Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who nor do I own this episode. This is just what I thought should have happened once I found out Clara had lived and died to save the Doctor many times. Most of this is from the transcript which I found online. I am just trying to write what I thought would happen, not trying to steal anything.
"You're going to be just fine, Jenkins," the beautiful young woman reassures her charge. The small boy looks up at her with wide trusting eyes, blinking owlishly every now and again. Her heart goes out to him as she helps him down from the examination table and hands him a lolly. "I'll check on you in a few hours. Off you pop." She scoots him out the door and he smiles back at her, the lolly already in his mouth and a happy glow on his face.
"T'ank 'ou, Ma'ron," the boy speaks through his lollypop, not wanting to let the sweet candy go. She watches him with a big smile on her face. He scampers off to join the rest of his friends in one of their lower level classes and she laughs. Leaning against the wall, Clara Oswin Oswald watches the students go by, her eyes full of untold wisdom and just a spark of impossibility hidden in twin brown pools.
Although her clothes are rather drab- she'd much rather be wearing red or scarlet on her person- she's dressed in a neat starched nurse's uniform. Clara Oswin Oswald sighs. When her late husband died, Clara had moved to Farringham to make herself a better life. Even at twenty-four years of age, Clara was married off early by her parents, who needed the money. She'd come to love her husband as a companion or a friend, but she'd never loved him with all her heart. That part of her was reserved for the strange man in her dreams. A man with a big chin and bright green eyes and an affiliation for bow ties. Sometimes he'd have a blue box with him and in others he'd be waving a glowing green metal stick. But they were just dreams. Mostly, she gets empathy for the children, but none for her own person. That was until John Smith arrived two months ago.
She presses farther back against the wall to let more boys flow around her when she spots him. Wearing a handsome suit under his professor's robe and a cap on his head, the man makes her smile before he even sees her. She covers her mouth with her hand to stop herself from laughing, but a bubble of laughter escapes her mouth. The man seems to be struggling with quite a load of books. She steps in his path, but he is unable to see her as his nose is currently buried in yet another novel. "Oh, good morning, Mister Smith," she says with a flirty smile.
Clara watches as the man blinks at her, his deep brown eyes confused before he smiles at her, reaching out with one hand as if to shakes hers but some of the books tumble to the ground.
"There we go," John grumbles to himself and she chuckles at him.
"Let me help you," Clara reaches out to take some of the burden from John but the man shakes his head.
"No, no, I've got it, no," she watches as he swallows before trying to bend down without losing his other books. "Er, how best to retrieve?" He looks between the books in his hands, the few books on the floor, and Clara herself. "Tell you what. If you could take these..." Clara takes the books from his arms, and he picks up the fallen ones.
"Good," Clara nods, a small smile on her face as she clutches the rest of the books to her small frame. She looks up at him, a hard thing to do since he is about two heads taller than she is, something she finds endearing and annoying at the same time.
"No harm done," John smacks one of the smaller books against his palm and winces slightly before shaking it off. Clara knows he's just trying to act tough. "So, er, how was Jenkins?" His eyes are actually full of concern, so unlike the other teachers. They would all bother her until they had their student back in the classroom, even if it was infectious. But John only seemed to care for the boys in his class
"Oh just a cold," Clara reassures him, a small smile on her face. "Nothing serious. I think he's missing his mother more than anything." She knows the feeling, having lost her Mum right after she married.
"Oh, we can't have that," John chuckles, his grin a little sheepish for a reason she doesn't understand.
"He received a letter this morning, so he's a lot more chipper," she nods. "I appear to be holding your books." She holds out the stack for him, gesturing with her eyes.
"Yes, so you are," the Doctor returns her nod before he realizes what she has said. His face flushes and turns an endearing shade of red. "Sorry, sorry. Just let me." He reaches for the books and begins to pull them back to himself.
"No, why don't I take half?" Clara beams up at him, completely willing to hold her own against the professor. His kind brown eyes sparkle and it reminds her of falling down, down until she reaches nothing. But when she shakes her head, the feeling is gone.
"Ah, brilliant idea," John jumps at the idea. "Brilliant. Perfect. Division of labor." He takes half the books from her arms and she continues to clutch the others to her chest.
"We make quite a team," the words feel natural rolling off of Clara's tongue, as if she's said them before. As if she's known this man for much longer than she has.
"Don't we just," John's words send a tingling zip of pleasure up her spine. His face is still covered in that excited glow that he's been wearing every day since he arrived.
"So, these books," she shakes the books in her arms. "Were they being taken in any particular direction?"
"Yes," John shifts the books in his hands and reaches up to pull on one earlobe with his thumb and forefinger, "this way."
"I always say, Matron, give the boys a good head of steam, they'll soon wear themselves out," John speaks with an extremely learned air about him, his eyes sparkling with a knowing look.
"Truth be told," Clara leans into him, as if to whisper an improper secret, "when it's just you and me, I'd much rather you call me Nurse Oswald." She almost giggles at his shocked expression. Clara's always been told that she had too many "New Age" ideas for her own good. "Matron sounds rather well, matronly."
The man chokes on his own shock, stumbling over his words. "Nurse Redfern it is then." He nods once, before nodding again to himself. The second time is a stronger nod, as if he is accepting the situation.
"Though we've known each other all of two months," Clara's almost leaning against his side as she whispers yet again, "you could even say Clara."
"Clara?" John's eyes go wide at such impropriety.
"That's my name," the brunette girl shrugs, a small smirk on his lips.
"Well, obviously," John rolls his eyes teasing at her and manages to make her giggle, his eyes lighting up at the sound.
"And it's John," Clara jokes, "isn't it?"
"Yes, yes, it is, yes." Clara's almost ready to full on laugh at his point because the conversation has just gotten ridiculous with their back-and-forth flirting/bantering.
They continue to walk to the stairs that eventually lead to John's classroom. Clara stops when something on the notice board catches her eye. It is a poster announcing a dance. Clara's always loved to dance. Sometimes, in her dreams, the green eyed man dances the most ridiculous dance by waving his arms back and forth while moving his body. But her dreams can never be a part of her reality, so she wants to move on with John.
"Have you seen this, John?" Clara asks, modding at the poster. "The annual dance at the village hall tomorrow. It's nothing formal, but rather fun by all accounts." She smiles at the man. "Do you think you'll go?"
"I hadn't thought about it," John shuffles from foot to foot.
"It's been ages since I've been to a dance," Clara says , "only no one's asked me." She bites her. Lip, looking up at John with darkening eyes.
John starts backing away nervously. "Well, I should imagine that you'd be, er, I mean, I never thought you'd be one for," the man stutters, "I mean, there's no reason why you shouldn't. If you do, you may not. I, I probably won't, but even if I did then I couldn't." He blinks and stumbles back even more. "I mean I wouldn't want to..."
"The stairs," Clara warns, reaching out with one arm, the other full of books.
"What about the stairs?" John asks, still backing away as Clara moves forward.
"They're right behind you," Clara steps forward once again and watches with wide eyes as John trips over the first step and goes down in a flurry of books and papers.
Clara helps the unstable man to his feet and they wobble up to his room. As he is so much taller than Clara, she feels as if she is actually dragging him up the stairs. Sitting him down in a chair by the window, Clara tends to the back of the John's head. "Stop it," she slaps the man's hand away as she searches his head for a bump. "I get boys causing less fuss than this."
The spiky haired man whimpers. "Because it hurts."
Suddenly, John's handmaid, Martha bursts in. "Is he all right?" the dark skinned woman cries as she enters the room.
"Excuse me, Martha," Clara coughs, "it's hardly good form to enter a master's study without knocking."
"Sorry. Right. Yeah." She says this in a snarky tone, one that makes Clara want to laugh inside her head. She goes back to the door and knocks on it.
"But is he all right?" The dark skinned woman looks at her Master in concern. "They said you fell down the stairs, Sir."
"No," John reassures the young woman, "it was just a tumble, that's all."
"Have you checked for concussion?" Martha asks, almost glaring at Clara.
"I have," Clara replies tersely. "And I daresay I know a lot more about it than you."
"Sorry," Martha flushes. "I'll just tidy your things." She nods at the two and begins to clean up the other side of the room.
"I was just telling Nurse Oswald," he pauses and corrects himself, "Matron, about my dreams. They are quite remarkable tales." Clara nods, her eyes alight with intrigue that John cannot see from where he's sitting. "I keep imagining that I'm someone else, and that I'm hiding."
"Hiding?" Clara asks. "In what way?"
"They're almost every night," John nods and mumbles, "this is going to sound silly."
"Tell me," Clara prompts, running her fingers through her hair as if she is still looking for a bump.
"I dream, quite often, that I have two hearts," he tells her, his voice heavy with surprise. His eyes are closed as the soothing feel of her fingers in his hair calms him.
"Well, then," Clara smiles, pulling her hand away to reach for her stethoscope. "I can be the judge of that. Let's find out." She reaches out to press the cold metal against his skin, making him shiver, and she smiles at him. With a quick test, she nods her head. "I can confirm the diagnosis. Just one heart, singular." Her dark eyes look up into his and she finds herself back in that Vortex, falling down.
"I have, er," he bites his lip. "I have written down some of these dreams in the form of fiction." He shakes his head and stands. "Not that it would be of any interest."
"I'd be very interested," Clara encourages him, her love of all things impossible making her yearn to know his tales.
"Well, I've never actually shown it to anyone before.," he flushes, looking down at her with a shy smile.
John hands Clara a handwritten book. "A Journal of Impossible Things," she reads, turning the pages. On the pages are lots of inky scrawl and pictures. "Just look at these creatures," Clara traces her hand over what looks like a pepper shaker with a plunger where one hand should be and a whisk for the other. For some odd reason, Clara gets a flash of the words EGGS and trying to keep something out of her space. "Such imagination."
"It's become quite a hobby," John admits, holding the other end of the journal.
The Moxx of Balhoon, Autons labelled as plastic men, one of the Pompadour clockwork robots, which Clara doesn't know the names of, but they are semi-labeled as alien begins.
"It's wonderful," Clara breathes. She traces the face of a beautiful girl with dark eyes and what she can guess is blond hair from the way it's hardly colored in. Her eyes seem to be looking into one's soul from the page. "And quite an eye for the pretty girls," she teases him, as is her way.
"Oh no, no, she's just an invention," John flushes, scratching the back of his neck. "This character, Rose. I call her, Rose. Seems to disappear later on." He sniffs.
Clara turns the page and giggles, pointing to the robots that look utterly ridiculous (Cybermen). And when she reaches a picture of a blue box with a strange light on top, she feels a pang within her memory. A whooshing noise echoes though her mind before it is gone. John smiles and taps the place below the blue box that is labeled magic box.
"Ah, that's the box," he says it like the picture it somehow a part of him. And deep down inside, Clara can sense that it is. "The blue box. It's always there. Like a like a magic carpet. This funny little box that transports me to far away places."
"Like a doorway?" Clara asks, her eyes wide. Her excitement was escalating with each new discovery to be found inside the blue book. She turns the page to find sketches of other faces, old faces and young faces.
"I sometimes think how magical life would," John sighs, "be if stories like this were true."
"If only," Clara nods, resting a hand on his arm. Her other hand clutches the book to her chest.
John laughs it off and smiles at her, a wide smile and the sparkle in his eyes is back. "It's just a dream," he shrugs it off. Clara turns the page for the final time and pauses. Inside the Impossible Journal, is a picture of the pocket watch John kept on his mantle place.
Clara hears loud footsteps coming toward her and she turns around to find herself face to face with John's maidservant.
"Ma'am?" Martha pauses in front of her. "That book."
"Oh, I'll look after it," Clara nods her head, holding the book close to her chest as if cradling a child. "Don't worry. He did say I could read it."
"But it's silly, that's all," Martha shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. "Just stories."
"Who is he, Martha?" Clara asks, her eyes focusing in on the maid's odd behavior.
"I'm sorry?" Martha stutters, falling backward a step.
"It's like he's left the kettle on," Clara taps her chin, looking up to contemplate. "Like he knows he has something to get back to, but he can't remember what."
"That's just him," Martha looks around nervously, as if she'd hiding something from the other young woman. Clara's been around kids so long that she can tell when someone's lying.
"You arrived with him, didn't you?" Clara tilts her head to the side. "He found you employment here at the school, isn't that right?"
"I used to work for the family," Martha nods, looking down, "he just sort of inherited me."
"Well, I'd be careful," Clara glares slightly. "If you don't mind my saying, you sometimes seem a little familiar with him. Best remember your position."
"Yes, ma'am," Martha nods and hurries back to the Doctor.
Later that night, Clara dreams. She dreams about tripping over a cliff and falling down. Falling down a rabbit hole the color of Autumn leaves with small golden strands weaved throughout. As she's falling, she sees visions of a person's very, very long life. She sees all of the different faces that she remembers from John's book and she sees stars and planets. She sees the pepper pots and snowmen with sharp pointy teeth. She sees a golden chamber with a keyboard and sitting inside the chair is her, of all things. She knows it can't be her because the being is wearing a blue dress with strands of gold weaved into the fabric, and her eyes are a bright golden color. The thing is staring straight at Clara, as if it can see into her soul.
Suddenly, the whole Vortex changes and becomes dark, beginning to push her out. It becomes a nightmare and she doesn't know where she is. She's screaming on the inside, but there's no one to understand her.
"DOCTOR!" Clara wakes up screaming, sweat making her nightdress cling to her skin. Her eyes are wide as she tries to recall the dream. But all she remembers is a pair of bright grass green eyes and a big chin. Pulling herald out of bed, Clara wraps a thick robe around her and goes out for a walk.
The Family to come next chapter. A little Allonswin for all you shippers out there. Hope you guys enjoyed it!