One word: procrastination.
Nornally I do one chapter a week, on either one of my stories. Today (two days before a major test) I've given you all TWO chapters.
Definitely procrastination.
I'd better get going now... I've got studying to do. I hope you enjoy the chapter, please review and/or leave prompts!
To my guest reviewer: Fear not... more is on the way! Always:D
To Hamster the Angel: Thank you for your sweet comment! I'm looking forward to writing your prompt!
PROMPT FROM GUEST: TICKLISH TREES (you said bonus for extra fluff... so here you go! A whole serving of fluffiness so fluffy it makes marshmallow creme feel sad.)
Clara hummed lightly under her breath as she entered the TARDIS, cradling two extra-tall mochas in her hands. She was in a good mood today: it was Friday, all of her English students had performed miraculously well, and she didn't have any homework to correct over the weekend.
"Ah, Clara, there you are," the Doctor called in a jovial tone of voice.
Clara grinned; the Doctor was evidently in a good mood as well. Thank goodness. He was unbearable when he was grumpy. Of course, she loved him just the same, but he was admittedly much easier to talk to when he wasn't frowning at everything you said.
"Brought you coffee," she replied, closing the TARDIS door with her foot in a practiced motion.
His head popped up from behind the console. "...Okay."
No word of thanks, but then again, she hadn't really expected one.
The Doctor crossed over to Clara, took one of the mochas, and popped it into a special cup holder built into the console. Then he turned around and frowned at his petite companion. "Did you shrink?"
"Excuse me?"
"You look shorter. You've shrunk."
"I have not shrunk," Clara snapped, drawing herself up to her full, extremely imposing, height of five feet and two inches with as much dignity as possibly. "I'm just not wearing high heels, that's all."
The Doctor glanced at her feet. "High heels? Oh, you mean the little stilts. Yes, I see."
He made as if to turn around, but Clara grabbed his arm. "Hang on. What happened to your hair?"
The Doctor's curly gray locks were sticking straight up, as though he had been licked by a cow. He shrugged nonchalantly. "I was fixing the engine earlier and got some grease in my hair. No biggie. I washed it out, it just dried funny."
"That is an understatement," Clara muttered. He tried to turn around again and she squeezed his arm even tighter. "No, stop. I have to fix that." She was not going to allow his unruliness to spoil her perfect day, so she drained the last sips of her mocha - with some regret - set her coffee cup on the floor, and got to work.
Groaning and protesting, the Doctor was forced to stand still while Clara stood on her tiptoes and ran her fingers through his hair, her lips pursed in concentration. He squirmed and wiggled in an effort to free his lanky frame from her grasp, but she refused to let him go. Finally Clara fixed his hair to her satisfaction and stepped back, wearing a pleased smile. "That's better."
"One word," the Doctor breathed, spinning away and running to the far side of the console in case Clara tried to attack him again. "OCD."
"That's three words," she corrected him. "Obsessive Compulsive -"
"Oh, stop being such an English teacher," he sighed dramatically. "Can we go now?"
A roguish grin tugged at the corners of Clara's lips. "What are we waiting for?"
"Well, last I checked, we were waiting for you, but -" he caught sight of the steely glint in her eye and reconsidered finishing that sentence. "Okay, let's just go."
Their flight through time and space was smoother than usual, and Clara was pleased when the immaculateness of her appearance wasn't ruined by the jolts and bumps of the TARDIS. The Doctor landed the TARDIS with a pleased exclamation and beamed as the noise of the engines faded to a gentle hum. "Well, here we are," he began. "Let's -" His gaze suddenly settled on his untouched cup of coffee. Cautiously, he picked it up and took a sip. Then, deciding he liked it, he took several more sips with relish. "I like this stuff," he commented, smacking his lips as the flavor of the coffee zinged on his tongue. "What is it?"
Clara sighed huffily and buried her face in her palms. "You've had it before, Doctor," she reminded him, attempting to be patient. "Like, a lot. It's a mocha."
"Mocha..." He repeated the word a few more times. "Hmm. Stupid name. Doesn't really look like a mocha, does it? I'd call it... chocolate coffee. That makes more sense."
"Besides the point," Clara cut in, feeling that a conversation about coffee could go on for hours and deciding to end it before it could begin. "Let's go explore... wherever we are." She cleared her throat expectantly, waiting for the Doctor to take the hint.
He did, but only after several seconds. "Oh, yes. Fine. Let's go."
As they stepped out of the TARDIS, Clara's breath hitched and she couldn't stop herself from gasping. They were standing in the middle of a forest of thin, wispy trees that stretched as far as the eyes could see. Although there was no wind, the pale green trails of leaves that hung from the branches of the trees were whispering and rustling. The tree bark glittered with flecks of crystal in every hue. The sounds of Clara's footsteps and the leaves rubbing against each other were muted, as though the forest had just experienced a snowfall. She glanced up and beheld a pale blue sky streaked with orange clouds.
She was overwhelmed by the serenity and beauty of the silent forest, so much so that she didn't notice the Doctor crouch until he was standing with his chin almost on her shoulder. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured softly.
Clara jumped and turned around. "Oh my stars. Don't do that."
"Do what?"
She regarded him amusedly for a few seconds and then shook her head. "Never mind."
The Doctor closed the TARDIS door and paced a few yards away, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared up at the towering trees. "So where are we?" Clara asked, trailing behind him.
"The Forest of Skralor," he answered, his Scottish brogue even more pronounced than usual as he enunciated the r's. "Skralor is a planet in the Andromeda Galaxy. It's a prominent tourist destination because of its natural beauty... like this forest. In fact, this forest is famous throughout the universe."
"And... why would that be?" Clara inquired cautiously, feeling that the Doctor probably wanted her to ask that question. She could always tell when he wanted to her to ask questions, because he adopted a peculiar, expectant sort of look and leaned forward on the balls of his feet just a little. He liked to be able to impress people by always knowing the answers.
Sure enough, the Doctor's lips twitched in a satisfied smile. "This forest is an immensely odd phenomenon which occurs nowhere else in the universe."
"Can you please just tell me why already?" Clara snapped impatiently.
There was a strange glint in the Doctor's eyes. "The trees, Clara," he breathed, his voice seeming unnaturally loud because the other noises in the forest were unnaturally soft. "Touch one and see."
She cast an uncertain glance at the tree to her left. "You want me to... touch the tree," she repeated.
He made an impatient tsking sound and gestured to the tree. "Just do it."
Clara decided to blindly trust him (usually when that happened, she ended up almost dying or nearly destroying the universe, but she found, annoyingly, that she was never able to stop herself from trusting him). She reached out a hand and brushed her fingers along the bark, admiring the glittering crystals set into the tree's rough skin.
A mellifluous and very human laugh suddenly rang out, emanating from... the tree that she had just touched. Clara shrieked and snatched her hand back.
The Doctor winced and clutched his head. "Don't shriek like that. Even banshees can't shriek as loudly as that."
Clara was still staring at the tree. "What was that? It just laughed. The tree just laughed." She whirled around to face him.
"Yes, I know. This forest is called the Laughing Forest. The trees laugh when you touch them."
Her mouth hung open as she struggled to process that information. "But... why? How?"
The Doctor shrugged. "No one knows. It's one of the universe's greatest mysteries. Some think it's because of the crystals set into the bark. Others think the trees used to be people."
"What do you think?"
He stared at his companion's soft brown eyes and lowered his head. "I think... the universe is a strange place, and no one will ever know everything about it. Best to let some things remain undiscovered."
Clara nodded and then frowned. "Hang on. You knew it was going to laugh, and you didn't tell me? I almost had a heart attack when I heard it laugh!"
"Well, you didn't have a heart attack, and that's what counts," he replied cheerfully.
Clara scowled darkly. "Sometimes I think you forget that humans only have one heart."
"How could I forget? It's your biggest weakness! There's no way I could possibly forget. The idea of only having one heart is so stupid and pudding-brained it's seared into my brain for the rest of eternity."
"Seared into your twenty-seven brains," Clara smirked, referencing what the Doctor had said to her the first time she'd met him. The dimple in her cheek deepened as she grinned.
They stood together for a time, silently admiring the forest (and occasionally, each other, though they never would've admitted it). "Ticklish trees," Clara finally commented, looking up at the Doctor. "Who'd have thought?"
He made no response, but she knew he'd heard.
Eventually the Doctor cleared his throat and turned to Clara, his lined forehead creasing. "Sun's starting to set," he announced shortly. "Days here are only five Earth-hours long."
"So, are we leaving now?" Her eyes searched his lined face for a response.
The Doctor smiled a tiny smile. "Not yet. I've got an idea."
Two hours later:
The stars twinkled overhead, winking and shimmering, lonely gods in their own right. The night sky was like a pool of ink interspersed with white clouds of light. The oppressive silence that had been present earlier had lessened into a serene, welcoming one.
Somehow, Clara's heart was too full of love and wonder for her to even say a word.
Smiling, she closed her eyes and leaned into the Doctor's arm. "This was the best idea ever," she murmured into his shoulder.
He had to admit it was one of his better ones. He had brought a tartan picnic blanket from inside the TARDIS and set it up outside, and now he and Clara were stargazing. But he had one last trick up his sleeve.
The Doctor slid a hand inside his coat pocket and produced a tiny metal flask (For once, to his immense pleasure, he was actually able to reach the item he wanted without having to fumble around inside his pockets for ages). "Would you like some hot chocolate?" he asked his petite companion.
Clara propped herself up on her elbow and stared dubiously at the petite flask. "Um, there's about enough in there for an ant."
He clicked his tongue. "Clara, Clara, Clara. It's bigger on the inside, obviously."
She flicked his arm. "Oh, shut up. Yes, I'd like some."
He grinned - he'd already known that would be her answer - and took out two small mugs from his other pocket. "D'you want me to pour?" Clara asked.
The Doctor eyed her irritably. "No. I'm two thousand years old. I can pour hot chocolate without spilling, Mother."
Clara's cheeks dimpled as she laughed. "Getting sarcastic, are we?"
The Doctor made no response to that as he poured the steaming brown liquid into the mugs and handed one of them to Clara. She cradled it in her small hands, sniffing its rich aroma, and took a cautious sip. "It's good," she conceded in a surprised tone of voice. "Did you make this?"
"No. It's TARDIS-generated." A smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the incredulous expression on Clara's face.
"What can't the snogbox do?" Clara demanded.
"Well, she can't snog anyone. Which is why 'snogbox' is a stupid name." He glanced over at Clara, expecting some sort of snide comment in response, and frowned (partly because no snide comment was forthcoming, and partly because she had hot chocolate all over her lips). "You know you have a giant hot chocolate mustache, right?"
She shrugged. "So?"
"So - it's-" He stuttered, unable to think of a reason why it should be a problem. "Fine, never mind."
Clara downed the rest of her hot chocolate and leaned against his shoulder again, snuggling into the crook of his elbow. Her body heat was like having a campfire right next to him. "Doctor, where's the earth?"
He stared into her wise brown eyes. The starlight was reflected in them, making them shine brighter than diamonds. The Doctor almost got lost in them, but managed to drag himself out with an effort. "Right, yes, Earth. It's..." He scanned the sky. "It's over there."
"Where?"
The Doctor took Clara's hand in his own and pointed her finger at a clump of particularly bright stars. "Right there."
She studied the patch of sky. "It's so far away," she breathed dreamily, an admiring yet wistful look stealing across her face. "They don't even know this planet exists."
They sat in silence for a while after that. The Doctor found that he was both embarrassed and delighted by his close contact with Clara. He wasn't sure if he should scoot closer or farther away, and finally opted for the latter choice, deciding that he should at least pretend to be annoyed by her closeness.
Clara didn't seem to be bothered. Instead, she shifted so that she was lying down on the picnic blanket. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders in rich mahogany waves as she crossed her arms under her head and stared up at the stars. "Do you know the names of them?" she asked suddenly.
The Doctor frowned. "Of what?"
"The stars. Do you know all their names?"
He slid his gaze across the inky sky. "Yes, Clara," he answered quietly. "Every one. And I can hear them too."
That was an unexpected comment. Clara sat up a little. "What do you mean?"
"They're singing," he murmured, so softly that she barely heard him. "The stars are singing. They're always singing. But their song is stronger at nighttime."
"Can I hear it?" Clara whispered.
Wordlessly, he reached out and touched a pale hand to her forehead. Clara gasped as the songs of the stars flooded her ears. They were soft and sweet, happy and wistful all at once. They sounded like beams of light and shattered glass; like rolling waves and the purest notes of music. There was simply no other way to describe them.
The Doctor took his hand away, and the noise died away. A single tear slid down Clara's cheek, coaxed from her eye by the beauty of the songs. "They're beautiful," she announced simply. "And you can hear that... all the time? What are they singing about?"
The Doctor heaved a sigh as he tilted his head back. "Many things. Living and dying, everything and nothing... they even sing about me sometimes. I'm simply that cool."
Clara rolled her eyes. "Also very modest."
"Always."
In a rush of affection, she rested her head against his chest, listening to the comforting pounding of his double hearts. Her hand curled around his jacket. "Tell me a story," she requested, her voice slightly muffled by the fabric of his waistcoat. "Tell me a story about the stars." There was a heap of TARDIS-blue blankets on the grass next to them, and she pulled one over herself and the Doctor so that only their heads and arms were sticking out.
Glancing down at his companion, whose eyes were peacefully closed, the Doctor suppressed a sigh. There were so many stories to tell, and not all of them had happy endings. His memory flashed back through centuries' worth of memories, searching for the right tale to tell Clara.
And then, as he stared through half-closed eyes at the starlight gleaming on Clara's hair, and listened to the steady hum of her breathing, a memory popped into his head, and he instantly knew that it was the right one.
"I was young when it happened," he murmured softly as if in a trance, his rough but mellifluous Scottish brogue starkly contrasting the otherwise silent night. "Just five hundred years old..."
And so he began his story. His voice rose and fell like a wave of smooth words as he recounted his adventure, weaving a tale of hope, of excitement, of curiosity, of friendship, and most of all, of the constant pull of the stars as they sang, drawing him to them like Clara drew him to herself.
As he spoke, Clara listened intently, never speaking but growing more and more content and at peace as the story wore on.
Finally, the Doctor's last words fell from his lips. "...So now you know why it's best to never let me explore places on my own, eh, Clara?" He paused. "Clara?"
She was fast asleep, curled up against his chest with a tiny smile on her elfin face.
The Doctor felt a momentary flash of annoyance - his voice was sore from talking so much, and she hadn't even listened! - but it quickly gave in to a rush of affection. He wearily massaged his forehead and leaned backwards so that he was lying on his back. "Oh, Clara..." he murmured, caressing her hair with a gentle hand.
"I felt that," she mumbled in her sleep.
The Doctor chuckled amazedly. Even in her sleep, she never stopped trying to embarrass him.
He crossed his arms on top of his chest and stared up at the twinkling stars, his eyes sinking lower... and lower... and lower...
And as the night faded into a warm curtain of dawn, the two friends slept together peacefully, content in the knowledge that they were together, and nothing could part them.
Wow. That was so fluffy I almost cried tears of joy just writing it. Well, not really. But I almost died of cuteness. I hope you loved reading it as much as I loved writing it. Please review if you want, it will be a great reward for me when I'm done testing. Have a great week. See you all next time!