Author's Note: Hello again! I did promise another drabble for this series, and here it is! Right on time (-ish).

Nobody gave me prompts. :-( I did, however, come up with this one in the brink of unconsciousness last night, because you know, I get my best ideas in the dark. ;-)

Okay, moving on.

Pretty please with Matt Smith on top, send me prompts! I'm far from creative and I usually come up with the lamest plots, so help would be much appreciated. :-) Send me a PM here or on my Tumblr (shameless pimping is always fun), claraoswals, and I'll have it written soon.

Anywhoozles, enjoy!

Title: Fair Play
Word Count: 1,175
Prompt: The Doctor and Clara play Snakes and Ladders, and the stakes are rather risky.

"So this is it, then?" the Doctor mutters, disappointment quickly gracing his features. "All that hype for a stupid board game?"

"It's not stupid!" Clara is quick to defend, crossing her legs underneath her before taking a seat on the carpeted floor. "It's quite fun, actually. A thriller of sorts."

"No, no, you said 'Snakes and Ladders'…"

"And this is 'Snakes and Ladders'! Don't you see the little ladders going up the boxes? And the multicolored snakes? I even got the set with the tiny, fuzzy dice! I thought you might have liked it."

"Well, I'm sorry, Clara, but there's nothing exactly thrilling about… cartoon reptilians," he replies, saying the last two words with such intense disdain. Clara stifles a giggle.

"What were you expecting, Doctor? Real snakes and real ladders?"

"Yes!" He exclaimed, lifting his arms in frustration. "Not a crummy old piece of cardboard that's been doodled on like a colouring book. At least give me some quality here!"

Clara crosses her arms over her chest, looking up at him displeased. "We are going to play this game," she announces, her tone imperative. She raises her eyebrow at him and dons on a scowl, mentally scolding him into submission, but no, it wasn't going to work this time. Nope, no-siree. He will stand his ground like the man he is and refuse to give in to his companion's wishes. He was the older one here, wasn't he? Shouldn't she be taking orders from him and not the other way around?

"Now."

He groans.

"How do you… play this, anyway?" The Doctor asks, begrudgingly sitting right next to her with his long legs awkwardly tucked under the other. Clara triumphantly smiles.

"It's easy, really. All you've got to do is throw the dice and add up the number of dots that appear–."

"I know how a die works, Clara," he cuts in, rolling his eyes.

"Brilliant! Shouldn't be hard to teach you the rest of the game, then," she quips, sneering when she sees him shoot her a glare from the corner of her eye. "Right, so you throw the dice, and you move your piece according to the number you get. If you step on a ladder, you get to climb up to the box where the ladder ends. If you chance upon a snake, however, you would have to slide all the way down to where its tail is. Basically, whoever reaches the 100th square first, wins."

The Doctor nods, albeit a bit too disinterested to really listen. He glowers at the board, this sorry excuse of a recreational activity outrightly mocking him with its very presence. How can he not take that to offense? Acting on impulse (like always), he whips out his sonic before he can stop himself and points at it, flicking his wrist to get its readings.

A board game that originated in India. He pauses. Is it too late to go back in time and talk the nice Indian people from ever inventing it?

Clara stares at him, amused. "How you holding up there, Doctor? All 27 of your brains processing that in?"

He glares at her again, sticking out his tongue like the child he really is. "Ha ha, very funny."

"Oh, lighten up, you sour old man!" She retorts, nudging his shoulder playfully. "What's got your space boxers in a twist this time?"

He flushes at her remark, opening and closing his mouth like an offended goldfish. "Clara!"

She laughs. She will never get enough of watching him get embarrassed. "What's your problem? It's not like it's anything I haven't seen before…"

"Shut up! Shut– it's just, this game… this stupid game…"

"Stop saying it's stupid!"

"It's a game of chance, not a game of skill! Where does our intellect fit in all of this?"

"Nowhere," she answers aptly, a small smile on her lips as she takes out the rest of the pieces from the box and plays with the dice, "but it'd be a good change to stop thinking once in a while, eh? Give our computer brains a well-deserved day off and have Lady Luck over for a nice day in."

He sighs, slumping his shoulders in defeat like an overly-dramatic loon. "Fine."

Clara grins.

"Right, so there's just the two of us… maybe we can play rock, paper, scissors for who gets to go first instead of–."

"No, you go ahead," he insists, waving a hand at her. "It's not like this is much of a challenge in the first place."

"Ooh, Doctor getting all big-headed this early in the game! Care to wager on that?" Clara dares, offering her hand out for a shake. He takes it without question, confidently staring into her eyes.

"What are the stakes, Ms. Oswald?"

"If I win," she begins, knitting her eyebrows together in concentration, smirking when she finally comes up with an idea, "you are to do my bidding for the next 72 hours. No complaints. No take-backs. No nothing. I'd probably have you wear a costume…"

Oh, she was evil. "But if you lose–,"

"Highly unlikely."

"–I will leave you alone with the TARDIS. Just for a couple of hours. You and her. Without me. Alone."

Clara momentarily winces, recovering quickly and shaking his hand more vigorously in focused determination. "It's on, Chin."

"Please show four, please show four," the Doctor chants, crossing his fingers as he eyes Clara, shaking the dice in her hands in careful timing.

"Don't fail me now, fuzzies. Give me a five," she breathes, hopeful, tossing the dice in the air before the room shifted sharply to the side. Clara squeaks, the Doctor managing a pompous "oof" as they both topple over from their seats, the dice suspiciously landing on the centre of the board.

Running a hand through her hair to clear her vision, Clara crawls back to her original spot, nervous as she sets her eyes on the outcome of her throw: a three and a two.

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes," she screams delightfully, waving her arms in the air victoriously before moving her piece five boxes to the finish. "Looks like I'm going to have to stop by the shop later today for quick purchase. You'd look dashing in a chambermaid's outfit. I presume you're a large? Oh, I hope they have men's sizes…"

"No!" The Doctor shouts in bloody horror, head bowed down to the ground, balling his fists and hitting the carpeted floor. He looks up from his fetal position, realization flooding his face before he bellows to the TARDIS. "Did you make this happen? Are you siding with her now?"

He lets out a strangled cry when the ship makes a noise of disapproval, feigning innocence when clearly she was the one responsible for his companion's win. He feels betrayed, more than anything.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," Clara comments, standing up from her seat to pull him up. "Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy being my slave for the next few days."

At that, she looks up at him again, the way she did when he tried (he really did) to teach her how to fly the TARDIS that one time, and all of a sudden, he knows what's going on in that devious little head of hers, and he's afraid he's actually looking forward to whatever she has planned.

She really was the boss, wasn't she?

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She calls out to him, already halfway to the exit. "I'm not going to let you do me in the library, for God's sake. The bedroom's this way."

So, being the loser had its perquisites after all.