Actions

Work Header

baking for time travelers: 100 easy to make recipes

Work Text:

Clara was absolutely, categorically certain that the door she'd just opened had been the kitchen the day before. Unfortunately, this time it opened onto a precipice overlooking a lake of magma.

“Overkill much?” she muttered grouchily, her lips curving downwards. “You're worse than my ex-girlfriends.” She loved travelling with the Doctor, glad to finally be able to fill up her mother's book and many books beside that, but the TARDIS itself was something of a trial. She glanced up and down the hallway, sighed on seeing no other likely looking doors, and headed back to what she hoped would end up as the console room. The TARDIS seemed happy enough to keep her there.

Unfortunately, the path she'd taken did not lead to the console room. Or anywhere else recognisable in fact, as she ended up wndering through what seemed like infinite halls looking for a door, to find none. Just as she was starting to wonder whether the TARDIS intended kill her by starvation or exhaustion, which was not entirely out of the question at that point, she saw a door ahead.

“Thank god.” she murmured, pushed through the doorway. Which did, in fact, turn out to be the kitchen. Or at least, she thought as she rummaged through unfamiliar appliances, a kitchen. There was no reason the ship couldn't have more than one, and by that point Clara had given up on expecting the TARDIS to end. She'd once spent an entire day walking straight ahead and ended up back in the console room after hours of increasingly irritated searching. She'd really wanted a bath.

As she finally extracted the mixing bowl with a triumphant gesture, she became aware that the Doctor was leaning against the doorway. She turned around to face him, and caught the edges of a fond smile before he realised she'd noticed him.

“What're you doing all the way out here, Doctor? Lost your way?” Clara asked, winking, and then grinning at the blush that spread across his face.

“Oh, well, ok,” he said, his expression somewhat stunned. “I was just wondering where you'd got to, that's all. Wouldn't want to lose you a- wouldn't want to lose track of you, anyway. The old girl's getting jealous in her senility.” He smiled and patted the wall softly, as if to apologise to the ship. Clara used to find that creepy, but at that point she'd started to think of it as strangely endearing, a quirk of the Doctor's she could understand. The TARDIS was a wonderful ship, even if it didn't like her at all, it seemed.

She turned back to the fridge, opening it to find that there were no eggs. Well, that did make sense, anyway. Eggs didn't keep forever. Neither did milk, for that matter, she thought as she noticed that was missing as well.

“How do you feel about-” she glanced through the fridge again. “Uh, I could probably manage a- actually I'm not sure, I've always made sure to keep the fridge stocked.” She straightened, glancing mournfully at her hard won kitchen surface, and then turned to look at the Doctor again.

Only to receive an armful of time lord. An interesting development.

“Don't ever change, Clara,” she heard him murmur into her shoulder. Clara patted his back awkwardly, not sure where the gesture had come from but unwilling to end it. The Doctor gave excellent hugs.

She sighed anyway. “Look, Doctor, I appreciate the affection but I do want to do some baking.”

He smiled at her and stood up, then blushed slightly. “Sorry, right, er, should I just-” He gestured vaguely at the door, his face a picture of embarrassment. Clara frowned, then grinned more widely.

“No, y'know what, Doc – I'm going to teach you how to bake.”

He looked even more flustered at that, but calmed down a little when she dragged an apron over his head, clearly accepting his inevitable defeat. It was adorable that he thought he could actually win any of their arguments. Well, argument was a strong word.

She rummaged through the pantry and managed to find the flour. Well, she assumed it was flour. The TARDIS still wasn't translating for her all the time and the symbols on the bag were completely mystifying. Hopefully it would taste good in a cake, anyway.

She turned back around and was only a little surprised when the Doctor snatched the flour out of her hands. He had his 'alien food lecture' face on.

“I'm sorry, Clara, but this flour isn't for cakes.” He said this with a deeply apologetic expression.

She frowned again. “Well, what is it for then.”

The Doctor's lips twitched. “Flour fights.” Then, before Clara could do anything he tore open the bag and threw a handful at her apron. She approved of his respect for her dress - it was a particularly nice one on that day.

She retaliated quickly, reaching forward for the bag and pushing it up into his face. That expressive face covered in flour was a little too much to handle, and she started to giggle as he chased he across the kitchen.

They continued that way for a while, flour covering the floor and making them slide into each other, both of them laughing freely. It ended when Clara finally caught up with the Doctor, took the flour bag and, with an utterly serious look on her face, upended the last of it over both of their heads.

He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“You do know I don't speak delphon yet, right? She's still not translating for me. Look, I even remembered to call her she and it's still not working." Clara grinned anyway. The Doctor's weird facial expressions were some of her favourite things.

She leaned forward on impulse and kissed him. Afterwards, she wasn't sure whether she'd preferred the facial expression, because it was a great one, or the fact that he'd kissed back. Actually, that was a lie. It was definitely the kissing. The Doctor was an excellent kisser, although she'd been less surprised by that than she'd thought she would be. Almost like they'd kissed before.

She reached out and straightened his bowtie. “Not bad, Doctor. Could do with some practice, though. Maybe a few evening classes.” She winked. The Doctor nodded, and she dragged him out of the kitchen to find an appropriate classroom