Clara and the Doctor adapted to the new arrangement much more easily than she could ever have expected.

She had thought that the fact they were romantically involved now would be some sort of incredible change, that her whole world would be different because of it. She discovered she had been wrong.

Sure, now she was back travelling with him on the TARDIS, and that made her heart swell with happiness. She had missed their travels and adventures achingly. She spent most of her free time from work in his company too, but nothing had changed between the two of them, just as the Doctor had predicted. She was more openly affectionate with him now when they were alone, and they slept in the same bed every night, usually on the TARDIS, but that hadn't changed the way they interacted with each other at all, or the way they behaved when they were together. The Doctor hadn't really changed either, behaved with her in the exact same way as he had always done, which made her realize how unreserved he had always been in the way he protected her, paid attention to her needs and listened to what she said.

All considered, to Clara this new situation seemed like a sort of natural progression, and a long-awaited one too. It was as though they had been limiting themselves, in a way, or at least Clara had been, in her being careful of maintaining the boundaries of their friendship. Nothing stopped her now from kissing him when she felt the urge to, from holding his hand without a real reason, from asking him to just stay. Stay and sleep with her, eat with her, watch a movie. Whatever, like a normal couple. They even went on dates, and went out for dinner, but Clara realized that these trips were no different from their adventure on the Orient Express, their dinners in Europe, or robbing a bank. That was the Doctor's idea of romancing a woman and, to be honest, Clara discovered it was her idea of romance, too.

What surprised Clara the most was that they had found a schedule with relative ease. During the week, the mornings were hers for teaching, the rest of the day was his for wherever and whenever they felt like going. The weekends were no-man's land, but Clara had found she had missed the Doctor enough in the months they had been apart that she didn't want to be deprived of his company for longer than necessary just yet.

After spending the first three weekends with him, though, she was overdue for a bunch of very basic errands which would have bored the Doctor to death had he accompanied her, so she spent most of that Sunday out and about in London.

The air was really cold, but thankfully it wasn't too windy for once and she felt warm enough in her heavy coat, so she was taking her time walking back home. The street wasn't very crowded, so Clara had the chance to enjoy the shop windows and the lights and sounds of the passing traffic. She had learned from the Doctor to appreciate loud, crowded places. At the corner, right in front of a red public phone box, a woman was sitting behind an improvised counter, selling something for charity, though she didn't seem too committed at the moment and didn't stop any of the people who passed by, merely holding out a small box labelled 'Even 1 penny helps'.

Clara started to walk more quickly and looked insistently down anyway to avoid any risk of being stopped.

"Buy a muffin for charity, young lady?" Clara heard as she approached the corner, eyes fixed on the ground before her as she walked.

'There we go,' she thought. These things always made her feel enormously guilty for not giving any money, but certainly she couldn't start giving something to all the people on the streets who asked for something either. "No, thanks."

"Oh, come on. One pound, one muffin. For the kids in Afghanistan."

Clara stopped abruptly on her tracks. For a moment, she was transported elsewhere, months earlier, saying goodbye to Danny Pink in a cemetery, tears in her eyes, breaths coming in sobs, loss like a heavy weight on her chest.

Such a casual mention, just the name of the country where Danny had served as a soldier, yet it could bring back so many bad memories all at once. Momentarily, she felt as though all the air had just been sucked out of her lungs, leaving her breathless.

"What- What did you say?"

Clara finally looked properly at the woman, who had dropped the box on the counter in favour of holding out a muffin. She was covered head to toe in a black veil and was wearing dark shades; Clara thought she might be from the Middle East herself, but she didn't know enough about those cultures to actually be able to tell. Surely her accent seemed of the UK. It reminded Clara a bit of the Doctor's. Scottish.

"I said it's for war orphans in Afghanistan. Come on, what's one pound to you?"

"I- uhm-"

Clara hesitated. She was much more focused on things other than what the woman was saying: the thought had come to her that she hadn't given Danny his five minutes since the morning after the Doctor had returned, nearly one month before. She felt a stinging twinge of guilt at the idea.

"Exactly! Nothing. Don't you want to help those poor children?"

"Of course I do," Clara answered automatically.

She thought of the kid Danny had shot, who had come back to life in Danny's place. Even UNIT hadn't been able to find out what had happened to his parents, and he had been adopted. Probably not many kids were as lucky as he had been, didn't have UNIT at their disposal to find them a loving family to live in.

"Come ooon," the woman sing-songed, holding out the muffin in one hand and her money box in the other. "You know you want iiit. Just. One. Pound."

Clara found herself taking out her wallet, almost without thinking, and putting the money in the box.

"That's a good girl. Go on, go on, have a bite," the woman said, grabbing Clara's wrist with a surprisingly strong grip and placing the muffin in her hand.

Clara hesitated. She had intended to take the muffin just to make the lady happy, then bin it at the first chance. She didn't usually take street food at all, she thought it wasn't very hygienic, but it was almost dinner time and she wouldn't mind a little snack on the way home. Besides, she liked chocolate and pastries or cakes and these kind of things, they reminded her of her mother, who was always baking something.

She decided to content the charity lady and took a bite as the woman watched attentively.

It tasted horrible, and not at all of chocolate, but she couldn't spit it out right in front of the woman, so she very reluctantly forced herself to swallow. She faked an appreciative noise.

"It's great!" she lied.

"It is, isn't it? Made them myself," said the woman proudly. "Have a nice day, Clara!"

Clara had already started to walk away, turning the corner to unceremoniously spit in a handkerchief and rub her tongue on it, trying to brush away the disgusting taste. She threw the rest of the muffin in the nearest bin and walked home, thinking about Danny.

After only a few steps of being lost in those sad thoughts, she found herself distracted by how hot it was getting.

She looked up at the sky to see if the sun had come out, but it hadn't. Odd.

The heat became unbearable in a matter of minutes, and she took off her coat, carrying it instead of wearing it.

Her arm started sweating under the heavy fabric of the coat and she unbuttoned a couple of the top buttons of her shirt, looking around. Strangely, no one else seemed to share her discomfort for a temperature that was frankly unbelievable in late January. Funnily enough, the heat almost seemed to be coming from within her. She wondered if she might be getting the flu, or something like that.

Clara arrived home thinking almost exclusively about turning on the air-conditioning as soon as she got inside. She opened the door, hanged her coat neatly on one of the hangers, and was starting to take off her shoes when she heard the familiar sound of the TARDIS landing.

She wiped the sweat off her forehead as she watched the time machine materialize in the middle of her living room, and the Doctor lean out of the door shortly after. He beamed at her.

"Hello, Clara. Done with your errands?" He frowned. "Why are you all wet? Have you been swimming?"

"Hi. No, I'm not wet, I'm just a little sweated. Could you sonic the air-con on please?"

"You're hot? I mean, you are." He smiled, thinking himself really clever and really funny and really charming.

"Do as you're told," she said, smiling, greeting him with a hug he returned. "Wow. New aftershave?" she asked, noticing just how different his scent was, strong and pungent, much different from the usual. She liked it a lot, in reality.

"No, same as always." He looked puzzled as he broke the embrace and dipped his hand in his pocket, taking out the sonic screwdriver and turning on the air-conditioning like she had asked. Then he leaned in towards her again, inhaling deeply. "You're the one who smells funny."

He actively sniffed a couple of times at her neck, her hair, and she smacked his head away, blushing.

"Okay, that's just creepy. I've sweated a lot, I just need a shower."

Clara exhaled decisively, rubbing her palms on her jeans to dry them. Her cheeks felt burning hot. The Doctor did smell really good. It seemed like such an important piece of information to her brain. For some reason she found it, well, a bit arousing. A big bit. Okay, maybe she was really getting ill.

"No, I mean, good funny. It's strange."

The Doctor looked funny, too. His pupils were dilated and his cheeks were slightly flushed.

"Alright? Thank you, I guess?"

Right, maybe they were both getting sick. Space flu or something like that.

"Are you ready to leave? For dinner?" he asked.

"I don't know, I think I still want to shower first."

She had the feel that there was something not right going on, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Her head didn't feel right either. She couldn't focus. Or rather, she couldn't focus on anything but the Doctor. How good he smelled, how attractive he looked in this precise lighting, in this precise moment.

"Clara, are you alright? You look worried."

"I don't know, it's- it's been a weird day."

"Really? You said it would be boring!"

The Doctor looked a little offended because she hadn't brought him along, since weird equalled interesting for him most of the times. His face and neck were reddened just so, and that wasn't something Clara associated with his 'offended' face. He only blushed when… when they were intimate. Kissing. Making love. Clara thought it was one of the hottest things ever, usually, the fact that it was so plain on his face what he needed and wanted, and today was no different, a warm shiver running down her spine. She impulsively pulled him by the lapels of his coat and kissed him passionately for good measure.

She felt his mind enter hers cautiously as she deepened the kiss. He knew she allowed him to do so as he pleased, even though she was still getting used to it. His thoughts mingled with hers, broadcasting pleased surprise and unusual need, sparks of pleasure down his spine as they tongues touched.

"You're wearing a new perfume," he gasped when they parted.

"Nope, same as always." She kissed him again, because she wanted to, because it felt good and because his pupils were blown wide as he stared at her lips. "You really smell good."

"So do you."

The Doctor initiated the kiss this time, something he didn't do often, and Clara responded in kind, finding it harder and harder to focus the longer they kissed, her hands roaming to his hair and his back, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her closer firmly, more possessively than he had ever done. She could feel his pleasure as they kissed, could feel him harden all too easily, their bodies pressed close.

"Sofa?"

"Yes, please."

She tugged her shirt and undershirt over her head in a fluid move, something she had practically wanted to do the second she had stepped inside her house, then stepped backwards rapidly, dragging the Doctor with her by tugging at the lapels of his coat. The backs of her thighs hit the armrest of the sofa and she let herself fall back on it, pulling the Doctor on top of her and between her spread legs.

They kissed sloppily, messily, as he hurriedly got rid of his coat and ground his hips hard down into hers.

Clara was thinking about so little except that she wanted, needed him, as she unhooked her bra and unzipped both their trousers while trying to snog the Doctor senseless, his hands seemingly everywhere all at once, at her cheeks, on her breasts, down her panties. She moaned loudly as he slipped two fingers inside her, and he groaned, feeling her frustration, her need, finding her soaking wet.

It was as though he suddenly had a physical, chemical effect on her, or maybe she had it on him. Or both. It didn't seem important now that their bodies were so close, her hand dipping inside his underwear and finding him so perfectly hard and unusually warm. She guided him inside her quickly, thinking solely about how badly she needed to come and make him come as soon as possible.

Clara wrapped her legs tight around his waist, her back arching up to meet his thrusts. She begged him for harder, and faster, with words and with thoughts. Her body was set aflame with pleasure in a matter of minutes, her mind completely into the Doctor's and vice versa to the point that she couldn't tell which one of them was close to screaming with ecstasy. Probably both.

Her nails dug into his still-clothed shoulders as she came, her body stilling before shuddering violently and clenching hard around him, and he followed her immediately as she gasped his name, his forehead pressed hard against her sternum, groaning into her skin.

Only as she came down from her high did Clara start to really realize what had just happened, and how quickly. She felt her cheeks heat up yet again with self-consciousness, but at the same time she revelled in that feel of post-coital bliss both she and the Doctor were drifting into, and she felt happy. If there was something worrying her before, it was well forgotten now.

She looked down at the Doctor, and their eyes met. Clara laughed softly at the sight of him panting still, pupils blown, his head resting between her breasts, looking absolutely at peace and oddly exactly where he should be.

"God," she sighed, and quite contently too. "What the hell was that?"

"The best hour of your life?"

"Hour?" She giggled. "It was five minutes. Seven, at most. I've never… I don't think I've ever come so fast in my life." The Doctor grinned up at her and she couldn't help grinning back. She paused for a moment, then asked, frowning: "Seriously, though. What's got into us?"

"The magic of new relationships?"

Clara laughed again and let her head fall back on the sofa, distractedly playing with the Doctor's hair.

"Are you okay, Clara?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just think it's weird."

"Weird? Why weird? It's just sex, Clara. Nothing happens when you have sex."

Clara replied with a non-committal noise, not convinced.

~oOo~

Clara should have found out sooner, really. The only reason she didn't was that she was so certain it was impossible.

She felt sick, later that week.

She had cramps and even bled a little, so she thought she was getting her period early. Pretty early, over a week early. But it only lasted a couple of days.

She spent the weekend in bed, feeling queasy and nauseous and endlessly bothered by a very bored -and very unwilling to keep her company in bed full-time- Doctor.

She went back to teaching on Monday even though she kept feeling a fluctuating but always present level of sickness, and a bunch of other symptoms that she didn't associate at all with the common stomach-flu, like the fact her breasts felt achy and it was distracting and bloody unbearable. Admittedly she was -maybe, slightly, just a wee bit- irritable.

That's when, fairly annoyed by the whole thing, she googled the symptoms. Which kept pointing at only one possible explanation. She dismissed it, and went on with her life as usual. Stupid Google.

Her period didn't come the day it was supposed to. But she didn't worry. Nope. Not at all. Clara Oswald, king of okay here, not worried at all. She waited.

For one day.

For three.

For five.

The seventh day, a Sunday night, she was lying in her bed, alone. The Doctor had left after watching a movie with her, because she still felt sick and was most definitely not in the mood, and because she couldn't bear him even just sleeping in the same bed because the smell of his shampoo made her want to throw up. She used to love that shampoo.

She got up, threw her pillow to the wall, pulled on the first thing she found, and even if it was 11:12 in the night and she felt exhausted -even if she hadn't done much all day- she went out to search for a pharmacy open 24 hours and bought a pregnancy test.

She almost didn't need to look at it to know it was positive.