A/n: this fic is officially post-Caretaker and pre-Kill the Moon from this point on, though things aren't really any more harmonious here. There's much more to come, so if something seems questionable come the end of this chapter, know it'll all make sense in the grand scheme come the end. Thank you so much for the reviews and I'm hoping to get review replies out today!
Someone or something out there wanted him dead.
Someone or something out there wanted him to suffer.
Finally, all was right in the universe.
Someone wanting him gone was normal. Someone wanting to punish him was understandable. It was this—his alternate self living happily that he didn't understand. He eagerly sank into what made sense and pushed away what didn't.
It'd been three days since the pastry shop man's murder (suicide?), and the Doctor was no further along in figuring out who was responsible.
He'd begun piecing together the sparse details, but he didn't get very far, thanks to his suddenly flaky companion. She seemed more preoccupied with helping children that weren't even hers than helping him, even though his matter was far more important than buying school uniforms.
After hitting another dead end, he decided he'd had enough. He would have to bring the matter to her attention and request her help, seeing as though she suddenly had tons of people vying for her time and attention. The Doctor hated sharing and he hated sharing nothing more than he hated sharing her. So he slowly and carefully ventured out of the room they were staying in (a dangerous feat because venturing out meant making oneself vulnerable to sticky-handed children's hugs) and began his hunt. He searched the sitting room first, careful to stay in the shadows. Pippie Longstockings was present and she was the worst. For reasons unknown to the Doctor, she adored him. He safely sank away without catching her attention.
From there, he searched the kitchen, but his Clara was not present. Dr. Smith and his second daughter were stirring something in a huge bowl. He checked off their locations in his head as he stumbled upon them all, and by the time he made it to the Smiths' bedroom, he'd accounted for every single person but two. He burst into the bedroom.
"Claras, I need—"
He stopped.
"What the hell is this?"
Both women looked up at him mid-laugh, identical strands of wet hair sticking to their cheeks. The photo album in his Clara's lap began sliding forward. She quickly reached forward and caught it before it tumbled down to the carpet.
"Hello," Mrs. Smith said. Her lips twitched against some withheld laughter. The Doctor scanned his eyes down their wet, towel-clad bodies, his mind struggling to put a context to this situation. Spa. They were having a spa. "How's your vague research going?"
"Terrible," He snapped, distracted. He looked to his companion. "I'm desperate for help on this one, Clara, and you're here playing spa with yourself!"
His Clara blinked.
"Playing spa with myself." She repeated back to him, deadpanned. "Explain how that one works; I'm behind on the new kinks these days."
"Yes, yes, very clever, very funny, now come along."
Both Claras arched an eyebrow. Deep down, the Doctor's heart quivered.
"Sorry?" Clara asked. She reached up and set a hand on Mrs. Smith's shoulder. "We're chatting. I'll see you when I see you."
He gestured, frustrated.
"You aren't chatting you're—wetting. You're all—wet. Why are you wet? What's the book got pictures of?" He demanded. He moved forward and leaned over them, peering critically at the page. He studied a photograph of Dr. and Mrs. Smith all decked out in graduation dress.
"You were right," Mrs. Smith commented to Clara. But she didn't seem eager to expound upon that much more in the Doctor's presence.
"Right about what?"
Clara ignored him.
"What do you need, Doctor?" She asked instead. Her voice was tired, the way she sounded when he'd worn his welcome. He recoiled accordingly.
"Nothing." He snapped. He stepped back from them. He stared down at them and noted their close proximity, their easy smiles, their familiarity. Everything he didn't have with himself or even with Clara, not really anymore. "Nothing."
Clara rose immediately.
"Doctor—"
"Go back to your wet spa party, Clara." He bit.
Her hand settled on his shoulder. She gripped tightly, drawing him to a stop. He didn't turn around to face her.
"No. What's wrong?" She asked softly.
He shut his eyes for a moment.
"Nothing is wrong. I just don't need you anymore." He lied.
"I don't believe that." She said gently.
He just wanted to make her rejection hurt less.
"Fine," he snapped. "I don't want you anymore. Not right now."
Perhaps it was too harsh. He didn't know because he didn't turn around to look. Her hand slipped lightly off his shoulder and then he was off.
"Curly!" He barked. He stormed through the home, looking for the preteen. "Curly, I need an assistant for my research."
She, thankfully, was eager to help. To her, all of this newly discovered alien stuff was interesting. To her, it was more useful than giggling with her hypothetical alternate self. He led her to his makeshift office/bedroom and pointed at the bookshelf. He'd tacked up dozens of sheets of paper with maps, diagrams, theories. Curly walked along the wall-length bookshelf and examined it slowly, and as she did, the Doctor saw so much Clara in her that he had to look away.
When she finally looked at him, it wasn't with anything quite so helpful.
"Does my mum know you've put holes in this bookshelf?" She asked. She lifted both her eyebrows. "We're not supposed to do that."
"Curly, there's some sort of invisible menace out there slowly killing people, and you're worried about your mum's anger?"
"Have you met my mum?"
"…I'll fix the holes. But—look! Look. Scan your eyes over these papers. Tell me something I don't know. You might be human, but you're a Clara-human, so I think you're probably capable of doing that."
She looked back at them. She was quiet for a long time as she read each one carefully, intently. Seriously.
"You know," she commented. She glanced back at him. "My family knew every one of these people."
He hadn't put that on his charts or graphs. Clara had insisted they keep away from panicking the Oswald-Smiths until they knew something solid to tell them. The Doctor regarded her coolly.
"Really?" He asked flatly.
"Really. Some of them we hardly knew—like the bank teller—but we really, properly knew Mr. Richie Greg. For my seventh birthday he let us use the pastry shop and he taught my friends and I how to decorate—"
The Doctor leaned forward from his spot on the edge of Clara's bed.
"So," he interrupted. "What do you make of that?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly from being interrupted, but she decided to ignore it. She huffed and looked back at the wall.
"Dunno. What do you make of it? You're the alien."
"You're the one that's actually part of the targeted family." He shot back.
She turned, eyes wide.
"Targeted?" She demanded. "And you're part of it, too. Whether you like it or not."
He looked away.
"That's no way to talk to your elders. Don't be insolent."
She crossed her arms.
"Don't be thickheaded." She challenged.
"No, you don't be thickheaded. Watch it or I'll tell your mum."
"Don't be a telltale, either. That's the worst one of all." She scowled.
They stared, their eyes challenging, posture rigid. The Doctor refused to let a child beat him.
"So why do they want your dad dead?" He asked.
Pairing the words dad and dead together got him the reaction he'd expected. And then some. She immediately dropped her angry gaze and looked towards the door. Her eyes went from hard to aching in a second.
"What?" She asked. Her voice was thick and wavering. "Why would you ask that? How do you know about that?"
He balked.
"I—?"
"No one wants my dad dead. Don't say that! Who've you been talking to? That man is in prison where he belongs. I hope dies there. Don't talk about him around my siblings—they just got over it. You shouldn't say things about things like that."
He hardly even registered that he was being told off by a preteen. He leaned forward intently.
"Curly." He interrupted. He remembered Clara's cross words from the other morning. "Lottie. What are you talking about? Has someone tried to hurt your dad before?"
She dropped her teary gaze. She turned around and set her shaking fingertips against the book spines. He watched her trace them over the titles.
"I thought…nevermind. Sorry." She ducked her head so her hair covered her face.
"What are you talking about?" He persisted. He felt the strange urge to be gentle. Like not hurting her feelings mattered. "It's very important. If I don't know everything, I can't help."
His softened tone worked better than his barking one. She looked back at him, but her eyes fell to the floor right as she started speaking.
"My dad got stabbed a while back, maybe a year ago now. There was this loony at the supermarket. He started going after this girl and her gran and he was yelling something about silence. Then my dad tried to step in, but he stabbed him in the chest a bunch of times before he could stop him. He had to have surgery. He was really hurt. I saw my mum cry really hard for the very first time." She paused. She looked up and met his eyes. Hers were red-rimmed and her cheeks were wet, though he hadn't even noticed she'd started crying. "It was very frightening."
The Doctor thought to the way Pippie clung to her dad briefly, but then he crumbled up that thought and dismissed it. Not important. Right now, the facts were important.
"Okay. Good." He praised, though he wasn't even sure why he did it. He pointed towards the bookshelf at the stack of paper. "Can you write down everything you know about what happened?"
She obliged, and by the time he had that tacked up on the bookshelf, he felt a bit more confident. They both took a step back and stared at the wall.
"I wish I could get a DNA sample," the Doctor mused aloud. "Something's got to be wrong with your dad. If he's entirely human, there's no reason anyone should've traced him here, or even made the connection to me. Something must be wrong…"
He trailed off. Curly didn't bounce his ideas back to him in neat ties like his Clara did. He wished she'd come help him.
"You think he's an alien, too?" She asked. She furrowed her brow. "I thought your magic screwdriver said he wasn't. Does that mean I'm like…half-alien?"
"In your dreams." He muttered dismissively. "No, you're terribly ordinary. And my magic screwdriver did a brief, surface analysis. It wouldn't be able to pick up tiny gene abnormalities."
The insult rolled off her back. She tapped her nails against her forearm thoughtfully.
"So…is my mum full human? Or like thirty-five percent alien?"
"Your mum is one-hundred percent a short, bossy human." He answered definitely. "I wonder if I could sneak up on your dad at night and get a blood sample…"
He paced as he thought.
"Well, you know, I've got a DNA sample."
He shot her an annoyed look.
"Of course you don't. Unless you carry them around, which is rather strange and alarming."
He went back to pacing. The girl matched his pace.
"No, really. I have his DNA." She persisted.
He gave her a look-over.
"In your pocket? What? Be quiet. Pipe down. You can leave now; I'm finished with your help." He waved her dismissively towards the door. She stood her ground.
"No." She huffed, frustrated. "In my veins."
He stopped in place. His heart soared and he spun, his face opening up with a sudden, mad grin.
"Explain how." He demanded.
He'd meant how he could get away with taking her blood without getting crucified by her parents, but she took him a bit more literally.
"Okay, so, I'm their child, and it happens like this: a woman has ovaries and inside these ovaries there's loads of eggs and men have these little—"
"No. No, I know that—how could you think I don't know that? Why do you know that? I mean—how am I going to get your blood without your parents getting every bit of mine?"
Lottie crossed her arms defiantly.
"It's my blood. My mum says my body is mine and I can do whatever I want with it and no one can tell me otherwise."
He hesitated.
"I think the context for that conversation was something very different to what we're talking about right now…"
She straightened her posture confidently. "Still. It's my blood. You can't go cause a scene with my parents, 'cause then my siblings will know, and they'll be frightened. My parents will be frightened. We can just know. Us and Ossie. Like a team."
He watched her carefully. "And you're not frightened?"
"Sure I am. That's why I want to help." She turned her arm over, revealing a huge scrape. "I can pick this and make it bleed."
"No, no, I've got a lance somewhere…" he trailed off and glanced out the window, towards the general direction of Shoreditch and his sick TARDIS. "No, I should just go brief your parents. Your dad will give blood when I tell him how terribly at risk his offspring are."
He didn't admit that the idea of Mrs. Smith furious at him was a good bit intimidating.
"Terribly?"
Her eyes were her mother's and they were drenched in fear. He looked at her gravely.
"Horribly. And since you're the eldest, you're probably first on the list once they get this close. First borns are always sacrificed first."
She thrust her arms out, wrist up.
"Take it right from my veins." She said urgently, bravely. The Doctor patted the top of her head as he passed.
"Eager to be a martyr, are we? Unneeded at the current moment, but I'll get back to you."
He retreated to the garden and sat in the hot sun. He let the heat cook his half-baked thoughts. He strung up what he knew like damp clothes on a line. Something was after Dr. Smith (Mrs. Smith? Both of them?). It was something invisible. It made everyone have the same seemingly suicidal nervous breakdown. It couldn't be the Silence, that much he was sure of, even with Lottie's information on the loony man. Didn't mean it couldn't have something to do with them, though. It was most likely some sort of parasite—but which one? There were hundreds, thousands, millions, all strewn across the galaxy. He needed a motive. He needed to know why.
When he sought out Clara hours later, after his trip around London and many cups of coffee, she was in front of the oven with her knuckle tracing her bottom lip. She turned around and smiled when she saw him, the kind of automatic smile she used to give his previous face all the time. He softened automatically.
"Doctor!" She cried, elated. "Where've you been? I'm cooking tonight—Miles is sick and Clara's with him and John's away at the office at some emergency—"
The softness hardened.
"I've been trying to figure out what's after this family. While you've been locked away here playing house."
His coldness got to her. He watched the corners of her mouth fall at the same rate her shoulders did. She turned back around.
"It's been almost a week without any other deaths." She reminded him. "And they've arrested someone for it—I left the paper on your bed, did you see? I think it was just a coincidence. I don't think this is what you think it is."
He'd read it while roaming the city. But it was of no importance to him. The humans in London could believe it was a serial killer all they liked; he knew it wasn't. And they'd all know in due time when it started happening again.
"I already told you I don't believe in coincidences, Clara. Why do I even keep you around if you're not going to be of assistance?"
She stopped. He watched everything around her freeze. She didn't even breathe. He realized too late that he'd made a terrible mistake. She turned around slowly and met his eyes.
"Why indeed?" Her tone was brittle. She moved on before they could dwell too long on it. "Anyway, don't say anything to the Smiths about this. Not yet. I don't want to worry them. They've got enough going on and we don't even know if this is anything."
He dropped his eyes from hers. Her frown was so deep it looked painful. He tripped over his words in his haste to pave over his previous mistake.
"How—why are you so…interested in this family? You've met them. You've—you've cuddled all the little kids, you've had innumerous chats with your alternate self. What are you getting from this?"
She had the open-mouthed look of confusion she always had when he was being extremely daft.
"They're mine, Doctor. They're part of me." Her words were soft, incredulous. She looked away. "I truthfully don't know why you're not interested. I don't know how you can keep away. I saw you the other night, when I was reading. I know there's a part of you that wants this. So why aren't you taking advantage of the time we have?" She leaned forward, her words eager, gentle. "Does it hurt? Because…because I know, it hurts me, too. But it's not too late, Doctor. Maybe it'd never be like this, but you could still have a family, you could still—"
His heart went up in arms. He recoiled.
"They are not your children, Clara." He interrupted coldly. "They're Mrs. Smith's children. They're her children. She's the one who carried them, who gave birth to them, who raised them. In this world, you're a cheap copy. And they're not mine. I wouldn't want them to be." Once he started, he couldn't stop. He got a sick relief from the blows he was sending her way. "But I think I get it. It's more than just playing house. You're thriving on this. This is a fantasy for you. You want this with P.E. You want loads of little P.E. babies. You're afraid you'll never get them. So you're clinging to every sad, secondhand piece of maternal affection you can garner here. Time's a-wasting, right? You're what—almost thirty? Not much longer now. Maybe your chances for this life are over. Maybe you know that. Maybe—"
She regarded him with brimming fury.
"Maybe you should shut up." She bit.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Touchy spot?"
The words tore nastily from her. "Get out."
He scoffed. "Not your kitchen."
She pointed the wooden spoon at him. It was only the slight quivering of her arm that tipped him off to her hurt feelings.
"Get. Out." She repeated lowly, slowly.
He lifted his palms.
"Fine. All right. Shall I wait 'till morning to speak to you again?"
"You'll be lucky to get morning."
He slammed the kitchen door on his way out.
She fought back angry tears the entire time she cooked. By the time she'd put her creation into the oven for the final step, she could hardly take it. She was painfully full with sadness and fury.
She was on her way to find her counterpart, eager to vent to her in the free way the two women could vent to one another, only to cross paths with someone quite different. She quickly wiped at her wet cheeks.
"Hi, sorry," she took a step to the right to go around him, but he took a step to his left at the same time. They both hesitated awkwardly.
"You first," he said.
Clara ducked her head and moved to step past him, but his fingers on her shoulder stopped her dead in place. She shut her eyes for the briefest of moments. This Doctor would've never said that to me. She banished the thought as quickly as she had it. And then he ruined it all.
"Are you all right?" He asked gently.
She was horrified with herself as the tears swelled. She bowed her head and pressed her trembling lips together. Her shoulders shook pathetically.
"Oh," he said gently. He swallowed audibly. "Oh, it's okay."
She shook her head.
"It's not. It's not okay." She flinched when she felt his hands settle on her shoulders. He seemed equally unsure as he brought her forward into his arms, but once she was folded into a comforting hug, she forgot to be restrained. She fell into his embrace and exhaled shakily against his shoulder. She felt almost as lost as she felt when this man's doppleganger pulled her from his time stream.
"I want to go home," she whispered. The desire slammed into her, hard. She was tired and she wanted Danny and her flat and her students. As much as she was growing to care for this family, she wanted it to all be over.
"The time'll go by so quickly," he tried to reassure her. "I'm so sorry, though, Cl—Ossie. I can't even imagine."
She thought of his wife saying something similar when she'd told her of the last Doctor's death. She'd spent the past few days getting to know this family and its history extremely well—but she still felt on the outside when in a room with this man and his wife.
"The Doctor said something to me. And I think he's right."
"If it was something cruel enough to make you this upset, he wasn't."
Suddenly, the emotional comfort she was gaining from him felt dirty, wrong. It felt too intimate and too close. He seemed to realize that at the same moment she did. They pulled back from each other slowly, their eyes lowered.
"I don't understand him," she admitted. "For the first time, I don't understand. I don't know why he treats me like this."
Dr. Smith's smile was tinged with sadness.
"Perhaps he doesn't either."
It was a lot more likely than she would've liked.
When she finally found Mrs. Smith, she felt too guilty to vent at first. She helped her carry clean clothes to the kids' rooms for them to put away, quietly bothered, but she didn't fool the woman.
"Do you want to talk about it now?" Mrs. Smith asked her. She set down the last basket in the girls' room and then sat patiently on the edge of the bed. Clara couldn't help but smile for a moment.
"Sort of." She sat down slowly beside Mrs. Smith. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. She turned and looked at her. "What's it like to be a mum?"
Mrs. Smith smiled immediately.
"Oh, it's…" she stopped. Clara watched her eyes flutter around the room as she struggled to find the perfect word. "It's…full of wonders. It's painful and heartbreaking. It's the most difficult thing in the entire world; it's like ripping out parts of your heart and giving them away. And it's the most joyous thing, the most pure and good thing. It's something that makes everything else seem so little. It can bring such happiness that…you'll think you hadn't felt happiness before you were a mother. Not really."
It was everything Clara had hoped for. And feared. She looked down at her hands.
"I thought I didn't really care whether or not I ever did. Have kids. But this past week…"
She trailed off. Mrs. Smith was careful. Her words treaded lightly.
"Doc. Have you ever…"
"No." Clara interrupted quickly. Her words were sharp like a slap. "No. And besides, we've never so much as kissed. Not much opportunity there even if there was a desire for it. And that's assuming we're even biologically compatible in the first place."
"Would you ever…"
"No." Clara said again, but even she noticed how her tone went up. She was always lying these days. "Doesn't matter, anyway. He doesn't care for me anymore. I was wrong before."
"No way." Mrs. Smith argued. "He's our biggest fan, remember?"
"Terrible bloody way of showing it." Clara sniffed.
Mrs. Smith was quiet for a long moment.
"You know, I almost think the way people fail to show things says more than when they get it right. Especially when they hurt us. Because most of the time, it's just because they're hurting so much they don't know how to do anything else."
She was still too angry to believe that.
Two weeks trickled by with no further deaths and nothing suspicious at all.
Clara watched the Doctor go mad because of it.
If she didn't know any better deep down, she would've thought he wanted people to be injured. Every morning he grabbed the paper before everyone else. He retreated back into their shared room and poured over it for thirty minutes, searching relentlessly for information. But there was nothing to find. Clara was convinced he was searching for trouble where there was none, like he had with Robin Hood. Or perhaps she just wished for it hard enough to pretend. For once, she was content to live in the delusions.
She grew closer and closer to the family the colder the Doctor treated her. As he pushed her away, they pulled her in, and soon she loved them all. Genuinely, truly. She found in Mrs. Smith a best friend unlike any other, and in Dr. Smith she found a quiet, easy companion, and the children were hers in heart even if they weren't in reality. The more conflict that cropped up between her and the Doctor, the easier she found it to push away the conflict she felt with Dr. Smith. Sometimes it was more awkward to be in a room with the Doctor than it was him, and she knew that was a problem, but it took some time before she was willing to address it. She'd slept in the sitting room for four nights straight before she felt ready to make up with him. She missed him and she hated that she did. She just wasn't sure if he felt the same.
He was in the middle of going over the map of the victims for the thousandth time when she knocked on their door. He shared her a brief glance and then looked back at the map.
"Hello."
Clara curled her fingers around the doorframe.
"Hey."
He pulled the cap off a pen with his teeth and held it there as he circled something.
"So," Clara started. She let go of the door frame and crossed her arms. "How's it going?"
"Why aren't you with your new best—"
"No. No. Don't—don't start like that. Okay? Let's not start this way." Clara interrupted. Blessedly, he stopped speaking. Clara took a deep breath. She shut her eyes as she exhaled slowly. "Doctor. I want to know why you're so angry with me."
"I'm not—"
"Really had enough of the lies."
She thought back to Danny with a sick heart.
He turned his back on her fully and stared out the opened window, like there was something deeply interesting outside.
"I'm not angry with you. You just seem happy to be here, with these people, so I'm staying out of your way." He responded curtly.
She lowered her arms to her side and took a small step into the room.
"But they're not just these people. They're your family, too. Don't you see that? Don't you get it? The kids tried so hard to bond with you, Lottie more than any of them. You won't even talk to her anymore. Dr. and Mrs. Smith gave up after the third rude comment you made. I don't know if you feel…left out, or—or neglected, or ignored, or whatever, but you did it to yourself. And I hate that you did. Because I want you around. We all do."
She watched him spin the pen between his fingers. He didn't speak for an uncomfortable amount of time.
"Clara, I'm not like them. And I'm not like you."
Here we go, she thought bitterly.
"Okay, yeah. You're an alien. You're a Time Lord. Right. But the thing is, Doctor. We don't care. I care about you. Always have."
"Then why?"
It was so soft she almost missed it. Clara took a few more steps. She curled her hand around the doorknob and pulled the door shut quietly, even though there wasn't much noise from inside the house. The kids had friends over and were currently in the garden.
"Why what?" She inquired.
It was so quiet she could hear the loud laughter of the ten children outside. For a moment she felt like she was back at Coal Hill.
"Why are you with P.E.?"
The question locked her in place.
"Sorry?" She breathed. "I don't…what do you mean?"
He turned around finally. His eyes were intense.
"Why do you keep P.E. around if you care about me?" He clarified.
Clara shook her head. "Because. Because I love him. Because…because my entire life isn't just you and your TARDIS."
"Why?"
"Because it can't be."
He looked down.
"It's not enough." He realized. I'm not enough. She heard it clearly.
She took a desperate step forward.
"It's not that. It's nothing like that." She struggled to find the words. "It's just…I want both, you know? I want to see the stars. But I also want…a normal life. I want this, you know? What Clara has."
He met her eyes finally. His gaze was so heavy she wished he hadn't.
"Which do you want more?" He asked.
She stopped.
"STOP! STOP THAT, ANTHONY! GIVE IT TO KARMA!"
"YOU AREN'T THE BOSS OF ME!"
"MY FIST'LL MAKE ME THE BOSS OF YOU!"
Clara lifted her palms and set them over her ears, for once feeling like she couldn't think with the faraway sounds of the kids. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"I don't know. I don't know."
"You're going to have to."
She opened her eyes.
"Eventually, yeah. Probably." She agreed.
"And what will you pick?" He demanded.
Her hands fluttered open uncertainly. She shrugged.
"Dunno..."
He turned away.
"Yes you do. Of course you do. And that's why I don't want much to do with this family. Because every time I see them, I see what's going to take you away from me. I see what I could never give you. What we could never have. And I hate it."
This time, he left the room without being ordered to. Clara stared at the papers on the wall and wondered, for the first time, if maybe he was so intent to find a villain because he wanted to prove that this life would always be with her, no matter how far away she got. That she would always need him above all else.
She was so sure she'd been unsuccessful in the mending that she was genuinely shocked to see him outside of the bedroom later. Even more shocking, he was sitting with Bristol, and they looked like they were having an actual chat. Clara paused in the doorway and leaned in slowly, hoping to catch what they were saying without them noticing her.
"—brilliant. And then she took off running, and it was following after her, and she led it right to me, but I'd forgotten to do the last code!"
The boy was hanging on every word. His brown eyes were wide with wonder.
"What happened?" He breathed.
"Well, then I did a giant flip over top of its head and wrestled it down."
Clara shot a cross look his way, but the amazed look on Bristol's face kept her from rushing in and setting the Doctor right.
"Wicked!" He exclaimed. "Can you teach me?"
Clara smirked.
"Well, ah, well, no, because it isn't very safe."
He frowned and kicked his feet dejectedly.
"Oh."
Clara felt a hand settle on her shoulder. She started silently and turned, relieved to see it was Mrs. Smith. She looked towards her son and the Doctor with an impressed expression.
"I know!" Clara mouthed.
"Doc," Bristol started. "Did you cry when you thought he was going to get Ossie? Because you were scared?"
"No."
Bristol rubbed over his ear. "Have you ever cried before? Anthony says boys aren't supposed to cry, only…"
He trailed off, his ears pink. Mrs. Smith read the answer the Doctor was about to give before he gave it. She stepped fully into the room and met the Doctor's eyes. The stern, furious look she gave him set him right.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah...I cry." The Doctor allowed, a bit reluctantly on his part.
Mrs. Smith walked over and sank down beside her son.
"Your dad cries, too." She added.
Bristol looked infinitely relieved to hear that. His shoulders depressed in respite.
"Oh, good."
He did a puzzle with Ellie a bit before dinner and then spent a long time listening to Lottie's preteen friend drama after that. Clara kept tabs on him suspiciously. It was what she'd wanted, but she was still a bit too unsure of his motives for her own liking.
"Rubbish. Friends shouldn't say that to friends." He scoffed.
Lottie crossed her arms crossly.
"That's what I said. And then Izzy said I was overreacting. I could've smacked her! Just because she's too busy with her stupid boyfriend…"
Clara found her focus drifting. The Doctor had his chin in his hand and seemed to be similarly unfocused, but he chimed in with the right thing every few sentences, and was generally a lot sweeter and more tolerant than Clara had ever seen him. She couldn't help but smile.
Two nights later, the kids were all tucked up when Clara sat down for wine with Mrs. Smith. Dr. Smith joined but opted for coconut rum and pineapple juice to Clara's amusement. The three usually ended the night like that in front of the television, and then Dr. and Mrs. Smith went to bed, and Clara slept on the sofa to avoid an awkward night in the small room with the Doctor. They were chatting quietly about the antics of Ellie's friend when they heard a deep throat clearing. Clara's heart skipped a beat when they looked up.
"Doctor," she blurted. He'd been continuing his social streak the past two days, but he'd yet to join them at night. She watched him take stiff steps into the sitting room. She gestured towards the open bottle. "Do you want a glass?"
The surprises kept on coming.
"Yes, thank you."
Clara shared a surprised look with Mrs. Smith.
Once he had a full glass, Clara budged over on the sofa. The Doctor sank down in the opened space. He sat so close Clara could feel his body heat touching hers. Selfishly, she loved it. She craved it. For a wicked moment, she wanted to shift over into his lap. She wanted to make him hers.
"Brilliant wine." He complimented. Clara cleared her throat lightly and slid over a bit, to hopefully purify her thoughts. She hadn't seen him drink any of his wine, but his glass was almost completely empty already. She leaned forward discreetly, but his breath even smelled like wine, too. She smiled.
"I think so, too." She swirled her wine around her glass anxiously as the silence trickled in. She knew the Doctor hadn't yet said anything to the Smiths about his concerns—she'd convinced him to wait until something else happened—but she felt now was a good time to at least let them know he had some worries. She didn't know when they'd all be together again. "Clara, you know the man who—"
"I was just thinking, Dr. Smith—your daughter got your football expertise." The Doctor interrupted.
If she wasn't suspicious before, she definitely was now. Clara watched the Doctor with narrowed eyes.
Dr. Smith laughed gleefully.
"So you're great at football, too?" He exclaimed. He paused. "Or…were. When you were…me? Ah, well, she definitely gets it from me…us. She's such a talented girl. She's going to go far."
It wasn't difficult to see that his children were Dr. Smith's favorite topic of conversation. He came alive. Clara was certain the Doctor had known that when he brought it up.
"I was fantastic at it, yes." The Doctor agreed. He took a sip of wine and then snorted into his glass. He looked at Mrs. Smith. "You know what Pip—Poppy told me earlier?"
Mrs. Smith smiled.
"Oh, it could be anything. She's mad." She said affectionately.
"She told me that her mum was born in a swimming pool. Truly, genuinely believes it. She got fairly cross when I tried to explain that she'd misheard, that you were born in Blackpool."
Dr. and Mrs. Smith started laughing immediately, their eyes alight with affectionate amusement. Clara chuckled along suspiciously.
"That sounds like Pop." Mrs. Smith smiled. "Doc, I meant to ask—did you want that job you interview for? I mentioned something to Ossie earlier, but I don't know if she said anything…"
"Oh," Clara winced. "No. I didn't, sorry."
"No, she didn't. But I'd love to work underneath you." He responded immediately.
Clara was certain she'd imagined the suggestive tilt of his words. Almost.
He lifted the bottle up by the neck.
"More wine?" He asked the Smiths. "I've been meaning to ask…how did you two meet? What's the story there?"
She was mindful about her alcohol intake due to her lingering suspicion. Unfortunately, the Smiths didn't know the Doctor well enough to be concerned, and they were not. The Doctor drank them under the table, and by the time they were opening a third bottle of wine, the Smiths were tangled up in each other and giggling sporadically through their retelling of their history. Clara had already heard the story, but she liked to watch the Doctor take it all in. He looked interested as he learned all about how Dr. Smith's parents had been abusive and ended up killing themselves; how he and his brother Ten had been placed in the care of his great aunt Tara who happened to live across the street from the newly-moved family Oswald; how the two had met at age six and became the best of friends, something that never changed, not even as they grew up. Dr. Smith's reckless proposal on Dave Oswald's sofa when the two were only teenagers, the year they spent traveling together, the years and years of university schooling and dodgy flats. Until finally the story ended up in present day. Their faces were flushed with laughter and alcohol by the time the story circled round. They looked happier than possible. Clara couldn't help but smile.
"All these years together. What an impressive feat." The Doctor commented. Clara wondered if she'd just imagined the dry tone to his voice.
Dr. Smith certainly hadn't heard it. He'd pulled Mrs. Smith in between his legs and he was intent on kissing the side of her face, each movement tender and lovesick.
"Wonderful years." He corrected. Mrs. Smith was nearly nodding off. Clara could only imagine how warm and loved she must've felt. Could only imagine because she'd never really felt it to that degree before. Jealousy was ugly and she refused to feel it. "My favorite things have stayed the same. I love talking to her, touching her, traveling with her…oh, Doc, you've gotta make things right with Ossie. You've gotta. You don't know what you're missing…you don't know, mate."
Clara braced herself for the Doctor to get angry and defensive. She began to bolster up her heart against whatever cruel response he'd have. But he was still smiling.
"You know, that speech is almost sad considering what your missus told me the other day," the Doctor laughed.
Dr. Smith pressed a lazy, uncoordinated kiss to his wife's lips. He smoothed her hair and nuzzled his cheek against hers.
"What was that?" He asked, but it was obvious only half his mind was even on the conversation.
"That she wished she'd traveled the stars instead of having children with you. Funny, considering you're so content with life, and she isn't."
There it was. Clara set her glass down firmly on the table, the Doctor's words sloshing around angrily inside of her. It was a lie and she knew what he was doing. He was weaving disaster in this life, disaster that might show her it's not as great as it seems. But if he was trying to prove to her that great love causes great pain, he was a bit late for that lesson.
"Doctor, don't." She snapped.
It took a moment for the words to seep into Dr. Smith's wine-soaked mind. He turned his head and shifted his wife to the side in his lap, so he could peer around her. She was staring at the Doctor with a dumbfounded expression.
"What?" Dr. Smith demanded. He looked between his wife and the Doctor. "No, no she didn't."
"No, I didn't." Mrs. Smith confirmed angrily. She was fully awake now.
The Doctor took another sip of wine. "You did. You were telling me all about how long you waited to agree to have children. How much your husband wanted them. How much you didn't. How you only did it for him, but then it go out of control, and now you feel trapped in this life, trapped by everyone and every wall and every boring, everyday occurrence, like birthdays and football practices and parents' evenings and karate lessons and laundry piles and—"
Clara was certain Mrs. Smith had never had a conversation lasting more than perhaps five minutes with the Doctor, but the way he wove his words, he almost made her believe it for a moment. Dr. Smith looked equally tortured.
"No," He repeated. "No, Clara loves her life. We're happy. This is what we both wanted."
The Doctor arched one eyebrow.
"Is it?" He challenged.
This time, Dr. Smith looked down at his wife. She looked up at him.
"Do you really think I'd endure five pregnancies if I didn't want children?" She demanded incredulously. She turned to the Doctor. "What are you trying to do here?"
"Not other people, unlike your husband."
The angry, awkward silence peaked. Mrs. Smith slid off her husband's lap and stared.
"Excuse me?" She breathed.
The Doctor rose to his feet. Clara watched him pace back and forth with the air of a man giving a last speech.
"I've been observing for the past few weeks. Watching. And I haven't fallen for anything you two have tried to play out. You're desperate for a life of adventure free from responsibility, Mrs. Smith. And your husband is desperate for an adventurous life of sexual—"
"You will shut up now."
Dr. Smith had risen to his feet. The serious, deadly look on his face reminded Clara of the look her last Doctor got when faced with a terrible, earth-destroying alien.
"Why? Don't want me to continue talking? Don't want your beloved to know the truth?" The Doctor spat.
"No. I want you to shut up because there is no truth to anything you're saying. And Clara knows that." He looked at his wife after a moment, but what he saw made him do a double-take. He examined her troubled eyes. "Clara?"
"Ah," the Doctor said. "You see, she's not so sure. Because she knows that what I told you is true. So why shouldn't she think what I told her is true, too?"
Mrs. Smith blinked rapidly. She shook her head desperately at her husband.
"What I said wasn't that. He twisted my words. I didn't say that. I said that next to my life, Ossie's looked wonderful."
The Doctor pointed.
"Compared to Ossie's life, hers looks awful."
Mrs. Smith gaped, astounded. Clara could see some level of trust had been gravely violated.
"No. No! That's not what I meant at all! I meant, outside of my life, hers looks great! As in, if I didn't have this life, hers is the one I'd want!"
"But this is the life you have, isn't it? Nothing you can do to change that now. You're trapped." The Doctor said.
Dr. Smith looked wounded by his own uncertainy. Mrs. Smith looked at him desperately.
"You can't honestly believe this!" She breathed, horrified. "Oh, my God. You cannot seriously believe a word of this!"
He couldn't meet her eyes.
"I dunno, Clara. I've been worried about you lately. And then, well…do you remember when we got our fortunes told a few years ago in Blackpool? And do you remember what that woman said? Because it was the same thing. And she said I let you down, that—"
Mrs. Smith moved to Dr. Smith's side. She shook her head, her lips parted, her eyebrows drawn down.
"She was a fake! She cheated us! She was just making things up! I'm happy with you, I've always been, and if I wasn't, I'd leave. That's all there is to it."
Clara could've smacked the Doctor when he spoke up again.
"Could you leave?"
Mrs. Smith turned and looked at him distractedly. She was far too busy examining her husband's anxious eyes.
"What? Of course I could." She snapped.
He sank down beside Clara. He didn't seem to care how angrily she was looking at him. She wanted to slap her palm over his mouth, but she was horrified by what was panning out in front of her, enough that she felt almost paralyzed.
"You'd split your family up. You'd take those children away from their father?"
Mrs. Smith opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Dr. Smith buried his face in his hands.
"Oh, God," he groaned, tortured.
Mrs. Smith looked to Clara and the Doctor, confused.
"What…this…what are we even talking about?! Why are we—I don't want to leave my husband! The thought's never even crossed my mind!" She exclaimed.
"I guess you get used to living a life of disappointment." The Doctor said coldly.
Clara snapped.
"Doctor, shut it!"
He ignored her.
"You must've had such big dreams as a girl. Did you ever imagine you'd end up like this? A hair away from forty with five mediocre children, a boring job, a dull husband. You could've been something amazing. You were born from the print of a woman who saved an entire planet and everybody on it from a fiery grave. A woman who saved a planet from a sun god, who took down the Great Intelligence thousands of times at the expense of her own life, who met Robin Hood and traveled to every end of the universe and back. And look at you. A mother. A wife. A somewhat underqualified technology specialist working for a sinking company with only a few good friends and a ridiculous amount of debt." He barked out a short laugh. "It's no wonder you wish you could take it all back."
Even in his confusion and uneasy hurt, Dr. Smith bristled.
"Don't you dare talk to her that way!"
"And you." The Doctor bit. "Aging, tired. Mortal and boring. I bet your love life's as bland as your taste in food. How many times a day do you wish you hadn't spawned any whining, bratty children?"
"Never."
"About as many times as you wonder what happened to the radiant, energetic young woman you married, I'd wager."
"I do not think that!" Dr. Smith yelled.
"Shh!" The Doctor said. He pressed his finger over his lips. "The kids are sleeping. Like they are every night. Gotta keep quiet, gotta tip toe. Have to make sure everything you do is planned around them. Got to make sure you pick them up when they need it, that you buy the best foods, that you learn to become walking slaves to the little brats—"
"Get up." Clara said. She stood. She reached forward and grabbed the Doctor's arm. She pulled hard, but he didn't budge. "Get up!"
"You see this? Bossing is her job. But she's got bigger plans. See, she wants to be just like you, Mrs. Smith. Oh, I'm sorry. Mrs. Oswald-Smith. She wants to give up the universe and become a mummy instead. She wants to have little babies, maybe some sons, and they can do soldier marches and bully the other kids on the playground. Basically, she wants to become mediocre. She wants to be a rubbish mum who lets her kids get away with too much, too. She wants to pretend she loves them when really all she wants is to control them, like little wind-up dolls. They'll be fun at the start, won't they, Mrs. Smith? But then they'll get boring and useless. Just like every other stuffy—"
The time it took Mrs. Smith to rise and cross the room was hardly enough time for the Doctor to brace himself. The sound of the slap rang around the room painfully. The Doctor's cheek burned red almost immediately from the force of it.
"You have one hour to get out of my home." Mrs. Smith whispered. Her eyes flashed with a level of fury that was actually terrifying. "Don't you ever presume to know me and don't you ever speak of my family that way. You're so pathetically jealous, and cold hearted, and sad. You're not fit to claim to be my husband's other self."
The Doctor sneered.
"For once, we're in agreement."
And he was off, too. Leaving Clara and Dr. Smith in the worst silence she'd ever been part of. She blinked against her burning eyes and stared down at her shaking hands. She was so angry she didn't even know what to do. She didn't know where to start.
"He's supposed to be me." Dr. Smith whispered. Clara turned and looked at him. His eyes were brimming with tears. "He's supposed to be me, which means I have it in me somewhere to say those nasty things."
Clara parted her lips to argue, but she couldn't.
"Why do you stay with him?" He asked.
Because he's all I have left of you.
They all split apart and ricocheted to different areas of the house. Clara knew Mrs. Smith wasn't talking to Dr. Smith or anyone for that matter. She'd taken to her bedroom and had no interest in conversation. Clara wasn't sure what had hurt her the most, but every word the Doctor had said had torn into her. Clara was certain he'd done irreparable damage.
She was angrier than anything else. She hunted through the house for the Doctor, and when she finally found him, she couldn't stop the furious words from swelling in her mouth.
"You're a complete prick."
"I'm sorry I'm truthful, Clara." He dismissed.
"You're the opposite from truthful. You're cruel. You're greedy. You're selfish."
"Nothing I said was a lie."
"It wasn't the truth, either. How they feel is none of your damn business. You don't have the right to come into their home, to live in it, to be around their children, and then to tear into them like that. You don't have the right to try and split them apart."
"You need to see, Clara. This life isn't what you think. It's not what's right for you."
She was shaking. "And what makes you qualified to tell me what is or isn't right for me?"
"I'm the Doctor."
"And?"
"And you're Clara. And I know you best."
"No." Clara drew out evenly. "I know you best. You only know what I let you see." She couldn't stop anymore. "And you're a bloody idiot. You're so possessive, so horribly worried about me leaving you for Danny, and it's not even Danny that the universe put me with! The universe put me with you. I am here with you. And we have children. And we're in love. And you see that and you think it's a threat, that it's something to destroy. That's just so like you, isn't it? You ruin every fucking good thing you have. The universe put us together again, and you know what else?"
He was trying so hard to look unaffected that it was pathetic.
"What?" He asked.
"I'm starting to think the universe made a mistake."
She left before she slapped him, too.
She was so mad with anger then.
To the point that she couldn't think straight.
She just knew she wanted to hurt him, and in her madness, that's what she set out to do. Not thinking that it'd hurt other people. Not thinking that it'd hurt her, too.
She found Dr. Smith in the dark kitchen. He was in front of the kettle and his back was to her. It was so easy to cross the space between them. So easy to reach up and touch his neck, his shoulder.
"Clara," he whispered, relieved. "I'm so sorry."
She stared at the weak moonlight shining on his hair. She wrapped her arms around him and slid her hand up, resting her palm over his heart. His singular heart.
"It's okay," she said. "It's not your fault."
And it wasn't. It was the Doctor's. And she wanted him to walk in and see what she was about to do. She wanted to punish him for it.
She kept her face ducked as he turned around and promptly pulled her into his arms. She pressed against his body and hugged him with abandon, something she'd never done before, because he wasn't hers to hug like this. And he still wasn't. But he didn't know that.
"It wasn't true," he whispered fiercely into her hair. "You are amazing. You are the most beautiful and wonderful woman in the entire world. You saved my life, you made life wondrous, and you're a magnificent mother, you—"
She pressed her lips against his gently. The first time was for a taste, like that might be enough. The second time was for keeps. She reached up and gripped his face as she melded into the kiss. His hands skimmed up her sides, to her shoulders, up to her neck. She felt his fingers caressing along the back of it as his tongue swept over hers. She was pushing her hands underneath his shirt, completely caught up, when he suddenly jumped back from her. His fingers slipped from her neck.
The memory came back to her all at once. My mummy wears a necklace, Poppy had said, as her fingers touched that same spot on Clara's neck. It sits right here all the time.
"Oh, God," Dr. Smith whispered. He stumbled back. His hand was shaking as he lifted it and pressed it to his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, no. I thought you were—oh, god."
Reality tumbled hard into Clara. The full extent of what she'd done hit home as she looked into Dr. Smith's shadowy green eyes. He was devastated and ill. He couldn't seem to stop shaking.
"She's—she's going to think I—but that isn't what—" He rubbed over his wet eyes and then he turned. "How could you do that? I've got to find her. I have to tell her."
Before Clara could apologize or even say a word, he was sprinting from the room.
She stood alone in the empty kitchen and touched her stinging lips.
The cold kitchen tile bit into her bare calves as she sat down. She felt like something was crawling from her chest as she broke down and cried.
He'd been hers first.
It felt like years and no time at all simultaneously when Mrs. Smith stepped into the kitchen.
She'd changed into her pajamas and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. She was expressionless. Clara was still on the floor, her face soaked, her sobs wretched.
She counted Mrs. Smith's slow footsteps. One, two, three. Four, five, six. Seven, eight. She kneeled down in front of Clara. She turned and slowly sank down so she was sitting beside her. And without a word, she pulled her into her arms. A slap would've been kinder.
"I'm so sorry," Clara wept. Her throat was raw and aching from the force of her tears. "I kissed him. I let him think it was you. I don't know why —I've never been like this—the Doctor pushes me to the edge—I'm so sorry."
Mrs. Smith brushed her fingers through her hair lightly. She pressed her cheek to the top of Clara's head.
"I know," she whispered gently. Her tone with soothing and every touch of her fingertips leaked forgiveness. It was something Clara didn't feel she deserved. Mrs. Smith was the one who'd been ungraciously attacked by the Doctor. Any pain Clara was feeling she'd done to herself. "It's okay. I know."
"How can you forgive me?" Clara demanded. Her voice was almost croaky now.
"Because I know, deep down, you only have the best at heart. I know that in order for you to do something like this, you've got to be hurting." She said calmly.
A fresh sob tore from her. She'd never cried with this much abandon in front of anyone but her mum.
"I don't know why he's like this. I want him to go back to how he was. I don't know why he hates me now. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I deserve to be hated by everyone."
It was how he made her feel, at least. Being abandoned with him for so long had worn her down. She was used to having her own life and her own friends and family to ground her. Without them, she was just the Doctor's Clara. And when she was that, how he felt about her changed everything.
Mrs. Smith's lips were a light pressure against the top of her head. She shut her eyes as she kissed the side of her face. She reached up and grasped her forearms gently, holding her to her, like she could somehow salvage this brief moment of affection.
"No, you don't." Mrs. Smith assured her. "And I love you. My family loves you. Regardless of what he feels, I care about you."
"Even now?" She had to know.
"Maybe especially now. Because now I know how much you need it."
Clara turned and looked at her.
"He really didn't know it was me. Please don't be angry with him. He was so upset. I took advantage of him."
The corners of Mrs. Smith's lips turned up. She sighed and looked down at her hands.
"Oh, I know," she reassured her. "Your friend tried his very best to turn us against each other, but he still doesn't quite understand the concept of marriage, does he? I know the Doctor better than I know myself. And he knows me just as well. And even if we have brief doubts, that's all they'll ever be. Brief. If anything, he only managed to make us dislike ourselves."
Clara turned her body to the side. She pulled her legs up to her chest and peered over her knees at the woman.
"You're a great mum. Don't listen to what he said. He didn't mean a word of it. He was just saying whatever he thought would hurt the most."
She smiled sadly. "Yes, well, he's very clever. He found every single sore spot."
Clara looked down at the tops of her knees.
"I understand why you want us to leave. I won't be angry. And I really hope we can still see each other while I'm still stuck here."
Mrs. Smith's voice was tinged with confusion.
"You would leave with him?"
Clara looked up.
"Well, I guess so. I dunno. He's kind of my ride back to my own life." It had suddenly become as cold as that.
Mrs. Smith thought for a minute or two. They sat comfortably in the silence.
"Don't go anywhere." She decided. "He doesn't have to either. As long as he can choke up a halfway decent apology. But for the record, that's only because I don't think you should have to suffer for his thick head. I'm not really keen on his company."
Clara smiled slightly. But it faded as the next words came to life.
"Clara, there's something I should've told you a while ago. About those deaths. The Doctor doesn't think it's a serial killer. He thinks…well, honestly, he thinks it's some sort of alien parasite that may or may not be drawn to John. We don't have much reason to think it, truly, except for my Doctor's intuition. But…on matters like this…his intuition is usually right. I don't know how much danger your family is in, but deep down, I think I know it's a lot. And even though it might seem counterintuitive, keeping the Doctor around is the best thing you can do right now. He wouldn't let anything happen to you or your family."
Mrs. Smith let her head fall heavily against Clara's shoulder.
"And I thought the night couldn't get any more exhausting," she whispered.
Clara smiled. "Welcome to my life."
It was quiet as they both breathed. She liked how it was always in sync, always matched up perfectly, like their lungs somehow sensed they were really one.
"He's so worried about our different lives, and the repercussions of the ones we've chosen, and what we feel about them, and what it means for him." Mrs. Smith realized. "But it's not like that at all. It isn't like it's two different lifestyles warring with each other. It's two different pieces of one whole. It's like this: I'll live this life to the fullest and you'll live that one. And together, we'll have had it all. We'll have done it all, seen it all. What could be better than that? What could be more beautiful? What could be more…complete? You see the stars and I kiss them goodnight."
Clara smiled softly, because she loved the idea of that. But she wasn't sure if it was true anymore.
"I don't know how much longer I'll be seeing the stars," she admitted quietly. It was the first time she'd ever voiced that aloud.
Mrs. Smith didn't seem worried.
"It will end up right. I know it will. I think he's terribly hurt, Clara. I think something is very wrong in his heart, something that's going to take so much time and care to mend. I'm not saying it'll be easy…I'm not even saying you should really have to put up with it. I'm just saying I think there's a part of him still there that adores you. I think it's more prominent than you think. And I think he could love you better than anyone. I think he could love you like you deserve."
She didn't want to hear that right then. She wanted to hear that he was hopeless, that she should give up on him, that Danny was the logical choice. Because it was the easier one. And she was worn through.
"We won't let anything happen to your kids. I promise. We'll sort out whatever is going on. Beyond all else, that's what we do."
When she curled up on the sofa that night, she decided she'd put all her energy into the possible threat from that point on. She'd first fallen for the Doctor in the process of saving the world. Perhaps they just needed to go back to the basics.
