A/N: I'm going to mention everyone who has reviewed so far in the next chapter as a big thank you! This chapter is all about John and Clara building up trust and slowly bridging the gap between being new co-workers and good friends before gradually moving onto something more. (If you know what I mean) So, please, just stick with it – I don't want to move too quickly and then it seems unbelievable. Next chapter will be up within the next few days if people take the time to drop a little review. Just a little one – I understand there's not much to comment on yet. (Although I'm dropping hints and twists everywhere) Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Four: Halfway Home
John held open the door for Clara before closing it behind him. Clara noted with a little amusement that he had tidied his office considerably since her last visit the day previously. The sofa was now completely free from clutter and he had a new stack of clean mugs sitting in their pride of place on his desk. John spotted her smile as he sat down on the sofa and patted the space beside him. He nodded towards the shiny new mugs and shrugged.
"I didn't want to put you through the terror of a dirty mug, in case we ever have a tea date again." His eyes bulged and his hand flew up in the air to stroke his chin, shaking his head adamantly. "Not like that was a date. A – A tea meeting, I should've said. Sorry."
Clara plopped down beside him and smirked. "No need to apologise, John."
"No," he eyed her for a moment, almost suspiciously. "No, no, of course not."
John Docherty was a lovely man. Very sweet, very considerate. But he was definitely quirky and weird.
"So," Clara said, wanting to get back on topic. "Walter Simeon definitely doesn't like you."
"You noticed that, huh?"
"Back there, outside the chamber, you said you'd need to tell me before the newspapers –"
"Yes." He heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes, tiredly. He stared at the ground, taking his time to answer. Clara was patient as she watched his internal struggle. His mind was in a conflicting state – a part of him, a large part of him, wanted to tell Clara the honest truth. The truth he hadn't told anyone, not even Vastra. It was bursting to get out of him, like a firework within his chest, especially now Harold Saxon was deputy of the opposition. But he was afraid; not afraid for himself, afraid for whomever he told. Now, as he glanced up at Clara, who he had only known for two days, and her large watchful eyes, full of curiosity and eagerness, he knew he didn't want to put her in that position. He couldn't do that.
"Harold and I go way back, Clara," the Doctor started, his voice barely a whisper. "We grew up together. Went to university together. I got a Doctorate and he studied for a Master's. But we fell apart quite quickly, as if our years of friendship hadn't meant anything. We had different views on the subject we both had a passion for. There was one point where we both intended to be representatives of Gallifrey but his ideologies radically changed towards that of Skaro."
He stopped because if he went further, he would be crossing a barrier.
Clara seemed to pick up on his pause.
"Would old friends really turn to enemies so quickly?" Clara asked as her mind wandered to Nina. She doubted her friendship with Nina would be broken if she decided to vote for Skaro in the upcoming election instead of Gallifrey. But then again, their entire friendship wasn't based on one thing.
John grimaced. "You'd be surprised. When you've known someone all your life, the more you have to hold against each other. You know each other in and out. Weaknesses, desires, ambitions. Suddenly you've never been so vulnerable."
Clara wasn't so sure. She crossed her arms and leaned closer to him, studying his reaction when she asked, "What aren't you telling me?"
He raised his eyebrows, a soft smile on his lips. Vastra was right – she was good. Perfect for politics; she seemed to be able to catch someone out from a mile off. For the Doctor, in his life full of secrets and lies, he wasn't sure if that was strangely refreshing or positively terrifying.
"There's a lot of competition and bitterness between Harold and I. On my part, it's mostly gone. But Harold, ever since he was a kid, has held onto stuff and refused to let go. He's still out to get me," he explained, his tone taking a darker angle. "And that is why Walter Simeon chose him for deputy. Vastra chose me. Simeon picked the one person who could irritate me the most. Harold Saxon. That's where the newspapers come in. They're going to pick up on that."
"But why does Simeon hate you so much?"
The question he couldn't answer. John licked his lips. Clara could see something behind his eyes – a reluctance of some sort, an uncertainty. She couldn't blame him if he didn't trust her yet; they hadn't known each other long. Clara had learnt from her father that some things in politics were only supposed to be kept between politicians, and to be shared with no one else. But that didn't mean she didn't want him to confide in her, nonetheless. She'd like them to build a relationship where he could confide in her about anything and she would do her best to help.
Of course, it was always easier said than practiced.
"Simeon is… the situation with Simeon is a lot more difficult, Clara."
Clara felt a pang of disappointment. She tried not to let it show, and instead, comforted him with a warm smile. "I understand."
"You do?" The shock was clear in the Doctor's voice.
"Yes. I do." She patted his knee to reassure him. "My dad was a politician before – well, before…" her own confession died on her lips and she glanced away uncomfortably.
The Doctor was intrigued. "Your dad was a politician?"
"Yeah – backbencher for Blackpool constituency. But he gave it up, in the end."
The Doctor squinted as something in his mind clicked into position. Clara Oswald. He'd heard that surname before. Oswald, Oswald, Oswald. Ah – there it was!
"Dave Oswald!" he exclaimed, pointing in Clara's face as she raised her eyebrows. "Yes, of course! That was around the same time I was doing my internship. He left because his wife died, Jackson said –"
But as the memory came back to the Doctor, the words slipped out of his mouth and the meaning of those words, the implications, became very clear. It was too late to take them back, and as he sat with his mouth hanging open, he noticed that Clara was on her feet and walking towards his office door. Her back was turned to him and her head was hanging low. He felt a terrible stab of guilt as he realised what it all meant, the connections, how he'd hurt Clara…
"Wait, Clara, I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I didn't realise…"
She didn't turn around, but she stopped at his door, her hand on the handle. Her voice was too high pitched to be natural. It was forced, for his benefit. "I'm sure you have a lot to be getting on with. I think Vastra left something for me to do on my desk; I better see what it is."
She waited, for a brief nanosecond, if he would say anything back. Then, she vanished through the threshold without a single glance in his direction, leaving the Doctor sitting on the sofa as he slapped his palm against his forehead.
Clara was sitting in front of her computer, her fingers working over the keyboard as her mind wandered to John. She knew he hadn't meant any harm, and he hadn't upset her as such, it was just a shock to her; for someone to know her personal situation before she had the chance to explain. It had been eight years and the grief had faded from Clara's chest, but the pain still flickered there, especially whenever someone brought up the topic of her mum too suddenly. It was something personal; something in which she hardly talked to her father about, a part of her which she had lost – and she was desperately trying to put back together – holding the fragments over her heart. Her father was too close to talk to and the Doctor was practically a stranger. It didn't feel right. Nina was the only person she was able to reminisce with over the memory of her mother, probably because Nina had never lost anyone close to her, and she had that emotional firmness that Clara needed.
Once again, it was Rose who interrupted her thoughts. The blonde woman slid a yellow foam takeout box across her table, trying not to disturb Clara's typing. Clara glanced down as it steadily made her way in front of her, turning to Rose with an expected grin.
"Thought I'd buy you chips for covering for me yesterday," Rose explained with an embarrassed grimace. "Then I thought, hm, Clara doesn't seem like a plain chip person. She's more of a curry chip girl, if you ask me."
Clara flipped open the box to see a generous portion of chips swimming in curry sauce. She chuckled.
"You're absolutely right. I love curry chips, thank you."
Rose opened her own portion and handed Clara a white plastic fork. "No, thank you. I don't know what I would've done if I had to tell people where I'd really went."
"Is everything alright?" Clara asked, her voice coloured with concern.
"Oh, yeah, everything's great!" Rose said enthusiastically. "You'll find out why very soon. It's too early to say anything yet. Well – just in case."
But Clara had a funny feeling she knew why Rose sneaked off to the hospital yesterday. Especially when she slipped an extra box of chicken nuggets out of her bag and offered her one.
"So," Rose said after sticking a whole chicken nugget in her mouth. "Married, single, what's the deal?"
Clara's eyes widened at the personal question. "Oh um, very single."
Rose laughed. "Very single. I like it."
"No, no, it's not that," Clara said quietly, suddenly very interested in her chips. "I'm just glad to be rid of the last boyfriend, that's all."
"Oh." Rose's entire body tensed. She turned her head to the side to study Clara's face, her dark eyebrows lowered with concern. "He wasn't… bad, was he?"
"No," answered Clara, slowly. "He just wasn't good."
Despite her reserves about her mother, Clara didn't mind talking about her mess of an ex-boyfriend. That part of her life was just one big regret and discussing it meant she was sure never to go back. Ever. Perhaps there was a part of her that thought if she talked about it enough casually then she wouldn't care as much, either. But whenever she thought about him, all she now felt was relief. It was never nice to be in a destructive relationship, especially when neither person could see how destructive it really was. If it hadn't been for Nina and her father warning her, Clara was sure she would still be in the relationship today.
"What about you?" Clara asked to change the conversation. "Tell me about David."
Clara could sense Rose's appreciation for a change in topic. Her shoulders relaxed and she leant back in her chair, munching thoughtfully on a chip. "Tall, thin, unbelievable hair." Rose rolled her eyes at the thought of it. "He's a doctor. A proper medical doctor. David and the Doctor – I mean, John – are cousins, you know."
Clara gave a light gasp. "No way! Cousins?"
"Yep! John and David practically grew up together."
The words toppled out of Clara's mouth before they even processed in her mind. "Good hair must run in the family."
Rose stopped eating to peer at her. Clara immediately blushed. As Clara tried to hide her face with her hair, Rose gave a delighted giggle, rolling her head back against her chair.
"Oh, you fancy him!"
"I do not fancy him," Clara hissed, leaning closer so that they wouldn't be over heard. "I barely know him. I've just observed that he has very nice hair."
"Mhm, you see, that's how they get you." Rose stated matter-of-factly, pointing her white plastic fork at Clara. "First you admire their hair. Then you start noticing small little quirks which grow to be irresistible. Before you know it, you're head over heels in love."
Clara rolled her eyes and shot Rose an amused smirk. "I am not falling in love with my boss, Rose. That's properly bonkers."
Rose stared at Clara as if she had the upper hand in this argument. There was a challenge in her eyes, a silent promise, but Clara smiled through the teasing. It would take a lot to make Clara fall in love after she fell too hard and fast in her last relationship, and it certainly wouldn't be John Docherty to make her change her mind. Clara made limits for herself in life long ago – never get drunk at a staff party, never say 'I love you' until he says it first, and never, ever get romantically involved with the boss.
"You can play matchmaker all you like," Clara said, responding to Rose's persistent stare. "But it's never going to happen."
When it came to five o'clock, Clara and Rose were idly chatting while packing away their personal belongings. Neither of them noticed John's private office door creak open inch by inch before the man himself walked out. He was wearing his long coat, open and loose, with his blue scarf casually thrown around his neck and not tied. He edged towards Clara's desk, and when she didn't notice him, coughed to make himself known.
She jumped a little when she spotted him standing there. An awkward tension hanging in the air as she remembered their last encounter.
"Hi, John," she said lowly, looking for some kind of reaction.
His hands were flailing again. Touching his chin, the back of his neck, his hair, wrapping around his ribs. "Would you like a lift?"
Yesterday it had been a question without any consideration to the answer. Today, he was genuinely asking. Poking the problem to see if it was still there. What he was really asking was: are we okay after earlier?
"Yeah, sure," Clara agreed with a nod.
She purposefully avoided Rose's watchful gaze as she left with John. No doubt first thing tomorrow morning Rose would be on her case.
Clara was very aware of herself, more than usual, when she stepped into the TARDIS, as the Doctor called his sports car. There was an awkward silence between them; Clara didn't know what to say, and the Doctor was afraid of bringing up his tactlessness earlier in case it made Clara uncomfortable again. It wasn't until they were halfway home when the Doctor finally broke the silence.
"I, uh, have a similar situation," the Doctor started, coughing nervously again. "Actually, it's not really similar. Not in the same way. But I… I've lost both of my parents. So I can understand why what I said earlier – well, it wasn't appropriate. Sorry."
That really wasn't what Clara was expecting to hear. She turned to him, her lips parted and her eyebrows pulled together. What did she say to that? Her heart was sinking in her chest.
The Doctor shot her an alarmed sideways glance. "I didn't mean to – sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up again. Forget I said anything. Oh, look – the sky is turning pink, isn't that pretty?"
He gave a nervous chuckle.
Clara shook her head. Her eyes were feeling watery and she tried to blink it away. "No, it's okay, John. I'm not upset. I just wasn't expecting people to know why my dad quit politics." She waited a beat. "I'm sorry to hear about your mum and dad."
He looked positively relieved. Shuffling in his seat, he shrugged, feigning impassiveness. "When I say I lost them, I mean I actually, properly lost them. They went missing when I was nine."
Clara couldn't help the shocked, "What?" that escaped from her lips.
"Yeah. Rose's husband, David, is my cousin. He lost his parents too – they both died in the war. We grew up together with our granddad. He was more than happy to take us in, considering he'd lost both of his sons." He met her gaze again. His big eyes were round and glistening and they made Clara's chest pang with sympathy. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I don't usually tell anyone."
At a loss for words, Clara squeezed the Doctor's right arm to comfort him. "I'm glad you did. I'm sorry, I had no idea – I must've made you feel terrible earlier."
"Not at all." He said adamantly as he parked the car. "You actually made me feel better. I would've reacted the same if someone randomly brought up my parents disappearing."
Clara had a lot of questions, but she felt like they'd opened up to each other enough for now. She imagined it took a lot for him to confess his history to her – she could see it in the sad sparkle of her eyes – and pushing him for more wasn't right. Right now, she didn't know how to feel. She couldn't stop staring at him as they sat in his car outside her block of apartments, overcome with a deep, sad feeling of gratitude. He was obviously trying to show her that he did trust her, and he wanted to build up a trusting relationship with her, despite the fact he couldn't honestly answer some political details, like how Simeon seemed to hate him. This was him compensating, and Clara was grateful he would even make the effort. It was more than what she expected.
"Thank you for the lift home." Once again, something which was said yesterday meant so much more.
The Doctor gave her a genuine smile. "Any time."