A/N: Constructive criticism is very much encouraged pls.


"Because a thing is difficult for you, do not therefore suppose it to be beyond mortal power. On the contrary, if anything is possible and proper for man to do, assume that it must fall within your own capacity."

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations


"Kate, you don't understand. He's gone."

Kate Lethbridge-Stewart stern stare from the monitor, all cool and imperturbably calm command, softened. Clara didn't miss it. The way the other woman's shoulders slumped just so—the only sign in her posture that reflected the gravity of this declaration. From the beginning, they had suggested to contact the Doctor. The planes' freezing mid-flight was not something they had a proper protocol for but she had deflected and tried to delay the announcement for as long as she could.

Her voice turned quiet, lilt dripping with as much grief as she dared allow herself to show—which is to say, not very much. The only inkling of her anguish rest in her half-lidded wistful eyes that looked towards the heavens she flew with now. 'Lo these last few months, Clara Oswald has grown only all too accustomed with holding in her tears as she was doing then.

A pregnant pause erupted between them. She only heard the faint rumbling of the plane's engine in the air.

"You don't mean—" Kate started but Clara shook her head and broke her off. A tear slipped past her defenses but she was only too quick to turn her head and it wipe it away.

"No, not like that. But he's found it. Them. His people," she explained. "He's found Gallifrey. And he's not coming back."

"Records show the Doctor's distaste for—"

"For the High Council," she interrupted again, becoming more and more impatient by the second. She just wanted to go home, have a shower to clean the dirt and time travel off of herself, and sleep her life away for the next week or two. Clara took a deep breath, clearly exasperated with her hand gestures, and continued, "For war, yes. Not for the Outsiders. The children, most of all; you know how he is. He can't resist. There are more than just Time Lords on Gallifrey.

"He's been gone a thousand years for them now or who knows how long in their time; they're ruled by bloody Time Lords, for God's sake, who the hell knows how time works for them? And he's the man who stopped the biggest war the universe has ever known. I wouldn't be surprised if they made him king. He'd be rubbish at it, of course, but he has enough to deal without fussing about us and cleaning up our messes."

Without fussing about me, she thought, but she kept that bit to herself. There are some things that are simply bigger – like the promises she's vowed to keep. Kate considered this before she nodded, arching a brow.

"Do we have allies?"

"We can make some," Clara suggested, shrugging her shoulders. "Stop trying to blow up every unknown ship in the sky, we could actually make some friends out there. We're already cohabiting with Zygons and Silurians here so why not? It isn't just our planet anymore. Technically, it was never really just ours."

"Silurians?"

"Yeah, surprise," she replied, rolling her eyes. There was a humourless smile on her lips and her hands gestured flippantly. "Won't have to worry about them for a while yet, I think. A few more centuries 'til they're up and about, if memory serves me right, so we've got time to get the world used to the idea."

"And you're certain of this?"

"Positive." Clara nodded.

She turned her eyes towards the clouds again and muttered, "He wouldn't leave me here for anything less."


Kate led Clara down the labyrinthine corridors of UNIT HQ.

It was almost exactly the type of headquarters that a secret organization would have in the pictures – dim lights, secluded hallways, secret passageways – and Clara couldn't help but keep her vigilance, an alert eye taking in every lab coat and armed gunman. She also took note of emergency exits and of doors that required key codes and specialized identification cards.

It was properly James Bond-esque, in a way, and a voice at the back of her head told her that her father would have loved this. He had always been convinced that the government was funding secret organizations like this with the good tax payers' money – little did he know that some of it actually did go to good use. The thought almost made her want to smile and, indeed, she suppressed the hint of it that was threatening to take over her bow lips. She tucked them in.

All the while, she matched Kate in stride with ease as her relatively shorter limbs were only too used to the swift pace.

Not a word was said in exchange between the two women as she was led to an office that was covered with monitors and desks and spare paper. Each agent had at least two monitors to themselves and they were all constantly scrolling through social media feeds, through analytics and graphs, and there was the sound of constant chatter as they spoke in different dialects to their Bluetooth headsets.

Kate led her up a few stairs to a main office which was singularly occupied. He rose as soon as the pair of them entered and when the door closed behind them, the noise from outside was drowned out significantly.

The man before her looked almost familiar. He was all dark salt-and-pepper hair and pale skin, as if he hadn't seen the sun in days, and the only hint of colour on him was the bright red tie he wore. His suit, dark grey, was rumpled to the point that almost looked like it had been lived in. He needed a shave as well and his eyes were almost red-rimmed to the point of being bloodshot. He rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers and waddled towards them from his desk.

Clara eyed him up and down; he did the same to her—his eyes, his brows almost as severe as the scowl he wore. Kate took a device from the pocket of her coat and pressed a button. The windows to his office became opaque and the noise from the outside was completely blocked out.

The word confidential hung silently in the air. Malcolm raised a brow and cocked his head, the look he gave them saying that he was asking a thousand and twelve questions all at once.

"Miss Oswald, this is Malcolm Tucker," Kate said, gesturing for the two by way of introduction. "UNIT's Chief Communications Officer and Head of Public Relations."

She extended a hand immediately and gave it a quick, firm shake when he took it. They nodded at one another.

"Malcolm, this is Clara Oswald. You know her file, I'm sure."

"I know you," Clara quipped without thinking before he could make his forced pleasantries. "You were all over the papers a few years ago, yeah?"

Tongue-in-cheek, he swallowed and gave nothing away but a shrug of his shoulders as he pocketed his hands. He licked his thin lips and forced a smile.

"Casualty in a public execution to hide the putrid scent of corpses and shit that the government has tried to bury in the Thames, love. Nothing more," he said. Sore subject, she noted with immediate regret. He looked to Kate now. "What's the damage this time?"

"The threat has been contained," she answered. "But we need a meeting with the International Shadow Council immediately. It seems there's now a complication with our incursion protocols."

"International Shadow Council?" Clara asked.

"A council composed of representatives for the leaders all over the world. They're ones who elected the Doctor as President in the event of extraterrestrial catastrophe; it was inducted in 2009."

"Hang the fuck on—what complication?" he asked.

"The Doctor's gone," Kate answered. She didn't see Clara's eyes flinch away or how she quickly took a breath. "And he isn't to return. Indefinitely."

Malcolm stared and gawped at the both of them, one of his hands sneaking to the back of his neck.

"You're telling me we lost our fucking specialist?"

"No," Clara cut in, "I'm telling you that I'm your specialist now."

"You?" He said with such vehement incredulity that Clara could only stand up straighter, hold her head up just that much higher.

"Yes. Me." She raised a brow at him. "Problem?"

"Permission to speak freely?" he asked them both.

"As if the lack of permission would be a deterrent for you," Kate deadpanned, sighing.

"What—" asked Clara; her eyes darted back and forth between the two in present company as if watching a tennis match. "What is it?"

"No offense, sweetheart, but you're fucking telling me the fate of the fucking world's in the hands of a fucking secondary school teacher?"

Clara's jaw practically dropped to the floor. Her breath caught in her throat and for a moment, all she could do was stare at him. Heat prickled almost immediately at the back of her eyes as she felt anger's warmth rise in her veins. Her fingers ever so longed to twitch and ball themselves to a fist but she kept them at bay, her arms forcibly stiff as they crossed against her chest. She spoke, controlled schoolmarm in full effect.

"I'm just a schoolteacher as much as he's just a man in a box. One who's not even of this world in the first place!"

"It's just the facts, love," he said, flippantly and without remorse. "Look at the 456 incident, for fuck's sake! We can't even stop each other from dropping fucking bombs! Those cosmic twats could rain down forty days and nights of shit on us but all that'll be left of us is the fucking mess of panicked hashtags we've left behind and you're telling me we're on our fucking own now?"

"What exactly is the point you're trying to make here?"

"The point is that you two have clearly lost your fucking minds if you think the ISC's going to sanction an English lass with the exact dimensions of a fucking Funko pop as the new Earth President! What're you going to do the next time some fucking Martian cunts pull out their sword cocks from Satan's Nebula or some shite and come fucking knocking with their laser eyes and acid cum? Make them read fucking Walt Whitman and Shakespeare's fucking sonnets?"

The crack of a slap echoed throughout the closed room like booming thunder. Malcolm doubled back as he almost fell over and Kate took a step back to avoid him knocking into her.

And here comes Clara Oswald's lightning—ready to strike and set fire.

"How dare you?" Clara hissed. "What the hell makes you think you're at a station where you're allowed to take that tone with me?"

Her eyes shone with tears — born of anger, not of grief – and Malcolm's pupils blew wide, as if he'd just been woken up. He had a hand against where she'd slapped him and his piercing gaze has never been more intensely focused on her that part of her felt as if he might devour her whole. He didn't cower away from her; on the contrary, he met her halfway as if he were ready to stoop to her level of anger, metaphorical fist swinging and all, but she got the first hit, first crack and she wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise.

"I'll have you know that I have saved you; I have saved this whole damn planet over and over and over again, and I am just as bloody well qualified to defend it!"

Clara took a step towards him and he took the appropriate step back as everything about her radiated pure vitriolic rage. It was all Kate could do to hold her back by the arm from slapping him again.

"Do you think your temper tantrum's going to change anything?!" Tears fell fresh from her eyes now and emotion, raw and real, came pouring through like water bursting from a dam. "HE'S GONE! Get that through your head— The Doctor's gone! And he isn't coming back so here's how we deal with it, have I made myself clear?"

"Clara," Kate started. The calm eye between two brewing storms. Clara turned to look at her and the blonde woman's features remained as unruffled as ever. "He has a point."

"Seriously? You're doubting me because, what— because I'm young?"

"That's not—"

She shrugged off the hand Kate had on her with a tiny bit more force than necessary.

"Because I'm a girl?" She turned her head to look at Malcolm, gaze made for warm looks now sharp and implacable as jagged rock. Her chest rose and fell with heaving, heavy breaths.

Clara could feel a vein in her neck throbbing, the echoes of her racing pulse reaching her ears. Her wide face grew warm and red, tears freely flowing from her eyes. "Do not presume to know what I am capable of. You have no idea what I'm willing to do and what I'm willing to risk for this world, in the name of the Doctor, and you've only barely scratched the surface of what I've already done."

A pause filled the room as Clara composed herself and furiously wiped at her eyes with the ends of her grey jumper that she'd pulled to cover her fingers. Splotches of darkened grey covered where her tears met cloth but they were soon swallowed by her leather jacket as she stretched her arms out and put her hands on her hips. She turned away from them and paced. Her breaths were deliberately slow and deep as she tried to calm herself and she sharply swallowed anything that felt like an erupting sob. It was not the time to break—she wasn't the type to be allowed to break, she knew that now.

When she spoke again, her features showed nothing but almost impeccable equanimity. The sheen of freshly shed tears still framed her long-lashed, bulging wide eyes, yes, but her voice hardly wavered. As if her temper had never been lost at all.

After all, she had a point to prove.

"We can tell the council that I'm the Doctor. There's precedence that a Time Lord can change genders upon regeneration, thanks to Missy. Tell them I'm currently fobwatched – disguised in human physiology – to further assimilate to this world to keep it safe. Exiled as a war criminal from Gallifrey. I mean– that's sort of happened before, right? The exiling bit?"

Kate considered the proposal. Malcolm rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb and looked at it, expecting blood, but saw only the sheen that came from his own mouth's moisture. He glared at Clara, a hand still against where she'd slapped him; he barely even blinked, but the slap – as it would seem – humbled him enough to hold his tongue.

"It's reasonable," Kate conceded and looked down for a split second before she turned to Malcolm. "And with the 456? In 2009, we did call the Doctor for help. He didn't come. It's why the council even exists."

Malcolm licked his lips and his stare met Clara's. She did not back away from it so he did. He pressed his tongue to the wall of his cheek and turned his back to them, calming himself with deep breaths just the same.

"Okay. Okay…" Kate began as the air around them began to settle down from the bursts of anger that had erupted between the other two, "The primary point is that the threat has been neutralized. In the event of another attack, Miss Oswald is our lead advisor and will front as the President of Earth in the event that the Doctor isn't there to help us."

"Miss Oswald," Malcolm quickly pointed out, venom dripping around every vowel of her name, with animatedly gesturing hands, "has a life here. On paper. Records! Documented. Any one of them can call our bluff."

"Call it fabricated, then," Clara responded without hesitation. She shrugged her shoulders, features made to be gentle caught now in a hardened glare right back him. "Call it a really elaborate cover story; if it can convince a Cyberman, it'll work for a bloody politician. Say Clara Oswald has never really existed. Dig deep enough, you'll find my face in every era of time under a different name. I'm impossible—and that makes the lie plausible."

"Then you'd better have one hell of a fucking poker face, darling," he acquiesced, though made no secret of his great displeasure towards the idea. Malcolm sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He then thought to ask, as he gestured, "And what about the fucking planes?"

Kate pulled out her phone. A notification was on the screen and she started typing away with furious fingers. She answered him without looking up. "I can't tell you how to do your job but I can't imagine the world buying that this is another Derren Brown stunt."

"Fucking fuck me," he muttered, "what the fuck even happened to the planes?"

"Miss Oswald will explain. It was Time Lord technology. The plane will be ready in an hour to take you to the emergency summit with the ISC. The location's being arranged as we speak. Malcolm, you'll need to calm down the world's presses. This is global so you have full access to international comms for 48 hours."

"Where the fuck are you going?"

"Adjustments have to be made for the new leadership," she answered as she pocketed her phone only to take it back out as another notification buzzed through. "Miss Oswald—"

"Just Clara. Please."

"Clara," she amended, still typing on her phone. "You'll need to face the ISC at the summit. Explain and convince them of the situation. Malcolm will accompany you—you're my eyes and ears and my spokesman, if need be. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to take this— yes, hello?"

He nodded. Kate started to make her way out the door, phone in her ear, and looked to them before she covered the phone with her other hand and looked back at them for one last reminder.

"Try not to kill each other."

Malcolm scoffed. Clara said nothing, her arms simply crossed against her chest once again.

"Aye. Ta-fucking-ta, ma'am."