"Tickets please."
Clara jerked awake. She found herself seated on a train, head leaning against the window as it sped along. She must have dozed off.
"Tickets please, Miss," the voice repeated patiently.
She looked up to see a ticket inspector standing above her. He was an older gent in his fifties with a kind but well-worn face.
"I'm sorry. I don't think I have a ticket," she managed to say finally.
The inspector looked down at the ticket in her hand. "Had a big night have we love?"
He took the ticket from her and punched a hole in it with his machine. "Never mind. Nothing a good cup of coffee won't fix." He handed it back to her with a wink and moved on down the carriage.
Clara looked out the window as scene rolled by of an urban jungle with industrial buildings, car parks and the odd housing estate.
The PA system crackled to life above her and a cheery voice made a courtesy announcement. "Thank you for travelling on South West Trains. This is the express service from London Waterloo to Bristol Temple Meads." The voice sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
The train was mostly empty but Clara spotted a familiar face at the end of the carriage. It was Rigsy. He was hunched over a comic, a large black bag at his feet and his cap drawn down low over his face.
She got up and made her way to the end of the carriage where he was sitting. "Rigsy?"
He looked up from his comic. "Clara! What are you doing here?" he said smiling broadly. He stood to his feet and gave her a hug, still holding the comic book in his hand.
"I'm not sure. I think I'm supposed to be going to something in Bristol."
"A fancy dress?"
"What?"
"Oh nothing.. It's just you're a little overdressed for Bristol." He said bashfully.
Clara looked down. She hadn't noticed before but she was wearing the vintage nineteen-twenties era dress she wore with The Doctor on the Orient Express.
Seeing her embarrassment he offered an explanation for her odd attire.
"It's a costume party right? There's a guy in the next carriage dressed as a Mummy and he's scaring the hell of the kids." Rigsy obviously found the whole thing highly amusing but Clara's eyes went wide with shock. She glanced through the window between the carriages as they bumped along.
She stared right past Rigsy as he continued. "He looks totally realistic. I swear there are bits of him missing and everything."
She could see it plain as day; a Mummy wrapped in bandages sitting there with the other passengers reading a newspaper.
"We need to go. Now," she said eyes glued to the Mummy in the next carriage.
"Go where? This train is express. It's not stopping until Bristol."
Clara turned towards the carriage behind them. Rigsy sensed her intention. "You can't go in there. It's First Class."
"Too bad, I'm going." She strode through the carriage. Rigsy picked up his bag and followed.
As they entered the First Class Carriage, the scene changed dramatically. Gone was the modern commuter train and appearing before them was a beautifully ornate carriage from the Orient Express. It was the Dining Car, set out with exquisite meals at each place setting. But where were all the people?
"This is awesome!" Rigsy said as he sat down. He grabbed a fork and started picking at someone else's food.
"Rigsy!"
"Chill. There's no one here. Can't let it go to waste." He started shovelling food into his mouth, nervously looking around every now and then to make sure they were still alone.
Clara looked back through the carriage window to where they had just come from. The Mummy wasn't following. She sighed with relief.
There was the unmistakable sound of a spray can being shaken. Clara turned and saw Rigsy hunched on the ground, ready to tag the First Class Carriage window.
"Rigsy, what are you doing?"
"What's it look like?" He took the cap off the can and started spraying his name on the window in black.
"You can't do that to this beautiful train!" She went over to stop him but it was too late. The window was ruined and Rigsy was shaking up another can, red this time.
The PA system crackled to life again. The familiar voice was back. "Graffiti is not allowed. Air will now be removed from the First Class Dining Car."
Clara's eyes widened as she recognised the voice. It was Gus, the computer from the Orient Express with the homicidal tendencies.
The cheery computer voice continued. "We apologise for any distress this may cause."
The effects were immediate. Clara felt the air getting thinner and she rushed towards the carriage door with the intention of escaping to another passenger car. The door was locked.
"Quick, Rigsy. Try the other doors."
Rigsy dropped his can of paint and ran to the exit. He pulled on the door handle but to no avail. They were trapped.
Clara was running out of air but Rigsy seemed at this stage to be less affected. He tried to kick out a window as Clara began to wobble slightly. She gasped for air, stars dancing in the corner of her vision. Her limbs gave way and she crumpled to the floor. She saw Rigsy drop too just as her vision went to black.
Clara woke suddenly, pulse racing and struggling to get her breath. She coughed a few times hard into the pillow and felt the stabbing pain in her side. A strangled sob escaped her and she curled into a ball under the duvet.
She heard a click as the lamp on her bedside table was suddenly turned on.
Clara tried to get her breathing under control. The less she used her lungs the less it hurt. Her throat was dry and she couldn't help but cough again, clutching at her side in an effort to ease the pain.
The duvet was thrown back and she felt a hand on her shoulder, steadying her as she coughed again weakly. She felt another hand rubbing her back in a soothing motion, just the way Danny did sometimes at the end of a long day of teaching.
She swallowed thickly, clearing her throat as she reached up and grabbed Danny's hand. Clara entwined her fingers in his and smiled, rolling towards him.
"Danny," she whispered giving the hand a little kiss as she settled again into the pillows, still half asleep.
But something didn't feel right. These were long boney fingers not Danny's short digits. The scent was different too.
A voice piped up, dripping with irritation. "No, not Danny. Doctor."
Her eyes shot open and she dropped The Doctor's hand like a memory worm, a look of horror on her face as she retreated across the mattress.
The Doctor stood up suddenly. He had the look of a startled owl. "Why would Danny be here? How would he even get in?"
"He has a key," she spat out.
"Danny has a key to your flat?" he asked. The Doctor could hardly believe it. He looked slightly offended as this new piece of data sunk in. "Well if he has a key, I should have a key."
"You don't need a key because you have a TARDIS." Her suspicions were confirmed when she spotted the blue box in the corner. "Which I might add, you keep inappropriately parking in my bedroom!"
She sat up fully, holding the sheet up to her neck to cover herself. Not that it mattered, she was still in her clothes and not her pyjamas but she was so disorientated she didn't realise.
Clara squinted at the readout of her alarm clock. "Doctor, it's 3am. What are you even doing here?"
"I'm waiting for your painkillers to wear off so I can dose you again."
"I don't want any more, thank you," she said pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.
"Too bad," he said bluntly. It didn't sound like he was in the mood for negotiation.
"It really doesn't hurt that much," she said wiping the sleep from her eyes.
"Really, Clara?" He took the sonic screw driver out of his pocket. "There are certain involuntary responses to pain that cannot be hidden. Your mouth may be good at lying but the rest of you isn't."
The Doctor flicked the sonic on and waved it in front of her. "Increase in pulse and respiration. Muscle tension and your sickly pallor."
She rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Irritability," he added.
"Speak for yourself," she said dryly.
"Impertinence." The list of symptoms was growing. The Doctor flicked the sonic off and returned it to the pocket inside his jacket.
There was a long pause as Clara considered her next move. She was too tired to be bothered arguing any more. "If I take them will you go away and let me sleep?"
"Yes," he promised.
Clara reached her hand out and he passed the glass of water over. The Doctor popped two more codeine tablets and she swallowed them obediently as he hovered nearby.
"I'm quite sure you get some kind of kick from drugging me into oblivion." She settled back into the pillows, closing her eyes.
"I will never take pleasure in your suffering Clara. Never." She could tell he really meant it. In his own way he was just trying to help her.
The lamp was turned off and the last thing she felt was a kiss on her forehead before she once again plunged into darkness.
