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Teeth chattering slightly, Clara shivers under the snowfall. Her thin sweater didn’t account for the quick turn of weather at all and now she regrets not carrying something thicker. Usually she’s not one so affected by cold, but there’s sleet mixed in with the heavier flakes and it shatters against her skin, shocking and wet.
“Not too far now,” she calls over the wind. “Soon enough...”
“I forget how temperature-sensitive humans are,” the Master notes, “you seem rather miserable.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Clara shrugs, but the chill creeps in unconvincingly. “Granted, this isn’t ideal.”
“No,” he hums in agreement. A few more moments of trekking through gradually deepening snow, and she hears him sigh. Beside her, he pulls off his coat and before she can protest, places it around her shoulders. “Don’t say I’m never nice to you,”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m a Time Lord. Biologically weather-resistant. Worry about yourself.”
Clara pulls the jacket closer, and after a moment of hesitation fits her arms through the sleeves. “Thank you.”
He looks mildly self-conscious. “Yes, well. Hypothermia’s a bitch. It’d be pathetic if the only human I actually like died from the cold.”
Smiling, she nudges him as they walk. “You like me,” she crows, “you never admit that. Must be something in the air,”
“Must be,” he muses. “Oh, look at that. Christmas come early. You’ve binged too many Hallmark movies. Your ship needs better inspiration,”
Ahead, a decently sized pine tree decorated in twinkling lights and baubles stands alone in the storm. The TARDIS is such a welcome sight that she grins, and turns to the Master. “What, you mean like Clangers?”
“Don’t bash Clangers,” he says defensively, “it’s one of the only things your race has going for it.”
Clara smirks, rolling her eyes. “Once we’re inside, I’m taking a nice, long bath, and then we can watch as much children’s shows as you like.”
Warily, he asks, “Even Teletubbies?”
“Oh, yes,” she laughs, “especially Teletubbies. You earned it,”