Chapter 4

As time went on, the blue police box at the bottom of the garden remained exactly as it was on the day it had landed – despite winters of snow and rain and driving winds and blistering hot summers, the paint never chipped or cracked, the box just stood there, beneath the shade of a tree, unchanged, as if it waited, and Malcolm behaved as if it had always stood there, and was of no importance at all.

By now, five years had passed.

Clara knew what the Tardis was waiting for, and she didn't want to think about it. Sometimes her mind wandered to the Doctor and her heart ached as she missed him, and those were the times she went down the garden path, up to the Tardis and the door would always open for her, letting her inside to check on the radar and the position of the enemy ship. It was always there, a blip on the screen, always in the same position, waiting patiently...

Then she would play the recording, watching fondly as the Doctor spoke to her. By now she knew all of the recording by heart – and it was a lengthy message, but she had heard it so many times, and she just wished that on some level, she could communicate back to him, to tell him about her situation...

"A few more rules," the Doctor said on the screen, "Look after my human self... Don't let him get into trouble. Don't let him get arrested. Don't let him get into any kind of situation where he might have trouble with the law. This is important."

"Why?" she murmured as she looked at the screen, "I've never understood that part..."

"Treat him gently," the Doctor added, "Remember, my consciousness is in the watch. He's walking around with my body, converted to human. You need to protect us both. Don't let that watch out of your sight."

She stopped the recording and as the screen went dark, she looked into it sadly.

"You've covered everything," she said, "Except telling me not to fall in love with Malcolm... too late now, its happened..."

Then she walked around the console. She looked up, then about the vast room, feeling an ache in her heart as she missed the Doctor. This room had been filled with so many memories, all seemed so distant without him...

It was then as she leant against the console looking to the open door that led out to a sunlit garden, that Clara frowned as a sudden thought hit her.

"If your consciousness is in the watch..." she murmured, "And your body is now human...Whose consciousness did you use to make Malcolm?"

And suddenly the gentle hum of the Tardis jarred, it was something that happened in a fraction of a moment and she carefully caught it, but it was definitely there, almost as if the Tardis herself had given a gasp of dismay at her realisation.

"You know, don't you?" she said, looking upwards as she addressed the Tardis, "You know and so does the Doctor...How did he do it? I know he had to write the DNA switch sequence but Malcolm...the consciousness that went into him...Somebody's mind? Did you rewrite someone's mind, Doctor?"

Again, she felt a jarring beneath her feet, a subtle change could be heard in the hum of the Tardis, and then it settled once more.

"You don't like me asking these questions, do you?" Clara said aloud as she smiled, "Well I'm sorry, but I love him and I'd like to know how he was put together...The Doctor wrote the program to create Malcolm Tucker and his memories and who he is...must have taken him a while...but he couldn't create a consciousness from nothing...Would he have needed to use a human consciousness to fit into a human body, to soak up all those memories and the identity? I wish you could explain! Where did Malcolm's consciousness come from?"

The Tardis did not jar, nor did the hum alter this time – almost as if the ship had chosen to totally ignore the question.

"I know I'm on to something," Clara confided as she swept a glance about the empty room, "I know I am..."

And then she walked out of the Tardis, and the door closed softly behind her.

When Malcolm arrived home, he found Clara upstairs in the bedroom. She was sitting at the dressing table, and in the mirror that was stood upon it he saw her face reflected, she looked deep in thought, her eyes cast downwards as she turned over something in her hands.

"What are you doing, Clara?" he asked.

"Just...looking at this old watch,"she replied quietly, her gaze still fixed on it. Then she turned her head, smiling as she greeted him.

"Another shitty day at work?" Then her expression changed as she saw how pale and exhausted he looked.

As she got up from the chair, she left the watch on the dresser and went over to the doorway, where he leant heavily against the frame.

"You look shattered!" she said as concern filled her gaze, "Malcolm – you really do look exhausted! How hard have you been working? I don't care what you say, you need some time off! It's bad enough you take enough pain medication to fill a pharmacy cabinet, but you've been working such long hours lately and its no good for you -"

"I just need to say something to you," Malcolm replied, and he sounded so quietly calm, it worried her.

"It just occurred to me that I never expected to have someone like you in my life and now you're here I want you to know I'm glad we're together," he said, "And it's been wonderful, even on the worst, darkest, shittiest days of my life, having you with me made all the difference. And I want that to last forever – us, I want us to last forever."

He looked slightly dazed. Clara wondered if he had been drinking.

"I want that for us too...are you okay?"

"No, I'm not," he replied, and he looked down at the carpet as he paused for thought.,Then she heard footsteps on the stairs, and as Sam joined him in the doorway, she looked to Clara at once.

"Has he told you yet?"

Clara's eyes clouded with confusion. Her first thought was one she dismissed as ridiculous – of course Malcolm was not having an affair with Sam, they were friends, colleagues...No, no way...

"Told me what?" Clara asked.

Sam looked at Malcolm. He glanced back at her and then finally met Clara's gaze as his own began to glaze as he held back from weeping.

"Sam drove me home this afternoon," he explained as his voice began to tremble, "I was in no fit state to drive... I had an appointment, another one...didn't want to tell you until it was over because we've had five years of this shit with no end in sight and none of this is fair on you. But at last I have an answer. It's not what I was hoping for, but the doctors think they know what they're dealing with now."

It was unusual to see him so quiet and subdued and as Sam touched his arm and he looked at her, she spoke to him gently.

"Maybe we should all go downstairs to do this?"

Clara felt a stab of envy,and that seemed crazy at a time when clearly,her lover had received shattering news...but all the same,Sam had known first?

"No, let's do this right now," Clara replied, "I want to know what's going on!"

Malcolm looked into Clara's eyes, and then she noticed something she had not seen until now – he had been crying...Malcolm had been crying?

Clara stepped closer, and Sam looked on as she took hold of his hands. He held on tightly, trembling slightly as he drew in a breath and spoke the words that he had never wanted to hear himself say.

"At least they know what they're dealing with now – sort of... The specialist thinks its some kind of cell mutation disorder...if its a cancer they can't put a name to it but there's some experimental drugs I can try. And I'm keeping this quiet...I need to hang on to my job. But I don't know how long the job or me will last. That's all... There is nothing else!"

Then he broke down in tears and she wrapped her arms around him, letting him weep on her shoulder as Sam blinked away tears and said something about maybe she should get going.

Clara glanced at her and nodded, silently thanking her with a look that Sam read correctly – Clara was grateful for her help. Sam went back down the stairs and moments later, the door closed softly behind her.

Malcolm was still weeping as Clara held him, and her gaze shifted to the dressing table where she had left the watch.

"Come on," she said gently, "You need to explain properly to me..."

Malcolm looked absolutely broken as he pulled back from her embrace and tears streaked his face.

"It's some kind of fucking cancer they can't even identify! Like they've never seen anything like it before...I'm shot to pieces with it!"

"Maybe they're wrong," she replied, and as he tearfully told her there was no chance of that, she took him by the hand, led him over to the bed and sat him down, then she picked up the watch and sat beside him.

"What if I told you that what's wrong with you is because of something that happened that you can't remember? Suppose there was some kind of energy transfer and it went wrong, and kind of messed up your DNA?"

Malcolm blinked. His eyes widened.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Now he sounded like the man she knew and loved once more, and that was enough to lift her mood a little, he had seemed broken – but only briefly. Now he was Malcolm Tucker again, the man with an attitude that said nothing kept him down for long, nothing would dare to try...

"What if I told you this watch could solve everything?"

He stared at her.

"And I thought I took the news badly...A watch? What does a watch have to do with any of this? I don't understand -"

"If you open the watch, you'll remember," she told him, "You'll see the past and everything else and understand why. And..." her eyes filled with tears, "And you won't be you any more but I'll never stop loving you, Malcolm! I just don't want you to suffer any more and I can't keep you here any longer if you're going to get worse when you don't have to...the signal, it's still on the radar but..."

"Radar? Signal? Clara, what the actual fuck are you rambling about?"

Malcolm looked utterly bewildered as she held out the watch.

"Take it, open it, then you''ll see I'm telling the truth! You're not really human -"

"I know plenty who would agree there!" he said as humour crept into his voice, but then it was gone again as he glanced to the watch and then back at Clara.

"Not human?"

"You're a Timelord...but you altered your DNA... I know it sounds insane but what if I'm right?"

Malcolm put his head in his hands for a moment as he sat there, muttering curses under his breath.

"...Fucking aliens..." she heard him say, and he spread his fingers, looking at her through the gap, despairing of her crazy words.

"I can't listen to this crap!" he said, straightening up and sweeping his hands across his face to wipe away the last trace of his tears, "Aliens? Clara, I've just been told I'm most likely going to die from this thing, they can't tell me what its is, or when it will kill me but it's all fucked up! And you're talking about aliens? Is this how you deal with bad news, you go all Harriet Jones on me? Thanks a lot, thanks a fucking lot!"

"Just open it, you'll see the past!"

He looked to the watch in her hand and shook his head.

"It's a watch Clara...the past? What does it do, is this fucking time travel now?"

"Please...I can't open it for you..." she grasped at the watch, but it refused to open,"See? It will only open for you!"

Malcolm took the watch from her, studied the ornate swirls engraved on it, and then her heart sank along with her hopes as he handed it back to her.

"I can't do this, Clara! I'm about to start taking experimental drugs for something the doctors don't understand and I don't need this shit to contend with as a pissing bonus!"

Malcolm's shoulders slumped as he gave a heavy sigh and looked at her, exhaustion plain on his face.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, and then she got up, put the watch away and then turned back to him. Malcolm was sitting on the bed, his head bowed, as he tried to slow his breathing and not get worked up again in his weakened state.

"You're wrong," she said quietly, "You've been wrong from the start – Harriet Jones didn't deserve to lose her position...the Sycorax were real. There was no hoax -"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" he yelled as he looked up at her sharply, eyes blazing.

Clara glared back at him.

"I wish I could make you understand, but you won't listen to me! If you stopped being a narrow minded prick maybe you'd see the truth – there are Sycorax out there, and Cybermen -"

"Fucking Cyber-what?" he said, as he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at her like she was mad.

"Cybermen! And Daleks and -"

"What did you say?"

Clara blinked. Malcolm's tone had changed. He was looking at her like something had stirred in his memory...

"Daleks!" she said again, "It means something to you...Of course! The conversion went wrong, maybe your mind caught some of his memories... Look at me!"

As she had sat down beside him, Malcolm had turned his head away. He thought of the sketches he had tossed into the bin, and that word again ...Dalek...

"Malcolm, listen to me -"

"No," he said, meeting her gaze and giving her the kind of look he usually reserved for clashes at work, "This ends now. Either you're with me or you can fuck off..." He blinked rapidly as tears stung his eyes, "I'm in pain, I'm about to start taking drugs that may or not work and I've been told I'll probably die – not now, not tomorrow, but maybe in a year, or five...or ten..no one knows! So please, drop this alien talk and the time travel bollocks and just hold on to me, because I can't hold on to myself for much longer, I am on the fucking edge!"

As tears streaked his face, Clara wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as he buried his face in her hair and wept softly. As she held him, she said nothing, hearing the sound of his sobs muffled against her shoulder and feeling his body tremble as he clung to her, as she silently wondered on all he had said:

The word Dalek was familiar to him?

A trace of the Doctor's memory, a tiny sliver had been left behind in his human mind?

That still didn't answer her question, the one she had asked the Tardis, about where Malcolm's consciousness had come from...If not from the Doctor, then where?

As he pulled back and wiped his eyes, Clara ran her hand over his hair and looked into his eyes. He has calmed down quickly, he was trying so hard to pull himself back together after such shattering news and as she spoke again, she tried to word the question carefully:

"You're right," she began, "I don't know what made me come out with that...Sorry. But where did you hear that word, Dalek?"

"It's just a word that popped up as words do...random words..."

"What do you mean, random?"

He gave a heavy sigh.

"I can't do this right now...Oh, I don't know, Clara...words... the kind that float about at quiet moments...Dalek... and others..." he stopped right there. His head was aching, his eyes hurt and he hated crying as much as he had, as devastating as the day had been - and he was still silently simmering with anger at the thought that Clara had dared to undermine his choice of action regarding Harriet Jones, former PM... Suddenly that anger needed to come out.

"And don''t you ever fucking criticise my actions in my job again!" he fumed, "You have no idea what it takes to do MY job!" he glared at Clara, who looked startled by his outburst.

"Calm down!" she said quickly.

But Malcolm was too weary to rant some more. Instead he gave in to his exhaustion.

"I have to sleep...Please let me sleep," he said quietly, sounding defeated by the illness that had left him pale and shattered from the years of bearing so much pain.

Moments later he was on top of the covers, still dressed, and Clara was beside him, her hand over his as he tried to rest because his weakened body demanded it.

"Sorry I was a bastard," he said, turning his head and meeting her gaze, "You don't have to lay beside me if you don't want to. Feel free to walk away if I'm too much to handle right now, I completely understand – I'd fuck off as far away as I could from me, if only I could get away...I don't want to die, Clara. I'm also unsure about living because I don't know how much more I have to get through. What a mind fuck."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"I'm here for you and I'm not leaving," she promised him.

Malcolm looked up at the ceiling for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then he met her gaze again.

"Just this once...then let's never mention it again... " he said softly, "Dalek... Time War... Sheila..."

"What?" Clara said, looking at him in confusion.

"Sheila?"

"It makes no more sense than Dalek. Don't start questioning me, I don't get it either...words.. just words..I don't want to tell you about the others."

"Why?"

Malcolm gave a weary sigh as he looked into her eyes, knowing it would all sound crazy...so many words had floated about in his mind, all since this illness had started...Most of the time he tried to ignore it, push it away...

"Fucking disturbing words, " he added, and then he felt her grip his hand reassuringly.

"Just tell me and I'll never ask again."

"Dalek, Time War, Sheila, murder, scaffold, hangman, noose...I...I think it kind of runs through my head sometimes when I feel cornered, when some arsehole tries to undermine me at work I just fly off the handle like I'm trying to fight against something else...I think it's spread to my brain."

"What has?"

"What ever type of cancer has got hold of me."

"No, don't think like that – there's a reason for all of this, there has to be."

Clara put her arms around him, and he was grateful to hide in her embrace, curled against her as he silently wished he could stay in the protective warmth of her arms forever as he closed his eyes and rested his head on her shoulder, the world darkened down by the soft curtain of her hair.

"Leave it now," he whispered, "Let me sleep..."

Clara held him as he rested, drifting off into a deep and much needed sleep as she stayed awake, turning over all he had said:

She understood Dalek and Time War... a tiny fragment left behind of the Doctor's memories...But the rest of it? She thought back to the question she had asked that had made the Tardis floor shudder, and as she looked down at the man she loved, who lay exhausted as he slept in her arms, her fears grew as she wished she could find a way to answer that question:

Where had Malcolm's human consciousness come from?

"Oh Doctor," she whispered as Malcolm slept on in her arms, "What have you done?"