Thank you all for reviewing and following the story! Many of you have said they haven't read or watched Field of Blood. Well, Dr Pete is of course portrayed by Peter Capaldi and I really recommend you read the book or watch the show. If you don't have the time, don't worry. I'll explain what you need to know throughout the story as Clara gets to know him. Hope you enjoy this story!

Chapter 2

Clara couldn't tell exactly what had woken her up. She needed a moment to understand where she was, what had happened, but after a few seconds it all came back to her. The Weeping Angel, the strange place, the man who had allowed her to sleep on his couch.

She was shivering beneath the old, thin blanket so Clara decided to get up and walk around quietly. The door to the bedroom was closed and she assumed Pete was still sleeping off his hangover.

Clara needed to find out where and when she was so she went for the stack of newspapers that had collected the least dust and started reading. It didn't take her long to realize that she had obviously landed in Glasgow in 1982. Clara took a deep breath. She had been transported back almost 100 years into the past. She had nothing except for the clothes she was wearing. No money, no papers. Another deep breath. She was a strong woman. She would manage somehow. After all Clara was a teacher and teachers were always needed, right? All she really needed to do was to find a place to stay until she had it all figured out. And why not ask Pete for help? She would need a decent story as to how she came to be in Glasgow, a heartbreaking story so he couldn't possibly turn her down. She would find a job and she would get her own place. Couldn't be that hard, or could it?

Dropping the newspaper back on its stack Clara made her way across the room to where she found the kitchen. If that could be called a kitchen at all. It was nothing but a counter with an embedded fridge and a stove.

Maybe if she cooked him breakfast he would find her useful and let her stay? Clara opened the fridge and not surprisingly found it almost empty except for a few bottles of beer, milk and eggs.

Scrambled eggs it is, she thought and went on to prepare breakfast as quietly as possible. When she had finished and started the coffee maker she still hadn't heard a single sound from the bedroom.

Clara walked over to the door and knocked carefully. Nothing. She knocked a second and also a third time and when there was still no reply, she decided to enter and wake him up. It was past 8 already, if he had a job to go to, Pete was probably already late.

Clara found him lying on his bed, still wearing the same clothes as yesterday and only roughly covered with a blanket. She took a moment to watch him. Clara hadn't really gotten a proper look in the dark the night before. It was almost impossible to tell his age, although if Clara had to guess she would place him in his 50s. His tousled hair was grey and his face was lined with trouble, but she couldn't say whether that was because of a normal ageing process or the way he treated himself. Even sleeping he looked utterly miserable.

"Pete," Clara asked softly and touched his shoulder.

He groaned in response to her touch but reluctantly opened his eyes. She could tell he was having difficulty remembering who she was at first. After a moment Clara felt him relax under her touch. He remembered and she only now realized she was still holding his shoulder and quickly removed her hand.

"I made breakfast. And coffee," she explained.

"I don't eat breakfast," Pete replied grumpily and closed his eyes again, "What did you even make breakfast from?"

"Scrambled eggs. Come one, eggs and coffee, perfect hangover breakfast. Give it a shot."

With a few more cheerful words she finally managed to coax Pete out of bed. He trudged into the kitchen and examined the food while trying his first sip of coffee.

"Are you feeling better?" Clara asked after a while, her voice uncertain. She needed to ask him if she could stay, but she had no idea how to approach the subject.

Pete shrugged.

"Listen," she began, "Thank you for letting me stay."

"No problem. I can hardly use both the bed and the couch."

"That's good because I wanted to ask you if I could stay for a bit longer. I know it's an odd thing to ask of a complete stranger but I just got here yesterday and I don't know anyone. I have nothing. No apartment. No job. No money. No friends. I don't even have a change of clothes and. . ."

He raised his hand in an attempt to make her stop talking.

"Slow down, you're making my head swim. How did you even get here? And why didn't you think about all of that before . . . getting here?" Pete wrinkled his forehead and closed his eyes as if trying very hard to make sense of what she was telling him.

Now it was story time. Think of something, she told herself.

"I'm from Blackpool and I ran away. I just couldn't stay and I can never go back. I hitch-hiked here and the few things I brought were stolen."

Clara watched Pete raise an eyebrow.

"Give me one reason why I should let you stay?" He didn't buy her story. Well, it was hardly a story at all. But it seemed that he didn't care.

"I can cook," she almost shouted it at him, seeing a chance to convince him, "And I can clean. I swear I'll move out as soon as I found a job and can afford a place of my own."

"Can you do lamb?" he asked suddenly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Lamb. Can you cook lamb?"

Clara frowned. She found it to be a rather unusual question. "Yeah, sure I can."

She couldn't really. At least she had never tried. But he didn't need to know that.

"You can stay," Pete concluded, "But this isn't a long term arrangement. You find a job, you move out. Got it?"

She nodded. "Got it."

Pete turned back to the counter, reaching for the plate of scrambled eggs Clara had prepared with shaking hands. He took a few bites while still standing. Clara started to feel a little uncomfortable watching him eat. She wasn't sure if she should sit down or take a plate herself.

"What do you do for a living? Usually?" he asked.

"I'm a teacher. At least I was."

"I work at the newspaper. I'll ask around if someone knows something about a vacancy."

"Thanks."

"You can go across the hall later. There's an older lady who recently fell out with her daughter. Maybe she still has some of her clothes lying around," he mentioned it almost casually.

"I will, thanks. And thank you for letting me stay. You won't regret it," Clara promised him as he put down the plate, grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

He turned around once more to grant her a sad smile.

"But maybe you will," he said, "I'll be back tonight."