Chapter Two

A Spaceman Came Travelling

The turkey smouldered in the centre of the perfectly set table, surrounded by dishes of expertly cooked vegetables, glittering crackers and small, white gravy boats filled with a plethora of sauces - half of which would undoubtedly not be touched by the assembled diners, and yet were an essential part of any Christmas dinner nonetheless. In all her twenty-seven years, Clara had never met a single person who had professed to tolerate bread sauce, but it nestled in the centre of the table anyway just as it had done every other year since she had been a little girl.

For just a moment, Clara was propelled back to her childhood, her smile nostalgic as she recalled the gleeful manner in which her mother had approached Christmas year after year. The holiday season had never gotten old to Ellie Oswald, even when Clara herself had grown into a teenager and become too sullen and preoccupied with split ends and her cuticles to really much care what was going on around her. There were certain traditions that were upheld year after year in the Oswald household, without fail and without protest; the first day of December was always a flurry of activity when the tree was erected and the halls were decked, every member of the household was to wake promptly at 7 am on Christmas morning, and a surplus place would be set at the dinner table each year, just in case of an unexpected visitor. The latter was something that Ellie Oswald insisted upon without ever really explaining why and every once in a while, when she was feeling particularly rebellious, Clara had neglected to set that extra place, just to see what would happen. Predictably, her mother would simply wait for her to leave the room before she arranged the extra setting herself, and not a single word more would be spoken about it.

Clara felt her own smile faltering as an unexpected wave of sorrow crashed over her at the thought of her mother. She cast her gaze downward at her plate, almost oblivious to the sounds of chatter and cutlery striking china that surrounded her as she struggled to sniff back the tears that threatened to betray her.

She started suddenly as a turkey leg was slapped down onto the plate before her, wrenching her eyes upwards and forcing her to meet the Doctor's kind, vaguely understanding gaze.

"Bon appetite," he said gently and softly, his fingertips brushing the back of Clara's hand where it rested upon the table next to the brussel sprouts. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Clara nodded and forced a responding smile.

As if reading her mind, the Doctor held her gaze for a moment, his eyes reflecting so much concern and affection that the sob already close to escaping her lips became more difficult to contain. Her smile grew as he leant closer and wordlessly pressed a kiss against her forehead; and then almost as quickly, the moment was over, and he was staring excitedly over the table with childlike glee.

"Oooh bread sauce!" he enthused, lifting the jug toward his plate as Clara laughed and made a mental note to add 'the Doctor' to her otherwise unpopulated list of bread sauce aficionados. She gazed up at him perhaps longer than she intended, but sometimes she found it difficult to tear her eyes away from his face, particularly when he looked at her in that way - the one that made her stomach dip and her toes curl, and allowed her heart to hope that the universe might somehow afford her a happy ending.

Linda peered across the table at them curiously, her attention not going unnoticed by either Clara or the Doctor. Certainly her eyes seemed to have been strangely drawn to the latter all afternoon, and he now appeared just as interested in her as she was in him. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Linda Oswald made his well-honed Time Lord senses tingle. He'd already decided to have this matter resolved by the dessert course. In his experience, Christmas pudding and analytical reasoning resulted in absolutely appalling heartburn.

"Oh, now look at you two," Gran beamed, regarding Clara and her 'boyfriend' with a sentimental smile. The old woman had taken quite a shine to the Doctor, charmed by his manners, quick wit, and kindly disposition. Although as she'd stated earlier, much to Dave's chagrin, there was a mischievous twinkle in the young man's eye that intrigued her and led her to suspect that her grand-daughter had perhaps met her match.

Linda sat forward in her seat, wine glass in hand as she dragged her gaze slowly between the young couple. She sighed out loud at the sight of the vacant seat on the other side of Gran's chair and rolled her eyes as she saw Clara had once again mindlessly followed her mother's rather eccentric tradition.

Clara followed the path of Linda's gaze and cleared her throat in abject annoyance. Gesturing to the jug near her father's plate, she smiled pointedly at Dave.

"Dad, can you pass the gravy please?"

Dave Oswald appeared not to hear, however, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he stared down at the untouched food on his plate. After a moment, he lifted a worryingly vacant gaze to his daughter and shook his head in confusion.

"Sorry, what love?"

Clara frowned and arched an eyebrow at her father, concern evident in her eyes.

"Are you okay, Dad?" she inquired softly, watching as he began rubbing at his temples.

"Yeah... yeah... just getting a blinder of a headache," he explained, shaking his head with renewed vigour as if to dispel the pain by force.

"Can I get you anything, darling?" Linda demanded, suddenly leaning forward and resting a territorial hand atop her husband's arm. Clara slumped back in her seat, aware that her expression was likely petulant but not particularly caring.

"No, I'm sure I'll be fine," Dave replied, barely acknowledging his wife and instead staring rather intently at the Doctor. "Probably just... hungry."

"Oh this looks and smells wonderful, Doctor," Gran stated, her smile growing wider as the Doctor glanced in her direction and offered her a wink. "You are a clever boy, helping Clara throw all of this together."

"Careful, Gran, or he'll get a big head," Clara joked, shooting her grandmother a warm smile before looking back at the Doctor, who was almost puffing out his chest in pride as he took in the sight of his culinary accomplishment spread out across the table.

Gran shook her head and pointed a finger sternly at Clara as she insisted, "You hold onto this one, Clara. I've never seen roast potatoes so crispy!"

Clara snorted in amusement, taking a sip of her wine to mask her smirk as her step-mother only curled her lip in a scornful expression once again.

"Well, that's a wonderful thing to base a relationship on," Linda stated, her tone sour and clipped, "potatoes!"

Ignoring the other woman's apparent irritation, the Doctor peered over the turkey carcass at Gran and tapped the side of his nose as he lowered his voice to a whisper, declaring, "Semolina, that's the secret, and lots of it."

Gran winked and let out a girlish giggle, as if she was honoured to be privy to such secrets. Delicately cutting into a potato with her knife and fork, she placed a piece in her mouth and hummed in approval.

Grinning at her grandmother's escalating crush, Clara followed suite and speared a piece of golden potato with her fork. She examined it briefly before popping it into her mouth, watched by the Doctor, who was evidently seeking her approval.

"So?" he rubbed his hands together, his anticipation palpable.

Chewing and swallowing, Clara arched a dark brow and shrugged, trying desperately to hold back the smile she knew he was awaiting.

"Got any more hidden talents you want to share with me, Doctor?!" her tone was flirtatious, she realised too late.

Suddenly considering what she had just said, Clara spluttered around her mouthful of food, feeling all eyes on her as her face grew as red as the paper crown on her grandmother's head. She picked up her glass of wine and swallowed down a hearty gulp until the prospect of choking seemed less likely.

The Doctor grinned, clearing his throat as he allowed his own thoughts to briefly wander, and a blush tainted his cheeks as a consequence. Recovering admirably, he tapped Clara on the tip of the nose, his eyes creased at the corners by the teasing smile he wore as he recalled her earlier remark.

"Careful, Miss Oswald, you're getting ahead of yourself."

The playful banter that flowed so easily between them seemed not to have been dampened by their current surroundings and, feeling braver than she knew she should in such circumstances, Clara held his gaze.

"Always got to be one step ahead of you, Doctor. You usually catch up in the end, though, eh?"

Cocking his head, he nodded at the truth in her words. Clara Oswald had always been one step ahead of him throughout his many lifetimes. Why it had taken so long for him to notice her he couldn't possibly say, or why this, his eleventh incarnation, had been the one to finally surrender to the universe's plans he also could never quite figure out.

"I don't know why. I just know who."

And he had. He had always known with Clara - known with absolute certainty from the very beginning that she was meant to be beside him. Whilst the Doctor wasn't entirely sure that it was even a possibility, he had begun to think that the fates had brought them together and, for once, he was inclined not to argue.

"Well, I can occasionally be incredibly dense," he allowed, enjoying their prolonged eye contact far too much to stop now, "but..."

From the far side of the dining table, Dave let out frighteningly anguished cry and threw his head into his hands, gritting his teeth against the pain that suddenly struck him. The Doctor stood up, knocking his fork onto the floor, and even Gran abandoned her search through the TV channels for the Queen's Speech to glance up at her son in-law.

"Dad?" Clara jumped up out of her seat, almost upsetting her wine glass in her haste to reach him, "Dad, are you okay?"

She crouched beside him and placed her hand on his arm, "Dad? Is it one of your headaches?"

Through a clenched jaw, Dave let out a noise of strangled affirmation, and Clara soon found herself ushered from her father's side by Linda, who wrapped her fingers around her husband's upper arm and hauled him to his feet.

"I'll take him for a little lie down," Linda explained, shooting a pointed look at Clara over her shoulder as she added, "no need to worry, I have it all under control, dear. You all just carry on."

Huffing in irritation, Clara sauntered back to her seat and watched through narrowed eyes as her step-mother lead her father towards her own bedroom doorway.

"There's ibuprofen in the top dresser drawer," Clara called out as an afterthought, taking another sip of her wine and then pausing to peer dejectedly into the depths of the glass.

"Like I said, all under control," Linda shouted back in the same previous sing song tone that had set every last one of Clara's nerves on edge.

Grumbling unintelligibly under her breath, Clara pushed her plate away and slumped back in her chair, her gaze drifting back to the empty place set at the table. For just a moment, she imagined her mother occupying it, throwing her head back in laughter as she sipped at her favourite white wine and stole sausages directly from her husband's plate. The image was enough to constrict her heart and Clara looked away quickly, finding something out the window to focus her gaze upon instead.

"Not exactly how you planned the afternoon to go," the Doctor stated, stealing Clara's attention and offering her a small but warm smile.

"Not exactly, no," agreed Clara, picking up her fork again and scratching at the china pattern on her plate with feigned indifference. None of her crockery matched anyway so Clara hardly supposed it mattered.

"Is she always so..." the Doctor began, trailing off and shaking his head as words evaded him for the moment.

Arching a brow, Clara inquired, "Who now?"

"Your..." the Doctor began, then seeming to think better of it, finished, "Linda."

He levelled a stare at the corridor down which Clara's father and step mother had disappeared, scratching his chin in an almost thoughtful manner.

"Condescending? Cold-hearted? Mean? An obnoxious old cow?" she took a sip of wine as if trying to banish a bad taste from her mouth, "pretty much, yeah."

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, pressing his hands together and leaning his chin on the tips of his fingers, "Good. Yes. Interesting. But what I was actually going to say, was... green. Well, green-ish."

He flapped at his face in order to clarify that he was talking about her complexion.

Clara squinted in disbelief at the Doctor and shook her head, struggling to process his rather garbled question.

"Come again?"

Oblivious to her confusion, the Time Lord continued, "A sort of... asparagus colour. Or no, wait... perhaps a 'mantis' green. Not that I'm saying she's a giant insect but... ohhhhhh, wouldn't that be exciting, eh? Giant insects. It's been far too long since I've come across any of those beauties!"

His expression of reminiscence was somewhat alarming to Clara, who stared up at him in utter confusion.

"Right. Yeah," she agreed with a shake of her head designed to dismiss the rather terrifying imagery the Doctor had invoked.

"Doctor, what the bloody hell are you talking about?" she hissed desperately.

Undeterred from his train of thought, the Doctor dug into his waistcoat pocket and produced his sonic screwdriver, glancing toward the bedroom door to check for Linda's whereabouts before the sound of a familiar high-pitched buzzing filled the air.

"Green, Clara, green!" he reiterated excitedly, holding up the screwdriver as it scanned for readings.

Clara's eyes widened in horror and she swiped his arm down quickly before holding it under the table.

"Oi!" she hissed, pausing to offer a smile to Gran, who cast them a cursory glance before returning her attention to the image of the Queen on the TV.

"Will you put that away before someone sees it?!"

Unsuccessfully attempting to wrestle Clara off him, the Doctor shook his head.

"No, no, no. Clara, you don't understand. There's something..." he turned his head to peer cautiously down the hall, "very, very strange about that woman."

"Yeah, I know. I told you that, remember?!" she snapped, lowering her voice to barely a whisper as she continued to try to remove the sonic from his grasp as though she was confiscating a toy from a toddler.

"Clara! Stop that!" the Doctor attempted to swat her away gently, his expression somewhat shocked as he added, "you are freakishly strong..."

With a triumphant grin, Clara finally succeeded in plucking the screwdriver from his hand, and promptly pulled forward the neck of her jumper in order to allow her to slip the sonic into her bra.

The Doctor spluttered, his eyes round and his expression aghast as he regarded Clara.

"You can't just..." he began, flailing in her general vicinity as he found himself unable to articulate a full response.

"Just did," Clara bit back, shaking her head as she rose from the table and pushed back her chair. A second later, she pointed a finger at the Doctor in warning, her expression declaring that she was not to be trifled with.

"Now, you listen here," she stated, lowering her voice in order to prevent her grandmother from overhearing her, "we are having a nice, normal Christmas dinner, in my nice, normal flat, with my arguably nice, normal family. Nobody is green, nobody is a giant insect thing, and nobody is going to start waving around sonic screwdrivers during dessert."

The Doctor swallowed, shifting his gaze to the tabletop and pursing his lips as he gave a conceding nod.

"Good," Clara replied, a satisfied smile weaving its way across her lips as she added, "now, I'm going to check on Dad, you keep Gran company."

Tutting to herself, Clara disappeared into the hallway and quickly drew to a halt outside her bedroom, relieved to hear the sound of her father and step-mother talking in low tones through the closed door. Negating to knock, considering it was her flat after all, Clara pushed open the bedroom door and strode into the room.

"Do you need anything in he..."

Abruptly, Clara trailed off as she was greeted by the sight of her remarkably asparagus green coloured step-mother sliding her elongated fingertips inside her father's cranium. Although Dave Oswald did not so much as utter a sound, Clara certainly screamed for all she was worth.

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