herself idly that she needed to get shampoo and conditioner if she ever planned on properly combing out her hair.

Her back was turned to the bathroom door when it swung open. She shrieked, spinning around on her heels and slipping backwards, knocking her back to the cold tiled wall.

"Ow!" She yelped as a figure just stood there, his outline the only thing visible. It closed the door and Clara realised she should probably be freaking out instead of worrying about the slight pinch she felt in her back.

The man, it was a man, took a few steps towards her and stopped just short of the door. He didn't move to open it, but Clara, despite knowing the person couldn't actually see any part of her except a blob of tanned whiteness, moved her hands to cover up her exposed body.

"You okay in there?"

It was The Doctor. Of course it was The Doctor. The bastard. She cursed the thread of want that coiled in her belly when she saw his shoulders shake with laughter.

"What do you want, Doctor? I'm kind of busy right now," she said loudly. You had to talk loudly over the screaming of the shower and the banging of construction going on outside the flat.

"We're going to the beach today. I brought your suit. Change into it when you're done."

He started walking away when she remembered something. "Hey!" She called. He whipped around immediately and she felt all exposed again. "I didn't bring a swimsuit."

"No, but I always carry one around with me," he replied smugly. He saluted her, turned around and left, slamming the door behind him.

Always kept one around? Did he usually do this? Bring girls along with him? Small ones like herself?

But no, she remembered a flit of conversation between the barkeep and The Doctor last night. He didn't know why he'd brought her.

That made her feel sick. A good kind of sick. The nervous kind of sick that went along with finding someone attractive. He'd taken her on a whim, a breathless and wonderful whim. She was special. And she liked that.

She finished up her cold shower, regretting it by the end, and dried herself off, tying her hair up in a messy and wet bun. The suit The Doctor had supposedly been just carrying around in case of the weirdest emergency ever was actually a modest one piece. Dark blue, like her sexy dress she'd never worn.

It reminded her of a lifeguard swimsuit. It covered everything necessary, but left a lot of leg and back. She would have to tell him she burned easily so next time he decided to surprise her with a bathing suit he got her one that covered her entire back area.

Slipping the thing on and drying the rest of her body, Clara galloped out of the bathroom and went straight to the bedroom. The door was cracked a little bit and she pushed it open wide, looking down at her feet as she entered. Not because she was afraid of The Doctor, no. Of course not.

When she slipped her eyes upwards after having stepped a few feet into the room, she immediately regretted never having siblings and learning to knock.

Standing in front of her was the bare backside of The Doctor. Her breath caught in her throat as she couldn't stop staring, staring, staring. Muscles, skin, legs, hair, ass. Ugh, she hated that word. Ass. But there it was, right in front of her.

Something leaked onto her chin. She was drooling again.

Coming to her senses, Clara slapped a hand over her eyes and made a pathetic whining noise. She heard rather than saw The Doctor twist around and heard rather than saw his nervous jittering.

"God, Clara, you're quiet as a mouse. I need to get you a bell."

Clara's cheeks burned against her cold palm and she just nodded, not trusting her voice at all.

"Could you exit the room or would you rather watch me change? I'm not fussy." The conceitedness in his voice irritated Clara and she remembered that she was the good girl. Not the one who jumped the bones of mysterious men who flew off with her on adventures. It took Joan Wilder longer than this to sleep with Jack. Not that she was planning on ever sleeping with The Doctor.

She nodded lamely and turned around, beginning her trek out the door.

"Clara look out for th-" The Doctor called, but she had already slammed into the full length mirror. She mumbled an apology, to the mirror or The Doctor she couldn't be sure, and slitted her fingers so she could just barely see where she was heading.

Once safely outside the room, she did her cringe attack dance. Flailing arms, kicking out legs, and shaking head until brain became detached from spinal chord. Her and Craig had come up with that dance back in uni.

Thinking of Craig set a stone on her heart and she wondered how her only friend was doing without her.

Growing up with rich grandparents as your guardian who had fears about Clara meeting up with the 'wrong crowd' lead to a friendshipless childhood of learning how to play chess instead of learning how to ride a bike. When she'd announced her plan to go to university, only her grandfather was pleased. But grandmother's voice was louder than his and they'd shunned her since. The only time they'd had contact was when they would send her money.

Craig was the brother of her roommate, Sophie. Sophie and her didn't hit it off too well (she was more interested in boys and makeovers), but Craig sort of implanted himself in Clara's life after they first met. Four years later and the pair were still inseparable.

It took Clara a moment to realise she was crying and that The Doctor was standing next to her asking what was wrong. His hand had encased her shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin of her neck. He started cooing "it's alright, it's alright" over and over when she refused to answer his previous question.

When a giant sob wracked her body, she collapsed into The Doctor and held on to his waist for dear life, digging her fingernails into his naked sides and feeling his chest hair rough against her cheek. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and took up rubbing her back. She cried until her throat was raw and she thought she couldn't cry anymore. Then she disentangled herself from him, looked in his eyes, saw all the emotion in them and felt like crying all over again. He swiped his thumbs under her lower lashes, gathering leftover salty water and brushed the liquid into her hair.

"It's okay," was all he said.

They didn't talk until the reached the beach and The Doctor asked where she wanted to set their things down. He'd brought a book and she had to admit he looked pretty good in sunglasses and swim trunks. He had a lean stomach that you could see was worked out well, but there were just the slightest lines of muscle peeking against his skin.

She was glad she also wore sunglasses otherwise he would have teased her for staring. That's not to say she didn't catch him ogling her every now and again when he thought she wasn't paying attention. He'd learn sooner or later that she was always paying attention.

The beach wasn't heavily occupied today. It was a school day and the temperature had blown down due to the heavy wind. Clara always liked the wind. The wind and the rain.

Hunstanton's beaches were overrun by shells. You couldn't walk more than ten feet without getting one stuck in the sole of your foot. But Frinton's sand was clean and white and warm.

Settling by the beach huts, The Doctor handed Clara some sunscreen. "Need help with the back?" He asked slyly.

She laughed and he smiled brightly. An odd feeling crept up her spine when she noticed he was smiling because she was. "No, actually. I've got crazy flexibility that somehow spread to my arms."

"Oh, I don't doubt that." She could almost see him wink behind his sunglasses.

-O-

"What are you reading?" Clara asked after they'd been sitting in the sun for over an hour. She felt the need to jump in the probably freezing cold ocean.

He looked away from the book for a moment, his eyes probably taking in every pinpoint of her face, before turning his attention back to the book in front of him. "Frankenstein." Clara read out when he lifted the cover so she could see. "I like that one."

She didn't miss his smirk.

A woman with her dog ran past and eyed her and The Doctor as they lazed. She stared longer at The Doctor than her and a weird, protective feeling coursed through her. She stared after the running woman, the woman who was probably ten times as fit as Clara and definitely five inches taller, but still a woman The Doctor hadn't chosen to run away with.

It was her turn to smirk.

"Hey, let's go in the water," Clara suggested, standing up and grabbing at the book. It slipped from The Doctor's unprepared grip and he groaned, reaching out a hand to try to swipe it away. "Nuh-uh. Water. Now."

He groaned again. She liked that noise, it made her blush. When he stood up, she was once again reminded how tall he was and she had the sudden urge to cower in fear.

"What if someone steals our stuff?" He protested when she started walking away towards the glistening water.

She turned her head to look after him. "Who would want to steal your ratty copy of Frankenstein?"

"People who love books?"

"People who love books already have Frankenstein."

"How do you know?" He asked, jogging to catch up with her.

She turned her head again and faced the sea, feeling her body heat up as he got closer. "Because it's a staple for book lovers. If they haven't got a copy of Mary Shelley's classic, they can't consider themselves book lovers."

"What if they want to become a book lover and the only book they're missing from their collection is Frankenstein?"

Clara turned her head as her feet hit the ice cold water. Goosebumps immediately traveled across the expanse of her body. The Doctor was looking at her intently, like he was still trying to study her. She wasn't a bloody piece of art.

They'd stopped moving and were just standing in the water. He was waiting for a reply. "Then you're out of luck, Mystery Man." She crossed her arms over her chest as another breeze picked up and sent her hair flying out of its bun.

The Doctor pointed a playful finger at her and smiled. "It's my favourite, so you better be right about no one wanting to steal it."

He waded his way deeper into the water and she watched his lower body disappear inch by inch. He'd just given her more personal information. She stood awkwardly staring after him until he turned around and called her in. More than happily she drenched herself in the too cold water, her skin more red because of her blush than the sun.

Clara splashed around in the water with The Doctor until her grumbling stomach saved her from getting too close to him. They'd been drifting towards each other since they got in and they were to the point that she could feel his breath on her neck.

"You're hungry," he stated, already starting to walk away from her. She struggled to catch up, her legs not being able to move as easily under water despite her lack of curly man-hair on her calfs.

If The Doctor looked good in just a bathing suit, then nothing could have prepared Clara for how he looked wet and in a bathing suit. Water running down the skin of his stomach, his suit bunching between his thighs, clinging to everything it touched.

"Now who's the one staring?" The Doctor's smugness collapsed Clara's attention and she nearly broke her neck with how fast she moved it to look in his eyes. His beautiful eyes.

Get a fucking grip, Clara. You do not do this!

Ugh, but she was finding The Doctor to be more of an exception than a rule today. It was probably because she saw him naked. Yeah, that was it.

He was a man whore. Who wanted a man whore? All he did was lure woman into his sheets and then abandon them the next day. That's not what Clara Oswald was about. She desired attention for more than one night and someone who would hold her hand.

Although she'd never met anyone she wanted to hold hands with more than The Doctor.

"Wipe that stupid smile off your face and take me out to lunch," Clara said, gathering her things off the sand and wrapping her towel around her body.

"You're hungry," he repeated and she looks at him, his pale body hurting her eyes even behind her sunglasses.

"No," she said firmly, stepping the few feet it took to get right in front of him. She waited until she heard his breath catch to finish. "I'm starving."

With that, she twisted around and started her retreat, willing her blush to boil down in the time she had until he caught up with her.

A/N: Eh, not sure how I feel about it. It was written while I was sick, but I had lots of time on my hands so I figured I shouldn't waste it. Is it possible to have filler chapters this early on? I just wanted you all to get a feel of both Frinton and these characters obvious attraction to one another. It's a bit shorter than the other chapters, but then I realise that those ones are overtly longer than most. If you've got a preference (shorter chapters vs longer ones) please let me know.

We met Rory and Sally in this and got a bit of a view into both The Doctor's and Clara's mind. Next chapter hopefully won't be so boring.

If you want to tell me what you thought, just write a comment or send me a message. I'd love to hear suggestions or thoughts or complaints or whatever. Unless they're mean. I have a heart and it is easily broken.

The line "I'm starving" probably isn't original to what I stole it from, but I always loved the way Blousey Brown said it in "Bugsy Malone" and if you've never seen that film, I suggest you look it up and watch it, or at least listen to all the music.

How lame is the chapter title? You can be honest with me.

So, if you liked it, thank you kindly. If you didn't, my sincerest apologies for wasting your time. I promise we'll get more interactions between Clara and The Doc soon enough. I just need to analyze them and figure out how I best want to go around it.

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING

Until next time - LoveIsATemple