CHAPTER TWO:
If I remember correctly, the guest bedroom… should be right over… here.
Clara had only stayed overnight once or twice aboard the TARDIS. Each time, the Doctor had ushered her to a room at the point when she was barely coherent between yawning and half-heartedly insisting she would sleep at home.
In fact, it was almost too tempting to just stay there forever. Or at the very least, too tempting to bring an overnight bag so she could smuggle something back to her apartment.
The guest bedroom, as the Doctor had explained, operated on consciousness, tailoring the environment as you slept to suit your exact needs. Pillows would murmur white noise and symphonies to her when the room became too quiet, and the single silk sheet would adjust to the optimum temperature for a good night's sleep.
Today the walls were smooth and grey, the bed neatly made with blue-black silk linens and plush, toe-wriggling creamy carpet beneath Clara's feet. A cup of hot coffee awaited her on the bedside table as Clara mouthed an appreciative 'thank you' to the room. She threw herself onto the bed, and crushed her head against the pillows. Faintly glowing above her were hundreds of copper tulips, twinkling like incandescent starlight.
"Oh, I could definitely live here." Clara breathed to herself as she snuggled into the mattress and reached out for her cup of coffee. As she pawed at the bedside table, Clara couldn't feel the mug. Her fingers instead brushed something flat and cool where the coffee should have been. Raising her head an inch, she spied a leather bound notebook and pen that she was sure hadn't been there before.
Now sitting upright, Clara edged toward the bedside table to inspect the notebook. It was simple, small and portable. Fingering the pages, the paper was a little off colour, but entirely blank. The cover was dull, but hardly worn and again unmarked. The little book looked remarkably similar to a gift she was given once as a child, where she had once stockpiled diary entries, pasted feathers and tickets, and drawn simple maps during holidays and school trips.
She exhaled knowingly, realising the TARDIS had probably provided this to help Clara keep track of her movements, to prevent her from getting lost.
"Of course you did this. Because you think of everything, don't you?" Clara asked rhetorically.
Leaning against the door of the guest bedroom, Clara scribbled in the leather notebook.
From the console room, go down the stairs that lead to the narrow hallway. Hallway continues to a flight of stairs heading downward. At base of stairs, head left to first wooden door with 3 round time-lord things – guest bedroom.
"Now to somewhere…" she swivelled, and caught sight of a wall covered in a pattern of luminous circles. Clara's eyes twinkled as a broad grin swept over her face.
"…New."
From guest bedroom, face the wall with lights and walk toward it.
Clara was careful to keep the directions simple, but The Doctor would find her anyway because he'd always come back for her. Well, almost always.
Leads to another corridor.
The notebook is simply insurance, Clara reassured herself. He's as much an idiot as he is a genius. Maybe he'll forget, or he'll get distracted…
Turn left.
"It's just a silly game anyway," she whispered aloud, breaking the stagnant silence around her.
Pass 4 doorways on the right and 1 on the left, and open the automatic door into-
THE GARDEN
"Talk about being bigger on the inside."
Clara was still clutching her near-empty mug as she meandered into the garden, shoving her notebook and pen into the pocket of her dress.
The area before her was at least quadruple the size of the main console room, same shapes, all just, bigger. And outside. But still inside, apparently, Clara noted as she checked the smooth aluminium door impressed in a hedge behind her.
It was glorious weather too. Cloudless sky, radiant warmth from three old suns as the garden blossomed in life and colour.
There was even a topiary-come-fountain replica of the console, abundant with heavy, sweet smelling flowers that drowned out the taste of the coffee.
Clara left the cup on a pristine marble bench to pull off her jumper.
Not knowing what to anticipate, she had selected a comfortable outfit consisting of a simple dress, stockings, boots and a moss green knitted jumper.
Winter this year had been long and dreary, so the hair on her skin prickled as the sunlight embraced it.
A subtle breeze wrapped around Clara, her dress wafting while leaves of dried gossamer crackled quietly above the bench. Golden pears clung to the lower branches, parading temptingly close to Clara's face. Folding the jumper, Clara sat it beside the mug as her other hand plucked a pear to taste. She was taken off guard when the outer skin had a wafer-like texture, encasing the fruit like a fragile egg. Biting into the flesh, the wafer dissolved and the fruit fizzed in contact with her tongue, losing temperature to become a mouthful of delicious pear sorbet. Clara groaned with pleasure as the sorbet tickled her throat, and she tried to reason with herself the appropriate amount of pears to bring back with her.
Clara rubbed at her temple, wondering if the Doctor came here often. Leaning over to smell a rose, she figured somebody surely was tending to the plants, though she had never really imagined him as the gardening type.
He doesn't have the hands of a gardener. Or a doctor, really… Those slender fingers suit a pianist or a writer, maybe a scientist.
Well, she supposed, if he could be a school caretaker… Clara smiled at the memory, and squinted at the fountain, which bubbled within the console shaped hedge.
Trying to snap herself out of her daydream, Clara shook her head slightly. The jettisoning water seemed out of focus, blurring into the blue sky, and the flowers were even more vibrant and pungent.
Clara rocked backward in place. She stuck her hands out around her, catching a nearby stalk of lavender when she was hit with wave after wave of nausea. Frantically searching for something to keep her upright, objects flattened and melded together like a Van Gogh painting.
She gurgled a plea for help before her knees gave way to hit the gravel.
Blinking rapidly as all the energy in her body seemed to disappear, Clara's arms dropped to the ground. All the vibrant colours of the garden drained from view as she collapsed, her heavy eyelids flickering shut.