Mr and Mrs Smith
So, this is my first Whouffaldi fic, and I read this from an au on tumblr which came with the picture, credits to rotanitsacorp. I can't wait for the new series and I love Whouffaldi so much, so I thought this would be a good idea.
Chapter 1
He can't know.
What Clara Smith was doing now he couldn't know about. She went out of her way to protect him from everything because she couldn't let him get tangled up in her secret life.
Everyone knew Clara Oswald, now Clara Smith. Everyone liked her.
But if you looked close enough, you could see the small scars on her forehead from knives and bullet wounds she hid from her unknowing husband.
But no one was suspicious enough to know what she was doing. What she had been doing since the day she met John Smith.
No doubt about it, she hadn't seen him coming. He strode into her life like a flying arrow and she had been overwhelmed with how ordinary he seemed. His wild, erratic hair she liked to ruffle despite his protests, the smiles he gave her when he thought she wasn't looking. The style of clothing he wore which he remained adamant was 'fashion', all the way down from the black sunglasses, the many shirts, the plaid trousers and the red velvet jacket she had grown fond of.
He couldn't know about anything. He believed she was at the school teaching English to students, but little did he know that was only her cover.
She was, in reality, a spy. A good one, too. In fact, if she didn't work for the protection of the country she could have been the deadliest assassin in the world.
She was on a case right now. Her thoughts were whizzing round her head subconsciously while she pulled the trigger to her silver plated gun and hit her target 20 yards away. She crouched down behind the Chevy and refilled her gun. She peered round the rear of the car as she edged forward, ready to fire if anyone came running at her.
She was currently on the most important mission of her life, and she couldn't let her thoughts run randomly wild. She had to stay focused and silent. Pushing thoughts of John out of her head, she rounded the corner and, looking to see if the coast was clear she set off running. She ran and ran, her black heels almost skimming the concrete as she hurtled herself toward the alley and away from the main car park. She had gotten used to running in heels by now, but UNIT often called her the 'Killer in Heels' because she was one of the only spies who could, but she preferred her code name, Impossible Girl.
She tried to map out the streets, trying to create a path in which to reach UNIT in time before more of her henchmen came. Yes, she was a psychopath alright. Proper bananas, but she wasn't to be taken lightly. The mission Clara was on right now was to steal vital information regarding the craziest psycho in history, Missy. And unfortunately for her, Clara had succeeded.
She ran off, paving her way throughout hidden streets and trying to commit a route by memory. She heard heavy footsteps distantly behind her and she ran faster, knowing they had caught up with her. Estimating ten others, she pulled the other gun out beneath her dress and held both of them firmly, her fingers on the triggers. She finally heard voices and shouting coming for her, and like a lightning bolt she turned around and fired at the men, trying to run while her back being turned.
Another shot. And another. She turned back and ran again, ending up on a much more familiar street from the one previously. Her breathing heavy, she realised that UNIT was only another street away. She could make it.
She hurried off again, but her running was cut short when she heard bangs from behind her, and a small bullet caught at the back of her ankle, making her trip. No sooner had she hit the pavement that the men were gaining closer, and she desperately hauled herself behind another car. She now had a decision. Run, run and run until she got to UNIT with them tailing her, or take one huge chance and stay to kill the remaining men off.
She thought of John again, the way he said her name in his beautiful Scottish accent, rolling off his tongue as he repeated it again and again. It rang in her head now, clear as a bell, and she knew what to do.
She sprang up in plain sight, ignoring the tenseness of her muscles in her ankle and the throbbing pain it had induced. She fired manically, her features cold but collected as she saw each man drop to the floor like rag dolls. She rounded the car, making sure they were all completely dead. Yep. She was sure no one could survive those shots to the head.
It was only now when she realised that of course, they had been shooting at her too. She reached her hand to her forehead, her fingers coming away bloody. Cursing, she put back her spare gun and ran once more toward UNIT, where she was congratulated on her success at finding the information and assisted medically with a wet cloth to her head.
She didn't know what to tell John this time.
••••
She can't know.
John Smith knew all too well how precious his Clara was to him, how innocent she would be to this double life he lead. He could never put her in danger, he would rather die. He loved her too much to tell her, show her, jeopardise her with the harsh truth.
That her husband was a spy.
He had been a spy for years, working under the alias The Doctor, but then he met her, and his life changed. He met her, and he knew she couldn't know what he did everyday when he went to work. He had tried to make out he was normal, which was actually going alright because she hadn't noticed anything abnormal yet. Yet.
Clara was inquisitive, the asking questions one, and as much as he tried to hide it he knew that she would find out one day. He dreaded to think what she'd say when she did. But for now, she was out of harm's way, teaching some Jane Austen or something to her normal students. A normal life.
He could almost feel her arms entangling him now, wrapping him into a hug as she nuzzled into his shoulder. He loved her short hair and her short height and her short legs that seemed to run surprisingly fast. He loved the way she would whisper his name at night, and how she always gave him a smile that made his blood run faster.
He took the gun and fired. They all fell down, like toy soldiers. His eyebrows furrowed angrily and his eyes became fire. He couldn't let her see him like this, a merciless killer that could kill someone without a seconds thought.
He ran away from the bodies, running headfirst into another. Out came his knife, flashing in the air as he struck toward the woman's chest, but she blocked it just in time. She swiped at his head and he ducked, having turned the other way. He sliced her skin and she scowled, her rage pent up and released, as she carved the knife into his neck. He yelled, but knew what to do. He took the knife in his hands and ran it across her knees, making her buckle and fall to the ground. With one final stab to the chest he set off running again, climbing the barbed wire hastily and jumping off to the other side, recognising where he was.
He sprinted toward Gallifrey, the spy base he worked for, and leaped into the hole in the ground that lead him there. Yep, Gallifrey was an underground base. It was very secretive and well disguised.
John landed in the white corridors of the base, walking toward the medical bay and getting the stitches in his neck.
His boss came in shortly after that, looking slightly intimidated as he always did around John. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was the eyebrows.
'John, I wanted to thank you for what you have done today. You came back in under half an hour, which is unbelievably fast. And as our best spy, I want you to work on a higher case. You did exceptionally well, but this case will be capably handed. I want you to work on the Missy case.'
John was shocked. He didn't know what to say to that. Missy was a mastermind, a psychopathic one at that, and he couldn't believe he had been assigned to her case. It was the most dangerous, important and risky one there was, but it didn't stop him from taking it. Although he would have to work his ass off and work a lot later in the afternoon.
He just didn't know what he'd tell Clara this time.