Chapter Seven

Love and Disaster

The days leading up to Saturday dragged on, as time so often does when one is awaiting something wonderful and exciting. More than a few times, Clara found herself looking at her desk calendar with pursed lips and furrowed brows, wondering why the date felt a day or two behind. In class, too, she caught her eye wandering up to the clock as it ticked like molasses.

The slowest minutes of all, though, were the ones that took place during her next phone call home. With chattering teeth, Clara input her father's number and listened to the dial tone.

It rang twice. Then a third time. With a lifted spirit, she considered maybe he wouldn't answer.

Then the ringing ended with a distinctive click. Shuffling on the other line came through, just before her dad's voice.

"Clara?"

He sounded so happy, probably because she'd forgotten to call last week. Suddenly Clara felt all of the nerves return, even more powerful than while she'd been waiting for him to answer.

"Hey, dad. I, er…"

"How's school going?"

"Great," she replied, honestly. "I think my professors are pretty happy with me so far."

She paced back and forth in her tiny flat, clenching her empty, sweaty palm into a fist as her dad rattled on about how great she was and how proud she made him.

"Dad," she finally cut in, closing her eyes. "I, er...I lost my job at the library."

There was a pause, in which Clara's brain sped onto eight different tracks, all of which ended in doom and shame. Her eyes darted around restlessly, not looking at anything in particular.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. That's always rough," her dad said, breaking the silence.

Clara let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"You're not angry?" She asked.

"Why would I be angry? You're already working so hard; it's a relief you've got a bit of a break for once."

Clara smiled, tears of pent up nervous energy fogging her vision.

"I thought you'd be disappointed or something."

Her dad clicked his teeth.

"I lost my first job when I was sixteen. It happens. Just keep out of prison and stay away from drugs. And boys. That's all I ask."

She tilted her head.

"That's doable."

"That's my girl. And hey, you can always look for another job if you want to. But no pressure."

Clara's smile widened.

"Thank you, dad."

"Love you, Clara."

They wrapped up their conversation with a few rounds of goodbyes, and then Clara exited the call. She breathed out a deep sigh, and then fell back onto her bed, letting her phone drip onto the top blanket.

The ceiling was cracked above her, and there was an essay to write, not to mention the Shakespearean texts she had to finish in the next few days. But her biggest hurdle of the week had been crossed, with much more ease than she could've imagined.

Maybe things were really going to go her way this year.

. . . . . . .

Saturday morning, Clara entered John's building in her comfiest clothes; a pair of joggers, trainers, and a hoodie atop a black tank top. He had insisted she not bring anything, and she didn't argue. After the longest week of her life, she was ready to kick back and be a little pampered.

John opened the door in apparel similar to her own. For once, he was dressed more casually: a hooded jacket instead of the usual lapel-and-collar, and gray socks instead of those stiff boots. They shared a smile and he invited her inside.

"Make yourself comfortable."

The flat was even neater than the last time she'd seen it. Two pillows sat beside a blanket on the sofa, facing toward a large laptop. The main menu for a black-and-white sci-fi film lit up the laptop screen, making odd monster noises every so often. Clara worked her shoes off of her feet and sat down with a chuckle.

"Where on earth did you find this film?" she asked over her shoulder. He was in the kitchen cooking, what smelled and sounded like, popcorn.

"Er, remember that bookshop? I found a little old-film section. This one had the worst reviews."

Clara shook her head.

"That is brilliant."

John threw her a smirk as he finished up on the stove.

"Do you want popcorn?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

He poured the popcorn into two separate bowls.

"Butter and salt?"

"Just a little."

When their 'meal' was fully prepared, John hurried into the room balancing the two bowls of popcorn, a bottle of soda, and two plastic cups.

"Sorry, didn't know if you drank."

Clara took her popcorn and poured her soda happily.

"Soda is perfect."

John sat beside her, a bit more uneasy than she was. His hands kept fidgeting and his leg couldn't decide if it wanted to be up or down. It ultimately decided on down as he leaned back into the sofa.

"Ready?"

Clara ate a few kernels of popcorn.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

John clicked the film on, and it instantly let out a horrible screeching noise. He and Clara shared grimaces, which ended in amused smiles.

"Did people have working ears in the sixties or were they all deaf from the rock music?"

John smiled, taking some of his own popcorn.

"Probably the latter. Though, I must ask, not all rock music hurts your ears, does it, Clara?"

She glanced his guitar sitting in the corner. They shared a loud laugh.

"No," she assured. "Just don't crank up the sound too much. Or do any of that screamo stuff."

"Yes ma'am."

She shook her head at his response, but turned back to the movie with a wide smile.

"Oh my God, what is that thing?"

John coughed on one of his kernels as some kind of a giant 'spider-sloth' came ambling onto the screen. When he recovered enough to laugh without choking himself, he cleared his throat.

"I honestly don't know what to call that."

Clara and John sat critiquing and laughing at the film for another half hour before turning to each other fully again. Clara picked up one of her last remaining popcorn kernels and held it up.

"Try to catch this."

He opened his mouth wide, but her toss sent the kernel bouncing off of his tooth. He tried next, hitting her on the ear.

"You know," she said, picking up the kernel from the sofa. "For a physics student, your trajectory is a bit frightening."

"I was never really a PE person. More of an arts and sciences kid, me."

"Are you suggesting that catching popcorn in your mouth is a sport?" Clara asked, setting her empty bowl on the table beside her.

John was about to respond, but they both simply laughed and looked back to the screen. The spider-sloth was chasing a woman in heels very, very slowly. Around the styrofoam monster stood collapsing 'buildings', which looked more like a kid's drawing than a professional film set.

Clara turned to John to find him already watching her. Her lips curled into a confused smile, which he returned with soft eyes that traced her features.

"What's up?" Clara asked, setting her hand on the blanket they were both sat under.

John shook his head.

"Nothing. Just…I'm really happy."

His whole face shined as the brightest smile she'd ever seen him wear spread across his lips.

"I've haven't been this happy in...years," he added.

His hand found Clara's, to the apparent surprise of both of them. They both looked down at their fingers, holding onto each other for dear life.

John let out a nervous chuckle, but looked up to Clara with intensity.

"Clara…"

She leaned toward him, both of their eyes dancing over the other's lips. Her heart was pounding, but she had never felt more relaxed. Her eyes closed as they grew closer and closer to each other.

Just when they were within a hair's breadth of each other, smelling the popcorn and butter lingering on their lips, the door burst open.

Clara and John jumped back. First they looked at each other, wide eyed. Then they looked back at the two figures clambering inside behind them, one holding the other up.

"We need help," the figure on the right said shakily. It was a boy somewhere in between Clara and John's age, with a bald head and a tightly set anxious grimace.

"Nardole…" John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nardole helped the other figure as she tried to step forward, legs moving like jelly.

"John," Nardole said sternly. "Seriously, we need you to help us. Missy's gotten in even more trouble than usual."

Missy, who Clara remembered from Martha's conversation, leaned back against the wall. Her eerie smile sent a shiver down Clara's spine. The woman seemed older than Nardole, maybe even older than John.

Clara looked back at John to focus herself. She couldn't tell what emotion was stronger on his face: anger, embarrassment, dread, horror. Whatever was happening, nothing good was going to come of it.

"Nardole," John said, getting to his feet. "What kind of trouble are we talking about?"

Nardole left Missy on a chair beside the wall and came to the sofa. He hadn't seemed to notice Clara yet.

"The police are after her."

John's face fell.

"For what?"

Nardole sighed, shaking his head.

"Stolen chemicals, endangering students, property destruction; you name it."

John leaned fidgeting hands on the back of the sofa. As he stared at the floor, his eyes held something Clara hadn't noticed before: sadness. Just like she'd seen in him these past few weeks. A deep sadness, perhaps even grief. And maybe a touch of shame, too.

"John," Clara said, touching his arm. He jumped at the contact. "What's going on?"

He looked up at her and his mouth opened as if to say something, but then he glanced at Nardole.

"It's...it's fine, Clara. Everything is fine. There are just a lot of complicated situations here."

He looked at Missy when he said that. She still seemed lost in some kind of a dream; a state of ignorant bliss the others wished they could achieve.

John pinched the bridge of his nose again.

"I'm so sorry, Clara. It's not usually...we can usually stop this before it goes too far."

Clara was properly worried, for John and Nardole and Missy, and also for herself. Her boyfriends in the past had been normal; living normal lives, with normal vices and virtues. This was something beyond her or anything she'd ever dealt with.

"John, I have to go," she said firmly. She almost regretted saying it as soon as it left her lips, given the expression on John's face, but she held fast. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

John sucked in a deep breath as Clara made her way to the door.

"Wait, Clara. I'm sorry…"

Clara turned back and gave him a small smile to reassure both him and herself

"It's alright, John. I just need some air."

She opened the door and was hit with the smell of coffee and cigarettes.

"Nobody's going anywhere just yet."

The voice came from the angry police officer standing in the doorway, who had a look on his face that made Clara's blood go cold.