A/N: Just a fic that's been requested on tumblr a lot. Thought I'd give it a shot :)
If you like, please favourite/follow/review! That would be really nice.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.
He thought he'd make her breakfast.
It's not something he usually does; usually they barely have time for things like breakfast or even know when breakfast was in the first place. Sorry, time machine, things got a bit muddled sometimes. They had meals, but not designated ones like tea or lunch or dinner. Just food, really. They'd grab food when they were out and about, treat her to a little café or the best restaurant in the galaxy: depends where they ended up.
But, today, he decided to make her breakfast. Clara hadn't been so well recently (a bit of sickness, the odd bout of vomiting) so he'd took things easy, told her to rest up no matter how often she insisted she was completely fine. He didn't like seeing her with her head hanging over the toilet while he held her hair back from her face. It was so unnatural to see Clara Oswald unhappy like that. It was weird. She was always fine. Always.
So he told her to sleep for as long as she possibly could in hope that it would sleep some of the sickness away and she'd be okay again. In the meanwhile, though, he was going to make her breakfast.
He grins to himself as he chucks a few scraps of bacon into the frying pan, the slithers of meat sizzling in the heat. "Bacon. She loves bacon. Not me, but she loves bacon."
Ugh, bacon, he hated the stuff. But Clara Oswald loved it so that's what he was going to fry. He then puts another pan on the stove: peeling four ripe bananas and throwing them in too, because nothing quite beats fried bananas. As he looks in the overhead cupboard he sees some syrup, which makes the whole banana thing even better. Bananas and syrup, that's the ticket.
He really is in his element as he dances round the TARDIS kitchen; he's not the usual suspect in this room, that being Clara as she attempts another one of her soufflés, but he's forgotten how much he likes doing it himself. The smell of the bananas is so unbearably delicious that he dares to prod his finger into the pan to see if he can retrieve one, but retracts hastily as he realises they're bloody hot.
"Ouch!" he hisses, sucking his sore finger, "Now that, that was just mean."
He then hears a chuckle from the doorway so he spins on his heels to see Clara: a little pale and her hair raggedy and loose, a small smile playing on her lips and her arms folded. Just perfect.
"That's what you get for putting your fingers in a hot pan, silly." she scolds, biting one of her fingernails with her teeth. This puzzles him: it's as if she's nervous about something. Something he can't quite comprehend as of yet.
"Well. I'm not going to do it again now, am I?" he smiles, in the hope of making her smile too and not look so damn anxious. "That is the beauty of failure, Clara Oswald. Fail once, don't fail again." he hesitates, "Uh, well, most of the time…"
To his delight, she smiles again slightly at his remark. "Most? Bit of an exaggeration."
He scowls at her because she's exactly right. Like always. He gives her a frustrated wag of the finger before turning back to the pan, flipping the bacon round onto the other side. Ooh, flipping! Pancakes. She loves pancakes. "Anyway, I'm cooking you some breakfast. Bacon and bananas! Brilliant."
"Odd combination," she scoffs, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ears. "And Doctor… I have, um…"
"Have you been sick again?" he asks, his eyes filling with concern. She does look awfully pale. He abandons the bacon and strides over to her, cupping her faultless cheek in his hands. It's a little clammy, sure, but he can't blame her. "Are you still ill?"
"No, no, it's not that," she removes his hand from her face as she looks down at the floor. Her eyes study his boots: black and leather and almost military like. "I'm, uh… Late."
"Late for what?" he asks, his brow furrowing with confusion. As far as he knew, they hadn't planned anything. Had they? This wasn't some odd human thing, was it? "Late for tea? No rabbit hole here, Alice."
She chuckles ever so slightly. Only he could bring this situation into the comical territory. "No, Doctor, I'm y'know… Late." When he still showed no signs of acknowledgement, she let out an annoyed sigh. "Female late."
"Oh." his eyes widen to unnatural extent as those words entered his thought processes. "Oh."
"Yes. Oh," she shrugs her shoulders, not really sure what to say next. He looks sort of stunned, like a deer caught in some very bright headlights. He wasn't entirely familiar with the female menstrual cycle, but he knew it enough to know what that meant.
"Oh." his eyebrows raise, "How late, exactly?"
"Just a couple of days," she says, "But I just thought, with the sickness… I don't know."
"Oh. Of course." he says. Of course! How could he have not… They'd, y'know, done the deed a couple of weeks ago when they were particularly giddy on adrenaline after a rather exciting adventure, but he never thought…
She doesn't quite expect him to say it like that, but whatever. She doesn't care what he says. She's the one who could possibly be pregnant with a Time Lord after all. "What do I do, then?"
"Uh, well…" he scratches the back of his ear, the bacon well and truly forgotten. "I could take you to the infirmary, I've got some equipment that could check…"
"No!" she counters immediately, making him judder slightly with shock. "I mean I don't want you doing anything to my body with your weird alien tech. Can't we do something the normal way, just this once? Just to be sure. I might not even be… Y'know."
"I know," he replies even though he doesn't really. He shrugs his shoulders flippantly. "Whatever you want."
So Clara nods her head somewhat and tries to give him a reassuring smile which definitely means I'm really not okay and she exits.
The bacon is cremated and the bananas unrecognisable. His feelings are zigzagging all over the place because he just doesn't know how to feel: Clara could be pregnant.
He'd always thought that humans and Time Lords couldn't combine like that. On the other hand, though, he'd never found out.
Although she might not be pregnant. It could be coincidence. No such thing as coincidence.
What does he want? He can't tell.
"Clara, can I come in yet?"
He raps a few times on the locked bathroom door, his knuckles scraping against the wood. He can hear her rustling from the inside: the tension is killing him.
"Yes, sure, if you want to see me with my trousers round my ankles weeing onto a stick!" she retaliates sassily, "Come on in!"
He grumpily mutters under his breath before leaning against the bathroom door, drumming his fingertips against it. "How about now?"
"Patience!" she retorts, "I'm a bit shaky here, okay?"
And instantly he feels awful. How must this feel for Clara? Something so unplanned, so sudden, inside of her? He should've told her the possibility, even though he thought it impossible himself.
Patience is for wimps.
Abruptly, the door handle turns and the bathroom door swings open and he almost collapses inside; but quickly grabs the doorframe for stability. He spins around to find Clara clutching the little white stick in her palms, her face a little 'o' of worry and fear. "I've done it."
He nods at her. "Do you know?"
She bites her lip, like she always does when she's nervous. "I can't look."
So he kisses her on the forehead and pulls her into his shoulders, hopefully to jettison some of that anxiety because whatever happens, he'll always be there. "It will be fine, love."
"Will you look for me?" she asks, her eyes watering ever so slightly because she is actually scared. Monsters, Cybermen, that she could cope with. But this? Not even the Doctor had prepped her for this.
The Doctor hadn't even prepped himself for this. The fact that he could, possibly, not be quite as alone in the universe… The fact that within this human girl he'd grown to love so much contained something so impossible. Ha. The impossible girl. As if he could have expected any less of her.
"Of course." he smiles, and Clara carefully hands him the stick of white plastic that hold their future. It's weird to see something that has that sort of power which doesn't belong to him.
And he looks down, at the plastic and his eyes just widen.
"What?" Clara asks, biting her nail yet again, "Am I? Am…"
And the Doctor just doesn't reply because he can see two straight blue lines.
Clara. Oswald. Is. Pregnant.