Author's Notes:
WARNING: I spoilered myself, I tried to keep out plot spoilers but you know.


Clara coughed significantly.

The Doctor opened his eyes to look up at her. “What?”

“Aren't you going to be a gentleman and offer me the bed?”

He shrugged. “There's plenty of room.”

“You want me to get into bed with you?”

“No, Clara, I want to sleep. What you do while I'm asleep is entirely up to you.” He closed his eyes again.

Clara stared at him for a while before deciding that she really did need to sleep and that the bed looked quite comfortable. Besides, he was the Doctor, he wasn't likely to try feeling her up in the night.

“Don't feel me up in the night,” said the Doctor suddenly.

Clara sat down on the other side of the bed. “You know I wouldn't do that.”

“I was just reasserting my boundaries,” he said, eyes still closed.

“Don't worry,” she said, lying down and trying to leave an appropriate distance between them, “that's the last thing on my mind.”

“What's the first?” asked the Doctor.


“What's the first thing on your mind?”

“Sleep?” she ventured.

“Ah. Great minds. Night, Clara.”

“Night, Doctor.”


The next bed was slightly smaller and had more bounce to it.

“Are you sure you don't mind?” asked Clara.

The Doctor looked unconcerned. “You didn't grope me last time, I feel fairly safe in assuming you won't this time either.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Oi! What sort of woman do you think I am?”

“A short one,” he said, “with control issues and you're easily offended. But,” he added, “you're the sort that doesn't feel up her friends while they're asleep.” He took off his coat. “I'd never do this with Captain Jack.”

“Who's Captain Jack?”

“A friend,” he said somewhat vaguely.

Clara didn't want to press the issue so she kicked off her shoes and asked “Which side do you want?”

“Does it matter? No, wait, you're right.” He looked at the bed carefully. “Which side is safest?”

“I think they're equally dangerous,” she said, amused.

“I'd give you the safest side,” he said generously, “because you can't regenerate.”


“Don't mention it.”


“So why do people think we're married?”

“People assume things all the time. Don't let it bother you.”

“It doesn't bother me,” she said, defensive. “Does it bother you?”

The Doctor took a moment to answer.

“Well?” she prompted.

“That,” said the Doctor, pointing at her.


“That's why we're not married. You're bossy and controlling. People think I have no problem with this, they assume I'm blinded by love so that I don't notice your obvious faults.”

“No,” she replied, “that's not why we're not married. There are all sorts of reasons for that, none of which have to do with me having personality flaws.”

“You just keep telling yourself that,” said the Doctor.

“You should be flattered that people think we're married. I'm young and pretty and you're not.”

The Doctor looked hurt. “You don't think I'm pretty?”

“No, I don't.”

“Oh. Well,” he said, “I had a friend — a friend, mind — and everywhere we went people thought we must be married. Obviously we weren't, but that didn't stop them assuming.”

“Was she young and pretty?”

“I expect so.”

“You don't know?”

“You're missing the point here, Clara. The point is that there's no reason behind it. It's one of those random things like the lottery results or whether a tape recorder turns on you viciously.”

“Tape recorder? You really are old.”

“But the point stands.”

“If you say so.”


“This is ridiculous,” said Clara.

“I agree.”

“They're not seriously expecting us to..?”

“Apparently so.”

“Well, that's not going to happen,” she said. “I don't mind sharing a bed with you, but I draw a line at bodily fluids.”

“They'll probably just assume,” said the Doctor, unconcerned. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“They might be listening,” said Clara doubtfully. She looked at the door.

“That would be creepy and intrusive,” said the Doctor. “They seem like nice enough people, I'm sure they'll just assume.”

“I don't want them to assume anything!”

“Clara,” he said, “would you like them to kill us in the morning for failing to appease their one true god with the physical act of love?”

“No, but I also don't want them thinking that we've... you know.”

“Well, it's one or the other.”

Clara sat down next to him. “This is awful.”

“No, awful is when they feed you to the ants because their god is angry. And tuberculosis, that one isn't much fun either.”

“This is all your fault,” she said.

“How is it my fault?” he demanded.

“'Let's go on holiday,' you said. 'Let's go somewhere nice.'”

“This is somewhere nice.” He held up a hand to silence her protests. “Yes, odd religious ideas, but you can't say they don't have some lovely beaches.”

“176,” said Clara.


“That's reason 176 on the list of why I don't want to have sex with you.”

“You're keeping a list?”

“Don't make it sound weird,” she said.

“I'll try not to, but it's going to be difficult.”

“Oh, shut up.”


Clara opened her eyes and looked at the Doctor. “What are you doing?”

“Getting up,” he said, looking for his trousers on the floor.

Clara sat up. “Aren't you going to sleep?”

“Did sleep. Not tired any more.” He pulled his shirt on. “I've got things to do, you're welcome to join me if you like.”

“Right,” she said. “What part of 'sleeping together' do you not understand?”

“I thought that was just a euphemism?”

“Well, yes, but it would nice if you stayed.”

He looked at her. “Do you seriously want me to lie there for hours, doing absolutely nothing, until you decide to wake up?”

“You could read a book,” she offered.

“I don't want to read a book,” he said reasonably. “Look, humans sleep a lot. I don't. I don't want to start resenting you because you make me spend eight hours being bored every night.”

“Well, now that we're in a relationship -” she began.

“What were we in before?” he asked, confused.

“A different relationship,” said Clara, “one where it was fine if you wandered off while I was asleep.”

“Can we go back to that one?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” she said, “I like the sex in this one.”

“We could have sex in the other one,” he offered.

“Seriously though -”

“I'm being perfectly serious.”

Clara gave up. “Okay, fine. You go off and... do whatever it is you do when you're alone.”

He hesitated. “You're upset, aren't you?”

“What gave you that idea?”

“The death-glare was the main clue. Right,” he said, “would it help if I came back here before you wake up, and then you could pretend that I was here all night?”

“It's not the same.”

“How would you know, you'll be asleep! Think of me as a quantum Doctor. Am I or am I not in bed with you bored out of my mind? See, it could go either way.”

Clara stared at him for a while before relenting. “I want breakfast in bed,” she said. “And not just cornflakes, I want bacon and eggs. And orange juice.”


She waved him out of the room and settled back down to sleep.