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Chapter 5

The Doctor greeted her with a smile as he opened the door, immediately inviting her iside.

"Did you bring your homework?" the Doctor asked as he headed for the stairs.

"Yep," Clara replied happily, "I also brought your coat back."

Clara held it up for a moment to show him before she placed it on the coat rack next to the velvety one he had worn earlier and added her own coat a few seconds later before she followed the Doctor upstairs to his studio.

It was strange how she had stepped inside this house only 24 hours ago and yet it already felt so familiar, so close to comfortable that it could almost be considered homely. Once inside his studio Clara let herself fall down on the sofa and immediately retrieved her paperwork and pen from her bag as she heard the little coffee maker buzz in the background.

A short while later the Doctor handed her a mug and Clara laughed.

"This is my third cup already," she commented, "At this rate I'll be nervous and jittery when I should actually start thinking about sleep."

"It's my seventh cup," the Doctor replied with a smirk and took a sip before he pulled back, obviously because it was still too hot to drink, "And probably won't be the last."

Clara eyed him with curiosity. "You drink an awful lot of coffee, don't you?"

The Doctor cocked an eyebrow. "You ask an awful lot of questions."

"Well," she replied, "It's either getting to know each other or sit here in silence with the only sound being your pencil on the paper. I prefer the first option."

"Right," he took a deep breath and set down the mug next to his stool, "I don't sleep much when I'm on a roll. I just want to paint. And then paint some more. Hence the coffee. As for the silence there's always music."

The Doctor pointed at the stereo system.

"Or audio books. I listen to a lot of audio books, too. When I don't have company."

"Which you do."

The Doctor smiled. "Which I do," he repeated.

While the Doctor started reaching for his painting supplies Clara lay down flat on her stomach, her students' essays in front of her. A few minutes passed before she started laughing.

"What's so funny?" the Doctor asked her, looking at her over the rim of his canvas.

"Courtney Woods."

He arched an eyebrow. "And that is?"

"One of my students. Terrible girl," Clara explained, "She wrote here 'In the end it was probably for the best that Romeo and Juliet both ended up dead because honestly, can you imagine living with someone who talks like this the entire time? I'd have topped myself after the first meeting.'"

Clara laughed but when she turned towards the Doctor to see his reaction he didn't seem amused at all.

"That is not a laughing matter," he said strictly, "Maybe you should have a word with that girl."

"Oh, she's fine," Clara reassured him, "She's just being an obnoxious brat like always."

The Doctor shrugged, his attention now back on the painting in front of him.

"Or maybe it's her way of crying out for help. You never know what's really going on inside someone's head."

Something about the way he said it made Clara reconsider her initial opinion. She picked up her pen and wrote 'please see me after class' on the margin, thinking that at least she could ask Courtney if everything was okay. How it would go on after that was entirely up to her.

After the tenth essay Clara was starting to grow tired of the silence that had spread ever since she had shared that quote with the Doctor and she asked him to put on some music. He complied and a few moments later Clara recognized the first notes of a popular Bob Dylan song and she decided to use it to break the ice once more.

"I like that," she said, "Bob Dylan, that is. What's that song called again?"

She knew but she still wanted the Doctor to talk to her.

"Shelter from the storm," he replied, never looking up from his canvas.

Pushing her work aside Clara watched him for a moment, watched as his eyes flew over the painting, his hand switching brushes and colours seemingly at random though she was sure that he knew exactly what he was doing. The Doctor seemed absolutely lost in his work but the look on his face betrayed that there was something else going on inside his mind apart from the art. The entire time he remained oblivious to how intently she was watching him.

In an attempt to stretch her legs Clara pushed herself up and got up from the sofa. The Doctor didn't seem to pay any attention to her and when Clara looked in his direction he noticed that his coffee mug was empty. Without saying a word she grabbed it and walked over to the coffee maker to refill it before she handed it back to the Doctor.

"Thank you," he granted her a weak smile before he turned back to his painting.

"You look tired," Clara said without thinking. Gently she placed a hand on his shoulder and he twitched at the sudden contact.

The Doctor turned around, looking straight at her with those piercing grey eyes that somehow made Clara feel small and insecure at this moment.

"What about you?" he asked, "Finished your markings?"

"Not yet," she replied, carefully pulling her hand away from his shoulder again, "I need a break."

"Would you like to take a bath? I have a large tub in the downstairs bathroom that's hardly ever being used."

"If you don't mind?" Clara asked back. It somehow felt weird to just take a long bubble bath at some else's house but then again, what about her being here was actually normal for her standards?

"Absolutely not," the Doctor smiled at her, "Like I said. Hardly ever use it. It's just through the kitchen."

"Okay," Clara finally said, "See you in a bit then."

"Take as long as you like."

"I will," she said when she was already halfway out of the door.

The prospects of a bath really appealed to her since all Clara had in her own flat was a small shower and when she stepped through the kitchen Clara noticed to her surprise that the clean dished had gone, the sink was empty and the surface seemed like it had recently been wiped. Apparently the Doctor was trying to make an effort for her.

When she stepped inside the bathroom and switched on the light Clara found yet another surprise. The room was large and above all beautiful. The Doctor hadn't lied about the tub, it really was big but that wasn't what caught her attention. In awe she stared up at the ceiling of the room. The bathroom tiles only reached up to her shoulders, the rest of the walls and ceiling however were painted in a dark blue with tiny white dots all over. Clara was staring up at the night sky with the main lamp resembling the sun, a less bright one for the moon and countless little lamps as the brightest stars. When she switched off the "sun" Clara really got the impression she was standing outdoors, somewhere in the countryside where the stars could still be seen this bright.

While the hot water was slowly filling the tub Clara looked further around but found little more, just the essentials that could just as well be found in every hotel bathroom. Towels, a simple robe, toilet paper and a few bath supplements. No comb, no brush, no razor or deodorant. The Doctor didn't just hardly ever use this room, he never used it at all.

She couldn't help but wonder why as she stepped into the hot water and let the bubbles engulf her. Then it slowly began to dawn on Clara. The rest of the house seemed to suit the Doctor up to the last dirty coffee mug. The living room, the kitchen, his studio, even the other bathroom all had the looks of a bachelor pad but this here was different. This room was too romantic to have been meant for a man in the first place so Clara assumed he had either made it look like this for a girlfriend, wife or one of his muses that had spent a great amount of time here.

Clara couldn't tell how long she actually remained in the tub but when she heard noises coming from the kitchen she decided it was about time to get out. Quickly drying herself off with one of the towels and slipping into the bathrobe Clara went to see where the noises had come from and found the Doctor looking through the kitchen cupboards. He glanced up when he noticed her, seemingly confused.

"I, erm," he spluttered, "I'm afraid I forgot to go grocery shopping again."

Clara crossed her arms in front of her chest and raised an eyebrow at the empty cupboards. "For how long have you been forgetting?"

"I don't really know, to be honest," the Doctor opened the fridge only to realize that it was very much empty as well, "I used to have a housekeeper who did this for me. I don't know where she went. Haven't seen her for weeks."

He frowned as if trying to remember when he had last heard of his lost housekeeper and what might have happened to not make her return to work.

"What have you eaten the past few weeks then?" Clara found herself asking. She wasn't quite sure whether she should find his absentmindedness amusing or slightly worrisome.

"I usually eat elsewhere. Or take-out. And then there's the delivery service," he said and turned around to look at her, appearing a little lost, "I can't really cook."

At this point Clara couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Are you even allowed to live on your own?"

"Like I said, I had a housekeeper. I have to ask Missy what happened to her."

Clara shook her head. "I'll get dressed. We'll go grocery shopping."

"But the painting isn't done," the Doctor objected.

"The painting can wait," Clara replied sternly as she headed to the bathroom, "You need food and I'm starting to get hungry, too, so grab your coat!"