Retrograde

4

"I don't think I much like this room."

"You picked it."

"I know, but… it reminds me of something."

Clara was half-asleep many hours later, lying on her side with one arm over the Doctor who was staring up at the ceiling.

"Hotels?" Clara suggested.

"Maybe. We did a very personal thing in an impersonal place."

"We did a lot of things. And it's still your TARDIS. It still hates me, I'm sure." She kissed the Doctor's shoulder.

"The TARDIS doesn't hate you."

"It does."

"Stop calling her an 'it' and she might change her mind."

"She'll always hate me." Clara was joking, but the Doctor didn't laugh. "Hey."

"Hm?"

"What's wrong? Just the room?"

"No, I-"

"Was it me?" she sat up a little, leaning on her elbow, "Was I terrible? I knew it. No good for your first time."

"You weren't terrible."

"But I was still bad? Not great?"

"You're too good."

"Excuse me?"

"I just… I didn't know that you were so into women, alright?" she admitted. Clara just frowned. She had no idea how to react to that. "What were you doing with me when I was a man all this time?"

"I'm not a lesbian. Not that there's anything wrong with that – I'm just not." The Doctor said nothing. "You're being biphobic."

"I'm what? I just – I only mean that you seem like you enjoy it very much."

"Sex?"

"No, the… the act, of… the, uh, performance, when…" She couldn't find a good euphemism. Clara let her go on like this for a few more moments.

She lay back down, "You mean cunnilingus, don't you?"

"Yes."

With all the innocence she could muster, she said, "It's just fun to go down on other girls."

"You did it for a long time."

"Did you want me to stop? Because – you can just say, obviously."

"It's not that. All I mean is, don't you get jaw ache? I got jaw ache, and I didn't do it for anywhere near as long."

"It's only another muscle you have to exercise," she was indifferent, "We'll both build it up. Together. Perhaps at the same time, if you're into that."

"Uh-huh."

"Besides, it's worth any jaw pain because you get to bring about a climax – multiple climaxes. I'm very dedicated to the pursuit of pleasure. But didn't I say you might not be ready for all this? The intensity?"

"You did, you did…"

"Where did I put that vape…" she mumbled, rolling over.

"I thought you were going to sleep?"

Clara ambled out of bed. Their clothes were all over the floor – even the Doctor's new, cherished knitwear. Clara found her jeans to go through the pockets, feeling the Doctor's eyes on her the entire time.

"I was, but now you're having a crisis over the otherworldly powers of oral sex, so I should probably stay up and see you through it, shouldn't I?" Vape in hand, she got back into the bed and nestled up next to the Doctor again, only now she was on her back as well so that she could blow the vapour in the opposite direction. "Imagine what it'll be like when I've gotten some more practice in."

"I'll implode if I imagine that."

"Yeah, that's the idea."

"You're a narcissist."

"So I hear. Why do you think I smoke, though? It's all part of the oral fixation, as Freud would say."

"Freud would have a field day if he ever met you."

"Maybe we should pop in and say hello?"

"Certainly not."

Clara's tone changed to one far softer, "I'm sorry you had to find out about my filthy, homosexual proclivities this way. It must be very hard for you."

"It's just – I feel terrible. Why did you let me keep you trapped all these years instead of dallying with other women?"

Clara laughed, "Trapped? I was in love with you, stupid. And I still am. It's that simple."

"You didn't get tired of me?"

"Of you? Of the Doctor? Of course not. And you're not like human men, anyway, you never were. Or humans of any other gender. But, is this a very roundabout way of you asking me to get you off again?"

"No," she said quickly, then paused to think, "I don't know. Would you?"

"Right now? No. I'm dog-tired. I'd be no good."

"You said that earlier and you were phenomenal."

"You have absolutely no point of comparison, so I can't trust you."

"And how was I? Are you going to tell me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You picked apart my piano playing, aren't you going to pick apart this as well?"

"And erode your self-esteem?"

"I can take it."

"I have no comments," she blew out more vapour, "I think most of your muscle memory has survived."

"So you didn't…"

"Didn't what?"

"You know." Clara stared at her. She whispered, "Fake it."

Clara laughed, "Seriously? No. I have a rule, you see. I never fake orgasms, under any circumstances. If people are shit, they should know they're shit, otherwise how could they get better? You can't practice arpeggios if nobody takes you aside and says, you know, you'd better really put in the graft with those bloody arpeggios, mate, or you're never going to be able to grasp the trills in 'La Campanella'."

"Can you play 'La Campanella'?"

"Of course. Can you?"

"I play it in A . It sounds better that way."

"What did Liszt have to say about that?"

"He kicked me out of his apartment! The guy can't take any criticism." Clara laughed.

"You've never told me that."

"You've never asked."

"Maybe. I like that you seem, uh… musical now," it took her a moment to find the word, "The singing, the piano, the Beatles…"

"Thanks."

"Are you going to sleep, by the way?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Well, if you don't sleep, I won't be able to sneak out of here before you wake up, will I? It's never good manners for a one-night-stand to stay until the morning."

"But if you stay until the morning, I'll make you breakfast," the Doctor offered.

"Ooh, that's very enticing. I suppose I'll hang around then. Just this once."

"You seem like you're in a better mood."

Clara sighed, "Don't you want me to be?"

"Are you thinking about him?"

"Yes."

"And were you thinking about him when we-"

"Yes." The Doctor said nothing. "Do you want me to lie?"

"No."

"Then why ask?"

"I didn't consider my own perspective on this whole thing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I was concerned with how you'd feel being with two different Doctors, but not how two different Doctors would feel about being with the same person. Do you see?" Clara didn't speak. "All the inevitable comparisons…"

"I'm not comparing the two of you."

"Aren't you?"

"No. I promise. It wouldn't be fair."

"Why?"

"Because he's not here anymore. And because you're different, anyway."

"One minute we're the same, next we're different."

"I mean because you don't have a penis," she decided to be crass. "Do you want another pros and cons list? Penis versus vagina?"

"I absolutely do not."

"Are you sure? I can run and get a notebook, or a whiteboard? Draw you some diagrams, maybe?" she went on. The Doctor didn't say anything more, though. "Shall I make us hot chocolate? What time is it?" She rolled over, looking for her phone. Eventually, she found it under the pillow. "God."

"What?"

"It's only half-past ten."

"We got a little carried away earlier. But this is a time machine, it doesn't matter."

Clara leant over and kissed her cheek, "I like having the clocks. You know that, don't you?"

"I do, I do…"

"How about the hot chocolate? Why don't you come with me, we can sit in the other room for a bit?" she suggested.

"Is that what you usually do with your one-night-stands?"

"Yes, every single time."

"In that case, alright. I don't want any special treatment."

"I'll never treat you like you're special. Promise."

Clara pulled out all the stops. After putting on pyjamas and thoroughly washing her hands (plus a generous swig of mouthwash), she made two steaming mugs of her trademark, elaborate hot chocolates, complete with whipped cream, marshmallows, and chocolate dust, each laden with far too much sugar.

"What do you think of this room? Should I redecorate this one, too?" asked the Doctor, looking around. It was a joint, all-white living and dining area, much like the one that had been created during the end of the Dimension Crash – only smaller. It generally only had to accommodate four people, and sometimes Jenny or Nios, rather than almost twenty.

"I'm the wrong person to talk to," said Clara, "You should ask Adam what he thinks."

"It's so sterile."

"Now that you mention it…"

"It doesn't represent what I want it to."

"Which is what?"

"The place where I lovingly prepare all my wife's food, obviously. It should be more rustic. And I should get a fake window, wouldn't that be nice? And we should have a bigger oven."

"You do what you like." The Doctor looked at her, annoyed. "What?"

"I'd like an opinion," she said.

"I trust your judgement. And it's your ship, not mine."

"Clara… it's where you live, too Your home."

"Alright, I think a fake window might be nice," said Clara, "It's just difficult to know I'm imagining the same thing you are. You could always make a mood board, or something."

"A mood board? Me? Do you know who I am?"

"I do indeed know who you are."

"I'm the Doctor. I don't do mood boards."

"It might be fun. We could do it together. Or you could do it with Adam and Oswin, I'm sure they have ideas."

"Their ideas usually involve keeping everything as dark as possible."

"Hm, that's true." It was always dark in their room, and always had been, as if they didn't even know there was an overhead light.

"I'm leaning towards yellow."

"Put it on your mood board." The Doctor glared at her. "It'll be good! You'll see. Mood board, new kitchen – that's what marriage is about, isn't it?"

"I never made a mood board with River."

"I'm very much not River."

"Mood boards…" She leant back in the dining chair and watched Clara for a while, who grew self-conscious. "You're a very nice girl."

"You say that like you're insulting me."

"Very ordinary."

"Thank you?"

"If you told me a thousand years ago that I was going to marry a human, I never would have imagined they'd be someone like you."

"What would you have imagined? Someone like one of your other wives? Marilyn Monroe?"

"Probably. It's just funny, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"You go a thousand years with a type and then somebody comes along who doesn't fit that at all and they're the love of your life."

"Sorry, how am I not your type?" she questioned, setting down her hot chocolate and crossing her arms.

"I didn't mean to offend you."

"No, no. Please. Explain."

"You're normal."

"Rose was quite normal."

"Oh, but she changed as soon as we met. You, though, you're still so… Earth. It's a good thing."

"If you say so."

"I like Earth. Why do you think I hang around there all the time?"

"To look for a wife? One who is not your type, no less?"

"What I mean, Clara," she pushed her mug aside and leant very close to Clara over the table, "Is that I never expected you to come into my life, and that you never fail to surprise me, every single day, with your continued charm and… endearingness."

"That's not a word."

"C'mon, I'm – I'm trying."

Clara leant towards her as well, "Trying to compliment a woman who isn't even your type? How charitable of you."

"Okay, I take it back. Are you happy now?"

"No."

"You're incorrigible." Clara smiled at her. "And you're making fun of me again, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"You used to make fun of me less."

"I don't think so."

"Hmph." She leant back again, away from Clara.

"Listen," said Clara, speaking sincerely again, "If you don't like the hotel thing, then why not make us a new room? Instead of redecorating the existing one."

"Would you be okay with that?"

"As long as the existing one is still there for the time being, then, yeah. The guest bedroom is… a bit like being in limbo, I suppose."

"That's a good way to put it. What do you want this new room to look like?"

"Well, it's funny you should say that-"

"Don't you dare tell me to make a mood board, Clara."

"Shit."

"What?"

"I really like it when you tell me off."

"I'll have to stop, then."

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

"Do you want to go back to bed?" the Doctor countered, "You're giving me eyes. I wish you didn't have eyes sometimes, looking at me like that."

"You wish I didn't have eyes?"

"I thought you were too tired?"

"I am. I'm being pulled in two different directions, to be honest. If I go to sleep, there will be hours where I don't get to look at you, or talk to you, or listen to you, and I…" She didn't know what she wanted to say, so she paused to think. "I feel like I'm a teenager, and we've just met, and I have the most overpowering crush on you. Except, now I don't have the excuse of adolescent hormones. How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Do you have, like, pheromones, or something?"

"Pheromones only affect members of the same species. My Time Lord pheromones will do nothing for you."

"Hm."

"I think the same thing I thought earlier; that you're a lot more gay than you let on."

"I could be. Speaking of being a teenager again, I used to think I'd marry a woman. Or hope, I suppose."

"And then you were profoundly disappointed to elope with a – what was it you called me? A dandy? A fop?"

"Second one. But no, I wasn't disappointed. Like I keep telling you, I'm bi."

"But?" the Doctor prompted.

"But I still spent a lot of time in my youth dreaming about being able to call someone my wife one day. It's sort of purifying. Defiant."

"You haven't called me your wife once yet."

She sighed, "I know. It's hard. I'm sure I will soon, though."

"But if you've regressed to being a teenager, it could be ten more years until you're ready to re-enter the world of marriage."

"You would wait for me if it took me ten years to be alright with everything."

"What if I got bored? I get bored very easily."

"You'd wait for me."

She smiled warmly, "You're right. I always will. Because I'm your wife now, see?"

"You've really adjusted to swapping genders remarkably quickly. I thought it would take a while."

"I have plenty left to adjust to. I hear human men can be very sinister, do I have to put up with that now?"

"Probably. Sorry."

"And the bras. They're not very comfortable."

"You'll get used to them. Or you could be a maverick and go braless everywhere."

"And you'd like that, I'll bet?"

"Actually, I rather prefer the sense of mystery underwear presents."

"Right. I forgot for a moment. You have a 'thing' about women's underwear. Remind me to put some on for you every now and then."

"Really?" Clara stared at her.

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I want to wear fancy-pants underwear to get you going?"

"I don't want you to have to feel like you need to perform femininity-"

"Didn't we already have this conversation?"

"Well, it… there's a lot of societal pressure, you know, on being a girl, and womanhood-"

"I know all this. I've been on Earth for a lot longer than you."

"But you still shouldn't do anything you don't want to."

"And I want to wear sexy underwear for you, isn't that alright? You're already going crazy just thinking about it."

"I… I feel as if you were designed in a laboratory just to ensnare me."

"Who says I wasn't? We've already established that I'm your dream girl." Clara didn't know what more she could say. She'd nearly finished her hot chocolate, but she was tempted to immediately go and make up another one. "Do you want something to eat?"

"You're going to cook?"

"I was thinking more like toast."

"…Yes, actually. I'd really like some toast. I think I mentioned I haven't really been eating properly since… well."

"Then I'm duty-bound to make sure you get back on your feet," she smiled, getting up and going over to the toaster. It took her a second to recall where it was. "That's the thing. I'm too short. Everything's in the wrong place."

"You'll get used to it."

"Do you want to go back to bed afterwards, though? And I do mean for sleeping, I can tell how exhausted you are."

"I wonder how long it'll take for me to not feel exhausted. But I'm not sure. Can we sit outside?"

"Of course. I know just the place, one of my favourite views."

Clara had seen many nebulas during her tenure on the TARDIS, more than she could count, but she never tired of them. Seeing a sprawling, colourful nebula in person was something most people on Earth couldn't imagine, let alone having the simple pleasure of eating toast at the same time. Once the toast was made, they sat side-by-side, legs touching and hanging from the edge of the TARDIS, looking out at the weblike, cosmic structure.

"What's it called?" asked Clara.

"Thus unnamed. Most of them are."

"Don't you have a name for it?"

"Oh, sure. This one I call Bob. How's your toast? Did I do it right? Not too burned?"

"It's perfect. Great toast."

"I'm going to start baking bread. Then the toast will be even better."

"You don't have to bake bread just to make me marginally nicer toast."

"But I want to! I want to do all kinds of things for you; the underwear, the toast, everything, you're… I remember ten years ago, when we were sitting on that beach in Blackpool because you got scared during the night, telling you that I thought we were soulmates. I still believe that. I think everything that's happened with this regeneration cycle proves it."

"Or it proves that you're very impressionable," said Clara, looking off into the nebula.

"You're frightened of it."

"Of what?"

"The unconditional love I have for you."

"Being loved unconditionally by the Doctor can be a frightening thing. Ravenwood said there was a prophecy in the other universe about us being some sort of monster."

"That's different," she said, "They were never a couple. That means that they felt, in some capacity, the things that we feel, but never acted on them. Can you imagine? Sure, I'd tear the universe apart if I couldn't go to bed with you every night and work through my pent-up emotions."

"And by 'pent-up emotions', you mean…?"

"Desire, passion, lust. But I'm serious. What if we were travelling together, you and I, for a decade, without the marriage?" Then she lowered her voice to a whisper, "Without the sex? I mean, my god. The sex. Not that that's everything-"

"There's also toast," said Clara.

"-but… well. Think about it."

"I was fully prepared to be with you without sex, you know," said Clara, "Right at the beginning. Because it didn't look like you were actually into all that."

"And then you'd've gone the same way as Ravenwood."

"I'd be shacking up with your daughter."

"Eurgh. Perish the thought."

"I really can't imagine it, though, I suppose. And they didn't travel together for ten years anyway, she died long before that."

"Are you saying you don't love me unconditionally, though?"

Clara softened significantly, "No, I do."

"Will you say it?"

"I said it when you woke up yesterday."

"But will you? Again?"

Clara turned away from the nebula's clouds and tendrils: "I'm in love with you. Even if you aren't my Chin anymore. You know, it's funny; we came out here because you were feeling blue, and now I am."

"I didn't mean to get you down. Do you want some more toast?"

"I'm all good on the toast front," said Clara, leaning her head on the Doctor's shoulder. "Bit awkward to do this now, because of the height thing."

"Hm?"

"It's not too comfortable."

"You don't have lie on me."

"I want to. You're warm and you smell nice, now you don't have seawater all over you."

"I'm glad to hear it." The Doctor kissed the top of her head. They stayed quiet for some time and, despite the nebula's presence, Clara closed her eyes. It was peaceful. "Do you want to do something tomorrow? Go somewhere?"

"Like?"

"Anywhere. I'm a whole new Doctor, the universe needs to know. People to meet, monsters to fight, corridors to run down, that's how it goes."

"Maybe the running away from monsters down corridors can wait. I'm liking having you all to myself for a while."

"How selfish," she said, but Clara heard the smile in her voice.

"I'm not ready to re-enter the world yet."

"It might take your mind off things."

"It'll make me worry about you too much. Going into a life-threatening situation when you only just…"

"You know I won't regenerate for a long time, at least."

"I don't care, just the thought is enough to…" she took a deep breath. The Doctor put an arm around her.

"I think we should go back to bed. You need some more sleep."

"Are you sure you're alright with the room?"

"I will be. I'll be fine."

She wasn't fine, though. Not quite.

They did traipse all the way back through the TARDIS, and Clara did get to sleep, suspecting that the TARDIS itself had shifted the mattresses around so she was still occupying the same surface despite the unfamiliar room. It was the following morning that things were different again.

Clara woke up slowly, initially not realising that she was alone in the bed but feeling significantly better than she had done the day before. Perhaps she was coming back to herself a little.

The Doctor was waiting for her in a chair at the bedside that hadn't been there when she'd gone to sleep, but she didn't look glad of Clara's company. She looked frightened.

"What's wrong?" Clara asked right away, forcing herself awake. She felt as if she'd just gone to sleep mere moments ago. The Doctor said nothing. "What is it, sweetheart?" Clara perched on the edge of the mattress, leaning towards the Doctor.

"I forgot you," she said, broken. "I went to sleep. Not even for long. When I woke up-"

"But you remember me now?" Clara took her hand.

"Yes, but – it – you're there, and I don't – I can't recognise you, it's – I can't function like this." She pulled her hand away and curled up in the chair. Clara switched the bedside light on properly.

"Listen to me," said Clara very softly, "It took two weeks to remember everything last time. What's a few minutes to that? Even an hour?"

"But I… I don't know your name."

Clara frowned, "But what else do you recall?"

"Everything. But your name, it escapes me."

"It's Clara. I'm Clara." She nodded, taking in this information.

"That's a beautiful name."

"I've never much liked it."

"Are you upset?"

"No. I told you, the scans the TARDIS made, it looks like permanent brain damage," said Clara, "And Martha said you had memory trouble in the future, still." She remained silent, far removed from the person Clara had just felt like she was getting to know the previous night. "I'll make us some tea and bring through biscuits, alright?" The Doctor just nodded. Clara paused, wondering if leaving her alone was really a good idea, but it looked as if she wanted to keep thinking things through by herself.

She left the room, pulling on her dressing gown and trying to ignore her messy, tangled hair she hadn't had the chance to brush yet. She went through the hall and into the main room, where she was surprised to find Adam Mitchell, slowly buttering crumpets with his back to her. Hearing the door open, he looked over his shoulder.

"Oh, hello," he said, "You look, uh… like you've had a good night."

"You mean I look like shit."

"Your words, not mine."

"Are you done hiding in the bedroom, then?"

"I hope so. I suppose that depends on whether the Doctor goes back to threatening me." Clara sighed, walking around him to pick up two mugs. "What's wrong? Everything okay?"

"She's upset. She slept a little bit and didn't remember my name."

"Oh. Well, you know she slept on our sofa when she came back from the future?" he said, "It used to happen whenever she woke up. Usually people's names. Mine, Oswin's, yours."

"How long did it take her to remember?"

"Never too long. We'd fill her in."

"And did she… how, um, how much did it upset her?"

"I don't know. She hid a lot from us, obviously. I think she was used to it, though." He finished with the crumpets and got out of Clara's way as she put the kettle on.

"Did she never tell you why she forgot?"

"No, she was very cryptic. Just said she had an 'old injury'. She might have told Jenny, though."

"Why do you say that?"

"Jenny used to tell him to be careful around the sea, or water," Adam explained.

"And you noticed that?"

"It's the eidetic memory. People used to tell me I was a genius, you know. Before I met your sister. When he… drowned…" he paused, halfway through a crumpet, "It got me thinking. And talking to Oswin about it. She's been trying to wheedle information out of Jenny, but you know how Jenny is."

"Don't I just," Clara sighed, searching the cupboards for biscuits. She found a half-eaten pack of Digestives eventually.

"She was fine most of the time, though. It was always when she'd just woken up, or teleported, anything disorienting."

"Will you come and talk to her? Tell her this?"

"Why can't you tell her?"

"Excuse me?"

"If I go in there, she's going to try and steal my crumpets, and these are the last ones," he said, "Besides, it'll sound better coming from you." Clara rolled her eyes.

"Fine," Clara relented. "Do you like her, though?"

"I do, yeah. I'm not sure about Oswin."

"You're not sure whether you like Oswin?"

"Well, she can be very foul, can't she?" he joked. Clara smiled.

"I'm glad you're here," she managed to smile at him, "I always feel like things are more normal than they are when I talk to you."

"Happy to help. Do you want me to make breakfast? You could take it back with you."

"No, it's fine. Maybe we'll go out to eat, go to a café," said Clara, thinking on her feet. "But don't worry about it. I know Oswin's tired of you cooking for us."

"She is, but I'm not. Tell me if you need anything."

"Sure," she finished stirring the tea, setting the teaspoon on the draining board. "Thank you. For everything."

"It's fine," he brushed her off. "Whatever I can do. You're basically my sister, and so is the Doctor now, I suppose."

"I don't know that she thinks of it that way, but I feel the same." She picked up her mugs. "I should get back."

"Mm, so should I." They walked back into the hall together and then disappeared into opposite rooms. She was sure she'd see him for dinner now he'd stopped hiding.

"It's funny," said Clara, the door closing behind her, "Nobody liked him at first, but now I can't imagine the TARDIS without him."

"Who?" asked the Doctor.

"Adam, I was just talking to him. Here you go." She handed the Doctor her mug and set the Digestives down on the bedside table, sitting opposite on the bed. "He says that you stayed on their sofa, in the future, when you came back, and you'd always forget stuff when you woke up. Names and things."

"Oh."

"But you always remembered. And seemed used to it. So that's something, right?" said Clara hopefully.

"I don't like it," the Doctor remained cynical. "How can I forget you? The person I love most in the universe – the greatest love of my life. How?"

"Maybe it's… last one in, first one out?" Clara suggested. "I'm just… recent. But, look, there's a reason the vows say, 'in sickness and in health.' You've just got a medical condition now, and we'll have to learn to live with it, together."

"But I'm not myself if I don't remember. Twelve-hundred years, so many people, lives, places – who am I if I start to forget? I don't even know my real name."

"Well, you haven't known your real name since long before we met," said Clara. The Doctor gave her a look, and she shrugged.

"That's not the point. I'm nothing without my memories."

"But you have me. And you always will. When you have another relapse, I'll be your memory; I'll look after you, because you're my wife, and that's my job." The Doctor didn't say anything, but eventually, she smiled.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"And thanks for the biscuits," she picked one up and dipped it in her tea carefully. Clara waited for her to finish eating it.

"You haven't gone off it, then? Tea and biscuits?" She decided to try and lighten the mood. "Now that you're an American."

The Doctor paused thoughtfully, "No. Nothing beats real tea."

"See, you're still a naturalised Brit deep down."

"Don't be cruel, Clara." More silence. The Doctor savoured her tea. Clara waited patiently, just as she had done for the two weeks of severe, retrograde amnesia. "I'm never going to manage without you now."

"You'll never need to. And why would you want to? I'm spectacular company."

"You're my favourite person in the universe."

"And you're mine. I thought we could go out for breakfast, though. If you want."

"Where?"

"I don't know, a café? You're probably famished. And so am I, now I'm feeling better."

"I thought you wanted to stay on the TARDIS for a while."

"I want to stay away from dangerous scenarios. Not cafés."

"Plenty of dangerous things can happen at a café, Coo. I was once held at gunpoint, in Paris – some guy was trying to steal the Mona Lisa."

"From a café?"

"No, it – it's a long story. I can tell it to you later. But, sure. Cooked breakfast sounds good."

"Great. You should probably have a wash, then."

"Okay. I will. But only on one condition."

"Which is what?"

"You join me."

"Really."

"You didn't seem too keen on the idea yesterday, but-"

"You thought that would have changed? In a day?"

"A lot of things have changed in the last day."

"Very true."

"Well?" the Doctor prompted.

"Alright, I'll indulge you," Clara relented, though in truth, she didn't spend an awful lot of time trying to talk herself out of the idea, "Even though you're taking advantage of a poor, unfortunate widow."

"Poor, unfortunate widows are my type." Clara set her tea down and stood, holding out her hand for the Doctor.

"Come on, then. Before I change my mind. Again."

"I don't believe you'll ever change your mind about getting up to no good with me," said the Doctor. She took Clara's hand and got to her feet as well.

"No. I don't think I will."

-end-

AN: I still have writer's block with the next storyline and do not know when it will appear, but appear it will, eventually.