December 6th

The boredom was back, and forever tormenting.

Saturday, December sixth was quite the usual, uninteresting day. The Doctor managed most of his time back in the TARDIS, programming this, replacing that, doing anything to busy himself, even though he knew for a fact the actions were useless. Still, he'd managed a few improvements. He enhanced the quality in the monitor by 32%, he fixed a broken link in the telepathic circuit, he even washed the bloody windows.

Yet he still couldn't manage to get his ship to fly.

The Doctor sighed and fell back into the jump seat. He'd avoided loitering back in the flat as much as he could that day, coming up with excuses to remain inside his little safe place, even when he was very much quite extraordinarily unentertained with its dysfunctional contents.

Just as he'd told Clara before, all corridors were sealed off, leaving the console room his only room for escape.

And unfortunately, the console room didn't have a kitchen.

And in that moment, his stomach needed immediate attention.

With a roll of his eyes only gesturing half-reluctance, the Doctor made his way back out the doors, through the bedroom, and greeted Clara in the kitchen.

"Hey, you." She gave him a lopsided smile. "Figure out the TARDIS yet?"

"She's not exactly cooperating." He mumbled frustratedly, rummaging through fridge. "Where's the damn cheese?"

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the console." Clara chuckled, leaning up against the counter and sipping at her tea. "Bottom drawer. Left." She explained patiently.

His only reply was a grunting sort of thanks as he found the item he was searching for.

Clara watched in amusement for several minutes as he went from one cupboard to the other, back and forth between the fridge and the freezer, thick brow lowering in agitation. Finally, she took a step forward. "Go sit down. I'll do it." She laid her hand on his briefly as she took the random items from his grasp, returned them to their proper stations and removing what could actually be used in a sandwich.

"I can do it, Clara." He argued, but she just shot him a silencing look. With a sigh of submission, the Doctor sat himself down.

"Did you even sleep at all last night?" She asked with genuine curiosity, preparing the sandwich the way she knew he liked it. Or at least the way he liked it in his last regeneration. Basic ham and cheese, mayo on the top half, not the bottom, and the crust cut off like she would do for a picky child.

"I told you. I don't sleep. Don't you humans ever listen?" He scoffed, hands twitching where he had them clasped atop the table.

"I know for a fact you sleep sometimes." She tilted her head with a knowing glare. "For example, two nights ago when you were drunk out of your wits."

"Exactly. I was drunk. I had an excuse to sleep, thank you very much." He frowned, but his lips quirked up in a slight smile when the sandwich was placed in front of him. But still, he made sure to hide it.

Clara's expression of warmth did nothing for him. Or so it appeared. "What is it?" He asked, noting the way Clara's gaze was fixed on his meal in an almost longing matter. "Er...if you want it you can have it-"

"-No." She shook her head with a laugh. "Just, remembering how you always used to love your sandwich, is all." She chimed. "Nothing's changed."

"Clara Oswald, don't tell me you're getting sentimental over a lump of bread." He frowned, but didn't attempt to hold back the little hum of satisfaction as he took his first bite.

"Nothing's changed." She repeated with a little nod, ruffling his hair as she past, and inwardly smiling when he didn't even attempt to flinch.

The Doctor scarfed down his meal and finally accepted a cup of tea, even managing a small mutter of thanks upon doing so. He planned to head back to the TARDIS, to escape a tense conversation or a few awkward half-stares, but whether he'd made a mistake or the ship was just having a bit of fun, it resulted in his desires crumbling.

"Oh, come on! Don't do this!" He gripped the door handles with already aching fingers and gave a few yanks, scowling up at the top of the box when it emitted a soft hum. "Let me in, you old cow."

"Oi, that's my name for her." Clara argued, following him into her bedroom. "What's going on?"

"The grumpy hag locked me out!" He shouted angrily, banging his fists against the wood. He muttered something afterwards that Clara thought might have been a sort of apology. She didn't blame him. She could practically feel the machine's 'stares'.

"Why would she do that?" She questioned, crossing her arms and looking up at the dully lit bulb.

"Another glitch, I suppose." The Doctor decided outwardly, but didn't even believe his own words. Something else was going on with the ship, but he had no way of finding out what. Especially set apart from the console room. He gripped his hair with one hand and slammed his boot sole against the floor. "Dammit!"

"Well, Doctor." Clara grinned and put a hand on his shoulder. "Look's like you're on the couch tonight."

"Clara, how many times do I have to tell you that I don't sleep?"

"As many times as it takes to convince me. Which is a lot, because you're not doing a pretty fine job right now." Clara rolled her eyes. "Just sit down."

"I don't take orders."

"Fine, you want to stand there all night, be my guest. But you're not leaving, and you can't get in the TARDIS, so this is your only option." She crossed her arms and nodded towards the sofa. "Sit."

"Clara-"

"Sit!"

The Doctor groaned like a small child and collapsed sideways, landing with a rebellious expression into the plush cushions. He sat up with a frown and shot Clara a defiant glare, but didn't speak up.

"Thank you." She gave an exaggerated sigh, taking the Doctor by surprise by draping a thick duvet across his legs and patting his shoulder.

"You don't have to do this, you know." He said quietly, unsure of her or himself. "I can find somewhere else."

"Why go somewhere else when I'm letting you stay here?" She questioned, eyes narrowed. "I really don't mind."

"But...why don't you mind?" He shot her a quizzical, almost hurt look. I didn't think you wanted anything to do with me anymore.

Her reply was simple, short, but filled with so much meaning. "Missed you a little bit." And with that, she walked off.

The Doctor stared in her direction, gaze fixed on a random spot on the back of her head as he contemplated whether or not to speak out. There was still a question nagging in the back of his mind that he'd been previously too hesitant to ask. But it was important, he decided. It was necessary because...he needed to know.

"Clara?" He called just before she turned the corner to her bedroom. She spun around, eyebrows raised and tone friendly.

"Yes?"

And so he finally asked. "Where's Danny?"

The look on her face was so recognizable, yet completely unreadable. He studied every inch of her face, from the slight furrow to her brow, to her drooping eyelids, to her twisted lips. Her eyes fluttered closed completely, and she gave an impeccable shake of her head before walking off.