It's her first day on the job, and Clara feels akin to a goldfish being thrown into a tank of sharks. The political industry is notoriously male-dominated, and her new workplace is no exception. Her old office had been home to one other woman; the secretary. Over at number 10, the only other female seems to be the cleaner. She tries not to think about how infuriatingly sexist the whole thing is.
Prior to Alan's resignation, she had been a relatively unknown face within the party. Most people had heard her name thrown around in passing, but she had never been one for striding into the limelight – until now, of course. With the Prime Minister gone, the entire party had been thrown into disarray, and she had somehow been conveniently placed to pick up the pieces. She'd heard something about another female prime minister being good for 'reeling in the votes' whispered in the woodwork, but it was something she'd chosen to ignore. This is her time to shine and she's not going to let anything get in her way of that.
"Miss Oswald…" A voice jumps her out of her reverie and she sits bolt upright in her seat behind her desk. The sight that greets her is a tall, slender silver-haired man with a wad of paperwork tucked under one arm. He catches her surprised look and raises one prominent eyebrow (Clara thinks that his eyebrows are practically a work of art). "Sorry, am I interrupting something?"
"What?" She blurts out after catching herself staring. "No, absolutely not." She corrects herself and tries to regain some sort of composure. "Just, you know… settling in." There's a smile on her lips, but it's forced and she thinks that she probably just looks insane. "The Doctor, isn't it?" There. That sounded relatively normal.
He watches her without speaking for a moment longer, his gaze piercing as it fixes with her own, then moves to take up the seat in front of her desk. "Marvellous." He responds with a slightly lopsided smile and she's embarrassed to find her thoughts wandering to matters not relevant to her role as prime minister. She straightens up in her seat and forces herself to focus on his words as he speaks. "Now, I trust you already know what my job entails."
Of course she knows who the Doctor is. Granted, she's never actually seen him face-to-face until this very moment, but everybody and their dog has heard of the infamous spin doctor. She had only been given two pieces of advice in regards to the man: always call him the Doctor, and never get on his bad side. Clara thinks that those eyebrows could certainly give someone a stern telling off. "Of course. You're the infamous spin doctor."
"Infamous?" That eyebrow is up again, and it's accompanied by a ghost of a smirk this time. Clara curses herself for her weakness for silver foxes. She thinks to herself that she was doomed from the moment he walked in. "I'm flattered." The Doctor adds with a more prominent smirk. She thinks she knows a few ways she could wipe it off of his face.
"Quite rightly. I hear you're something of a force to be reckoned with." Clara leans forward to rest her chin on her hands on her desk as she asks the question. Did I seriously just flirt with him? Sometimes she wishes her mouth would consult with her brain before deciding to speak.
"You don't know the half of it." And there's a glint in his eyes that makes her think he's flirting back. Suddenly the temperature in the room seems to spike several degrees.
When she finds herself staring without responding for several moments, she clears her throat and straightens up slightly. "Right. Er… sorry, where were we?" She knows she sounds like an idiot, and the rumble of his laughter only confirms her assumption.
"I'm really just here to help you prepare your speech for this afternoon." He answers as he reclines ever so slightly in his chair.
Clara feels her eyes widen. "What speech?" She asks in mild alarm.
The Doctor's expression suddenly turns stern. "You mean they haven't told you?" She thinks he already knows the answer, but he asks to clarify anyway. Clara only shakes her head dumbly in reply. It's obviously not the answer he wants to hear as he slams the paperwork in his hand against the arm of his seat. She finds herself jumping at his sudden outburst of anger, and oddly turned on to match. "Jesus Christ, those idiots can't do anything right." He hisses irritably. Then he's climbing to his feet, and Clara can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment at the thought of him leaving her office.
"Clara, wait right here – I'll be back. I've just got to go shout at a couple of morons." The Doctor barks by way of goodbye. Then he's striding out of her office and she suddenly feels a pang of sympathy for whoever's about to be on the receiving end of his wrath. However, it's quickly pushed to one side when she realises he just called her by her first name. She thinks that her name has never sounded better than it did in his low Scottish drawl.
When the door clicks shut behind him, Clara wonders whether there's an acceptable way to ask a member of your party to bend you over your desk and fuck you senseless.