Author's Note: Hello again! I genuinely did not expect the warm reception this fan fic would get and so, from the bottom of both my beating hearts, I thank you. You guys are cool.
Anyway, here is the first chapter! There may be a couple of things off with this but in my defense, I've never been to London, and I am an absolute pinhead when it comes to geographic locations and all that sort of thing. I try to keep up with the British slang, though (if you can call it that), and I'm about to have someone proofread my British before I have my chapters uploaded. Exciting stuff.
Alright, enough babbling. I hope you like it!
Away: Chapter 1
Third Time's the Charm
"I've got the cupcakes!" Nina calls out, boxes of freshly baked red velvet cupcakes piled over the other in her hands.
"Took you long enough, it's getting dark out," Clara responds, watching in amusement as Nina struggles to open the door with her hip.
"That wouldn't be a problem, would it? Or were you lying when you said you didn't believe in ghosts?" Her friend snaps back, shooting the shorter girl a pointed look when she doesn't make a move to help her.
"Oh, there goes it, ladies and gentlemen! My friend of twelve years, accusing me of lying! You've really done it this time, Howard. Consider this friendship done."
"Are you coming over for dinner?"
"Of course. You didn't have to ask that." Nina just laughs in reply. "You might have to go on ahead, though. I've got to pick up some dry-cleaning from across the street and drop it off at the Maitland's for a quick bit."
"But Mr. Applebaum hates you."
"Oh, but 'hate' is such a strong word."
"Honestly, was it necessary to flood the laundry?"
"I wouldn't have dumped all that detergent in the first place if they'd done a good enough job of removing the stain off my favourite sweater!"
Nina purses her lips. "Right, I best be off. Dinner should be ready around 7:30 so don't be late. Nana Lily's missed you dearly," she tells her, shifting her hold on the boxes for a more comfortable walk home.
Clara runs off to the street parallel theirs, chestnut hair flying in the cool summer wind. She hops to the sidewalk just before a speeding bike could leave tracks on her boots, swiftly turning to look at her friend on the other side and shouting, "Roger that!"
Nina smiles and walks away.
He walks the streets of London that night with the breeze in his face and he's not quite sure how to treat the melancholic vibe it was setting off. Sure enough, the city lights danced in front of his eyes and the air smelled of the familiar scent of summer but while everything about the city had been vibrant and lively and happy,something is terribly, terribly off with the place now that the population was down two people.
(He wonders if somehow, Amy can hear his thoughts, because he just tripped over a tiny crack in the pavement and he's pretty sure it hadn't been there a second ago.)
But he doesn't give up on Clara. She managed to fill the void that was threatening to overtake him and he needs that (he needs her). She managed to bring him out of his misery when he was almost certain it would swallow him whole, and there's just something about her that makes him feel… right.
He might have been unsure at first, but he was certain of it now. Something had brought them together, a force so strong it made them cross paths twice, in two lifetimes, and who was he to defy the workings of the universe?
He was just a Timelord, after all.
"Excuse me! Good man with the stick through a sausage, may I inquire – exactly where is the local graveyard of this fine city?"
The man in question is taken aback, hotdog halfway to his mouth when this guy wearing tweed asks him where the graveyard is at 7 in the evening. After a moment, he just shrugs, concluding that he's come across weirder people in weirder places. "Not far from here. You just round that corner over there and it should be a couple of streets away."
"Right then, thank you sir. You have a good sausage, now!"
"Will do!"
Ah, London. Home to the most hospitable oddballs this world has ever known.
"Mr. Applebaum, might I suggest you watch your tone with me as I have certain connections that allow me to be, well, in the know," she informs him, eyeing the man menacingly from the exit. "I know you run this place without a permit, and it won't be too difficult to let the authorities in on your little secret. Good evening," she says as her parting words, a satisfied smile on her face as she closes the door behind her gently.
I guess I'm going to have to buy myself a new favourite sweater, then.
Blowing the bangs away from her eyes, she starts her trip to Nina's, one hand shoved down her coat's pocket and the other holding onto the strap of her bag.
London was beautiful at night. It truly, truly was. She's lived here all her life but it still amazes her, the transformation that seems to take place whenever the sun sets. She knows that there is more to the world than just London, and given the opportunity she'd probably leave and explore the rest of it, but she'd always come back. Always. London is home.
Just then, a gust of wind blows past and stops Clara in her tracks. Did the wind just tell me something? She turns around, looking for a possible source of the voice she barely understood, but finds nothing. It's all in your head, Clara, she thinks to herself. All in your head.
Patting her cheeks as if to snap her back to a less-anxious state, she sneaks a glance at her watch and her eyes widen.
It's half past 7.
With 12 minutes to get to Nina's, she runs to the other side of the road and thanks her lucky stars that she did not decide to wear heels that morning. She'd take a cab, but she remembers that she doesn't have any money on her, and that it had been Nina who paid for their taxi fare to Bea's.
Quickening her pace, she runs further down the street and is about to make a left when she catches sight of the graveyard she and Nina had been to earlier. The front gate was open.
Stopping for a second to think, she knows this is her best chance to get to Nina's on time, and so she sucks in a deep breath and smirks. "I did say I didn't believe in ghosts."
Running inside and trying not to break any tombstones in the process, she steers clear of RIPs and mumbles an apology to the deceased for disrespecting their resting places. She figures she has about 6 minutes left, so she tries to run faster, but she misses a step and trips over a large branch that had fallen from a huge acacia tree.
Hitting the ground, she lets out a small "ow", and quickly attempts to sit up and see the damage.
"Oy, you over there, are you alright?" A man calls out from a few meters away, the silhouette of his form getting larger as he got nearer to where she was sitting.
"I'm fine, yeah, you can get back to mourning now," she shouts back, cradling her sprained ankle in both hands. She must have scraped her foot somewhere sharp; a bit of blood was starting to show and the dark red seemed to glisten under the moonlight. She feels her body weakening at the sight.
"I wasn't… mourning…" the man replies, his voice getting louder and clearer. "And it's quite obvious that you are not alright, seeing that you are slumped to the ground as if you were badly wounded and holy mother of custard, you are!" He exclaims, kneeling next to her and examining her foot.
"It's just a small gash," she mutters, feeling a tiny bit lightheaded as the blood continued to brim.
"But you're hurt," he says, his tone concerned.
"I'll be fine. Please, don't mind me," Clara tells him, shifting slightly to try and stand when suddenly, she is frozen in her seat, the touch of his cool skin on her ankle surprisingly soothing her.
"Um, what are you doing?" She asks, sounding a bit panicked as to where this was going, but his hand remained on her ankle, and she feels the pain magically going away.
"What are you doing?" She repeats, the initial panic now replaced with genuine astonishment, as she watches her ankle glow from beneath his hand, the pain now ceasing to exist.
He doesn't reply, removing his hand to reveal a virtually repaired foot - no bruises, no wounds - offering her the same hand to help her up. She twists and rotates her ankle, shocked at how it fluidly moves as if it hadn't been sprained just moments before. Looking up to see who he was, she is greeted by a tall, skinny man, his face and eyes radiating with the warmth and kindness of an old friend.
"Did that just literally happen?" She queries, her eyes wide in bewilderment.
"What did?" The stranger asks back, a small smile on his lips.
"That," she says, pointing to her ankle. "The glowing, healing thing you just did. That happened?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so," he replies, his smile widening at her excitement.
She looks down at her foot, then back to him. "How?" She asks again, her head cocked to the side.
The man shrugs. "Can I have a go at asking the questions now?"
"Well, yes, sure, but-"
"What's your name?"
She looks up at him, slightly offed at how he cut her in, but nevertheless, she answers, extending her hand out for a handshake."Clara Oswald."
He takes her hand and shakes it, his childish grin splitting his face in two.
"And you are?" She proceeds to ask, when he doesn't make a move to introduce himself.
"Oh," he starts, still shaking her hand. "I'm the Doctor."
Clara raises an eyebrow. "Doctor who?"
/to be continued