A/N: Merry Christmas! Sorry I didn't get to give you a present, I was writing one, but it just didn't turn up that way. Hope you like this new chapter instead!


Clara was used to staying in the club until the next morning when she didn't perform. Even after the bar closed, she stayed to clean up the night's mess. Usually she was alone, but after the change in the administration she found her boss liked to keep her company. Sometimes there were men with her, strictly discussing business. Amelia always rejected men's advances, although the ones that knew her didn't even try to flirt with her. Maybe she already had a boyfriend?

Clara started pouring her a glass of Scottish whisky to help her get through the impressive amount of work she had to do. The first time she did it, Amy didn't realise what it was until she took a sip, and was pleasantly surprised.

"Oh my God, I hadn't had a good whisky like this in months! Where did it come from?"

"You, obviously. Your men smuggle this in from Canada. Don't tell me you don't keep a bottle for yourself."

"Of course I don't, I'd rather sell it. But since this is my bar and you're pouring it, I think I can have some."

Clara smiled and turned to go back into the kitchen. "Let me know if you need anything."

Amy had a daydream of herself straddling Clara on a table as she kissed her, but forced herself not to think about it. She was still intrigued by her employee; she felt like there was more to her than what she let see. She had admitted she was in the business for the excitement, something to which Amy herself could relate. That proved there was a darker, adventurous side of her that was hidden by her innocent façade, and Amy wanted to see it so badly. "Will do", she muttered.


One night, Amy walked into the club after it was closed, but as usual, Clara was still there. The ginger sat on the kitchen counter while Clara cleaned up, a glass of whisky in her hand with more content than her regular glass. She stared but without looking, thinking about her life. She loved being a criminal; the adrenaline rush when she had to escape from the police, the money, the privileges...but in order to protect her lifestyle, she had to do things she wasn't proud of. She convinced herself that they were worth it, that she couldn't go back to living the way she lived back in Scotland. She had always wanted more, and the price was good enough for her.

Clara was pretending not to care about her boss staring at her, but the furious pink on her cheeks was betraying her. Still, she managed to finish what she was doing. She picked up her coat from the kitchen door and exchanged it for her apron. "D'you need anything before I leave?", Clara asked.

It took Amy a second to realise she was talking to her. "Uhm...no, I'm fine. Actually, you know what? I'll walk you home, c'mon." She jumped off the counter and left the kitchen to grab her coat and her hat. Clara didn't even have time to argue; before she knew it they were walking to her flat in the cold. The sun had just appeared but the streets still looked dark. Neither of them said anything until they were two blocks away from the speakeasy.

"Miss Pond, may I ask you something?" Clara said, not in her usual confident tone.

"Clara please, we're off duty. Just call me Amy. And sure, ask anything you want." Amy was glad Clara was finally going to start asking questions. She could see in her eyes she was a curious girl and had lots of them.

"How was it that you got involved in all this? It seems strange for a Scottish girl to end up managing this business halfway across the world."

"I moved here right after the War. My father went fighting and my mother was a nurse. They were sent away and never saw them again. I was 17, with no family, no friends...I got involved in dangerous things with dangerous people." She shook her head, as if trying to push away the memories. "Anyway, after the Prohibition became law I came up with this way to bring in alcohol from Canada. It's more expensive than making it but we target clients with lots of money, willing to pay for the good stuff. That's how I became the Queen of New York." Clara giggled; she had heard people call her that but she hadn't expected to hear her say it. They were about to reach Clara's building when Amy spoke again. "What's your story?"

"Who says there is one?", Clara answered in a cheeky tone.

"Oh, c'mon; a pretty, young, English girl like you living in New York and singing in an illegal club...don't tell me there isn't a story." They got to Clara's door, and they stood for a second facing each other. Amy couldn't help but to notice those big brown eyes that haunted her in her sleep since the first time she had seen Clara sing. They seemed to hide so many secrets, and Amy desperately wanted to know them, to be the only one Clara could open up to. Maybe in more than one way.

"OK, fine; there's a story. But I'm not gonna tell you."

"What? Why not?" Amy asked, confused and amused by Clara's game.

"You're the queen of organised crime in New York! I don't know if I can trust you!" She said trying so bad not to laugh and not completely accomplishing it. "You can buy me a drink first." She teased before disappearing into the corridor.