It took her solid two weeks of living in a hotel to find a flat-no, apartment since that was what they called it here-and actually settle into this new place. Her new home.
It was, in a word, alright. Nothing too special. She was just grateful to actually find a place. The downside to moving whimsically to a new country was forgetting to find suitable housing for herself.
She missed her flat back h-no, London. Chicago was her home, now. But her old flat had been more spacious…and at least there were no noisy neighbours who were constantly at a struggle for power in their relationship, she guessed. Whatever their reason for fighting was, she just wished they would stop it already. If she could find a job that paid well, she'd need the sleep.
Clara sighed. Right. No dwelling on the past. Focus on the now, remember? Pushing her thoughts of London and her old flat to the back of her mind, she began to unpack.
It was a simple, stripped apartment, with nothing but her two suitcases, and couple of bags her only possessions to declare her residency.
Pursing her lips, she surveyed the tiny, one room apartment, with carpeted floors (save for loo and kitchen) and pale, peach walls. With the last bit of her money, she'd have to go and get a bed, and if not a bed, at least a cot, some blankets, and groceries.
She checked her account, and with the move to this country of politicians, religion, and Kardashians, she was alarmed to learn she only had a few hundred dollars-everything was converted to dollars before she moved, having transferred all her savings to an American account she had set up in Chicago. That was just enough for what she needed.
She checked her watch. If she hurried, there'd still be enough time for her to buy everything she needed, and come back to the apartment before it got too dark.
Chicago seemed like an interesting place, and once she unpacked, she made a mental note to explore it, but not now, and especially not at night when she didn't know the place.
She grabbed her coat, apartment keys, and hurriedly fled the building to catch a cab.
…
Two hours later, she had a cot, blankets, pillows, towels, toiletries, and enough groceries to last her for at least two weeks.
With just the last twenty dollars left in her pocket, she went back home in a cab, and unpacked.
Plugging into her mixtape, she began by setting up her cot in her room, dragging her suitcases in with her.
She smiled, nodding her head along to the song.
"But I don't feel like dancin' when the old Joanna plays. My heart could take a chance but my two feet can't find a way…"
There were a few songs she liked by the Scissor Sisters, this being one.
She shuffled her feet, matching her steps with the beat. Methodically, she set up her sleeping quarters, carefully soothing her big, comfy blankets over the smaller, thinner ones. She placed her suitcases beside the cot, not bothering to open one, because of the lack of dressers. Clara opened the other, grabbing some pictures, and placing them on the windowsill by the cot.
Before she knew it, she had her bedroom sorted, having hung up some pictures of her friends and family on the walls. She had left them behind, yes, but she didn't want to forget them.
With the Scissors Sisters still jamming loudly in her ears, Clara's eyes caught on a picture she had left in her suitcase.
Picking it up, she smiled sadly when she remembered the time the picture had been taken.
The Doctor, this was back before the acerbic, and often unfriendly alien she now knew existed, had knocked on her door to take her out for another adventure.
"Clara! You ready?"
"Ready for what?" He took Clara by surprise showing up on her doorstep.
"The adventure of a lifetime! Come along! You don't want to miss it!"
She rolled her eyes when he took her hand, and guided her out the door leaving her with barely enough time to shut it. Typical Doctor. Always doing the least expected thing, and expecting everyone else to follow him. To be fair, though, it was much more exciting doing things his way.
Clara had to grin at the prospect of another adventure.
When they were in the Tardis, she decided to ask the question.
"Doctor?"
He was running around the controls, pressing buttons, and pulling levers at a chaotic speed, beaming that Clara was with him.
"Yes, Clara?"
"Why'd you come today?"
He didn't pause in his movements. Instead, he typed a few coordinates into the console.
"Why d'you think? I was bored, and naturally, I thought you were bored, so I rang your bell, and…well, here we are."
"No," Clara stopped him before he could pull the last lever, the one she knew would signal the Tardis to take off. "I mean, I wasn't expecting you until Tuesday."
He frowned.
"It's Tuesday…isn't it?"
She shook her head, laughing.
"No, you idiot. It's Sunday. You're a little early."
"Oh. Oh. Well, you didn't look busy. Were you busy? I can never tell with you."
"How-never mind. No, I wasn't busy. But-" A thought struck Clara. It was true that she hadn't been busy when the Doctor showed up, but she had been about to make plans with someone and…well, she wondered...
"But what?"
"I was thinking... Maybe I should take you on an adventure for once. You're always showing me all these wonderful planets, and galaxies. Why don't I return the favor?"
He scratched his chin, bringing attention to it without meaning to it. Clara fought a smirk. Chin-boy. God, you really could fence with that chin, couldn't you?
"I don't see why not. Where do you want to go?" He made to pull the lever, but she stopped him again.
"No. No Tardis today, Chin-boy."
"Chin-boy? What? My chin is not-"
Clara giggled, tousling his already floppy hair.
"Yes, it is. Now shut up, 'cause I've got a surprise for you." And before her favourite time lord with a chin as enormous as all those planets he had shown her and then some could protest, she was already doing what he did to her mere minutes ago: dragging him along, and not telling him a thing about where they were going.
Clara was smiling from ear to ear when she thought about the surprise. Yes, this was going to be a fun night.
The fun in question had taken place in a packed, crowded pub, and the surprise had been karaoke.
She stared at the smiling picture of them. Somehow, by some miracle, she had gotten the Doctor very drunk that night. In the picture, their arms were looped together, and he was in midst of placing a kiss on top of her head, while she protested, giggling. Behind them was a lit stage with a young performer, guitar strapped to herself.
Getting him drunk had been the first part of the surprise. The Doctor hated karaoke, and that hadn't changed much in his twelfth form, so alcohol had been needed to stymy his fears of public singing.
When he had starting singing spontaneously old songs she didn't recognize, but was bobbing away happily anyway, she knew that it was time to enact part two of her surprise.
She pulled him to the stage, and asked what he wanted to sing. His answer was quite surprising:
"Ohh, yeah, yeah, Clara. Clarrrra. Clara. You've got to promise to sing with me. Promise."
He had looked so earnest, with those sincere brown eyes, and the way his lips pulled together in a drawn out smile. She couldn't possibly say no to him then.
"Fine. I promise," she answered, smiling just as wide.
He whispered the song in her ear, and she in turn played telephone with the guy operating the karaoke machine. He nodded, fiddling with the controls, before a familiar pop tune rolled through the air, emanating several cheers from the audience.
Rolling her eyes, Clara grabbed an extra mic, and started to sing.
"Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, So tell me what you want, what you really really want…" Of all the songs…
The Doctor had borrowed someone's hat, and had placed it on backwards. His bowtie was missing, and his hair a little disheveled. Oh, well.
He chimed in with the words, "So tell me what you want, what you really really want, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ah…"
They had gotten through the song, but just barely. Clara had to keep trying to stifle laughter, and the Doctor had plowed through the entire song, singing it as he were Susan Boyle. It was amazing, really. By the time they finished, she was clutching her side, gasping for breath from all the giggles, and he was bowing to the drunken applause from their enthusiastic audience.
When they went back to a table, Clara had wanted to capture the moment, so she whipped out her camera phone, and took a quick pic of them both.
Both their eyes were a little shiny, and their cheeks flushed. They were grinning wide, and looked like they had the best night of their lives.
"We are like the Scissors Sisters, aren't we?" He made to straighten his bowtie, but when his hands met only air, he frowned, and proceeded to twiddle his thumbs.
Clara shook her head.
"Whoa. We are not like the Scissors Sisters. You're too weird, and I'm too short."
"You are short." He agreed. "But the Scissors Sisters! We could start a band, and call ourselves the Scissors Sisters: Act Two."
"Okay, now you're definitely weird. We can't be act two!"
"Why not?"
"Well, for one thing," She spluttered, racking her brain for reasons to kick the Doctor out of their so-called 'band'. "-you can't sing."
"I can too!"
"You haven't listened to yourself, have you?"
She smirked when he got all flustered, got up, and mumbled something about getting them more drinks before storming off.
The Doctor didn't like to drink-but that night had been fun. She had finally seen him drunk. He was more of an idiot when he was drunk, if his Scissors Sisters comment was anything to go by on.
She sighed at the picture. God, what was she doing? I can't keep doing this. Gotta move on sometime.
Stowing the picture away back in her suitcase, she grabbed the rest of her pictures from the walls, and put them away too. There. That was better. No reminders.
Clara felt suddenly very tired then. Exhausted would be a better word. She quickly tore off her headphones, shutting her mixtape off, and changed into her pajamas. She flopped on her back on the cot, closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.
She jumped when she head a muffled crash from somewhere above her. Sitting up, Clara peeked at her watch, groaning when she saw it was 2 am.
Her mind was fuzzy with the afterthoughts of her dreams. Shaking her head clear, she tried to remember what had woken her up in the first place.
Right. Crash. Above.
She jumped again when another crash sounded, this time outside. Running to her window, she could clearly see a dark shape fly past her at an alarming speed. Gasping, she stepped back, not sure exactly what she was seeing.
Was that a…No…it couldn't-
Footsteps ran across the floor above her bedroom, and she could discern two grown men yelling. One was yelling for the other to hurry the hell up before they missed their opportunity.
Clara frowned. She looked out the window, eyes glazing over the paint-chipped bricks from the other buildings, and the rust-encrusted fire escapes, darkened streets before landing on the shape she had seen fall seconds earlier. It was groaning, a clear indicator it was injured. Or rather he, since she now saw that it was person.
Two men came running out her apartment building, one ridiculously tall, and the other shorter, and from the looks of it, angrier.
The shorter one grabbed the man on the ground, and shoved him roughly against a wall below, yelling for 'Sam' (she guessed this was the giraffe-guy) to grab his knife.
Her heart started to pound uncomfortably. These guys were obviously going to kill the other guy. Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, God.
What would the Doctor do? Clara frowned. No, what would I do?
Not waiting for an answer, she pushed open her window, and climbed onto the fire escape. 'Sam' had gotten out his knife, apparently having hidden it in his inner jacket pocket. He tossed the knife to Shorty over by the wall, and that was when Clara knew she had to act or else the poor man would die.
Oh, god. What the hell am I getting myself into?
She quickly calculated the angle, and the drop. If the guy with the knife caught her fall, the worst she'd end up with was a fractured ankle. Maybe even a broken leg. But she'd be alive.
"Please let this work," she whispered before climbing over the railing and jumping as far as she could in hopes of landing on the short guy.
"Dean, watch out-" Sam yelled, right before Clara collided with 'Dean'. He made a disgruntled, out of breath noise as he fell back.
Somewhere behind her, she heard someone whisper "Thanks, girl," before the sound of running footsteps fading away the farther they got.
"Dean-"
"Run…After…" He managed, before pushing Clara off of him. He coughed. "What the hell? Are you insane?"
Clara groaned, a dull pain in her head taking up most of her attention. The man got away…Good.
"Do you make it a friggin' habit of jumping off fire escapes or…" He paused. "Or… shit. Shit!"
Clara attempted to sit up, but the reaction her body got made her scream.
She looked down, and was horrified to see blood staining her t-shirt.
I'm going to die. I'm going to die for saving that man…
Dean, who Clara failed to notice had torn off the ends of her shirt, was now pressing the ripped cloth firmly to her wound.
"Stay with me, you damned crazy chick," he muttered.
"What are you talking-" I'm still here… It hit, hard and fast, not leaving her time to think, or finish her sentence.
She could hear him calling her 'crazy chick' before she was pulled under.
