'Right Miss Oswald, that's your name, yes?'

Clara stares up at him, 'Um – yes?' she answers him as if it is a question and blinks rapidly.

What's wrong with her? In her defence, he is the most gorgeous man she has ever seen. She isn't into pretty young men, it just isn't her type, it never was. In school, all her friends fancied young muscly men whilst Clara preferred an older man, a silver fox, or girls. Either was fine for her. She almost gasps when she sees him, he's lean and towers over her. His grey hair is slicked back, but it's curly and she knows he isn't wearing gel. How can somebodies hair do that? She shakes her head, looks down and puts herself back together again. He's Scottish, and his voice sends a running shiver down her spine. It's deep, and the accent is something she's always been… fond of. Clara looks at him again and she can't help but stare, it takes her a while to realise he has repeated his question about three different times.

'Oh,' mumbles Clara, her brown eyes focused on him, 'I – yes, that's my name. Sorry… You gave me a bit of a shock,' she tells him, rather flirtatiously.

The Scotsmen frowns at her, writing a few things onto his notepad, oblivious to her sudden crush, 'A shock? I merely asked that your name was Clara Oswald…'

Clara blushes even harder when she notices the glasses he's wearing, the frame of them pressing against his nose, 'Yeah, well, I wasn't paying attention?' she answers him again as if she's asking him a question.

The Doctor sends her a weird look and steps away, a strand of his grey hair drops in front of his eyes. It's his turn to stare at her, a little confused by her odd behaviour. But, the longer he stares, the more he notices how pretty she is, and how tiny she is. Her eyes – they're huge and he can't quite believe how they manage to inflate like that. How do they do that? He shakes his head and snaps his attention to her when he hears her speak.

'Why do you have a notepad? Every other Doctor has an IPad,' Clara observes, a cheeky grin on her lips that she tries hard to hide, glancing occasionally to the other Doctors walking around.

She looks down and reads the name tag off of his typical white coat; John Smith, head of Trauma. Ah, he deals with accidents. She'd faint in his arms any day.

John sniffs, 'I prefer paper,' he simply tells her, as if she's prying far too much on his business.

'Do you?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because it's easier.'

'Writing on a piece of paper is easier than clicking a few buttons on a touch screen IPad?'

'It's easier.'

Clara smirks at him, clearly teasing the older man, 'Easier or are you too old to figure out how to use an IPad?'

John lowers the notepad and stares at her for a moment, as if judging whether or not she has thick skin, 'Are you calling me old?'

'Yes.'

'In my opinion, I think we look the same age,' he simply tells her, his own playful smirk on his face and in moments, the notepad is tucked under his arm and he's checking her over, his cold hands on her stomach, lifting her shirt up.

'Oi!' complains Clara, growing under her breath. She hisses and glares at him, trying to play it off like she's offended by his sudden touch. But it's quite the opposite, his touch is sending her body alight and she can't help but twitch under his fingers.

Stupid Scotsmen with his stupid Scottish accent and his gorgeous face, she wants nothing more than to grab hold of him and kiss him. But she also wants to punch him for touching her with cold hands.

'Your hands are cold.'

'You do complain a lot, don't you, Miss Oswald?' John smirks, his hands softly guiding themselves along her stomach, touching her skin made him only want her more, but he couldn't, they couldn't, he was far too old for her.

'Usually do complain when a handsome stranger is touching me up with his freakishly cold hands,'

John laughs and pulls his hands away, 'Nothing feels weird,' he mutters, inhaling sharply to examine her heart beat next and their faces are so close, he can feel her breath on his face and the tiny scent of mints.

'Handsome stranger?' John enquires, his expression an amused one as he listens out for her heartbeat and all of a sudden, a frown grows on his face.

Clara joins in with his frown, trying not to giggle at his huge and over expressive eyebrows, 'What's wrong? Why are you making that face?' she breathes, trying to ignore how close they are and she's almost inclined to reach out and touch him.

'Your heart is beating incredibly fast… Do you have a history of heart problems?'

Clara blushes even harder than she was before hand and shakes her head rather quickly, 'No,' she squeaks out, breathing in his harsh cologne, 'I think I do now,' she mumbles under her breath and luckily, he doesn't hear her.

John frowns and pulls back, a look of concern on his face, 'We'll have to check that out… I'll run some tests,'

'No!' Clara exclaims, staring up at him like he has just shot one of her relatives, 'I mean – I don't want any tests done. I'm fine, honest. I don't have a history of heart problems… Maybe you just got me all riled up with your really, very cold hands…'

John arches his eyebrow at her, 'Really, very cold hands?' he repeats, picking up his notepad.

Clara nods her head, a fake smile on her face, 'Yes, that's it. That's the reason. Now can you send me home? I have marking to do.'

'You're a teacher?'

'Yes, not that it's any of your business.'

'It must be my business if you're telling me about it,'

'Shut up.'

'You can't tell your Doctor to shut up,'

'No,' Clara smirks, watching him move around her bed to adjust her pillow, 'But I can get a new Doctor,'

John decides to challenge her, it seems the apt thing to do, 'Okay, if that's what you want. I'll go and get my co-worker Doctor Jones, you'll love her. Everybody does.'

Clara's jaw falls and she watches him walk off.

Oh.

She hates him, she really, really hates him and his stupid face and his irritating, overconfident personality. She doesn't like him one bit.

Okay, maybe just a little bit if her heart raced at the mere sight of him…