Thanks for the reviieeeews :)

Chapter 3

Clara woke up with a stiff, hurting neck and she tried to stretch only to realize that her feet were pushing against an obstacle. Opening her eyes she needed a moment to remember where she was and then it all came back to her.

She and the Doctor had talked for hours the night before, about art, about literature, the up- and downsides of teaching and he had sketched her from all possible angles and when Clara looked down to the floor now she saw the drawings scattered everywhere. At some point last night she had started yawning and the Doctor had suggested she should lie down. Clara guessed that she simply must have fallen asleep.

"Good morning," the Doctor's gravelly voice startled her and Clara sat up, throwing the blanket aside and turned around to find a surprise even bigger.

She had intended to say something back but her mouth fell open when he stood there wearing nothing but pyjama bottoms. Clara's sleepy mind was unable to form any kind of coherent sentence as she gawked at him, his lean figure with the tiniest hint of muscle. She knew that she was hopelessly screwed because all she could think about was how badly she wanted to touch him. The Doctor was attractive and intelligent and funny and nothing was going even remotely the way she had expected it to. She felt somewhere in between confused and furious.

"Would you like some coffee?" he roused her from her thoughts.

"Yeah," she replied, still somewhat baffled, "Yeah, sure."

The small coffee maker came to life with a buzzing sound and a few moments later she was handed a large mug of coffee.

"Thanks," she mumbled, trying no to stare at him as the Doctor attempted to sit on the couch next to her, "Erm, could you maybe put some clothes on?"

"Oh," he uttered, "Sure. Sorry, I was so into my morning routine I didn't even realize."

The Doctor walked over to one of the book shelves and retrieved a crinkled shirt that had more than just a few paint sprinkles on it and proceeded to put it on before he walked back and sat on the sofa. Clara instantly felt better, even though how it could be that he was the one half naked and she the one feeling vulnerable Clara couldn't tell. She also wasn't sure whether the Doctor really was that scattered or if all of this, the drawings, the compliments, the showing up half naked, the conversations were all part of a plan to get to where she had been willing to go five minutes after they had met.

"I hope you slept well. This couch isn't exactly the softest," the Doctor said before he sipped his coffee, "I speak from experience."

"It was okay," she replied simply.

"I'm afraid I can't offer you any breakfast but if you like we could go to a café and eat something. There's a nice one not far from here," he suggested after a moment.

"Oh, that's okay," Clara said although she was nearly starving, "I can eat when I get home."

"It would be my treat," he smiled at her in a way that made her knees grow weak, "Or do you have somewhere to be?"

He seemed happy to take her to a café, maybe even eager and Clara figured that the markings waiting for her at home could just as well wait a little longer.

"No, not really," she found herself smiling back, "Let's go get breakfast then."

"Excellent," the Doctor beamed at her, "I'll just finish my coffee and grab my car keys."

"Uhm," Clara hesitated, raising her eyebrows at him.

The Doctor looked at her in confusion. "What is it?"

"You wanna go out in pyjamas?"

He laughed. "Sorry, of course not. Though it wouldn't be the first time that happened."

Clara started to giggle. Only too well she could imagine the Doctor being so scattered that he actually went to the grocery shop wearing a dirty shirt and pyjama bottoms.

They finished their coffee and the Doctor told Clara to wait downstairs while he was changing into normal clothes but he took quite long and Clara was growing curious. The only things she had seen were his studio and the bathroom on the floor below that so she opened the door that led away from the corridor and peeked inside. Clara found a small, slightly messy looking living room and again there were pictures and art supplies everywhere. She stepped through into the kitchen and realized that the walls of this room were lined with paintings as well. Again she spotted the same red haired woman in one of them though this seemed a little more surreal than the others, in colour as in the technique it was painted in. The rest of the kitchen however was just as messy as the living room had been. Clean dishes were piling up on the counters as if to dry, yet they looked like they had been there just like that for days while the sink was filled with dirty coffee mugs and brushes. It was right then that Clara determined the Doctor was definitely single. No girlfriend or wife would allow this place to be in such a state.

"Gone exploring?"

Clara shot around to find the Doctor, now dressed in a dark pair of trousers and a holey jumper, standing in the doorway. He wore a strange kind of smile on his face that Clara couldn't quite place. Was he mad? Intrigued? Amused?

"Sorry," she apologized quickly, realizing that she had probably overstepped a boundary, "I was just curious. Your place looks nice."

His smile deepened. "Liar."

"Maybe your way of arranging things isn't exactly my style."

All of a sudden the Doctor burst into laughter and it confused her for a moment. "Clara, it's alright, you can say it. I know I'm a slob. Always have been."

The painting next to the door caught her attention again and since the Doctor hadn't been mad about her snooping around his place Clara thought she might as well ask.

"Who is she?" Clara asked, pointing at the red haired woman, "I've seen her in the painting in the classroom and I think in your studio, too."

As the Doctor turned to look at it his smile faded from his face and he took on a sombre expression. He hesitated a moment before he replied.

"Amelia," he said simply, "Her name is Amelia."

Before Clara could ask about her further the Doctor put on a smile again.

"So, ready to get breakfast?" he asked.

Clara nodded.

The Doctor grabbed a sketchbook and pencils and was about to reach for his coat when he turned back around to Clara.

"It's colder than yesterday. Don't you want a warmer jacket?"

"Oh, I'll be fine in the car," Clara replied.

"There's no parking in front of the café, we'll have to walk a bit," he explained as he reached for a dark blue coat with red lining and handed it to her, "Here, you can borrow this."

"Thanks," Clara muttered as she watched him take a red velvet coat from the rack. She put on the one he had given to her and couldn't help but notice that his smell clung to it and wearing his coat, even though on her it was totally oversized, felt sort of nice and intimate.

As they got into his car and the Doctor handed her his sketchbook to hold Clara couldn't help but think about her situation. Even though she felt utterly comfortable in his company a part of it still seemed weird. She had only met him the day before, spent the night at his place without anything happening except for conversations and countless sketches. Then there was the fact that Clara was terribly attracted to him and even though the Doctor had told her how beautiful she was multiple times she somehow thought that he hadn't really taken notice of her at all.

As he had sketched her the previous night Clara had told him a lot about herself, about her job, her family, her friends and her motivations to take up painting and he had listened and commented and told her stories and all of it without ever really revealing anything about himself. He knew almost everything about her and she was still sitting next to an enigma.

To take her mind off the subject of the Doctor while they were driving she opened his sketchbook to look at last night's work.

"You made me far too pretty," Clara laughed after she had browsed through the first pages.

"No I haven't," he replied, his eyes fixed on the road, "That's exactly what you look like to me."

Not knowing what to say Clara turned the page and found a drawing of herself that she couldn't remember posing for. She was lying on the sofa, covered with a blanket that she also didn't recall being there when she had drifted off. Her hands were tucked under her face and her eyes were closed. This one was darker than the rest of them so Clara assumed he had switched off the daylight lamps after she had fallen asleep.

"You sketched me while I was sleeping?" she asked him in amusement.

The Doctor laughed. "I hope you don't think that's creepy. I liked your pose and you looked really peaceful."

"It's only slightly creepy," Clara replied, smiling.

The Doctor was driving, which meant he was distracted. Clara thought this was the perfect opportunity for her to ask a question that had been on her mind since the previous day.

"Doctor," she began carefully, "Why did you invite me to your place? Why did you want to paint, or draw me?"

He didn't answer her for quite some time and Clara started suspecting he either hadn't heard her question or was deliberately ignoring it. But finally he spoke.

"I'm an artist, Clara," he began.

"I kinda figured that."

"I can paint all the time. Sometimes I have phases where I don't but they're rare. However my work is best when I have a muse to inspire me. You know, while you slept I didn't just sketch you, I also finished one other painting that I had been working on for quite a while," he explained.

"Is that what I am to you?" Clara asked, confused and unsure what the term even implied, "A muse?"

The Doctor turned to face her for a moment, a shy laugh escaping his throat. "If you wanna be."

"Why me?"

He stared back onto the road. "I never know why. I only know who."