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Title: It's a date
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: The Doctor (12), Clara
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 347 words
Content notes: None
Author notes:  Written for Challenge 133 - Date
Summary: Not quite a deep and meaningful conversation

'Doctor! We're going to be late! Again!' Clara said, huddling under the TARDIS console with him as sparks flew all about them. She was supposed to be meeting Danny at 7.30. The ways things were going she'd be lucky if they met by November.  

'It's a time machine Clara,' was the response, and she could tell he was rolling his eyes at her.

'Yeah, but your sense of timing? Not so great.'

'An hour here, a week there, what difference does it make? What do you call these things again?' he asked, pointing his screwdriver aimlessly at the console above.

'What things?'

'This thing you're supposedly going to be late for. This thing where you'd rather spend time with PE than with me?'

'Uh, free will?'

'No, no, the other one,' he replied, shaking his hand dismissively.

'Oh! You mean a date!' she replied, grinning mercilessly.  

'Isn't that a fruit?'

'No. Well, yes, technically. No, a date. One those things where you hang out, and have nice conversation, maybe enjoy a nice meal together, and have fun.'

'I though that's what we were doing?'

Another glop of slime oozed over the edge of the console and onto her head.

'Romance. Did I mention romance? That bit's kind of integral to the concept of a date.'

'Oh well, in that case this is definitely not a date.'

'So glad we cleared that up.'

'I mean,' he continued oblivious, 'what is even remotely romantically interesting about PE? He's just your coworker. Therefore, by your own definition, not a date.'

'Uh, I think we're now having two different conversations.'

'What do you mean?'

'This,' she said, pointing emphatically at her dress and heels, 'date. This,' she said pointing at her slime covered head, then at the chaotic surrounds of the TARDIS, 'not a date.'

'I still don't understand how you think discussing the relative merits of softball over quiddich is going to be fun,' he murmured.  

'Never mind, Doctor! Can we just please stop this before we end up drowning in, what is this by the way?'

'TARDIS phlegm.'

'Lovely.'