A/N: This is for any reader who was unhappy with the original ending of Cold Coffee. (Judging by the blistering text messages and PMs I received, there were many of you.) My deepest gratitude to ChiefDoctor from AO3 whose very gentle suggestion grew into this final chapter. It's straight-up fluffy Whouffaldi fix-it fic, so if you prefer Pinkwald or didn't mind the ending of chapter seven, you can easily skip chapter eight. It's like a choose-your-own-adventure story!

It took less than an hour for Clara to realize she'd made a huge mistake in going away with Danny. To be precise, as timed by her watch, it took twenty minutes of polite conversation, fifteen minutes of awkward silence and another ten minutes of pointed conversation when she'd let the Doctor's name slip. And now that she was back in town, she felt nothing but relief.

First stop had been her flat where she paused only long enough to toss her bags in the door and peek into the sitting room. It was as she'd left it, a glass and mug drying in the rack, which hadn't escaped Danny's disgruntled notice the day before, the splintered table, magazines lying open, mail scattered about. But no TARDIS. And no Doctor.

She'd hurried to the coffee shop next. Pitiful, really, to be retracing her steps like this. No reason for him to be here when he was probably watching the silver sunset on the Island of Zelt, but a feeling of hope coupled with a sense of urgency made her rush inside. If he were there she didn't want to miss him, didn't want to miss another chance with him.

Clara looked around herself in a daze. Too many tall men in woolen overcoats who weren't the Doctor competed for her attention until she spotted a table full of older ladies, chatting, books at their elbows. Hazel's book club, it had to be. Her heart lifted in her chest as she worked her way towards them. If Hazel were there, then maybe it meant he hadn't gone traveling after all.

"Hello," Clara said with a fake-cheerful smile as she reached the table. "Sorry to interrupt, but this is the book club, isn't it?"

A woman with garishly-dyed hair to match her blinding jumper pulled out an empty chair. "Yes, it is," she said, patting the cushioned seat. "Are you a new member?"

"Oh, no," Clara said. "No, no. I was looking for a friend of mine, don't know if you remember him, he joined you last week?"

The jumper lady laughed. "Oh, you mean the Doctor!"

She nudged the woman sitting to her right, who was concentrating fully on consuming a blueberry scone. When their eyes met, the scone lady waggled her eyebrows and the two shared a cheerful titter.

Clara's smile faltered a little. "Are you Hazel?"

"She'll be here soon," the scone lady said through a mouthful of pastry. "In fact, I think that's her now," she said, brushing crumbs off her blouse while nodding toward the door.

Clara tried to appear casual as she turned to look, eyes searching eagerly for a familiar face.

"Thanks very much," she said, beginning to back away from the ladies. "Have a good..erm..meeting. Discussion. Whatever."

Clara turned and hurried toward the sturdy older woman in a dark-blue angora coat making her way through the throng, walking stick leading the way, the crowds parting around her. Clara felt a little breathless by the time she stood in front of her.

"You must be Hazel," Clara said, extending a hand.

The older woman lifted her chin, smiling warmly. "Yes, I am," she said, her voice bright and lilting. "And you must be Clara, the Doctor's young lady."

Shock made Clara forget her manners.

"Sorry, the Doctor's what?"

Hazel laughed and tucked an arm through Clara's.

"Let me buy you a coffee," she offered.

"No, I'm good." Clara was frowning so hard she was beginning to get an ache between her eyebrows. "But how did you know me?"

"Hold this for me, would you, dear?" Hazel said, brandishing her walking stick. As she rummaged in her bag, she said, "The Doctor mentioned you, of course. In great detail. And I recognized that look on your face."

Clara shook her head, too bewildered to even formulate a question.

"That hopeful look, when you peeked over my shoulder," Hazel explained. "And the crestfallen expression when you didn't see him."

"I didn't mean to be rude," Clara said. "It's just...we didn't part on the best of terms and I really need to speak to him."

"I know," Hazel said. She stepped forward to place her order and Clara had to wait impatiently to discover what else this discerning old lady knew.

"He showed up at my house last night," Hazel said after she'd returned to Clara. "Frozen to the marrow and a little dispirited. Couldn't tease it out of him, what happened, so I invited him in and left him alone."

Clara felt a twinge of worry. He hadn't gotten himself in trouble again, had he?

"Did you say frozen?" she asked.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking," Hazel said. "He isn't ill, don't worry. After a hot shower and a bowl of soup and a little sulk, he seemed more like himself again."

She collected her coffee from the counter and her walking stick from Clara.

"He wasn't in the mood to talk," she said. "Not to me at least, though I did overhear him having a rather spirited discussion with my budgie in the middle of the night."

"He's still at your place, is he?" Clara asked as she scanned the crowd again. She knew she was being terribly impolite but her desire to see the Doctor overwhelmed everything else in her mind.

"No, he walked here with me." Hazel said. "He's at the book shop across the street, said he didn't want to bother with silly little humans today."

"I'm sorry," Clara said. "He's like that sometimes. He means well. I think."

"I know he does. Reminds me of my Albert. So crotchety but such a warm, wide-open heart for those he called his own. He always said I was the only person he could tolerate." Hazel smiled and took a sip from her cup. "That's how I knew he loved me. He was a good man, my Albert."

Clara nodded, all her attention focused on the small storefront across the way. She strained her eyes, hoping to see a glimpse of movement inside the shop, wondering how soon she could make her goodbyes.

"The Doctor is a good man, too," Hazel said. "But he doesn't do well on his own."

A wizened old hand on her arm brought Clara back to her present company.

"Go and find him," Hazel said, her tone and her expression suddenly serious. "He needs you, but he'll never admit to it. Too stubborn for his own good. And you are too, I can see it in your face. But one of you will have to bend first."

Everything spoken by this little sprite of a woman, with her puff of white hair and angora coat and brilliant purple walking stick landed on Clara like the absolute truth. She gave Hazel a quick hug before scurrying out of the coffee shop.

Clara nodded to the shop clerk perched on a stool behind the front counter. The bored young woman lifted one finger, eyes never leaving her well-thumbed paperback. There were no other patrons Clara could see, but she knew the Doctor was there, recognized the tuneless humming that was so distinctly his sound, the low growly tone occasionally hitting a higher register if he read something intriguing or controversial.

She made her way past a few rickety shelves covered with teetering piles of books. She'd been so eager to see him, to try to explain, but now that she was within feet of him, she hesitated. She ran one finger over a dusty row of paperbacks while she thought. If he truly wasn't in the mood for dealing with humans, as he'd told Hazel, then that included her. And she wouldn't blame him if he didn't want to see her. She'd had a clear choice laid out in front of her and she'd chosen Danny over the Doctor. Seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but she regretted every minute of it now.

"You're home early."

Clara whirled, hand pressed to her chest, nearly knocking over a shelf in her surprise. They stared at each other for a long moment. The Doctor was bundled in a heavy coat and long scarf, hands tucked deeply into his pockets, expression unreadable. Clara decided to keep it light.

"You're home early, too," she said. "How was Dashari?"

He opened his mouth to reply and then shook his head, reaching past her to pluck a book from directly behind her.

"Doctor?"

"Desolate," he said finally as he flipped through the pages.

Clara felt a guilty rush of pleasure. She hadn't wanted him to have a terrible time exactly, but it cheered her a little to know it wasn't as enjoyable as expected.

"You missed the harvest season, then?"

"By about five hundred years," he said, glancing up at her. "Navigation was off. Fortunate timing, though. The eruption of the volcano triggered a cataclysmic atmospheric shift and plunged the entire planet into an ice age."

So that explained him showing up at Hazel's place frozen to the marrow.

"But you're okay?"

He shrugged, ignoring her question in favor of asking one of his own.

"How was Broadstairs?"

"Dreary," she said honestly. "Also a little desolate."

"So you cut your trip short?"

Clara felt herself cringe. "Well, one of us did," she said, voice low. "Think Danny is still there. Not entirely sure."

The Doctor turned to look at her then and for a brief moment Clara thought she saw hope and happiness flit across his face before his familiar impassive look returned.

"Did you and P.E. have another row?" He kept his tone unconcerned but Clara could see in the set of his shoulders that he was anticipating her answer.

"God, no," she said. "We were so unfailingly polite to one another. It was horrible."

At his puzzled look Clara tried to explain.

"I didn't feel like Danny's girlfriend, I felt like his…..his hair shirt or something. His own personal penance. And he acted like he was enjoying the role of martyr, showing me how understanding and forgiving he could be. The St. Danny routine wore thin, so I-"

She'd been running on adrenaline and now the finality of what she'd done hit her. Her head spun and she sucked in a breath. There was no mending this. No apology or pretty words could make up for what she'd done.

Clara turned and staggered blindly toward the back of the shop, heading for a worn couch, foam puffing out of the threadbare upholstery, but overstuffed and inviting. She fell heavily on to it, a cloud of dust motes rising up around her and dancing in the air. She buried her head in her hands.

She felt her side of the cushion rise up as Doctor took a seat at the far end of the same couch.

"What happened?"

His tone held just a hint of reproval and Clara hesitated before answering.

"Nothing dramatic," she said, peering through her fingers at him before covering her eyes again. "He was taking a shower this morning and I nipped out. Left a note, grabbed my things, got a taxi back home." She groaned, collapsing against the back of the couch. "Poor Danny."

Neither of them spoke for a minute. Clara worried a loose thread on the arm of the couch, twirling it around her finger.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said.

Clara looked over at him. "Why are you sorry?"

He shrugged, spreading his hands. "I...this was something you wanted, wasn't it? I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"I'm not," she said, surprising herself with her honestly. "Danny is a great guy, he really is, and I care about him, but-" She pulled her mobile from her pocket, unlocked it and turned the screen to face him. The Doctor frowned and shook his head, not understanding.

"Danny always told me, 'You make room in your life for what's important to you.'" She ran her thumb along the mobile case. "Three hours since I left," Clara said. "And not one message from him. I think we both stopped caring a long time ago and just wouldn't admit it."

"You did leave him stranded in Broadstairs," the Doctor said.

Clara smiled sadly. "He was right about one thing, though," she said. "You make room in your life for people who matter to you. And I never wonder what Danny is doing when we aren't together. I don't hear something amusing or interesting and think 'I can't wait to tell Danny,' and I don't worry about him when he's upset or ill. Not like I do with you."

She took a deep breath. Time to say it before she lost courage.

"I never had room for Danny in my life because you were already there."

She clasped her hands, holding her breath while she waited for him to say something, anything.

When the Doctor spoke, his words to her were simple and direct.

"Come here."

He flicked open the edges of his coat and gathered Clara up, pulling her in until she was nearly sitting in his lap. He wrapped the coat tightly around them both and rested his chin on top her head.

After a moment of shocked inaction, Clara hooked her fingers through the holes in his jumper and relaxed against him. As tempting as it was to say nothing, to stay right here with his arms around her willingly, she had to speak up.

"You don't have to do this," she said. "I'm not upset. I feel more relieved than anything."

"I know," he said. "But I'm still cold and you looked like the warmest object in the vicinity. Well, other than the clerk, and I don't think she'd appreciate a cuddle from me."

"Is that what this is?" she asked, grinning widely. "A cuddle?"

He made a soft noise of agreement and buried his nose in her hair.

"Doctor," she said, as he worked his way along the side of her head. "Are you sniffing me?"

"Mmhm," he said, voice drowsy. "You smell nice."

"I'm pretty sure I don't," she said, "I left in such a rush this morning I didn't have time to wash."

"I couldn't smell anything at all while I was ill," he said. "And I just spent a week huddled in an ice cave on Dashari that was redolent of rancid animal fat and green wood smoke." He took a particularly enthusiastic sniff of the hair behind her ear. "You smell wonderful."

She sat quietly, listening to his breathing slow and deepen. He was nearly melting against her.

Starting to thaw out now?" she asked.

In response he gave a contented sigh. The sensation of his warm breath over her scalp made her shiver.

"I feel better than I have in weeks," he said.

"So do I."

Clara pulled away from his still-exploring nose and looked up into his face. He wore a beatific smile, his eyes half-closed, looking very much like he'd been drugged.

"Doctor?" she asked. "Do you remember what I said the other day, about anything being fun with the right person?"

"Yes," he murmured, bending his head to try and make contact with her again.

"It's true. I enjoy our time together," she said. "Not just the travelling and the adventures. All of it. Even when you're grumping around with a terrible cold."

He blinked, a little more focus returning to his eyes.

"Clara Oswald," he said, as what she said finally registered. "You have a very twisted sense of what constitutes fun. What exactly did you find so enjoyable? The head injury? The near-fatal secondary illnesses? Or maybe the healing coma?"

"No, not that," she said. "I hated that you were so ill, but-"

He pulled her back into his arms. Clara looped her hands around the back of his neck, unsure how to explain it to him.

"I liked the talking," she offered.

"Mmm, I could tell. You certainly did enough of it."

"One of us had to," she said. "And the snuggling. Didn't mind that either."

"Was there snuggling? Think I would have remembered that."

"Not as much as I would have liked, now that I think about it," Clara said. "But you were feeling so wretched. Making up for it now, though."

She felt rather than heard the deep bass rumble of his laughter.

"How soon before the clerk takes notice and throws us out, do you think?" he said.

"Not sure she cares," Clara said, distracted by a bright pair of eyes peering at them through the stacks of books. When the Doctor looked over to see what had caught Clara's attention, Hazel fluttered her fingers at them in a wave.

"Don't mind me," she said. "Just wanted to make sure you found each other."

Clara giggled a little as she felt a brush of lips against her ear.

"Yes, we did," she said. "Took us long enough."