When the car came to a halt in front of her apartment, the Doctor was already about to say goodbye but Clara had been thinking about their chance encounter and she had really been unnecessary rude to him.
“One question,” Clara said earnestly.
“Yes?”
“Did you really just see me kick my bike when you happened to drive by or were you stalking me?”
“What?” the Doctor raised both of his eyebrows and Clara knew immediately she shouldn't have asked.
“Well, just checking,” she replied apologetically.
“Clara, I really have better things to do with my time than to follow my students around. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Sorry, I just felt like I should check.”
Clara fell silent but she could tell by the look of his face that the Doctor knew she wasn't quite finished saying what she wanted to say.
“Listen, I thought about what you said. About doing something nice for you in return and if you want to I can help you cook dinner for your guests,” she suggested.
The Doctor's eyes widened in surprise.
“Really? You don't have to do it, you know. You don't have to do anything in return, really.”
“I want to. Besides, I'm afraid you might poison your guests accidentally.”
The Doctor refused to let Clara help with the heavy lifting and insisted on carrying her bags full of groceries up to the floor on which she lived. She opened the door, hoping she hadn't left embarrassing pieces or clothing lying around.
“We've got all the ingredients for lasagne and it can be warmed up easily. No one will notice you didn't make it yourself,” Clara explained as she lead him into her kitchen.
“Sounds great,” he set down the bags and started to look around.
“Hey, why don't you wait in the living room while I unpack? The kitchen isn't really built for two people to hover around in.”
The Doctor retreated to the living room, still examining her apartment curiously while Clara tried to fight the feeling that she had probably made a mistake inviting her professor inside. She didn't want to rekindle his hopes and she would also very much like to avoid developing some kind of feelings for him. It wasn't easy to stop thinking about him in class and now that she peeked through the crack of the door, spying on him going through her bookshelves, it seemed almost impossible. The Doctor had thrown aside his jacket and Clara noticed he wasn't wearing his usual trousers and neatly ironed shirt but instead a pair of faded jeans and a jumper. He was looking so casual that Clara almost forgot he was her professor at all and she caught herself fantasizing for a moment what it would feel like if he was caressing her instead of the spines of her books, if he would push her against her bookshelves and slide his hand down her pants and. . .