Whatever you want," he responds. The car they're riding in lurches, then, and he leans heavily against her before abruptly burrowing into his coat. The brief moment of pressure is warm, solid; Clara knows she'll hold onto that sense memory for a long time.
They get takeaway after all, and eat it together in Clara's kitchen. The clink-scrape of their utensils echoes loud - a bit too loud. "This lady - on the train - she asked me," Clara says finally. She focuses on her food as she speaks. "She said. Um. 'This Doctor - he's your what, exactly?'" (Danny becomes an invisible presence conjured up by their conversation. He exists, for Clara, as an afterthought sometimes. Her actions and words don't always line up. She knows this. There are things she does with the Doctor that she doesn't with Danny. It's just her reality.)
"So what are we, then?" the Doctor asks, picking at the mysterious chicken-like substance he's got in his box.
"Space friends-with-benefits, I suppose?" Clara suggests. He lifts an eyebrow and Clara laughs, explains the human term.
"Are you ok with that?"
"Yeah," Clara says. "I think we both need something to do - a distraction from all the adventure. Besides, I like you, as insufferable as you can be."
He shuffles, shrinks, when she says that. Stares into his takeaway box.
"So, shall we?" she asks in order to break the awkwardness, nodding towards her room. He seems a bit relieved at that. Here is territory that he knows, territory that they've crossed and recrossed with each other countless times before.
Clara looks over at him when they're done. He's staring at the ceiling. The Doctor never falls asleep, he just falls into deep and measured breathing. Waiting for her, just like always. She can feel the last remnants of him dripping out of her. She shivers at the familiar drag: slow, clingy, thick, soaking into her sheets. A reminder that she's back with him. She can't wait for the next round.