A/N- I am totally in love with Clara and Eleven so I had to write a story with them! This idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while and I really hope you like it! I love reviews! Enjoy! :D
Sunday, 2 September, 1888
Clara always had Sunday afternoons off. She worked as a governess for the Hartsfield family, tutoring Mr. Hartsfield's two young children. Clara loved little Russell and Alice with all her heart, but she always looked forward to Sundays. She would walk through the city of Victorian London reveling in the hustle and bustle of its many inhabitants.
Tonight Clara was enjoying the changing of the seasons. The leafs in the park were turning from green to gold and rusty-red. August left, taking with it the warmth of summer. It was Clara's favorite time of year.
Turning onto a cobbled street she ran into a man coming the opposite way. Clara jumped back in surprise. The man was tall and thin, forcing her to look up to see his face. She was startled by how handsome he was. Handsome, but worn somehow. Even his suit and top hat were frayed. Yet, he could not have been much older than Clara herself. His brown hair flopped into his face, slightly obscuring gray-blue eyes. Eyes which looked so old and haunted. Just the sight of them hurt Clara's heart.
"My apologies, sir." Clara said at last. He blinked as if surprised she was speaking to him.
"No problem." he muttered awkwardly. He nodded and began to walk away.
"Wait!" Clara called, ignoring propriety. She wasn't sure why she stopped him. The man clearly didn't want to speak to her. Yet there was something about him which pulled at her.
He turned back to her curious. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Clara." she replied, "And yours?"
"Clara, it's a nice name." the man said with an ironic smile.
"Thanks." She didn't fail to notice that he avoided her question. Stepping closer to him, she put her hands on her hips.
"You still haven't answered me." Clara said. Flirting was part of her personality, but not with strange men on the street! Her mother would turn over in her grave if she could see Clara now.
The man's eyes widened at her forwardness. He did not appear offended though. The ironic grin turned sad and Clara couldn't understand why.
"I'm the Doctor." he said at length. With that he tipped his hat at her and turned away.
"Doctor? Doctor who?" Clara called after him. He just gave her a sarcastic little wave before disappearing around the corner. After hesitating a moment, Clara ran after him. By the time she reached the next street he was already gone.
"damn."
Clara's thoughts kept drifting back to the mysterious Doctor throughout the day. Hardly listening to the maid, Lena, who was talking about the Whitechapel murder. Murder however gruesome was not exactly new to London. It wasn't a subject Clara wished to dwell on, yet the Whitechapel murder seemed the only topic in the city.
"I heard her stomach was cut clean open." Lena said.
"How horrible!" Clara shuttered delicately.
Two days before a woman named Mary Ann Nichols was killed and her mutilated body found on Buck's Row in Whitechapel. Many of the details of her murder were held from the papers because they were deemed too frightening for the public. Even so, everyone in London seemed to know anyway. The poor woman's throat was cut, along with her abdomen. It was also believed that Mary Ann Nichols was a Lady of the Night and that one of her callers was likely her killer.
"Let's talk about something else Lena." Clara begged. "I can't bear to think about that poor woman anymore."
Lena looked disappointed, gossip and scandal were her bread and butter. "Fine. I wouldn't want your delicate sensibilities to suffer."
"My sensibilities are fine." Clara retorted to her friend. "I just don't see the need in being overly macabre."
"Well it's not like you ever have any stories to tell. Ones that actually happened, because I know you didn't invent fish."
Clara pursed her lips at Lena's teasing. "It just so happens I had something interesting happen to me this very day!"
"Oh really? What happened?" Lena cried.
"Have you ever heard of a man called the Doctor?"
"What kind of doctor?"
"That's just it." said Clara, "He simply said he was 'the Doctor', nothing more."
"So there's a man involved," Lena's eyes twinkled wickedly, "Has Clara finally found a fella?"
"Stop it! I just told you I don't even know his name. Not that he wasn't attractive." Clara blushed.
"Ok now you have to tell me everything!" Lena cried.
"There's nothing much to tell!" Clara said embarrassed. "He was just some man I ran into on the street."
"Wait, when you say 'ran into' you mean…?"
"I actually ran right into him."
Lena doubled over laughing clutching her sides. "Oh! That is so you!"
"Hey!" Clara cried indignantly, but she was laughing as well.
Lena managed to control her breathing, "Ok so you knocked the poor man off his feet, then what happened?"
"I did not knock him off his feet! I apologized, he asked my name and I gave it. Yet when I asked his all he would say was 'the Doctor'! Then he just walked off." Clara finished in a huff. "It's not that I'm likely to ever see him again anyway, but still."
Clara was surprised how much the thought of never seeing the man again bothered her. There was something about him, something different. Even in their few moments together Clara could sense it. She loved a mystery and the Doctor certainly was one.
Clearly sensing her friends distress, Lena put a comforting hand on Clara's arm. "Don't worry dear I'm sure you will find the lad again."
"Thank you, but that's about as likely as me meeting the Veiled Detective." Clara said wryly. Standing up, she turned on her brightest smile. "Now I think I have some children to put to bed." With that Clara said goodnight to Lena and headed upstairs to tuck Alice and Russell in for the evening.
