December 3rd

December third. The third day of December. 337th day of the year. Wednesday. 3:14:03 p.m.

The Doctor felt...outside of time in a way. Funny for him to say, really, since life in the TARDIS meant he literally lived outside of the reality of time. But even without his ship he felt...odd. Restless. Itching for movement. Confined even in the acceptably large space. He counted down every tenth of a second when he got bored. Yes, his fail at settlement had come to that.

He'd given up on trying to repair the navigation system. It was an internal error; there was nothing he could do. The old girl had to figure it out on her own. But being stuck in one place, with the slowest moving time ever, and just a control freak of a girl for company, he was bored.

How did humans cope with moving along through time at a normal pace anyways? It was so boring. He tried to occupy his time, but it never seemed to help. For a while at first, as in the first two days, he was fairly content with resting inside the TARDIS. He'd even find himself dozing off and on from a little shady pocket beneath the console, or find himself occupied by watching the rotor move up and down. He felt safe there in his home. Happy.

Well, he did at first.

"Doctor, just settle down for a moment, will you?! Take a breath. Have a seat. Relax." Clara had her arms slightly extended in the midst of her attempt to sooth the forever pacing Time Lord confined to her flat. He walked from one end to the house at a speedy pace, knocked his head against the door, then walked to the other end to plop down on Clara's bed.

Then he'd repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat...

"How the hell do you do this!?" He demanded, making a quick detour to place his hands briefly on her shoulders as he passed. "I need to get out. I need to move."

"Well, you sure are moving quite enough right now, I'd say." She mused with a bit of a frustrated chuckle, crossing her arms and giving a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Come on, Doctor. Sit down."

"No."

A sort of growl bubbled up in her throat, and she reached out to snag at his jacket sleeve the next time he passed. She pulled him in her direction and spun him around to shove him face first into the sofa.

"I can't do this! It's even worse than last time." He groaned, rolling over onto his back and looking up at her with mockingly pleading eyes. "Let's go somewhere. Anywhere." He hopped to his feet and raced to the door. "Never mind. You stay, I'll go. You're depressing me with those droopy eyes." He gestured to her face with a frown, then his eyebrows rose almost all the way to his hairline. His gaze flickered to the direction of the nearest window, where a tree stretched up just behind and a squirrel sat perched on a thin branch. The Doctor stomped up to Clara, having to stretch his neck uncomfortably to cast a proper gaze directly into her eyes. His face was nothing but seriousness, accompanied by a bit of danger. His words were the exact opposite. "Whatever you do," His voice lowered a notch. "Do not make eye contact."

Clara opened her mouth to question, but he silenced her with a palm to her lips.

"Don't look it in the eye. Stay as far away as possible. Do you understand me?"

She solely nodded, smiling with slight amusement. She decided not to spoil his fun by telling him it was, in fact, just a squirrel.

He returned a nod of satisfaction. "Do as you are told." The raced out the door.

With a sigh, Clara turned with a slightly lowered head to lay herself down on the sofa. She pressed her face deep into the cushions, still feeling the faintest scent from the man who'd lain there for mere seconds, mere seconds ago.

"Have fun, Doctor." She whispered, curling up on herself, and soon after drifting into sleep.

She shouldn't be so mad at herself for drifting off. She needed the welcomed oblivion as much as her natural cycle allowed. Clara's nights were reckless and restless. Nightmares haunted her sleep, constant depressing thoughts clouded her memories, and she was left tired and drained during her day to day life She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually slept well.

But that was beside the point. What mattered was that she'd been asleep for ten hours at least. And the Doctor still hadn't returned.

Her first instinct was to ring the TARDIS, but of course the Doctor was almost unfortunately shipless at the time. He was out there somewhere, alone, trudging through the snow, probably lost and confused. The poor soul was probably half frozen to death by now, looking like a homeless beggar just dying for a mobile to borrow so he could ring Clara to come and pick him up.

She hauled herself to her feet and collected her keys and purse, already starting for the door so she could go out and search for him. But she'd just barely crossed the room when he came bursting inside.

He was missing a shoe and one of his sleeves had been ripped from his jacket, clutched in his hand so tight his knuckles were fading white. His short hair stuck out at awkward angles, and his left eye was puffy and darkened, nearly swollen shut.

"Never...never," He slurred, ambling up to Clara with such a quick stride it received a flinch on her end. "Never make fun of a drunk man's shoes."

She held her hands out slightly, almost expecting to keel over right then and there. His hot breaths on her face absolutely reeked of alcohol, and the rest of him didn't smell too divine either. Clara glanced down at his feet, ran her eyes all over his wrecked form, then frowned at his face. "I'm guessing that you were that drunk man."

"You should see the other guy." He muttered with a jumbled laugh, eyes closing then shooting open again. "Oh, Clara Clara Clara. You should have been there."

"I wholeheartedly disagree." She commented, resting her hands on his shoulders and turning him the opposite direction. "You idiot." She hissed, firmly guiding him to her bedroom. "You know what alcohol does to you. How much did you have?" So much for alone and cold. Intoxicated and stupid, more like it.

"I'm a Time Lord, little Clara." He assured her, twisting around to give her forehead a tap as he stated proudly, "I have a higher tolerance."

"Not high enough, apparently." She spun him back around. "How much?"

"Oh," He waved a hand in front of him with a dismissing expression. "Just one or two."

"Doctor."

"Maybe a bit closer to six or seven. Maybe."

"Glasses? Bottles? What did you have?"

"Not sure, really. It was in a bottle, though. Smelled like grapefruit."

"You bloody idiot." She repeated with a disappointed sigh, forcing him on a bit quicker until he was close enough for her to shove him onto her bed.

"I don't need sleep, Clara." He demanded, despite the fact that his eyelids were drooping closed once again. Clara just gave an impeccable shake of her head, already beginning to peel the torn jacket from his body. She ignored his weak resistance, throwing the clothing item aside and prying the sleeve from his grasp. "I don't..." He yawned. "Need to sleep." His face was already relaxing, and Clara mentally urged him to succumb into sleep. He seemed to battle with himself for a minute, she could almost hear him thinking No, switching back and forth between that and Just give in. Finally, his eyes drooped closed, and he fell unconscious against the mass of pillows.

Clara managed a little laugh, leaning down to slip off his shoes and lift his heavy legs up onto the bed. She took a minute to examine his face, rubbing her thumb tentatively over his reddened cheek and swollen eye, then reached to the base of the bed to pull the duvet up around his shoulders. "Don't get drunk next time." She scolded lightly, voice faltering into a little laugh. She smoothed out his hair, savoring the feeling of the silky curls beneath her fingertips. He'd never allow this if he was awake, she knew. May as well enjoy the contact while she could.

Leaving the Doctor alone, she departed back to the living room and settled herself on the sofa. She was still tired, anyways. Might as well get as much peaceful sleep her subconscious would allow.