So... rewriting the way Clara and the Doctor kinda meet the Librarians...
Hope you enjoy!
Clara Oswald flopped down in the swiveling chair in the TARDIS as she did almost all the time, spinning slowly on her toes as the world began to twirl in front of her eyes, and her head began to get dizzy as she spun herself gradually faster and faster-
"Clara." A hand gripped the back of her chair, making her clumsily slide out.
Clara looked up from her new seat on the floor. "Doctor."
The Doctor only raised his thin brows. "I still need to oil that chair," he muttered as he turned and walked away to the main table.
Clara tried not to smile as she stood up and brushed off the back of her leggings.
The Doctor was very strict about noise on his TARDIS, and it did annoy her time- to- time, but he was now a senior adult. He liked quiet.
Er... probably won't be next time around his death.
A sudden flash of something small and white caught Clara's eye. She looked over.
A letter had slipped through the doorframe and was sitting on the floor, waiting to be opened.
Only, there was one small problem- the TARDIS was in the midsts of space and time right now. So, unless some other time traveler or creepy alien put the letter in here, who did?
"Doctor?" She took a step towards the letter.
"Yes?" He called from the kitchenette upstairs (nibbling on soufflés, no doubt. He loves soufflés.) He walked out, licking a spoon clean (yep, soufflé.) "What is it?"
Clara picked up the letter and held it up so she could read it:
"Miss Clara Oswald" was addressed in beautiful black calligraphy.
Clara frowned. A plain white envelope. Curious, she turned it over and looked at the back. No return address. No stamp. Nothing. Honestly, how would postal get around in space? Aside from if the passed by Discworld, though?
"Let me see that." The Doctor was standing behind Clara, which made her jump. He held out his hand. "C'mon."
Shakily, she handed it over.
The Doctor opened it and stared at the paper. He pulled out his most fancy sonic screwdriver and scanned the paper. His eyes widened slightly as he read the paper, then he quickly shook his head and crumpled up the paper, turned, opened the door, and tossed out the letter, never for it to be seen again.
Unless it were to suck through a wormhole that would fall at Moist von Lipvig's feet.
The companion frowned. "What was that, Doctor?"
He shrugged. "Just, ah, some other store or something." He waved a hand dismissively. "Nothin' fancy," he announced as he walked back upstairs, buttoning up his coat.
Clara glanced out once more at the voids of space and time, then shut the door.
...
The very same letter came the next day. And the next, and the next, and the next, until an entire moth had passed.
Clara traveled with the Doctor every single day she could. Good thing it was summer, otherwise she would've had to on the weekends instead.
Towards the end of the month, there wasn't too much to do, so the Doctor and his companion sat in the TARDIS, in London.
Clara's phone began to vibrate. She glanced at the caller I. D., then answered. "Dad?"
"Darling one," he said on the other end of the phone, "can you explain who I came in this morning and saw tons of letters for you on the floor."
Clara's eyes widened slightly, and it suddenly dawned on her- the sender of those letters the Doctor had been throwing away knew where her father lived. They probably knew what the Doctor had been doing, and decided not to send them to her father's house because the Doctor went through her mail and they knew that, too.
So, then and there, she came up with three official conclusions-
1: they were stalkers.
2: they were an ex boyfriend who couldn't get his mind off of me, or
3: Hogwarts finally decided to send her letters.
She cleared her throat and tried to shake it off "Who's it from?"
"Doesn't say."
Yep. Same person. Or thing. Or owl. Depending on the options above.
"I'm coming right now." Clara hung up, glancing at the Doctor, who was eyeing her with suspension.
"What?" He asked.
"Well, my father just found a pile of-" She raised my brows for emphasis- "letters on the floor. For me."
His thin lips pursed.
"Unmarked." She crossed my arms and pursed her lips.
He closed his eyes and tilted his head up, as if saying a silent prayer. Then his eyes opened, and he took in a deep breath as he looked at her. "Alright. Go and check on your father." He stood aside for me.
She marched out of the door and down the street, towards my father's home.
...
Mister Oswald was a very sweet man, with nice brown eyes and red hair. He answered the door and beamed. "My Clara!"
His daughter hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. "Hullo, dad."
He led her inside and into his modest living room, then walked into the kitchen and came back out with a mug of tea.
For a while, the two sat and talked- about the weather, their day, our jobs, gossip that everyone debunked about J. K. Rowling...
Finally, the subject of the letters came up.
"Any clues about your letter?" Clara's father handed her the white envelope.
She shook my head. "Not one." She opened it up and reached in and slowly pulled out a blank sheet of paper.
My father took my mug. "I'll take this."
Clara started to stand. "No, I-"
"Am a guest," he said. "I'll take this, darling, alright? You tend to your letter." With that, he patted her arm and walked out.
Clara sat back down and picked up the piece of paper with a furrowed brow.
A whisper filled her ears.
She blinked, then looked back at the paper. To Clara's shock, gold letters began to appear, and a voice spoke:
"You are selected for an interview
For a prestigious position
At the Metropolian Library"
So, the letter was speaking to herself? Who was she,the Post Master?
Her dad walked out of the kitchen, brushing off his hands. "Well?"
Clara handed it to him.
He read it. His eyes widened as he read it again, then shook his head. "Aw, Clarie, that's too far from here."
Clara knew that. And she already had a good job, and too much here.
And yet, something called her to do it...
"Just let me check it out, Dad," she assured. "Promise ya, I'll be right back as soon as you need me."
All her father gave was a little smile and her letter back. "Please, darling, do. All I want is for you to be happy, but for you to be close."
Clara leaned down and pecked his cheek. "I will, dad. Don't worry."
With that, the impossible girl left to investigate the letter and give the Doctor a piece of her mind.
...
She dropped the paper in front of the Doctor, sucking in her cheeks, more than a little ticked off with him. "Is this what you were throwing away?"
He looked at it, brows raised, the picked it up in his long fingers. He turned it over in his hands, sniffed it, read it again, then held it out to her. "Maybe."
Clara threw her hand in the air. "Why?"
"Eh... the Library's over in America." The Doctor made a face as he walked to his bookshelf and pulled out a thick volume. He wasn't one for fairytales or Terry Pratchet (which she'd tried to get him to read but to no avail whatsoever). "You know Americans- all like deep- fried food and football and television over all the good things, like books and-"
"And exploration?" She guessed.
"Well, I was going to say physical exercise, but that's good, too."
The girl scoffed. "This isn't any ordinary library," she gripped the paper and stormed to him. "This letter from it just sends itself over and over again to the TARDIS, and then somehow winds up in my father's home?"
The Doctor inhaled deeply. "Well, it may be magical."
"Magic." Clara frowned. "You told me that you didn't believe in such."
"Well, yeah, it apparently exists here and there." He waved a dismissive hand, as if swatting at an annoying fly, which he probably deemed this topic to be.
But Clara didn't falter. "I at LEAST wanna see it."
The Doctor inhaled deeply, giving in. "Fine."
"Really?"
"Yeah. But ya aren't gonna like it." He stormed to his device and pulled a few switches, muttering to himself.
The gears overhead wirred and spun as they were taken from London to someplace else.
The Doctor turned to me. "Oregon, USA." He swung open the doors.
Clara looked out.
It wasn't a big town- a cluster of buildings here and there, a couple of skyscrapers in the distance. A few people strode by, chatting or on their phones.
She looked at the Doctor. "It looks normal."
"Looks, yes." He nodded as he locked the door behind him. "Normal, not so much."
"Oh." Clara walked ahead, surveying everything in sight.
The Doctor made a face. "I often why King George the Third wanted to keep this country."
"The colonies made it a long time ago, Doctor."
"Right. That was their fault."
She rolled her eyes. "Doctor."
He took Clara's arm as they approached a white building. "Ah, well, no one's perfect-" he swung the door open.
She glanced in. "Doctor, it's empty."
Clara was right. All they could see was a bunch of cleaning supplies, a few large cabinets, and a large wooden wardrobe.
He nodded. "That it is, Clara."
Clara huffed and stuck her hands in her pockets. She stopped, then tugged out the envelope.
Magic, huh?
"Doctor, we've got to get to the TARDIS."
"Why?"
"This is an old abandoned building!" She waved the envelope around. "This place isn't the magic, so maybe we can transport to this Library-"
The wardrobe shuddered.
The Doctor looked over sharply. He motioned Clara behind him, and, pulling out his screwdriver, slowly walked closer.
The door creaked open...
... an older man stuck his head out. "Not Narnia?" He sighed. "No."
The Doctor's eyes widened, recognizing him. "Jenkins!"
The man in the wardrobe stared. He squinted. "Can it be..." He began to laugh. "Doctor!" He stepped out and hugged the Doctor- to the companion's surprise, the Doctor hugged him back!
Where was the actual Doctor? Clara wondered. What alien replaced him?
The Doctor stepped back after a moment. "Jenkins, my companion, Clara Oswald," he motioned to her.
Jenkins stepped out of the wardrobe, still holding the door so it wouldn't close. "Miss Oswald," he greeted. He donned a plaid button- up under a sandy coat and red bowtie, brown slacks, and formal shoes, but a nice and slightly forced smile. "How are you?"
"I'm good, and it's good to meet you," she responded, trying to be friendly.
Jenkins nodded. "So," he turned to the Doctor, "did you come for any reason, or just a visit?"
"Ah, well, Clara wanted to see books," the Doctor straightened out creases in his coat. "Something 'bout an invitation-"
Clara extended the envelope to Jenkins and interrupted the Doctor. "To see what this is about."
Jenkins took it and opened it. He studied it slowly, then inhaled deeply. "Come with me, then." He opened the wardrobe door.