The Time of Change

"You're my boyfriend."

"Hello, the TARDIS," the Doctor says, bored.

Clara sprints into her kitchen, cellphone perched between her shoulder and her ear. She slaps a few plates down on the table to her left and rips open the oven door, smoke filling the small room. The green Christmas crown on her head wobbles a little on her shiny, freshly-curled brown hair. "Emergency," she replies, "you're my boyfriend."

"Ding-dong! Okay, brilliant," he exclaims on the other end. She rolls her eyes as she continues haphazardly setting the table for dinner. The roast potatoes, thankfully, did not burn, despite the massive amounts of smoke. The turkey, however, is nowhere near finished, and has a very thin but exceedingly noticeable scorch mark down the middle of it. How?! Clara shrieks in her head. The Doctor continues babbling through the phone, "I may be a bit rusty in some areas, but I will look at a manual."

"No, no, you're not actually my boyfriend --" she begins to explain. She takes a paper plate and tries to waft the smoke out of the open window above the sink. Grabbing a lighter, she puts a flame to the wick of a scented candle on the edge of the countertop and prays to the stars that it won't set anything on fire. "Oh, that was quick," the Doctor interjects. "It's a rollercoaster, this phone call."

"But I need a boyfriend really quickly," Clara continues after his interruption.

"Well, I hope you're nicer to the next one."

"No, shut up!" she tells him exasperatedly, throwing the now-charred paper plate in the garbage bin and shoving the turkey back in the oven. She leans against the counter, wiping sweat from her forehead and soot from her pink apron. The red plaid skirt she wears stops just above her knees, which allows the cold granite of the counter to send a chill through her legs despite the fact that she wears black sheer tights. The long sleeved black sweater hugs her form tightly, and a white collar peaks out from underneath. Clara sighs. "Christmas dinner. Me cooking."

"So...?"

"So, I may have accidentally invented a boyfriend."

"Yeah, I did that once," he retorts, sounding experienced. Clara bites her red-colored lip to keep from laughing. "And there's no easy way to get rid of an android."

"No, not an android!" Clara groans. "A pretend one, an imaginary one. And I said he'd be coming to Christmas dinner."

"Yeah..." His voice sounds distracted now, and Clara hears the heavy clunk of the other receiver being dropped. She lets out a shriek of irritation and starts straightening the settings on the table, attempting to make them look neat. She hears the Doctor's voice say, "Handles, that's a new ship... Okay, we'll take the TARDIS this time."

"I just need you to come for Christmas dinner!" she shouts into the phone. "Just do that for me. Come to Christmas dinner and be my Christmas date!"

"Sorry, missed that last bit," he says, now sounding closer and excited. "Got to dash."

"Doctor!" Clara yells, but he's already hung up.