A/N: Thank you for all of the kind reviews. Sorry this took so long to update, life got in the way.
Giles I. was no one important unless you read the Times. If you did, you knew for fact who the famous "G.I." was. People were calling him the Great Intelligence, the one who knew everything and uncovered mysteries. The anonymous man was just that; unknown. Giles was secret, and people understood his wishes of being so. It was very hard to be an investigator in this time period. People would come after you with guns or knives or even their bare hands if you had dug up with Giles I. had dug up in his three years with the Times. People wanted to know who he was, though, everyone did. The police force wanted to hire him as a detective and a lot of people actually believed he worked there already. If so he would have had access to all of the files there. However, exhaustive research only swayed people further from thinking he was a detective any longer. Perhaps he had been at one point in time, but now Giles was literally no one; just a fake name for a man who was too scared to come out. Even local gossip magazines were putting him on man hunt. And it was exactly that, a man hunt. Obviously, Giles had to be a male, as what else could he be other than just that? Men got everything right in this society and females were nothing.
And so, his stories were famous, especially the one where he had uncovered a secret under the counter drug causing mass pill popping. It had been addictive and it told women they could become skinnier when realistically they just gained an extra couple pounds and ended up getting very sick. Many women had died from the pill and it had all been said of food poisoning. Giles had uncovered everything so well and yet no one saw him coming. There was no address for any Giles I. in the city of London. People searched and searched, but the only thing that ever signified Giles ever existed were the envelopes that appeared on the desk of the Times' editor. They were all large and white and had the initials G.I written in calligraphy form. Each time the editor got a new scoop from Giles you could tell. His face lit up like a child's did on Christmas morn. The stories got the Times the best view rate. And he was very proud as were all of the other workers who got themselves a nice big paycheck.
Though it could always be told that one of the women who worked at the office were not nearly as infatuated with this Giles fellow. Yes, everyone wanted to marry Giles, wanted to meet him and get his signature in that calligraphy of his and hang it up somewhere in their perfect suburb homes, but not the woman. Often times she could be found, hardly caring what was in the envelopes and continuing to work on her little article for the lifestyles column that she was head of. Because she simply liked to watch as others enjoyed her work.
Clara Oswald was indeed Giles I. and no one would ever suspect it.
People only took one glance at Clara Oswald whenever they walked into the office. No one said hello to her, no one asked how her writing was going, and most importantly no one cared. She was unbelievably thorough in her writings and oh yes, she knew the next story she would be having right away. In fact, she was working on a lifestyles article about it, beginning to link herself and Giles together. It was a stupid idea, however the story of the Smiths was something that a girl from Lancashire dreamed of getting her hands on, especially a girl like Clara.
At the ripe age of ten, Clara had started writing. It was still looked down upon for girls to do such a thing, but her father and mother had both supported her fully. They were nice, middle working class people who only wanted their little girl to dream. And so she did, she dreamed so very hard that one day she would be someone who figured out things that helped people. It wasn't until the mysterious death of her mother that Clara actually knew what she wanted to do.
That was the worst day of her life, and she always repeated it in her mind. It was October 2nd, 1948. Clara had just turned twenty and was in college for journalism. The call had come for her later that night and she was quickly packing to go back home, leaving behind her college education to stay with her father. Women didn't really need jobs, he had told her. And so she had settled into that life. Taking the place of her mother and even though she very much disliked it, she allowed that to take her over. Though all the time she tried to "settle" she felt like her mother hadn't really died because of natural causes. Something had to have happened, some sort of foreplay. It was all very important to her that she found out and so she tried to, though in the end she uncovered that pill scandal instead. That was when she had come up with the penname of Giles, and when she taught herself how to begin to investigate. It was during this time that she was also hired to the Times. Being hired there was her dream job and her father, though reluctant to give up his sort of housekeeper, allowed her to go and pursue her dreams. Though her dreams were dangerous and there was always a fear of being caught. That was also what kept her writing all of these stories, helping the police along, the bit of fear of getting caught, everything perfectly aligning.
Now she planned on helping the police in a new way. With the story of the Smiths on the rise, Clara found she had a new case on her hands. A man by the name of John Smith had just recently found out his very own wife was a murderer and the topic had interested her to the point that the mixing of Clara and Giles didn't seem like such a bad idea. First, she came up with the article that she would write and had set up an interview as any good reporter should do. Little did anyone know that Clara would also be acting as Giles; judging every little tiny thing about John Smith as though he were an article that needed editing. Yes, if anyone were to get to the bottom of how such a kind woman as Melody Smith were to be accused of murder, it would be Clara Oswald.
The hardest part of going to an interview as herself was that she had to act like a lady. She dressed the part as she always did, a nice dress that was the pale colour of bubblegum, a long coat that was black and shielded her from the fall wind, then of course a hat that was kept over her well put together hair and white gloves that covered her small hands which clasped at a small purse that contained a tape recorder, a small notepad, and a pencil. They had agreed to meet at 10:13. Whenever Clara was making the appointment with him he had insisted and she couldn't help but oblige. It wasn't that she had suspected anything, perhaps it was easier to realise who was practical and who was not from the time selection. From what Clara knew of John, he was a man of a logical sense; a doctor who was a very good one and had helped many in the Westminster area. She had done all of the early research she could, gaining background always seemed like the route to go and at exactly 10:12:59, she rang the doorbell. Each little background piece staying right in mind, her judging scale turned on so she could see exactly who John was right from the beginning. And the gentleman that opened the door was not at all what she expected him to be.
