The first thing Clara did once she had arrived home that evening was too kick off her heels to give her poor, sore, feet a well deserved brake. She was used to wearing uncomfortable shoes for long periods of time – it was the price she paid daily to be just a tiny bit less shorter, and running away from monsters didn't stop her either – but having lunch at Christmas with her family made everything more exhausting. It wasn't as if she hated her family per se. She loved her dad and her granny and she somehow managed to tolerate Linda. The problem was that they always turned the whole experience into never-ending interviews, which came along with the complete package of pressure, fear of failure, embarrassing moments and always headaches. Maybe she was being a bit hard on them, because they didn't mean it that way. She knew they loved her, and she appreciated their concern, but this didn't make their meeting much less hard to handle. She just wished that Danny would have been able to make it.

Clara freed herself also of her jacket and her bag and let herself fall on the sofa. She stretched her legs tiredly and sighed in relief. She closed her eyes and let her body relax, before reaching for her cellphone and pressing on speed dial.

"Hello, Doctor in the TARDIS speaking. How can I help you?" a voice with a strong Scottish accent answered, after two rings at most.

"Oh, hello," she faked a surprise. "I must have dialled the wrong number. I wanted to order Chinese take out."

"Clara, is that you?" he sounded confused. Clara, who still had her eyes closed, could picture him frowning as clearly as if he was standing in front of her.

"Of course it's me, why do you ask?" she laughed.

There was a slight pause. "You said something about wrong numbers and Chinese take-out," he clarified the reason of his perplexity.

"I was just teasing you," she said cheekily. "It was my way to react to the way you answered the phone."

He snorted. "What was wrong with the way I answered the phone?"

"Hello, Doctor in the TARDIS speaking. How can I help you?" she gave him a poor imitation of the way he talked, accent and all. "What was that all about? So formal and cold. You know perfectly well it can be only me who calls you. You're so prude when it comes to give away your number."

"The TARDIS is the powerful machine in the universe and, as you very well know, if her number ended up in the wrong hands the consequences could be disastrous," he snapped. "And for you information, I was teasing you, too."

Clara chuckled. "So, that is your idea of a joke, then?"

"As if you were so much funnier than me," he replied, harshly, but she was starting to feel the smile in his voice.

She decided it was better to changed the subject. "It's been a terribly long day. Would you like to come over to my place?"

She knew, of course, what people might think, when hearing this kind of proposition. But it wasn't people she was talking to, it was the Doctor and she was confident enough he would interpret it as the innocent suggestion that it was. Not that he would be able to give it any another interpretation, anyway.

"Wouldn't you rather go and visit Axtergrathum, instead?" he asked, hopefully.

She sighed significantly and started addressing him as one of her students. "What did I just tell you? I've had a long day."
She couldn't see him, but she just knew he wasn't impressed by this mare fact. "I'm sure a trip to the black market of the Fraxilian system will cheer you up."

"My feet hurt," she whined, desperately.

This definitely shut him up about planets and places to see. He knew that she would need to be really tired to turn down his offers. "All right," he replied, softly and compliant.

Clara relaxed and smiled. "Good. And one more thing because you come," she added, hastily.

"Yes?"

"I know it's Christmas, but don't feel obliged to fulfil any human tradition, it's not what I want" and she was mostly thinking about presents when she said that, even though she was being only half truthful, since she had already gotten him a present. "I just want a peaceful evening with my friend – and possibly Cary Grant or James Stewart."

This confession warmed the Doctor's hearts and he grinned stupidly, glad she could not see him. "I'll be there straight away, then."

"You'll better," she teased him, once again.

But he wasn't. He landed on her living room fifteen minutes later, giving her the time to greet him holding two mugs of smoking hot chocolate in her hand. "How do you manage to arrive late when you have a time machine?"

"The solution is also the problem. Having a time machine always gives me a way to arrive late."

"You know that you're not making any sense, right?"

He raised an eyebrow and then looked down at the mugs she was holding.

"You made it for me?" he asked genuinely surprised.

"And for me. For both of us," she smiled proudly at him.

Hoping to himself that her hot chocolates were better then the rest of her cooking, out-loud he asked: "But aren't you full from lunch, or something. Isn't it a custom for humans to eat tons of food at Christmas?"

"Believe me," she shivered at the memory of that day. "You wouldn't want to do that at my family reunions. Trust me when I say that my culinary skills are genetic."

The Doctor repressed a horrified "Oh God" and reached for his mug, before moving with Clara to her sofa. They both sat down and then he turned towards her nervously.

"I know what you said," he started, "but I got you something, anyway. Merry Christmas."

He took out from the internal pocket of his jacket a squarely shaped, blue rapped gift.

She grinned, unconsciously. "I forgive you," she told him. "I got you something, too."

He raised an eyebrow as he received, without a word, a present which was bigger than his a which she had somehow managed to keep hidden behind the sofa.

They put down the mugs and opened their own presents in silence, tearing off the gift wrapping paper unceremoniously.

Clara finished first. "Oh, Doctor," she gasped, when she saw what he had got her. She pressed her forefinger to his chest, pretending to be disapproving. "This is cheating!"

He gave her a devilish smile, staring proudly at the book in her hands. "I know how much you wanted it."

"You did?"

"Well you couldn't stop talking about it! I thought that giving it to you would finally shut you up," he laughed. "And anyway, you have it just a month before anyone else."

"I don't know if I can morally do it," she pondered, even though she couldn't wait to start reading it already. It was from one of her favorite - living – author, and she couldn't believe she didn't need to wait another four weeks for it to be published.

"Of course you do," and he went back to opening his present.

His eyes widened in surprise. "...a magician set?"

Clara started laughing, almost uncontrollably.

"Well, I thought it would go well with your new style," she managed to say, when she finally caught her breath.

He glared at her, so she hastily added: "Don't worry, your real present in underneath."

Quite well hidden, he found a dark sweater, one of the kind he really liked and he always wore, but somehow it had a Clara touch to it.

"That's more like it," he gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Thank you!" She grinned and then she pushed away all the present rapping, switched on the television and covered them both with a worm blanket. She chose the first channel which showed a black and white, Christmas themed movie.

They both watched James Stewart being miserable with his life and then realizing how special he really was thanks to the help of an angel, while sipping their hot chocolates.

Clara felt happy and warm and truly at home and little did she know that, as she slowly drifted to sleep and unawaringly snuggled to the Time Lord's side, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, the Doctor felt exactly the same.