A/N: I was really itching to write some Danny/Clara super-early this morning, so I did. A slightly rougher version of this is up on my writing tumblr.
Set between The Caretaker and Kill the Moon, as well as in the wonderful universe where every role PCap ever had was taken by Craig Ferguson instead because oh what a universe that would be
Not a Monster, Not Ever
"So is it just 'Danny', or is it 'Daniel'? I don't think I've ever asked."
Danny looked up from his plate nearly devoid of pasta and across the table at Clara. It was supposed to be a quiet night in—fettuccine and hilariously cheap wine, with an evening of cuddling and falling asleep in front of the telly to follow—and he hadn't been prepared for such a laden question.
"Daniel," he replied, trying to shrug it off. "It was, you know, to look like I was born with it. I went by 'Dan' for a while, but not since my Army days. I thought your magic box would have told you that."
"No," she said. Clara took another sip of wine and the corners of her mouth twitched down. "Finding out about Rupert was an accident; I never meant to…"
"Stop, it's okay," he insisted. It had been a week since what they were now referring to as the "Caretaker Incident", where Clara's space-friend had dropped in and attempted to blow up the entire school on Parents' Night… or was it prevent the school from blowing up? Either way, their workplace remained intact and the odd, gruff alien passing himself off as a Scotsman was still lingering around, being definitely more than her friend yet not warming up to anyone else. "I believe you when it comes to all of that, so don't worry. He's not treating you poorly, is he?"
"No…"
"The there's nothing to worry about. He isn't the kind of guy I'd normally have a pint with, but he's your friend, not mine. I'm just glad he's not your space-dad."
Clara giggled at that—the accusation had been mortifying in real-time, but hilarious in retrospect. "What, you're not interested in alien babes?"
"That, and, it'd just be really creepy if he was your dad," he chuckled. "Hey, do you know what you want to watch tonight?"
"Well, your girlfriend's over, so it might give you an excuse to see that Paddington Bear movie without guilt," she replied. Good; a change of topic. Changing the topic was good, because it helped keep her lives separate. "I hear Mister Curry's a scream."
"I'm still trying to get over Ferguson playing a sexually-charged Catholic priest… I don't know if I need to ruin childhood memories for that," Danny laughed. He felt the stockinged toe of Clara's foot creep into his trouser leg and up his calf, a naughty grin plastering itself on her face all the while. "Alright, you win. I definitely pick next time."
"As long as you remember our ban on Brontë and Austen adaptations," she replied. Oh, yeah, no more until his birthday thanks to that Pride and Prejudice marathon he subjected her to last month, thinking she'd be in thanks to being a Literature teacher. Why she lumped in the Brontë sisters he had no idea, but she was firm on the matter and that was all the answer he needed.
Once dinner was done, with the plates in the dishwasher and their wine glasses refilled, Danny and Clara made their way into his sitting room and curled up on his couch. His flat was nice and cozy, but not cramped. He got a small pension from the military, for what she could only assume involved why he had left to being with, and that afforded him the extra budget for a nicer flat. Nicer, a tad bit larger, and a bit of spare change to upgrade to the fancier cable package with more on-demand movies than they could possibly care about. Putting the film on, they kicked back and relaxed as they took in the children's story.
As the movie progressed, the couple became increasingly comfortable. The wine glasses emptied again and were discarded on the side table as they lounged further across the couch and tangled up in one another's limbs. It had been a rough day with the Cadets and his back was getting sore, and she had turned the five minutes between her lunch and prep period into a good couple hours running about on some asteroid. Now there they were: no students, no Doctor, and the only thing that mattered was whether or not they were enjoying the movie.
Clara chuckled into Danny's chest and something hit him—they were watching a family film. Having a girlfriend to watch it with was a good excuse, he wasn't going to lie, but family films were not usually on the repertoire of Date Nights with Girlfriends Past. There was the one who liked animation, but she hadn't insisted on any, and he had been the one to suggest they pop in one of the DVDs he bought for "the nostalgia factor". Clara, however, never shied away from the stuff, and if she wanted to watch something, she wanted to watch something, whether it was a horror flick or a movie best suited for when a child was sitting on the rug.
"Hey, you still there?" he asked.
"Uh-huh." She was groggy, as the cheap wine always got to her. "What'chu want?"
He swallowed and debated with himself whether or not he should continue. "You know I'm dating for keeps, right?"
"Yeah; I thought we established that on Date Two." Clara nuzzled further into his grasp, humming happily. "We're both dating for keeps—I'm really fond of you, Danny."
"Will you still be fond of me if I… if I can't do it?"
"Do what?" she wondered.
"Be like the Browns," he said. His girlfriend propped herself up on her elbows, digging them into his shoulders as she blinked in confusion. "I don't know if I can do the whole family thing on a clear conscious. It's… I don't know."
Clara grabbed the remote off the floor and paused the movie, sitting up on Danny's waist to do so. "Does this have to do with the stuff we don't talk about?"
"Yeah," he affirmed. He'd promised her that she'd hear the entire story one day, but considering how much the topic took out of him, she settled for bits and pieces on his own terms. She had put together what had happened a while ago already, but she never said more than what he had told her. Always patient with that sort of thing, now that she knew there was a thing, and he was thankful for that. "I still think about him."
"Of course you do; you have a heart. You have emotions. I'd be more concerned if you didn't think about him, to be honest."
"I wanted to protect people, not be a monster…"
"…and you're not, not ever," she insisted. "It was an accident, an awful one at that, and you feel badly about it. Monsters don't feel bad about what they've done." She leaned down and kissed his lips, fumbling a bit thanks to the wine. "I'm fond of you, no matter if we end up with a herd of children of our own, none at all, or we adopt so we can help another Rupert out there stay out of the children's home. You'd be a great dad, but if it's too much then it's too much and there's nothing I can do."
"How do you know I'd be a great dad?" Danny asked, his eyebrow quirking up. "If I recall correctly, most of the time when we're talking about our students we're complaining about them."
"I watch you with the Cadets on the mornings you're with them," Clara admitted with a smile. "You're a rubbish drill sergeant, but you're clearly looking out for that bunch. You look out for all the kids."
"It's my job. It's our job…"
"Not everyone's a natural with kids, but you are. There are some that wouldn't touch secondary school with a ten-foot pole, but those children might as well be your own with how much you care about them, complaints included." With that she stretched some of the sleep from her limbs, a joint popping loudly, before shutting off the television. "I'm adoring this movie, but I think we should finish it after a bit of sleep. It's been a long day."
"Yours was longer than mine," he joked gently. They both got off the couch and made their way to his bedroom. Once he was down to his pants and vest and she was in the nightie she kept there, they both slid into bed. Danny was about to roll over so Clara could cling to his back like she was prone to doing, when he felt her hands push him carefully onto his back and her lips press against his jaw.
"Hey, no hon. You had a bit much tonight."
"I know. Just feel better, okay? I'm here now, no matter what happened. Just do us a favor and snog it out. Nothing else—just that."
"You're drunker than I thought," he said, rolling his eyes under the cover of darkness. He put his hand on her lower back and pulled her in closer as they kissed across the pillow.
Eventually Clara's end of things began to slow and she fell asleep. Danny tucked her head beneath his chin and held her, not wanting to let go. She may have been the typical Englishwoman when it came to admitting feelings—no such word as "love" until five years and a child down the road—but he was more than ready to admit it. He loved her, despite her bossy streak and her alien not-dad-but-super-close-friend and a laundry list of other faults that she was readily willing to confess to at all times. She cared about him, was fond of him, still slept in his arms and lectured him when he was feeling down. That too was love, as far as Danny was concerned, because now that he had more of the pieces to Clara's life, he read her better than before.
He closed his eyes and placed his nose atop her hair; she smelled like citrus shampoo and subpar pasta. There was nothing stopping her from leaving, yet she was staying, despite his problems and the wonders that awaited her in that blue box. If that wasn't reassuring, then he didn't know what was.