[Author's Note: Hello, my lovely devotees. Blah, I know, late chapter by about a week. In my defense, I sort of lost motivation to write this after watching the AMAZING finale, which caused me to once again become a hard-core 11/River shipper, and I was admittedly a little reluctant to start writing 11/Clara stuff again. But I promised myself I wouldn't give up on this until I've done at least a dozen chapters, and I'll admit, looking at my prompt hat did give me a little burst of inspiration, so let's go! :3 This chapter is cute and fluffy for all you guys who like that kind of stuff.]

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Sleep (verb)- To rest, cease being awake, etc.

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Waking up, the first thing that seemed strange to the Doctor was that he was waking up at all. He couldn't remember falling asleep any time recently, and if he had, he wasn't sure why he would have fallen asleep on something as hard as whatever he was laying on. The second thing was the huge burst of dizzying pain that shot through his head when he opened his eyes. He winced, closed them again, and then slowly peered out again, watching as the spinning scene slowly settled into place.

He was laying on the ground in a dark alley that, now that he thought about it, he did remember running down recently. He didn't remember deciding to take a nap in it, however. He pressed his hands against the floor to try and stand up, and felt a thin layer of powder lying around. He dabbed his fingertip in it, studied it curiously, then tasted it cautiously, cringing at the sickly-sweet taste.

"Sleeping powder." He muttered, brushing it off his hand. Irritation flowed through him. The amount lying around him was enough to keep him out for at least four hours. God knows what had happened around here while he and Clara were unconscious.

Clara. He thought, remembering sharply about his companion. He tried to push himself to his feet to go and find the girl, quickly, and became suddenly aware of the heavy weight resting on his chest, which he hadn't noticed until now.

He took in a slow breath and looked down. Of course it was Clara, stretched out next to him so that half her body rested on his, her head pressed against his chest. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing shallowly. Dead asleep.

The Doctor stared at her dumbfounded for a few moments, completely unsure of what to do. Clara must have breathed in more powder than him, or perhaps it just had a stronger effect on humans, because she was still sleeping placidly with no signs of waking up any time soon.

She looked so peaceful: her eyelids fluttered gently closed, one hand tucked against her cheek, her lips parted just slightly for breath, and her entire facade smooth and delicate seeming, like a sleeping child. And even though the Doctor almost felt a touch of regret in waking her from her dreams back to hectic reality, there was a rather life-or-death situation going on nearby that needed their immediate attention.

He raised the one arm that wasn't pinned down by his unconscious companion and carefully tapped her head a few times (her hair was warm from being in the sun for so long and he almost had to tell himself not to leave his hand resting on it too long). "Clara." He hissed. No response from her sleeping form. "Clara!" He poked her shoulder this time.

He again got not even a sigh for a response. He huffed in annoyance and finally just grabbed her by the arm, shaking her back and forth roughly. "Clara! Sorry to wake you up but I very much need you awake and aware right now!"

He felt her stir slightly, and he sighed in relief, but instead of blinking her eyes open, she merely shifted over in her sleep, so that her face was now barely five inches from his, and her hand rested lightly against his collarbone. She sighed softly, and he could feel her hot breath against his neck.

The Doctor groaned and leaned back so that his head bumped back against the concrete ground. "No chance you'll wake up now?" He said to himself meekly, his voice slightly higher than usual. As expected, he got no response. It was rather obvious that she wouldn't wake up until the sleeping powder wore off; forcing her awake probably wasn't possible or safe. So he just dug his fingers into the ground and tried hard to ignore his companion's soft breathing on his skin.

He was used to being awake while others slept, but that usually took place in the TARDIS, where he literally had an endless amount of things to do. At the moment he could barely move three inches in each direction, and he couldn't even talk or sing to himself without fear of someone hearing and blasting them with powder again, which would be a bit counterproductive. He almost wished he could fall asleep again, but now that he had already slept for who knows how long, he felt more energetic than when he had been knocked out.

He let his eyes wander around, looking at the slowly darkening sky, the stone walls around him, the cracks on the concrete ground which spindly weeds grew from. Somehow, everytime his eyes did a circle around the setting, they always landed on Clara at some point of another. He looked away quickly every time, remembering in the back of his mind her irritation the one other time he had watched her sleep. But each time his eyes lingered on her a little longer, and after fifteen minutes he gave up and let his eyes settle on her.

People looked so different in sleep. The bright-eyed, eager, feisty young girl he was used to in the day now seemed almost akin to a sleeping kitten now: seeming softer, more delicate, curled around herself and tucked against him happily. Somewhere in the back of his mind he imagined she would be quite displeased if she knew he was observing these things about her, but he contented himself with the fact that she never would find out.

She mumbled slightly and her face shifted, her lips tightening into a frown and her eyebrows scrunching together as whatever she was dreaming about turned sour. Almost without realizing it, his hand moved out an his thumb stroked over her forehead lightly. He started as he realized what he was doing and almost pulled away, but her face was relaxing again, and she showed no signs of waking up, so he continued the motion quietly. He decided he rather liked comforting her like this; he wished she would let him more often.

In was an hour, approximately, according to the clock in his mind, when she stirred slightly, coughed, and opened her eyes blearily. She made a noise of exhaustion in her throat and blinked rapidly a few times before her chocolate-brown eyes gained a look of focus.

She yelped slightly as her eyes met the Doctor's, which were merely six inches away from each other. She moved backward quickly, her arm accidentally ramming into his stomach. He groaned in pain and rolled over, knocking her unceremoniously to the ground. He propped himself up on the palms of his hands, taking in a deep breath now that the weight was gone from his chest.

"Good morning." He smiled at Clara, looking dazed on the powder-coated floor.

"Good morning." She muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Wha' happened?"

"Ah, not quite sure. I just woke up." The Doctor said hastily. He ran his hand across the ground and pretend to examine the powder very closely. "Oh well, look at that. Sleeping powder. Come on now, better be off." He sprang to his feet, grabbed his confused companion's hand and took off running down the street.

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[Author's Note: Arrgh, why did I have fun writing this? *Repeats "I don't ship them" over and over again.* Well, I hope you guys liked this. Next chapter tomorrow or maybe the next day. Sorry for any errors, I didn't have time to spell-check this. Pretty please with a cherry on top review! :3]