"Oy, you, get back here woman!"

It was the year 2020, and the Tardis sat recuperating in a vast field of daisies on an asteroid in the Intellecta galaxy. At the moment, while the ship was engaging her self-repair program, the pilot was running desperately through the hull, spluttering incoherently and clad in a tweed suit that he thought he looked rather dapper in (he thought Clara did too), trying to find said companion. Clara, Clara, Clara. Dearest Clara. His Clara. His soufflé girl. Where had she gone? If he didn't know better, he would have thought that the TARDIS was purposely rearranging herself. He couldn't imagine that Clara was this good at hiding. Or maybe she was - always full of impossibilities and surprises, why wouldn't she be brilliant as brilliant at hiding as everything else she did? Perfect, too perfect, always driving him absolutely mad with delight with her perfectness.

"Now, where are you, you clever girl?" He muttered to himself, knocking on a few doors before spinning around and opening a completely different one, hoping for the advantage of surprise. Within seconds, he reemerged, disappointed and hopes lower than ever.

He managed to croak a threat at his sentient ship before he staggered off in search of another door, muttering about dust bunnies and female mood swings. The TARDIS gave a disapproving whir as stumbled onwards. "My apologies, Sexy, but I seem to have lost my companion. Have you seen her anywhere, perchance?" Really, it was quite ridiculous. Losing a companion in his own ship - the TARDIS's engines rumbled for a few seconds. The Doctor glanced upwards askance, squinting against the light. "Are you laughing at me? My ship, laughing at me. Right, I need fix this right now," the Doctor continued determinedly under his breath, "otherwise there will be no respect around here. Simply ridiculous. Ludicrous. Blimey, and to make it worse," the Doctor now stopped, raising his voice to a properly offended volume as he glared at the walls, "She has my bow tie! My bow tie, for Rassilon's sake. What am I supposed to do without my bow tie?" Well, what was he going to do without Clara, either?

And to think that this had all started out with him falling asleep on the console.

He was about to take another step forward when he heard a giggle echo from close by. It was quickly muffled, but oh, not muffled quickly enough. Sensing victory, a silly smile began to spread across the Doctor's face, and he spun on his heel (he really liked those shoes), approaching a grate on the ceiling as he peered carefully through the bars, drawing his sonic out with a flourish . Too dramatic, that's what they all said, but really, what was life without a few theatrics? Boring, that's what. "A-ha! So that's where you are. I've found you now, Clara." His voice, which had been dampened with defeat, now rose in exultation, ending in a mock-threatening tone as he ventured to rescue his bow tie. His poor tie - what had happened to it? Again, a muffled giggle sounded out from the grate above him, and the Doctor began to adjust the settings on his sonic. It seemed she had not accounted for that (here he couldn't suppress a triumphant 'huzzah'), because as soon as he finished sonic-ing the bolts holding the grate, she fell straight down with a shriek, following the vent cover in a blur of cotton. He caught her, of course.

"Hello," Clara chirped, beaming up at the Doctor infectiously. For a moment, he forgot what had happened and he stood there grinning back at her giddily. Then he remembered. "You stole my bow tie!" The Doctor exclaimed, voice bobbing up and down in genuine shocked affront. Despite his (mild) hurt, he set his - very pretty - companion down carefully. Clara grinned, looking completely innocent as her eyes sparkled. She's a kidnapper, the Doctor tried to convince himself, but he found his determination to stay mad wavering pathetically. "Oy, give it back! Where'd you put it?" he insisted, and then noticed. Oh. OH.

Clara had her head tipped sideways, shiny brown hair falling straight past her shoulder, a grin on her face and eyes at maximum openness. Her hands were locked behind her back, and she was rocking from her heels onto her toes, back and forth rather like an over-anxious schoolgirl as she waited for him to comment. "Well? she asked brightly.

To be fair, the bow tie did look better on her than him, for whatever reason. Really, how did that work? Bow ties weren't even meant for girls. Following this line of thought, the Doctor raised a hand to his admittedly rather substantial chin and began leaning this way and that, appraising her from multiple angles, moving around her without turning away like an orbiting moon.

Clara's smile disappeared as she raised an eyebrow. "Doctor, what are you doing?"

"Hmm…very interesting…." was all that he responded with.

She decided to let it go. Obviously, something had got his noggin going, and now she had to wait it out. Just great. She wondered if the soufflés she had put in the oven were done yet, and hoped fervently they weren't burned.

"Well. That's that," the Doctor finally said, straightening himself. Clara looked back at him in confusion, mouth parted in question. Ah, she was too adorable. Simply too adorable. That was the whole problem; every time he tried to get mad at her, she'd give him that look - the pure innocence radiating from that round face was too much. Someday, she'd come in and find just a puddle of goo on the floor. A stained bow tie too, the Doctor mourned, and a wrinkled suit. And that's how he'd die, melted into an undignified puddle of goo and all because of Clara Oswin Oswald smiled at him.

Seemingly done with whatever he had been doing, the Doctor turned and headed back towards the control room, leaving Clara staring after him with drawn eyebrows.

"Wait, don't you want your bow tie back?" she yelled.

"No, it looks better on you anyway," he called back, waving an arm offhandedly.

Clara smirked. "Of course it does."