December 19th

"Come on, Doctor. Six days until Christmas and I've not done a wink of shoppin'. I promise I won't be gone long."

The Doctor gripped Clara's wrist in both of his hands and leaned back, using more of his own weight than he thought he needed to to drag her backwards. "Wrap your tiny human brain around this and come away from the door." He grunted the words out as he continued to pull.

"But I'm all better!" She argued, gripping the door handle with the little bit of strength she'd gained back. "You idiot. Let me go! Doctor!"

"I'm just trying to make sure you don't die, is all! Pardon me, Miss Oswald!" He let go with one hand to grip her other wrist, prying her fingers off the door knob and pressing both her hands together, gripping them hard and pinning them in between their close bodies. "Go. Sit. Down."

"Why?!" She whined, head tilted backwards like a disgruntled child as she stomped in place.

"Because you're ill!"

"No, I'm not! I'm all better!" She tried to tug away but his hold on her only tightened. "Doctorrrrrrr." She groaned with frustration, regrettably giving the wall a single bang with her head.

"Clara, I will pick you up and throw you on the couch if I have to." His threat fell on deaf ears as Clara struggles continued on. "Fine then!" He held both her wrists tight in one large hand and spun her around so that her back was pressed against him. He let go just long enough to wrap both arms around her middle and haul her into the air, barely dodging her flails.

"Put me down! Doctor!" She kicked and twisted until he released her onto the sofa, but even then her struggles continued on. She made it to her feet and started to dart away, put the Doctor just pushed her back down and pinned her shoulders to the back of the furniture item. Clara finally gave up, breathing heavily and flicking some frizzled hair from her eyes. "Okay." She sighed, biting her bottom lip and glaring at the man above her. "Okay. You win. Now will you let me go!?"

The Doctor was hesitant at first, but slowly eased himself back, never even blinking in case Clara decided to make a quick escape. In sudden realization at his victory he smirked, sitting down at her side and giving her knee a casual pat. "That settles that, then."

Her physical protests were over, but she was still as cross as ever. With a scowl she gave her arm a rough punch, ignoring his dramatic Ow! and continuing her arguments. "This is my home. You can't hold me hostage."

"Watch me."

Her face was hardened, but soon her features relaxed and a small smile grazed her lips, soon followed by a tired laugh. "Oh, Doctor." She sighed, relaxing against the back of the couch. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"What am I gonna do with you?" He restated, frowning slightly before withdrawing the sonic from his pocket and giving her a quick scan. "How're you feeling?"

"I told you, I'm better." She insisted, crossing her arms and lazily tilting her head in his direction. "You can stop fussing. You're worse than Mum used to be." She involuntarily shuddered when he brushed the back of his hand across her forehead after discarding the sonic.

"Still not a hundred percent better, maybe about ninety-two, but that's to be expected." He gestured to her whole being with an amusingly twisted frown. "Human and all."

"I'm a bit tired, but otherwise I feel completely fine. I swear." After a long pause she went on. "Can I please leave? Wait, why the hell am I even asking you?" She pushed herself up. "My home. I can do what I want."

"No you can't."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because if you try to leave I'll just have to do this!" The Doctor shot forward and wrapped both arms around her waist, tugging her back down and flipping over so that she rolled to the opposite side of the sofa along with him.

"Doctor!" It wasn't exclaimed with anger now, but tinted with a laugh and a smile. Her struggles weren't as realistic as before, nor were they weakened by illness alone. She didn't want to get free. "Let me go!"

"I'm good." He held her tighter, laughing as her small hands worked themselves free and began to feebly pushing against him. Finally, after several more minutes of pointless battling, she gave up and sank against him.

"I hate you." She chuckled, resting her head back on his chest until she caught her breath, then coaxed him to permit her to roll back over onto her own side of the sofa. "I really hate you sometimes."

"Nah." He flicked her ear before rising to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen in a few long strides. "Hungry?" He called.

"Um," Clara hesitated. "I live here. My job to do the cooking."

"I don't mind doing it today."

"But you're an alien."

He glanced over his shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. "So are you."

Clara sighed and reclined sideways. "Fair enough. Besides, I'm not near ill enough to have so little coherence that I'd say no to that. Make me some toast, will you?"

"On it."

As soon as the Doctor disappeared into the kitchen, he rammed himself into the counter and banged his head against a cabinet door. I don't mind doing it today. Why the hell would he say something like that? Of course he minded! He was a 2000 year old alien with two hearts and twenty-seven figurative brains and look at him.

Making toast.