New Doctor Who story! This is set in an AU before Clara has met 11 but after... well, you'll see. Basically, it's the 12th Doctor's time, but this is 11.

Chapter 1

The Doctor paced the floor, his heels clicking on the polished metal, talking out loud to himself. He paused for a moment and sniffed, flopping on the soft chair and sticking up a finger as if making a prominent point. "You know," he said to his unmarried wife, "some people live more in 20 years than others do in 80. It's not the time that matters, it's the person."

Then he stood and angrily span the monitor around. "Unless, of course, you're Clara Oswald!" A long finger flicked the switch and the screen flashed into life, displaying her Victorian persona and then her future counterpart.

"I don't understand, sexy. How can she be possible? She isn't, that's how!" He paced for a moment or two, tugging at his hair. "What am I going to do? I have to figure her out."

Suddenly, he stopped and clapped his hands in delight. "That's it, sexy! Oh, you gorgeous thing. Thank you." He leaned forward and kissed the monitor, blowing dust from his lips. "Perhaps you'd be a little more gorgeous with a clean. Hmm, anyway." Switches were flicked and levers were pulled. The centre column rose and fell with a beautiful wheezing sound. "Let's go find Miss Clara Oswin Oswald."

She was pretty sure the guy next door was finding a way to habit a large creature in his apartment. Cupboard doors had been heard slamming through the thin walls all day, with grunts of delivery personal alerting her that something was up. Perhaps they were installing a cage or something. Her wallowing self was finally forced to stomp over and knock on the door. "Hello. I was just wondering what you're doing."

A man with a large box pushed past her and stomped heavily down the stairs, and her neighbour, Andy, was shunted forwards. Clara instinctively shot out her hands and rested them on his chest. "Oh, sorry," Andy apologised, his cheeks flushing red and mimicking her own.

"No, no, it's fine. I was just wondering- Oh, I've already said that. So, what's happening?" She blinked heavily.

"Moving out." Andy smiled widely, but his it didn't quite meet his eyes. "My uncle sent me down a load of money and got me a job up north. Apparently his workmate won the lottery a week ago and wants to go travelling for a year."

"You're moving away." Her voice cracked and Andy rested his large hands on her shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, Clara. But you'll always have my phone number, and I'll send down my address when I know it." His Yorkshire accent stung like a foreshadow to the break up to come. She nodded and Andy pulled her into a loving hug. "How about we have dinner tonight, just us, eh?"

"Okay," she said quietly on his shoulder.

"Wear something pretty," Andy said with a wink. "How about that blue dress? And dinner's on me." Clara just nodded mutely, still unable to comprehend the fact she was about to lose her best friend too.

The blue dress hung off her slim frame, not wrapped around her curves, but rather like a toga. Whatever it was, it was unattractive. Even though she wasn't bothered about that. Clara grabbed a stretchy black belt and secured it around her waist. Thankfully, it had always been too small and now fit perfectly. The dress didn't look so bad any more, but she still slipped on high heels and it gave her more of a look of elegance rather than a bedraggled sparrow who had fallen into the bird bath.

"A last dance," she told herself with a wet smile. Pressing her finger tips under her eyes, she muttered, "Oh, get a grip, Oswald. He's only moving up north, not to New Zealand." She grabbed her purse when he knocked on the door and plastered a fake smile on her face, which was real by the time she opened the door. "Hello," she said. He glanced at her dress.

"Beautiful, you look dazzling, Miss." He winked, an allusion to her teaching days which had now gone, the teaching days she didn't want to be reminded of. "Sorry. Clara."

"It's okay, Andy." She took the arm he offered her and they walked down the stairs, ignoring the lifts which always stank of sweat and urine. "Hmm, London's so beautiful at night."

"Yeah, but polluted. And noisy." Andy wrinkled his nose and glanced at her; her eyes were downcast, and misted. "Sorry. Again. I'll try and be less pessimistic tonight. How about that?"

The restaurant was just the local Indian, but the employees treated her like a princess, even with champagne. "You booked," Clara noted, as one of the young boys poured her a bubbling glass with a smile. Her throat felt too lumpy to drink with, but when she took a sip, it was like the bubbles had taken her sadness down into her stomach with them where it could be disintegrated in the acid.

"I did," Andy agreed, studying the menu. "I thought I would treat you nicely, seeing as I hadn't told you before. To be honest, I didn't know myself; I only put the apartment up for sale two days ago."

"Two days?" Clara asked, surprised. "Really? Gosh, I wonder who bought it. They must've been eager."

"Apparently," Andy replied. "Clara," he said softly after a moment, putting down his menu and sliding his hand over the table. "I really am sorry about leaving. It's just such a good offer. You'll have to come and visit. And, besides, you have plenty of other people."

"What, like batty Catty downstairs?" Clara joked weakly. Both of them knew how crushed she was, but she refused to cry and coughed. "Yeah, of course I have other people. Perhaps I should go and stay with my grandparents for a bit." She rested her hand gently on Andy's.

"You should," he said with a smile, apparently relived she wasn't about to jump out of her window. "And you can come up any time," he reminded her again.

With the awkwardness out of the way, they enjoyed a quiet but pleasant evening, only interrupted by Andy accidentally setting his chin length hair on fire when he leant over for the mango chutney. "Forget Calamity Jane," he chortled. "I'm Calamity Andy!" Clara couldn't help but laugh.

Andy said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek that night, and Clara promised to get up the next morning to see him off, even though he was leaving at 6AM. When she left her apartment, five minutes late thanks to a stupid faulty alarm clock, he had already left the building. She hurtled down the stairs and collided with his sister, Maggie, who laughed. "He's just over there," she said, pointing and giving Clara a quick hug.

"Andy!" Clara cried, throwing her dressing gown clad body into his arms. He staggered but stood and laughed softly. "I wish you wouldn't go," she whispered in his ear, knowing it was cruel to say but she couldn't deny the truth.

"I know. Me neither," he said as he pulled back. "But I wasn't suited to London, and I never well be. I belong in the country, even if I didn't have this job offer. We'll still be friends, eh, Clara." He touched her cheek, his warm brown eyes sorrowful but trying to keep up the pretence of calmness. "I'll see you soon." And then he simply got in his car and drove away, Maggie beside him.

Clara went back into the apartment, her legs so shaky she even took the lift. But she didn't notice the stench.

She spent all day in her dressing gown, drinking cup after cup of tea, coffee, hot chocolate, whichever was closest at the time. She watched TV, called her grandparents to see how they were, took a long bath and finished her book. But nothing gave her joy.

Near the end of the day, she realised she still had Andy's front door key. She hung it on the peg next to the door to remind herself to take it to the new owner whenever they arrived. As she walked away from the door, the letters taken from the pigeon hole downstairs in hand, a sharp rapping sound echoed through the apartment.

Dumping the letters on the table by her coat rack, she curiously stepped forward and looking through the peep hole. On the other side was a man with floppy brown hair, like Andy's, a big chin and wide nose, but light eyes as opposed to Andy's dark ones. He wore a tweed jacket and chequered top, complete with a red bow tie. She thought she could see braces poking out as well.

Cautiously, she opened the door, only remembering at the last second to slip off the latch. "Hello?" she asked. The man gave her a broad smile, the lines above his eyebrows creasing. He held a wooden bowl in his hand, full of, strangely, bananas.

"Hello!" he exclaimed joyfully and juggled in the bowl into one hand, holding out his right. "My name is John Smith. I'm your new neighbour!"

"Oh. Hello." Clara shook his hand, which was firm and dry, and grabbed the key behind her, passing it over to him. "Sorry, I used to keep a spare key for Andy, the old tenant, he was always forgetting it. You can have it back."

John Smith gave a small smile and shook his head. "No, that's all right. I'm always forgetful. For example, I forgot to give you these." The banana bowl was thrust into her hand. "Bananas are fantastic, aren't they? A great source of energy." He studied her. "Perhaps you need some more energy, some more excitement in your life, hmm?" She guessed he was talking about her well-worn dressing gown and glared.

"How rude!"

"What, no, I didn't mean-"

"How ruddy rude of you, Mr Smith!" He squealed as she slammed the door in his face and she walked away, angrily throwing the key down and collapsing in the sofa. The banana pot was thrust loudly onto the wooden table in front of the sofa. She sighed and leaned forward, taking one out and peeling it slowly.

Outside, John Smith said to himself, "Well, that went well," and clapped his hands. Taking the key from his jacket, he strode confidentially into the apartment and played with the latch for a moment or two with delight, like a child who had discovered a new favourite game. Anything to distract himself from the fact that he knew Clara would forgive him, but why couldn't she forgive him now?

Ahh, well. He had a new flat to explore.

R&R's appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed it! New chapter next Saturday. :)