Ok, so would you guys believe that I honestly forgot about this one? Terribly sorry about that, I suppose in a way I'm still adjusting to Clara. It doesn't help that I don't exactly have ready access to any of her episodes. Transcripts are one thing, but they don't really feed my muse. Ah well, I'm going to give this one a concerted effort, so here is the next chapter-drabble in this series, set in and aroundish The Crimson Horror. Should be fun, enjoy!

Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock

Chapter Four

Victorian London, he suggests, with just a bit too much casualness, the kind that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up as she raises an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"I don't know, just thought you'd be interested," he replies easily enough, but he doesn't make an effort to meet her eyes, instead just pulling levers on the console. She kind of hates how he uses the old cow to hide—it's very effective.

"Fine," she accepts with just the same amount of nonchalance. "When do we land?"

"Whenever you want," he actually looks up this time, a smile to his face. But then he looks her up and down. "Oh, you might want to change. Not sure how long we'll be there- we could stop in for tea and end up chasing a murderer—"

"What?"

"—and I've found Victorian people aren't as easy for the TARDIS to fool when it comes to anachronistic clothing," he finishes, like she's not even said anything.

"You're sure she doesn't do that on purpose?" She can't help asking suspiciously, leaning on the railing and looking down at him. The metal heats up even through her sleeve, and she jumps back before it can even get close to hurting. She doesn't think the TARDIS would actually burn her, but it never hurts to be careful.

"Pretty sure," he retorts with a long-suffering look, turning away and waving a hand. "Go on, get your kit on and I'll meet you in the console room."

But Clara blinks, thinking about what all that entails. "Doctor, when you say I have to change, do you mean the whole dress and skirts and corset type-thing?"

He glances back once, puzzled. "Well, yes."

"And I'm just supposed to know how to put all that nonsense on?"

He seems strangely interested by this as he asks, "You mean you don't?"

"No, not exactly required for a girl in the twenty-first century, Chin Boy. We've moved past all that even if you haven't." She gives a pointed nod to his vest and trousers ensemble as he's hung his usual coat up for the moment on a rack she has just as much trouble locating as the umbrella stand half the time.

"The TARDIS should have some convincing-looking replicas, sort of slip-ons that will pass outer inspection," he grumbles, absently rubbing at his chin after her remark.

"Thank you," she says, satisfied, and begins to make her way to the wardrobe room. After several wrong turns and being redirected into the console room more times than she can count—to the Doctor's increasing bewilderment and slight annoyance—Clara finally reaches her destination. She thinks it might only be because the TARDIS knows the mad man wants to leave sometime today.

"Ok, let's see what you've got in Victorian," Clara mutters to herself, making her way to a side of the room that looks promising. But as she thumbs through each of the dresses, she quickly realizes something. "These are all real. You're kidding, you actually expect to figure this all out?" At a smug sounding hum from the ship, Clara groans and begins to pull on each layer of garment.

She knows in the back of her mind that the Doctor would likely be able to find the right things, but the idea of her alien friend picking out her petticoat or whatever else is really too humiliating. So she does her best to figure everything out on her own.

The corset, of course, is what stumps her. "How am I supposed to even tie this thing if the laces are in the back?" She asks aloud, both of the cow and herself. If the ship has an answer, it keeps quiet, and Clara glances at the clock. A good fifteen minutes have passed and if she's learned anything about time travelers, it's that they aren't patient.

Not left with very many options, Clara makes sure the heavy skirt is smoothed down over the bustle and that her chemise sufficiently covers everything else, at last calling, "Doctor?"

It takes him much longer than usual to find her and she wonders if the ship is actually giving him the go around this time because it knows what she's going to ask. But at last he steps into the wardrobe room and she catches sight of him in the mirror; somewhere along the way he's changed into a dark brown, almost gray suit with a plaid pattern to it and a bowler hat sat on his head. It's not entirely different than his usual wear except in how mundane it looks.

"Yes, Clara—ah!" He's barely made it two steps in the room before he slaps a hand over his eyes and spins back around.

"I'm decent," she snaps before he can try and leave, probably running into the doorframe in the process. "I just need some help."

"Oh?" He seems both amused that she's actually admitting it and nervous about what she might need help with.

"Yes," Clara rolls her eyes once. "This corset isn't going to lace itself up—and you can thank your ship for not having fake ones. Funny that, don't you think?"

"She must have got rid of them during the last renovation," he dismisses, finally removing his hand and moving into the room. "Ok, ok. Now don't hold your breath or anything because that will just make it worse from what I've been told."

"Wasn't planning on it," she returns with a slight tilt of her head as she watches him approach from behind. She half-turns so that she's in profile, anticipating his fidgety limbs being a problem. It'll be easier if she can see what he's doing wrong, after all. "Not really looking forward to not being able to breathe."

"That's just a myth from the movies," he informs her with a slight shake of his head. The Doctor takes a deep breath, appears to be thinking something over, and then plucks up the ends of the laces. Before she can even start to offer the advice she's sure he'll need, however, he calmly begins lacing it up with a precision that stuns her. Clara's quite literally gaping in the mirror, yet he hardly notices as he's focused on his task.

"Sure, they're not exactly comfortable and I doubt they make running any easier," he continues his little commentary, seemingly oblivious to her astonishment, and it's only as she begins to feel a slight tightening in her chest that she remembers his instructions not to tense up. "But it's all been greatly exaggerated." He finishes with a neat little bow, and she wonders if he's learned this from tying all those bowties of his, but now he's actually studying her face in the mirror and she realizes it's past time for her to say something in reply.

"Right." Clara takes an experimental inhale and exhale and finds that it's not so bad as she's been dreading, but then her breath catches as he reaches up, lifting her hair off her shoulders.

"You'll have to do something about this, too; most of it you can tuck under a hat no problem, but the front- well, I think volume was the style back then."

"I'll curl it, then," she decides, "that should be good, right?"

For some reason she doesn't understand, it's his turn to give a little intake of breath as he lets the locks of hair he's gathered up slip from his fingers. The Doctor swallows once and then nods. "Right, good. I'll be out in the console room, Clara, do hurry up." He's gone before she can think up some remark or question, and so she simply turns to fulfill his request. The TARDIS decides to help for once, since she's able to find the hats no problem, and soon she's striding down the corridor feeling both uncomfortable and yet elegant all at once.

"Well, am I acceptable?" She places both hands to her hips and resists the urge to make a sarcastic little turn.

"Yes, fine, good," he's not quite meeting her eyes again, both looking at her and not. He flips a final switch and there's a bump as they land, Clara stumbling a little in her tight heeled boots. He doesn't even spare a glance to the monitor as he tells her, "We're here," and then goes rushing out the door.

And she can't help but ask herself as she follows after, if this is really such an ordeal and making him so awkward, why did he suggest it in the first place?

And just how did he learn to tie a woman's corset?

OoO

Clara lets him talk with his friends—and what strange, unbelievable friends!—alone for a while, both incredibly smug at his little slip-up and also so very ready to get out of these clothes.

There is, of course, the catch; she hasn't had quite the time to figure out the ridiculous lacing yet, stuck as she'd been in that strange glass jar room, and so Clara sighs, paces around a bit, deliberates, and then asks in her sweetest voice, "You wouldn't happen to have something to help me, would you?"

The TARDIS grumbles, and she scowls. "Suit yourself, but just know it's your own fault. Doctor Smith?" She calls in her best impression of a Yorkshire accent. It's nowhere near as good as his—he'd done nearly all the talking to Mrs. Gillyflower for a reason—but it serves her purposes.

He's there as if he's only just been in the next room, but she's past marveling over that peculiarity. He's bemused by her summons, clearly, as he gives a simple, "Yes?"

And really, it's all just to spite the old cow, but Clara can't keep from throwing a wicked smirk over her shoulder as she invites, "Help your wife out of this thing, will you?"

It's just that step beyond, like snogbox, and it makes the old cow give a low rumble of reprove for her ears only. But the Doctor doesn't react like she's expecting, not red-faced and stammering.

Instead, he picks his way over to her slowly, an uneasiness to his eyes and even a warning there. "That was just for Sweetville, Clara. Let's have no more about it."

"Of course," she agrees softly, the standard 'it was just a joke' sounding juvenile to her in this unexpectedly serious moment, and she's suddenly terrified she's crossed some invisible line and ruined it all.

But he dutifully begins untying the laces, expression neutral if anything. She doesn't say anymore, waiting for him to speak, and watching the practiced way his fingers move. He chooses to change the subject, she thinks, as he just says one word. "Jenny."

"What?" She asks, bewildered by the name, and the rather interesting brunette Londoner pops into her mind for a moment.

"When she became Vastra's chambermaid, I had to teach her how to do this—she was a match girl before everything, you know. I think she taught Vastra after that, but I just left them to it." He makes a face in the mirror.

"Oh," she breathes it out on an exhale as suddenly her torso is no longer constricted Still in a helpful mood, it seems, he takes the pins out that are holding the majority of her hair up, excepting the curls at the front. His hand, in fact, hovers near for a second, not quite touching one of the coils.

But then he steps back and says, "I'll put us down by the Maitland's, shall I?" And sweeps from the room.

Clara frowns and sets aside the corset, thinking she might never want to see one again in her life. "But who taught you, Doctor?"

The TARDIS is rather charitable in letting her find a shower with relative ease and she makes it quick—mostly because the water is absolutely freezing—and then dries and straightens her hair. She changes into some proper twenty-first century clothes, feeling more thankful than ever for the time she was born in, and goes to meet him in the console room.

He's changed, too, and that makes everything easier somehow, like it's all in the past and will stay there. "Doctor?"

"Hm?" He looks up after pressing a button, face warm at the sight of Clara and not Clara as Mrs. Smith. And she has to wonder…but if he won't talk about it, then neither will she.

"Let's have no more about Victorian England for a long time, ok?" She wants to make sure that this impromptu drop-off is just him giving her a break to recharge, check in on the kids, and not something more permanent.

And he seems to recognize that need for reassurance as the TARDIS gives a final shudder and almost throws the doors open under her hand. "Yes, Boss."

Ok, so I think I managed to find my inner-Clara somewhere in there. I really need to find some way to watch season seven episodes…speaking of which, if anyone knows how I might find the DVD extra "Clara and the TARDIS" online with good audio quality (I've looked on youtube, but I can barely hear the dialogue) that would be spectacular as I would love to do a chapter based on some of those themes. And yes, I couldn't resist hinting at some Doctor/River feels; I will continue to love them even if it kills me! At any rate, I know it's been forever, but thank you so much for reading and please review!