Clara was feeling confident today.
She, Clara Oswin Oswald of Lungbarrow, was the mother of the bride.
As in, the one who got to order everyone about! It was almost as much fun as her wedding to the Doctor had been! She'd already been on rounds to check on the decorations, make last-minute corrections to their food orders, inspect the cathedral one last time, and of course get herself and her beautiful step-daughter Jenny dressed and ready for the ceremony ahead.
She couldn't help but smile as she thought of what she and the bridesmaids had gotten up for the girl of the day. Jenny was actually only five years old, although she looked much older and had knowledge and abilities far beyond the usual twenty-year-old. They'd thought of dolling her up, making her look more mature, less girlish and more womanly. Clara was glad they'd decided against the idea. Her Jenny looked much better with the unique, pigtail look they'd devised; soft strands of her blond hair, curly and lifelike draping over each shoulder, with a delicate flower crown on her head. And so cute it was hard not to giggle just thinking about it.
It wasn't difficult to stun Jack, but Clara got a wicked pleasure out of the idea that Jenny would stun him into an oblivion today. Actually, if her girlie didn't stun every bleeding guest in the cathedral, she would have some serious ranting to do later on.
She walked through the open-aired corridor, carrying herself briskly in her tall purple heels. The huge balcony area that comprised much of the guest house's square footage was made of pink granite and marble and overlooked a beautiful garden valley full of flowers and greenery. Some of the vines snaked up the pillars that held up the roof, giving it a magical feel. It was really beautiful; Jack had picked a good place.
Before she knew it, she had crossed to the other side of the house.
"Oi!" she yelled, rapping loudly on the wooden door to the men's room, "Open up! Wait—wrong word. Cover up! That's more important!"
There were a few loud bumps and voices, and clothes hangers rattling. Mickey Smith opened the door; shirt tugged on haphazardly, tie nowhere to be seen. She cringed. He gave her an indignant look. "What are YOU doing here?"
"Oh, let me in," she grinned, trying to push her way past him. "Your turn for a check-in!"
Mickey blocked her, rolling his eyes. "This is the men's room!" he protested. "You're not allowed in here!"
"I am if I'm the mother of the bride!" she exclaimed, hands on her hips.
"Maybe we can dress ourselves without help."
"Maybe you can. Jack can't, though."
His lip curled up in a smile. "Aw, get in here." He relinquished the doorway to her, holding up his arm so she could walk underneath. "We're all decent; at least, all of us but him."
She strode into the dressing room, surveying piles of clothing with a critical eye, matching tie with shirt, shirt with male figure in that chair, rumpled towels, razors, and finally rested on a figure somewhat curled up in the corner, surrounded by several of the others who were laughing and hooting with mischief.
The victim was, unsurprisingly, the most miserable-looking Captain Jack Harkness Clara had ever beheld.
Mickey had exaggerated; he was decent, with his trousers and a T-shirt on already, but his hair was a mess and frankly, he looked a bit green in the face.
Clara bit back a laugh at the unusual sight. "Alright boys, fun's over for now. Come on, Jack!" She cocked her head toward the door. "We're goin' out."
"Oh, ho!" Mickey grinned wickedly at him, giving him a hard slap on the back. "You're in big trouble with the Mum!" Clara gave him a warning look and he strode away, laughing and shaking his head.
Jack picked himself up and followed her out the door with a grimace on his otherwise handsome face, like a miserable puppy being led out into the rain. The air on the balcony was cool and smelled faintly of the flowers that grew in the gardens below. It was one of the nicest places either of them had been, even with all their travels with the Doctor.
Clara reached for his arm, squeezing it gently as she looked out over the greenery. "Sorry," she said sympathetically, much to his surprise. "What've the guys been doing to you all morning, eh?"
Jack hummed awkwardly, trying to think of an honest answer that didn't reveal all the truth. "Aw, it's nothing," he said a bit weakly, "they're just poking fun at me for being scared. Typical friends—assume you're a coward just because it's your wedding day. I mean, what's with that, eh?"
Clara leaned against the railing, a sympathetic but knowing smile on her lips. "Now, Jack, be honest. How many times did you throw up?"
His face fell in exasperation. "Aw, Ozzie! It's not fair! I've never been this scared in my entire life!" His blue eyes pleaded with her to understand, since she was making him confess. "I don't even know what it is I'm scared of. I was fine, right up until we started getting ready, and all of a sudden I'm completely terrified! Don't laugh!" his frustrated melted into a begging tone.
Immediately, Clara squelched the chuckle that was rising unbidden to her face.
Jack leaned against the railing, disgruntled, both elbows hanging off the edge behind him. "Don't tell me you were this scared when it was YOUR wedding," he muttered under his breath.
Clara waited a moment.
"Nearly wet myself," she finally answered.
He started, did a double-take at her, but her face was deadly serious. "You're just saying that to make me feel better," he protested.
Clara shook her head, eyes twinkling with merriment. "Nope. Course, I didn't actually do it, 'cause that would have been a disaster and ruined my dress, but I nearly did, several times. Ask anyone. Ask Jenny, for that matter. She knows about it."
Jack stared at her for a long moment before giving a pained chuckle. "You almost peed?" he asked again, sounding slightly incredulous.
"Don't tell the Doctor!" she warned him, shaking a finger wildly at him.
He laughed aloud this time, and a little more color came into his face. "Why were YOU scared? You didn't even have parents at your wedding!"
"Have you met the man I was getting married to?!"
"But you're not scared of HIM!" he guffawed, leaning back again. Clara could see the tension in his shoulders easing out a little.
"'Course I'm not! I love him! That mean I can't just suddenly get scared for absolutely no legitimate reason in this universe?" she exclaimed hotly, enjoying the look on his face when he realized their experiences were the same.
The broad, famous Jack Harkness grin came back, spreading across his face. "Trying emptying your stomach three times in one morning! It throws your head for a loop, let me tell you!"
She smirked. "I could get you a Doctor."
"No, thank you!" he replied quickly, looking a bit freaked out again.
Clara laughed softly, patting his shoulder. "It'll be fine. You'll see. Everything you can dream of. I don't care how old you are, you have no idea how happy you're gonna be in three more hours."
He offered her a grateful, if still somewhat nervous smile.
Rousing herself, she looked him over critically, one last time, from head to foot. "Want me to get you Ibuprofen?" she offered.
He shrugged. "Might help."
She started walking backwards, still talking. "Right. See you in ten. And make sure your men are in proper uniform, you hear me?"
He saluted. "Yes, Ma'am!"
She stopped and grinned at him patronizingly. "What do you say?" Try as she might, she just couldn't resist twisting his arm one last time.
Jack gave her a smart-alecky grin. "Thank you, Mom," he teased, pulling himself away from the railing.
"Don't get clever!" she gave him a warning face. "I WILL call your Dad!"
"No, no need for that!" he laughed nervously. "I'm not afraid of him or anything, if that's what you're beginning to think," he added for clarification.
Clara smiled at him. He still looked a little bit frightened; she could see it behind the mischievous twinkle in his eyes; but much better than he had at the start of their conversation.
She smoothed her elegant purple gown and started to leave as he turned and headed back to the changing room. Suddenly, he swiveled on his heel and faced her again, a question in his eyes.
Clara turned, raising her eyebrows.
"Actually," he said, a bit hesitantly, "Ozzie—is it okay if I do call you 'Mom'?"
She felt her jaw nearly drop from the roof of her mouth, but managed to keep it in place just in time. "Um, what?"
"I mean, if you think it's awkward—or I don't know; some women might think it made them feel old to have a 2-century-old guy calling them 'Mom', but—"
"Oh!" Clara shook herself, looking at the ground. "No, I don't think that's awkward at all. I'd—love that—if you're not joking—"
"No, no, I wasn't joking," he replied, hands in his pockets as he smiled back at her. "I just wanted to know."
She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, hoping he wouldn't notice as he left for the second time, this time disappearing into the recesses of the pillared rooms.
She would have to go find the Doctor. It was nearly 10 o'clock and he was nowhere to be seen.