The alley smelled of salt and the pungent odor of garbage. Clara's eyes actually watered when she stepped out. She knew New York smelled bad, she just never knew quite how bad. A crisp breeze blew over her face, drying her lips. She shivered.
Another shot was fired, the sound echoing up the two walls. The Doctor's right arm barred Clara from moving forward.
Frantic whimpering, and the sound of skin coming in contact with skin made Clara wince.
"He's a tall guy, her husband-"
A scream.
"You promised me real information, not dimestore descriptions. Tell me who she's with, and what she's wearing or next time my aim ain't gonna be so careless- Hey! Hey buddy!"
Clara felt the Doctor tense. The man seemed to be shouting at them.
"Scram! This ain't any of your business!"
His hand wrapped around her wrist, and he took a couple steps back.
"Are ya deaf? Get out of here!"
She caught sight of large man with a fat nose advancing on them with a gun. Next thing she knew, they were running.
Her palms were suddenly sweating profusely, making the Doctor's hand slick.
There was another gunshot, and Clara felt adrenaline kick in, making her legs work twice as fast.
They stopped after crossing two streets, both breathing heavily and leaning against each other.
"Okay," she said, dropping the Doctor's hand to clutch at her chest, "That wasn't even ten seconds into the trip and already we're being threatened by some loony."
"That's New York City for you," he said, shrugging out of his jacket and placing it around her shoulders before she could protest, "You're just lucky we didn't visit during the seventies, that was a bad decade here."
She immediately took his tweed off, shoving it roughly into his arms and making him stagger back a couple steps in bewilderment.
He didn't get to be all knight-and-shining-armor. He didn't deserve that privilege. Not yet, anyway.
"I'm not cold," she said dismissively.
It was obvious from the goosebumps on her arms that she was cold, but wearing his jacket meant letting him back into her heart.
And Clara Oswald was no pushover.
She believed in friendships based on trust, and she'd lost almost every bit of faith in the Doctor since he'd left. Almost. She still had that same urge to travel as she'd had before Trenzalore, so when he offered her one last day, how on earth was she supposed to say no?
Of course she also had questions for him, the main one being: If his only reason for abandoning her was to keep her safe, then why did he come back? The Doctor was hiding something, that much she knew, but then again he was always hiding something. Be it something as irrelevant as the fact that he accidentally added too much sugar to her tea, or something as major as the fact that he'd seen her die not once but twice before meeting the real her.
"Are you sure," he asked, looking very serious.
"Yeah I don't need your rubbish grandpa jacket to keep me warm, I'm perfectly fine. Just let's go wherever you wanted to take me so that I can go home."
There was a burning at the backs of her eyes, a burning she's become familiar with in the last couple of months.
"Clara...," he began, "I know you're hurt, and you have all the reasons in the universe to be, but I promise you I had my reasons for staying away... And I have my reasons for coming back. The thing is, it looks like this is going to be the last day together, and I want it to be a good day."
She was silent, and stared determinedly at a spot on his chest for the longest time before asking again, "What's your plan?"
He did something unexpected next, something that filled her with such warmth that she thought she might melt into a puddle right there on the sidewalk. Stepping forward, he placed both his hands on either side of her face and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.
She had grown unused to such touches, so the action startled her. When he smiled however, (damn him and his smile) it suddenly became okay.
She smiled back, granted it was only the merest upturning of her lips, but it was a smile.
"I'm going to take you," he said, leading her across another street.
Clara caught hints of saltwater and frying food, but she didn't know if it was getting closer, or if she was just focusing on it. The Big Apple was a city of many smells, many of them unpleasant.
"... to Coney Island in its Golden Age."
She smiled, not even feeling the chill breeze anymore.
He leaned close to whisper in her ear, "You're lucky I brought you in October. July crowds," he shuddered melodramatically, "Not good. And the nudity in the summer months! Simply horrifying!"
Clara giggled, "I had no idea you were such a prude, Doctor."
The Doctor opened and closed his mouth, "Me!? A prude?! I'll have you know I've been married many times in my life, I've done... You know... Those things."
"What? You mean sex," Clara asked, walking past a concession stand and suddenly getting a craving for chocolate.
The vendor smiled at them.
She looked toward the Doctor pleadingly, and he grinned mischievously, "Yes, that's what I mean. Would you like some sweets, Mrs. Smith?"
Raising an eyebrow she nodded, "Very much, Mr. Smith."
He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his hands on her tummy.
She looked at him questioningly, but he didn't pay attention, he was too busy speaking to the vendor.
"We need to give the little one whatever he wants or mummy gets grouchy," he said, making a big show of rubbing his hands up and down her stomach.
"Two of the yellow bars please my good man!"
Clara went red at what he was implying.
The vendor beamed at her, "My wife is the same right now, don't be ashamed dearie."
Her smile was saccharine sweet as she took her chocolate from him, "I doubt... the baby would be as troublesome if he weren't so much like his father."
The Doctor payed with a couple dimes, and they strolled off together giggling madly.
When they were far enough away from the vendor, she punched him in the arm.
"You..are..unbelievable!"
Every word was punctuated by a blow.
"That was for calling me a prude," he said, nibbling on the corner.
She rolled her eyes, "You are such a baby!"
"Am not! I happen to be over a thousand years old!"
"Do something to prove that you're not a baby then!" She said lightly.
"Why should I?"
Hooking a hand under one of his suspenders, she pulled on it until it could stretch no further.
"I am going to let go," she said firmly.
He waved his arms, "No, Clara it'll hurt!"
She rose up on her tiptoes, stepping closer to him, and leaning into his personal space.
"I dare you," she sighed against his lips, enjoying the violent shade of red his face was turning.
It wasn't that she wanted to flirt with him, she just somehow ended up doing it anyway. It had been their thing, she realized, to prod and to tease and to flirt and to save each other. But it had also been their thing to push away the moment their walls came down a smidge too far. Perhaps that's why he'd left, she thought, because after Trenzalore he'd probably realized that she knew him better than anyone ever had. But if that was the case, then the question was still in the air: Why come back?
"You. Ferris Wheel. With me," he stuttered.
She sank back down, "What?"
"Ride the Ferris Wheel with me?"
"That isn't scary," she said.
"You wait until you're at the top!"
Neither of them noticed a man with a fat nose looking around the park with beady eyes.
From a jacket pocket he withdrew an expensive looking cigar. He lit it, and once again returned his attention to the crowds of people around him.
He had two targets; they weren't going to get away.