Regenderation: Part Seven

Clara

"'Dear Clara, my greatest love and the light of my life. While I know that you adore my company more than anything else in the entire universe, and we have the best…' erm… I think it says 'coitus'… 'we have the best coitus of any pair of identical twin sisters, it pains me dearly to tell you that Adam Mitchell and I are having a mini-break in his mansion because neither of us want to put up with you and Wifeytoo fucking each other's brains out for all of the foreseeable future, since that is disgusting and nobody should have to live with it,'" Clara read the note that had been left for her on the kitchen table out loud to the Doctor. Then she shook her head and tore it up.

"But that's not fair! I haven't seen her yet. And I haven't seen Adam since I actually remembered who he is!" the Doctor protested. She had her arms full of takeaway fish and chips wrapped in newspaper they had picked up after running the rest of their errands for the day. These parcels she came and dumped on the table, while Clara went to throw the note from her sister in the bin.

"She's in trouble when she gets back," Clara muttered, "In fact, she's in trouble as soon as I call her and tell her she's in trouble. I didn't raise her to just up and leave without even a hug." The Doctor was getting plates out of the cupboard for them.

"That's okay, I'll hug you," she offered, "Even though I'm not your greatest love and the light of your life, or whatever it was she wrote." Thirteen was getting cutlery out of a drawer, and so did not see Clara's smile as she sat down at the table. "Kind of nice though, right?"

"What is?" Clara began unwrapping one of the portions. She just had chips and scraps, but the Doctor had all manner of high-cholesterol extras. Something to do with having the metabolism of a hummingbird. An alien hummingbird.

"Them letting us have the ship to ourselves."

"It's your ship in the first place," Clara pointed out, "And no, I don't think it is that nice."

"You don't?" the Doctor carried over salt, vinegar and cutlery. Clara took salt and vinegar, but not cutlery, and while the Doctor was sorting out her own food it was Clara's turn to venture back into the kitchen and bring out one of the jars of mayonnaise so that she could scoop out big globules of the condiment and dump them on her chips.

"No, what if I need her?" Clara said, rooting around in the fridge. She thought the Doctor had stopped what she was doing and was watching her now. "You know she means the world to me. And she knows she means the world to me. She better respond if I need to astrally project, or something."

"What might you need her for?" Thirteen asked, Clara kicking the fridge door closed and then returning with her mayonnaise.

"Just… I might. She's my best friend. And, you know, it's… not the most relaxing thing to be alone with you at the moment. Feels a bit like I have no escape."

"You want to escape from me?"

"No, don't be upset, it's just… a very overwhelming change. And I might get too overwhelmed, and… start crying again," Clara said. If the Doctor had looked sad before, at the suggestion that Clara might cry she looked even sadder. "I'm sorry, I don't mean…"

"Yeah, no, it's me, just because I remember now it shouldn't mean… but I think you're taking it pretty well so far. Since this morning, at least." Clara was covering her chips with the mayo and then another layer of salt, which the Doctor looked rather disgusted by, but didn't say anything about it.

"I haven't been taking it well at all these last two weeks. I've been blackout drunk at least four times and I don't think I've showered more than five, and I certainly haven't cleaned anything," Clara confessed. She busied herself eating her chips while the Doctor appeared to be thinking about something, mulling it over. Clara wondered if the Doctor was going to redesign the TARDIS interior. A new Doctor meant a new console room at least, surely? But she was sure she would put her foot down if Thirteen tried to alter the bedroom at all.

"Do you want to go see Oswin?"

"Right now? No, no. I'm okay."

"But if you're not okay… you'll tell me, won't you? Even if it's just to ask me to drop you off there?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you. Promise." Clara smiled meekly, but could not work out if the Doctor was convinced. "So, uh… finally alone without trying to track down some monster. Completely isolated on this spaceship together."

"It's like being in solitary confinement," Clara commented. The Doctor was displeased, so Clara changed the subject. She wasn't liking what the Doctor was getting at with all her talk of them being alone. "I called you my wife earlier."

"Yeah, I guess." Thirteen frowned because she did not understand the significance of this.

"I always thought I'd end up marrying a woman, you know. Well, I always hoped. I used to imagine what the girl I would finally be able to call my wife would be like, and what an honour that would be. An honour for me, I mean, to find someone willing to commit, since everybody always said I'd be alone forever because I sleep around," Clara explained while she ate.

"What did you imagine that girl would be like?"

"A lot like you, funnily enough. It's like you saw into my heart when you regenerated."

"I'd like to think I've been privy to the contents of your heart for years now," she smiled, picking apart a spam fritter with her hands. "And everybody is wrong, because unless my memory is failing me again you've never been unfaithful. Except with Jane Austen, that no-good hussy…"

"She literally kissed me one time when I was busy trying to not get killed by Rose," Clara reiterated for the billionth time. The Doctor clenched her fist.

"That's what I mean. Hussy. With her fancy words and her claws."

"She didn't have any claws." The Doctor scowled. "You said earlier you're not the jealous type."

"I'm not jealous."

"You are, you're jealous of something completely meaningless, always have been," she jibed.

"Because that harpy has the power to take you away from me."

"Only I have the power to do that," said Clara, "And you're being ridiculous. She lives before soap was invented, and toothpaste. And gay rights. Honestly, she's not even blonde. No one who isn't blonde stands a chance of turning my head that much; I'm very shallow. Especially when it comes to women."

"Oh, don't worry, I worked that out as soon as you started dating my daughter."

"Okay, it's definitely not shallow to be into Jenny. That girl is very special. She makes us homemade mayonnaise and delivers it every few weeks," Clara said.

"And that's obviously the reason you started sleeping with her. For mayonnaise."

"If your daughter wants to pay Other Me for sex using mayo for currency she's perfectly welcome to, that's her prerogative," Clara said, "Though, I think the sex was enough currency, to be honest."

"Hence you being shallow."

"I wasn't arguing about if I'm shallow or not, I admitted it right away," Clara said indifferently. The Doctor was trying to dig out a layer of chips from underneath a cod fillet so that she could cut it properly on her plate, and became quite involved with this while Clara sank back into her thoughts and tried to work out what to say. "Are you going to redecorate?"

"Redecorate what?" the Doctor half-mumbled with her mouth full of fish. She was getting grease and salt everywhere, all over the table, not to mention the smell of vinegar becoming pungent on the air. It was lucky Clara liked vinegar.

"You know, the TARDIS. This room, the console room… it's been like this for years, ever since everybody moved out. Even when Jenny and Nios still lived on the ship it looked like this," Clara said. It was roughly seven years ago that Jenny and Nios had moved off the TARDIS and into The Lost Cosmonaut in London, leaving the TARDIS only inhabited by Clara, the Doctor, Adam Mitchell and Oswin. And Sprite and Helix. And Jonesy 2, the glowing, floating tentacle cat which Clara assumed Adam had taken with them because he didn't trust Clara and the Doctor to remember to look after it properly. And fair play to him, he was probably right.

"Maybe. I'll do the console room. I've got some ideas. For the central column, I'm thinking: purple. Right? And maybe make it darker. It used to be dark, then it was all bright and orange and green, then dark and blue again when I was depressed, and now it's been back to the orange and green for years ever since the Dimension Crash – but I'm not even sure orange and green go together."

"I'd say it's more gold and green. The screwdriver was gold and green, too," Clara said.

"And a screwdriver! Where is my screwdriver?"

"It got ruined."

"How did that happen?"

"Probably when you jumped into the sea two weeks ago and drowned," Clara said sarcastically, "To hazard a guess." The Doctor looked a bit annoyed that Clara was still upset about the whole 'drowning' thing, but knew better than to bring it up to her. Clara didn't think she was going to be okay about it for a long while, months at least, and it wouldn't surprise her if she refused to go to Belfast ever again as long as she lived (not that she could think of many enticing reasons to go to Belfast in the first place.)

"Well I'll get a new one. A purple one. Purple console with lots of silver and white, maybe-"

"That's the colour scheme to our last wedding."

The Doctor stopped to think about this and then beamed when she realised Clara was right, "Oh yeah…funny how these happy memories affect the subconscious. At least it's a colour scheme we both agree on, though. I thought everything looked great at out last wedding, with everything lavender."

"It was lilac," Clara said.

"That's the same thing."

"Oh my stars, how many times do we have to go over this? Lavender and lilac are completely different colours! You think I'm some kind of tacky bridezilla who would have a lavender colour scheme at my wedding? I've got self-respect."

"It's literally almost the exact same colour." Clara glared at the Doctor. This was a very old argument. It had been worse when they were actually planning the wedding and Eleven kept picking things out in the completely the wrong colour. And then he'd suggested violet for the seat covers and Clara had nearly lost her mind. Luckily for Thirteen she had figured out when to back down from Clara and let her have her way. "Well it's my spaceship so it can be whatever shade of purple I want. Maybe indigo."

"Indigo is blue!" Clara exclaimed.

"Oh my god, what are you, the indigo police?"

"All police are indigo police because they all wear blue and indigo is blue."

"There are tons of police who don't wear blue! Even in England they wear black now. We literally just saw police because they got called to the jeweller when they thought my wedding ring was stolen. They were wearing black and white," the Doctor argued.

"You're insufferable."

"Better get used to it, wifey." A pause. Clara ate a chip. "Is my psychic paper ruined as well?" Clara shrugged.

"Probably. I don't really want to search the pockets of my dead husband's clothes."

"Your dead husband must have been pretty lucky to have so many pockets in his clothes…" Thirteen grumbled angrily. What her anger was directed towards, Clara could not work out; the general notion of the fashion industry, presumably. Then she sighed and said despondently, "It's as if I've lost everything I've ever loved." Clara raised her eyebrows.

"You're being melodramatic."

"I guess. Since I've still got you."

"I didn't mean because you've still got me, I just mean in general, you are. It's a toy tool you've broken a dozen times before and a piece of paper."

"I liked my toy tool and my piece of paper."

"Do you like your wife?"

"Yes, very much."

"There you are, then."

"My wife who won't kiss me." Clara froze and the chip in her hand fell back onto the newspaper. Then she laughed very shrilly and awkwardly for a while, and eventually cleared her throat. The Doctor stared at her. "Why do you keep laughing like that?"

"I'm not laughing."

"What's the matter with you?"

"I don't know! Normally when I meet someone I'm into I just get drunk and sit on their face. It works, like, every time. But I don't want to get drunk now, and you're so pretty, and I never usually get awkward around girls but now I'm totally awkward. Okay?"

"Too awkward to kiss me?"

"Yes. Stop saying that. I'll go hide again."

"Well don't go hide!"

"Stop flirting with me then."

"Your sister left under the assumption that we would be hardcore banging for, like, weeks. It'd be a shame to disappoint her."

"I've just gone from 'awkward' to disgusted because you said 'hardcore banging.' And I'm in mourning, my husband is dead, you know. He drowned."

"Oh, really? Because you don't mention that every five seconds."

"Well excuse me for being sad that my husband drowned. Now I'm trying to eat these chips so can't you be attractive in a different direction?"

"So should I, like, ask you out on a date?"

"…No. Just, you know, stop pressuring me. Or trying to pressure me. It's like there's all these expectations on me to be an untamed nympho freak all the time, and I'm just tired. And also I don't think you're ready. Or, like, prepared. You know, mentally."

"To sleep with you?"

"Exactly."

"I'm not mentally prepared to sleep with a girl I've been sleeping with for a decade?"

"You're not."

"And how do you figure that?" Thirteen was genuinely offended. Clara finally stopped trying to distract herself and put her chips down, wiping her greasy fingers on her skirt in lieu of any actual napkins.

"Because when you were a boy you always hated hand-jobs and you always hated blowjobs," Clara told her. It was no use mincing words. "You always said you thought they were degrading. And now guess what? Neither of us have a penis, so that's all we've really got, so you're really going to have to start being less prudish."

"You don't even know I'm prudish! I've regenerated!"

"Oh really? Because ever since I said the word 'hand-job' you've gone bright red. Prudish," Clara emphasised, "Unless you want me to go dig a dildo out from somewhere-"

"Stop, stop, stop!" she clamped her hands over her ears. Clara sighed. "Alright, alright. I see your point. I don't wanna talk about that."

"Then stop coming onto me, because that's what you're going to get. I mean, you probably will eventually. Once you get over yourself. But changing your gender is a big thing, you can't rush these sensitive processes," Clara said, "You're freaking out so much about the pockets already." The Doctor crossed her arms huffily. Clara took the opportunity to return to her chips.

"I'm not a prude," she muttered.

"I don't really think you are. You're just, y'know."

"What?"

"A virgin."

"I think all those women I've slept with would beg to differ, Oswald," she quipped, "Let's get River Song on the phone, shall we? Or Marilyn Monroe."

"You're like one of those sixteen-year-old boys who's watched tons of pornography and gives all his friends sex advice but doesn't actually know what he's talking about, and probably cums just at the thought of a girl coming anywhere near his trousers," Clara said, "But in a cute way."

"I'm a pervert in a cute way?"

"Uh…"

"You're the one who's watched 'tons of pornography.'"

"…You've got me there," Clara admitted, "Maybe you should watch some, so that you-"

"I think not, young lady. I'm going to sit on the sofa." She got up and left, and Clara was stuck at the table for a moment mouthing 'young lady' to herself and frowning. It took that long for her to realise the Doctor was upset, and for her to just give up with the chips. She could always reheat them in the microwave later. Or just eat them cold, since she didn't know how to use a microwave without it exploding.

"Sweetheart…" she said when she sat next to the Doctor.

"Don't you 'sweetheart' me," Thirteen complained, moving away from Clara.

"Sweetheart," Clara implored sweetly, sitting sideways and cross-legged on the sofa so that she could directly fact Thirteen, who was trying not to look at her but not doing a very good job of it.

"You're totally demeaning me."

"I'm not demeaning you, I'm being honest."

"That's just what people who are nasty say to make it seem like they're not nasty."

"So now you think I'm nasty? Me?"

"…No," she admitted eventually.

"Listen, Doctor, I've shagged a lot people. Like, seriously, loads, I really don't even keep track. And many of those people were girls, and many of those girls were straight. Well, they said they were straight, they definitely weren't straight when they'd been talking to me for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?"

"On average. Sometimes it takes five, sometimes fifteen, once I got off with one of them after two when I was really putting the effort in," Clara said, "I'm very practiced in the art of seducing 'straight' girls," she did inverted commas with her fingers, "You did see me do it to Martha Jones that time. What I'm saying is most of them have, like, barely a clue what they're doing, but I'm very patient. If I was a prostitute I'd have glowing reviews for customer service, believe me."

"What a glowing endorsement."

"I mean I'll tell you what to do. Well, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. You've actually got tons of practice, so you're already way up on all those girls I picked up in dive bars when they were depressed."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a scumbag?"

"Not for a few years. This is definitely why I haven't got any friends…"

"Because you try to sleep with all of them."

"Well, precisely. Anyway, forget about that, it'll all be fine once we get over the initial hurdle and then I'll totally blow your mind with my amazing talents at pleasuring other women. Seriously, if you thought I was good in bed before…"

"You're not being awkward now."

"Because I tore down your debonair façade with risqué comments and now you've stopped trying to bite off more than you can chew."

"And you're smiling."

"So?"

"So, you haven't been smiling a lot today. At all. Has implying that I can't do sex put you in this good of a mood?"

"It's made you less intimidating."

"Intimidating?"

"You're incredibly hot, and amazing in literally every way, so yes, you're intimidating."

"Mmhmm," she returned to where she had been on the sofa before moving away from Clara and leant her arm on the back of it, "That's a shame, because you're totally adorable when you're all awkward. It reminds me of how you get around Sally Sparrow."

"It's exactly how I get with Sally Sparrow, but worse, because I don't have a chance with her. But you're throwing yourself at me – and I can see you edging closer, I'm not playing this game," Clara said, watching Thirteen's movements very closely.

"I'm not playing a game. Wow, look how blonde my hair is."

"It is quite blonde…" Clara grew distracted, "I mean – don't do that!"

"Do what?"

"Prey upon my vapid superficiality and terrible attention span with your good looks and American accent," Clara said, slowly leaning away from the Doctor who was just leaning closer and getting in her personal space, which was not going to do much to help Clara's self-control, since she was so gorgeous and smelt delicious.

"Wait, you're into this accent?"

"Uh…"

"Is that why I have it!?" she exclaimed in shock, "Just because you like it?"

"You're the one who regenerated."

"Urgh. I'm like a caricature of everything you're attracted to."

"Basically, yep…"

"What was I doing? Oh yeah, seducing you."

"What?"

"You said it yourself, Coo, I still have all the necessary memories to get a girl off. And gee, you know, you've had such a difficult two weeks with the whole drowning-thing, wouldn't it be nice to just relax?" She kept coming closer and closer until Clara was in danger of falling off the sofa in her very lazy efforts to escape (did she really want to escape?) with the Doctor's hands on either side of her hips.

"I'll just go wank in the bath again if I need to relax."

"You wank in the bath!?"

"Like, not often," Clara defended herself, "Only whenever I actually have a bath."

"What, every time you have one?"

"Well otherwise I'd just shower."

"Are you telling me that every time you've had a bath for as long as we've been together it's because you wanted to-" Clara couldn't be bothered answering those questions. And she also did not want to give the Doctor the satisfaction of having 'seduced' her. And that was why Clara ultimately gave in to the very nice-smelling and pretty girl who was trying to lie on top of her and finally kissed her. The third time in her life she had kissed Thirteen, and the only time she had initiated it. She couldn't let that woman get the drop on her again. She had to have the upper-hand at least some of the time. The Doctor was very surprised. "…So this is a nice enough situation for you, then? Since you said you wanted it to be nice."

"Neither of us are drunk, so that's good enough for me," Clara smiled, and the Doctor leant down to kiss her again.

And the rest, as they say, was history.