Just a random little dialogue fic, because Clara and Eleven are cool and I like the way they dance and shift around each other. Also because she's quick and clever, way enough to realize that a lot of things about the Doctor and herself aren't as random as they look. Anyway. In which Clara isn't the only mystery. Enjoy!
"A lady in a shop gave me a number, and in you popped," she said conversationally, leaning against the console.
"Yes, possibly, probably, indeed. And who was that?" He scratched his cheek.
"Oh, I don't know, how would I know? Someone."
She was watching her own hands, sprawled over gray-blue metal, then her gaze leaped up, she twirled on her heel and looked at him again. Eyes scanning quickly, sliding smoothly up and down—and back up, searching his expression. He fumbled, straightened his bowtie. Clara frowned. "Where did you come from?" she demanded.
"A long time ago. I was staying at a monastery, do you know, they really were lovely and I think the robe suited me ever so well… A bit of quiet, vacation of sorts, very sweet. Time to think and figure things out, love me a change of location, speaking of! Where to now, eh? Where are we off to, Clara Oswald?"
Voice rising in excitement, he pointed a finger at her, her name slipping fast and soft—maybe, was there the slightest tremble—from his mouth. Pensive, she did not budge.
"Because you! Because Clara Oswin Oswald. You then, you always. Do I need a reason? You were, are perfect." Still pointing at her, he narrowed his eyes in a way that did not quite fit the excited face, pressed his lips together and forced himself to silence. She raised an eyebrow.
"You really picked up that Oswin thing, didn't you?"
"It's a cool name. I like that name."
"Well then, Doctor." A sigh, and a smile. She aimed them both at him, gift and warning, with a look that said, I'll ask again. "Go ahead. Show me the world."
He clapped and laughed in glee, and she watched him still, irked and amused.