Mmm.

[She makes a sound that's in agreement with his assertion, not liking how it makes him sound like he's full of doubt about his cleverness and his ability to save the day.]

Really isn't.

[No, the screwdriver isn't an oven. But neither was the Tardis, and they had turned it into a perfect place to cook her christmas turkey. Of course, she can't bring that up to him. He hasn't lived through that yet. So her hand seeks out his, holding on tight.]

If we were still in our little home in the saloon, I'd make the best roast.

[But they're not in the illusion any longer. The home they had built together the past weeks is gone now, along with the marriage that came along with it. She had been all too happy to indulge in their little life, and she supposes she's sad it's gone now.

They're still the Doctor and Clara Oswald, but no longer need to be Mr. and Mrs. Doctor.

But that's just fine. They'll be the Doctor and Clara Oswald and navigate the rest of this mission together. Which is why she shifts focus, choosing to discuss a plan of action instead of pretending a roast will solve all their problems.]

I was thinking of trying to lead a group out toward the mines to find him. A screwdriver could come in useful for that.