Just the two of us

Written by Loverly Souris

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Intimacy and ikebana

Intimacy

WARNING: 50th anniversary spoiler…ish

As soon as Clara leaves him alone with the painting and steps into the TARDIS, she lets out a tired sigh. It's been an extremely long day, Zygons and Daleks, Gallifrey and the Time War… dealing with three Doctors…

She briefly wonders whether she's become too soft during that time she spent alone, moving into her own flat, securing a job, healing from being ripped apart by the Doctor's time stream. She shrugs and grins. Either way, she'll have plenty of time to toughen up to the Doctor's adventures again, because after this, he'll certainly ask her to reunite with him as his full-fledged companion.

She'll have to remember to take a short trip back to her flat though, in order to throw out everything perishable – she wouldn't want to get home to a fridge full of rotten cheese and spoilt milk after he accidentally drops her off weeks later. She chuckles. It's bound to happen.

Clara steps to the console and rests her hands on it. Her mind sails away to different territories as she watches the buttons and switches in front of her.

She can still feel the softness of his cheek on her lips. It was a sudden impulse, giving in to the urge that has bugged her for a very long time. To be honest, she had no idea where she was aiming, at his face or at his mouth, but she wishes now she'd have gone for his lips.

A tiny pang of regret settles in her heart.

She won't have a chance like that in the near future, because no matter how much he seems to like hugging her all the time, she knows that intimate situations tend to make him really uncomfortable. She loves and hates that part of him – it is sweet, but it definitely doesn't make it easier for her.

Clara sighs again and closes her eyes. She sees the blurry lights behind her eyelids and it calms her a bit. It's okay, she tells herself. He doesn't need to know it anyway.

She is concentrating so hard on her own thoughts and the gentle humming of the machine that she doesn't hear the door open and close. She only hears a tender "Clara?", and before she can turn around and look at him with her usual smile plastered onto her face, she feels a pair of arms circling her waist from behind and she is pulled up against a strong chest.

Clara blushes. Don't blush, you idiot, a tiny voice in the back of her head scolds her. You've just practically asked for more affection. Here it is.

"Are you alright?" the Doctor asks, obviously noticing her tension. Clara relaxes and places her right hand on his intertwined ones resting on her stomach. She absent-mindedly caresses his knuckles.

"I am. Are you?"

"Yes. Thanks to you."

Clara smiles. "Well, that's my job, isn't it, Chin? To look after you."

"And I'm grateful for that."

They stay like this for a very long time, but Clara doesn't mind it one bit. It's comfortable, and even if she has no idea what have triggered this sudden need for intimacy in him, she just basks in it.

However, she can't help but blush again when the Doctor presses a chaste kiss onto her temple.

A kiss full of promises and unsaid words. Just like the one she's given him.

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Ikebana

When Clara walks into the TARDIS and notices the trail of various flower petals going from the door to one of the corridors, her first thought is that there may be a pleasant surprise waiting for her in the bedroom. As she follows said trail – and stifles her momentary regret that she is not wearing something much sexier underneath her dress –, she becomes more and more suspicious, because that is definitely not the way to the bedroom. Clara frowns when she stops in front of a random door, then she pushes the button and steps in.

The Doctor is sitting in the middle of a huge array of flowers, some of them familiar to her, but the majority is entirely alien. He is holding a pair of small shears and he is so absorbed in the – extremely strange and crowded – composition stuffed in the pot in front of him that he doesn't even notice her at first.

"Doctor, your tongue is sticking out," Clara notes and he suddenly looks up at her with a cheerful "Clara!", only to decapitate one of the poor lily-like flowers accidentally in the process. He lets out a horrified gasp.

"Look what you did!"

"It's not my fault that your attention always wanders to me," Clara winks and plops down onto the floor next to him. After a soft peck, she glances at his creation. "So, what did I manage to ruin?"

"I had this sudden urge to try ikebana," the Doctor explains. "You know, flower arranging. Once I had an awesome teacher, Wakai-sensei. He was brilliant, very talented. Too bad he turned out to be a Krillitane."

Clara winces and picks up a TARDIS blue rose. "Is it supposed to be so… chaotic? I heard that Japanese arts are mainly pure and simplistic."

"My dear Clara, you are so mistaken!" He places his free hand on his forehead dramatically. "Even though the Japanese perfected it, the art of flower arranging is actually invented by the Time Lords. This means that I, as a Time Lord, should be inherently good at ikebana. Also, I like flowers, flowers are cool!"

Clara laughs. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, love."

"Are you mocking me?" he pouts and she can't help but kiss him again.

"Of course not. Now, let me help you a little."

After half an hour of arranging, clipping and treating cuts – the Doctor is sure that Clara's kisses can cure anything immediately –, they create a fairly pretty piece of that hideous mess. The Doctor is very happy and he runs off with the arrangement to set it in their bedroom. Clara follows him soon and they keep staring at it for the longest time sitting on the bed, until the thrill of creating something ventures to other places.

Petals fall from their hair and clothes onto the sheets and Clara grins smugly.

She gets her surprise after all.

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Thank you for reading! :)