A/N: I meant to stop halfway through but eventually didn't. So here's a longer chapter. Thanks for your kind words!


Clarity - Chapter 8

The last week before Christmas was more hectic than Clara had anticipated. Things were - mostly - back to normal with her colleagues, but she found herself getting more and more work. Emails, phone-calls, even letters asking for her input on some government matters relating - mostly - to education. In some ways, she was glad of the attention and trust she apparently now inspired. She knew this was due to her interview for The Guardian and the good press it generated. And she certainly didn't mind how the minister, Bill Collins, seemed to have included her in his top 5 advisor list, now. But it did mean that her days were a lot fuller than before. For once, she actually was glad that the holidays were upon her. She had even planned to drive up to Liverpool for Christmas to see her dad. Granted, she had taken the decision at the last minute, but her father had sounded enthusiastic on the phone. Maybe things would be fine this year.

She was brought back to the present by her chirping phone. She wondered if she should pick it up. It was close to midnight and it wasn't a number she recognised.

"Hello?"

"Good, you're awake, we need you at Number 10. Get in a cab now."

Clara tried not to think how Jamie MacDonald had gotten her home number and focused on his words.

"What? It's almost midnight, what's going on?"

"I know it's close to fucking midnight, but do you think the media every sleep? There's been a major clusterfuck, and you're the only one at Education who knows anything about the sodding new curriculum and young enough to use her fucking grey cells at a time like this. So get out of your jimjams and get in a cab. Call me back when you're on your way and I'll tell you more. If you're not on the phone in five minutes, I'll come and get you out of your fucking bed myself."

Jamie's accent was barely understandable when he was in a mood like this one, thought Clara, who tried not to pay too much attention to the sheer number of profanities as well. Right, guess I should get ready, then. It didn't even cross her mind that she could probably refuse. And, okay, she had to admit she was rather curious. She wondered what that said about her: something very bad had apparently happened, but she was secretly pretty excited. Especially since it would be the first time she set foot at Downing Street. So maybe she was a bit of a masochist when it came to her work. But then, she already knew that.

She called a cab, changed quickly into something professional but comfortable - she hadn't been in her jimjams, but she didn't think jeans would be right for Number 10 - packed her laptop and some files she might need and spent a few precious seconds petting her dog and telling him she would be home soon. She knew she was turning into one of those crazy old ladies who had conversations with their pets, but it did make her feel better. The hooting horn of the car outside finally made her rise up and leave the flat.

Just as she was about to call Jamie back, she had a flash of panic - well, not really panic, more like febrility - would Malcolm Tucker be there? She hadn't seen him since his impromptu gift/apology/dinner (she couldn't decide what to call it) and wondered how she would react when she saw him. And how he would react. Maybe this hadn't been something out of the ordinary for him. Maybe he was used to bike Guinness and crisps to women he'd angered during the day. Right. Somehow, she didn't think so. Deciding now was not the time to think about the significance of his act - again - she dialled her phone.

"I'm in the taxi," she announced, as soon as the line was picked up on the first ring.

"Good girl. Now here's the thing: someone leaked the new Education curriculum and we need you to do damage control."

"What do you mean? It's not even ready yet, it's supposed to come out in March."

"Exactly, which is why the file the fucking hacks got ahold of is a very early draft."

"How early?" she asked, dreading his answer.

"June."

This was indeed pretty bad then. The draft by that stage had mostly been people throwing all their crazy ideas at the project. She had read some of them - one advisor had even put in the reintroduction of corporal punishment, as a joke, or so she hoped - and she could only imagine the consequences this would have if the draft had indeed been leaked to the press.

"Wait, I didn't even work there at the time," she added, thinking that it would probably only complicate matters.

"Don't you think I fucking know that? That's why we're calling you, we need someone with knickers as clean as the Queen's. You have to tell the waiting packs of rabid hyenas that it's not the actual thing. And preferably, that such document never even originated from the department."

She would have to lie then, great. Just as she was starting to enjoy the new challenges of her job.

"I'll tell you more when you get there. Where are you now?"

"About 15 minutes away I'd say, maybe less."

"Good."

Jamie then told her what entrance she needed to use to get in and pass security, and Clara barely had a few minutes to think about the damage this leak could potentially bring to her department before she was there. This... was chaos, there was no other word for it. A woman had picked her up downstairs and led her to what she was told was the Strategic Communications Unit. Jamie MacDonald's lair. Said Jamie looked very much in his element in the crowded room where desks had been put haphazardly everywhere and haggard looking people were busy talking on phones. Sometimes two phones at the same time.

"Perfect, our fucking life jacket is here. Everybody, this is Clara Oswald, you listen to every word she fucking says."

Clara blushed, given that each and every person in the room was now staring at her. No wonder, since Jamie had pretty much screamed his instructions. He looked disheveled, with stubbly cheeks and ruffled hair, but also absolutely thrilled about the situation. This was his thing, after all. Shouting at people and managing crises.

"What do I do exactly?" she asked, feeling a lot less sure about herself and her remit than in the cab.

"You sit over here and you answer all those people's questions. If needed, you take their place on the phone."

"And what do I tell them? What's the line?"

"You tell them what's in the actual fucking curriculum and what isn't. You have the latest draft with you?"

"Yes, but I'm pretty sure I won't need to refer to it, given how bonkers some of the proposals in the Summer draft were."

"You tell me. What the fuck are you breathing over there at the Sanctuary Buildings? Although, I have to say, I quite liked the idea of having kids design the 2012 Olympic village. Now that would be a fucking blast. Yell if you need me, I'll be over there doing some more yelling. You'll get used to it."

Clara smiled at him but cringed internally. She didn't know how she would break it to him that the Olympic thing was still in the latest draft. She'd probably tell him after Christmas. Maybe. For now, she sat at the corner of the desk she'd been directed to and booted up her computer to have the right files in the vicinity, just in case she had a lapse of memory.

In the end, she didn't have time to glance at her computer once. She was bombarded by questions and handed receiver after receiver by helpless staffers who looked like they hadn't slept or ate in the last three days (maybe they hadn't). She spoke to more journalists than she thought she ever would in the span of her whole career and managed to keep her composure most of the time. Around four, she couldn't help being a little more sarcastic than she should have been in her answer to a reporter from a newspaper she had never heard of.

"No sir, we do not plan to have children learn all the national anthems by heart for the Olympics. Although we were planning on having them re-write God Save the Queen for the occasion..."

Of course, Jamie chose that very moment to be within earshot. When she finally put the phone down - after having apologised to the inflexible journalist - she expected a good bollocking from him. Instead, he offered her a banana.

"Good, you lasted four hours. Impressive. Now eat, you're going to need it."

She had to admit that she had indeed been hungry. Perhaps her lapse of judgement had generated there. Other than that, she strangely didn't feel tired. She guessed she didn't have time to feel tired, and she was thankfully often brought fresh cups of tea. Clara thought the night would finally come to an end at six, when the newspapers would go to press, but she was then presented with the mountain of emails she was meant to answer. She had forgotten that some journalists had unfortunately joined the 21st century, and didn't have newspapers to print but rather websites and blogs to update.

She thought she saw Malcolm Tucker poke his head in the room a few times during the night, but she knew they both had more important stuff to do than saying hello or start a conversation that would no doubt be a little awkward. When Clara felt that the next person who would hand her a laptop or call her to a desk so that she could dictate them the proper answer would get her hands around his or her throat, she magically found Jamie once again behind her. He seemed to know in advance when she was about to crack.

"Another four hours, good job. Take a real break and come back in half an hour. We'll know what was printed by then."

She nodded, and first walked on auto-pilot to the bathroom to freshen up. She had made a few trips there during the night of course, but she had refrained from looking at herself in the mirror, too afraid of what she would see. She realised now that it had been a wise decision. She looked an absolute mess, but was too tired to do anything about it first. Realising that she couldn't stay immobile in front of the mirror for twenty minutes, she spurred to action. She brushed her teeth thanks to the toothbrush she always kept in her bag, reapplied some light makeup to make herself look more awake (and human) and started doing something about her hair before giving up and deciding to use a plastic hair slide to keep them in place.

Clara then walked towards the informal room used as a cafeteria she had been given direction to and sat down gratefully with a cup of coffee. First coffee of the day. She knew it wouldn't be the last, but she had wisely stuck to tea for the night, knowing that she would need caffeine at some point. Greatly anticipating the kick it would hopefully give her, she took a sip, and promptly felt like gagging.

"Dear God!" she couldn't help but say out loud. The burnt and acidic taste had made her firmly close her eyes reflexively, but she opened them again when she heard a gravely voice behind her.

"Big mistake. I'm afraid it won't leave you for a week. Not a gin and tonic, but you can have this to disinfect your taste buds," Malcolm Tucker told her, handing her a can of Red Bull. She didn't think twice about the fact that he'd already drunk some of it and took a big gulp. The taste was only marginally less vile, but she could now at least properly see through the tears in her eyes.

"Why isn't there a sign warning people about this deadly concoction?" she asked him in a raspy voice.

"Probably to keep on having newcomers like you fall for it," he deadpanned, apparently making his mind up about something and sitting across from her.

"So, how long have you been here now?" he asked her somewhat conversationally.

"I arrived around midnight. Been on the phone ever since, it seems. What about you?" she replied, seeing that he looked slightly fresher than Jamie. Pressed suit and shirt, clean shaven, but tousled hair.

"Mmh, what day is it now?" Clara doubted he was being serious, but she humoured him.

"The 23rd, I think."

"Then I've been here a little longer than you." Clara could tell the "little longer" was a euphemism for "too many days to count" and handed him the half empty can of Red Bull.

"Take this, then. You need it more than me."

"Oh, don't worry, I still have a few cans left. Has Jamie behaved reasonably enough considering the situation?"

"Well, hard for me to say since it's the first time I had to go through something like this, but I'd say so. He's been very nice to me actually. Got me a banana at around four."

"Yes, the famous 4 o'clock banana, good call. I told him he should always keep fruit up there. And speaking of the little twat, here he is." Clara started, seeing Jamie enter the cafeteria and fearing she'd actually been sitting there for an hour.

"Malcolm, Sam's looking for you. And you...good God, I hope you didn't try the coffee. You did? Poor lass, hope you'll survive. Anyway, you need to go home and change, I've booked you for a bunch of interviews."

"What? So it's been printed?"

"Some of it, yes. You need to do some live damage control now, and put your pretty face to good use." Clara would have probably reacted to his comment if she hadn't felt a massive headache coming on from the perspective of the day ahead of her. A day that had apparently just started.

"But don't go all the way, you know. Wear something conservative, that might be best," Jamie added.

"You should perhaps avoid the red dress you had at that party for instance," commented Malcolm who, upon closer inspection, looked like he hadn't wanted to make that remark out loud.

"I mean, it did look great..." he amended, but was interrupted by Jamie.

"When you two have finished flirting, I'll have to brief you about the interviews in the office before you head home, Clara." Jamie then walked out, and Clara felt compelled to follow him, even though she couldn't resist gracing Malcolm with an amused smile before leaving.

Back in Jamie's cave, as she had deemed it a suitable name given that the the drapes were always closed - probably so that staffers had no idea how long they'd actually been inside - he had her sit next to his desk as he was telling her about the various interviews he had booked for her. She had trouble following as it seemed to her that she would be at it until the middle of January, given his never ending list. She had started massaging her temples reflexively and just as she was about to finally interrupt her torturer to ask him how she was supposed to manage all that, she was assaulted by the wonderfully invigorating smell of freshly brewed coffee.

"Oh, Sam, are those the SkyNews files? You're a fucking life saviour, girl."

Clara turned towards the "girl", who was actually a pretty woman a little older than her with long dark hair. She handed Jamie the files she was holding in one hand, and set the coffee cup she was holding in the other right in front of Clara. She smiled at her, and Clara thanked her profusely, too exhausted to wonder where the coffee was actually coming from. Maybe her unconscious had created this wonderful person, but as she gripped the cup gratefully she at least realised that the coffee wasn't a mirage.

"You're very welcome, it looks like you indeed needed it."

"How's Malcolm doing with the BBC?"

"I've only arrived an hour ago, but he'll get there, I'm sure."

"Of course he will. How long has it been now?"

"We're arriving at the 48 hour mark, I think. But he took the time for a shower and I've restocked the fridge with Red Bull, so he should be good for twelve more hours, I'd say."

"Good."

Clara had no idea what the conversation was about, and was too busy feeling human again thanks to the caffeine to interrupt them.

"Lucky girl, you got coffee from downstairs. They make it with real coffee beans down there, or so I'm told," Jamie told her as soon as the dark haired woman had walked out.

"What?"

"That was Sam, Malcolm's PA." The previous conversation then made more sense, now. She looked at her half empty cup with renewed admiration. Seemed like she was destined to receive beverages from the director of communications. She found this idea very funny - more funny than it probably was - and couldn't stop laughing for a little while. The odd look she got from Jamie signalled her that her behaviour might be a little weird. So Clara attributed it to fatigue, and drank some more coffee.

"You stopped the list after that interview for ITV, I'm listening." Clara then told him, once the cup was empty.

Jamie briefed her for ten more minutes, then told her she had a driver waiting downstairs who would first take her home, then drive her around all day long to the various interviews. He gave her a huge pile of documents, but basically asked her to do the same thing she had been doing all night, and set the journalists straight on the curriculum. Clara was pretty sure she would soon be able to answer questions about the bloody draft in her sleep. But sleep would wait, she needed to shower and find something to wear in the allotted half hour she had been given once she arrived home.

Clara had never been driven around like that, and hadn't known what the proper etiquette was with the driver. So she had started making some talk with the man, who was very nice, but not very talkative. Maybe he wasn't a morning person. She could definitely relate to that. She told him she'd be back in half an hour, but that it might take her an extra 5 minutes since she definitely needed to take her poor dog for a walk first thing.

The Doctor didn't seem too angry at her for having abandoned him all this time, but unfortunately he was starting to get used to her absence. So Clara spent extra time she would have needed to get ready to walk around the neighbourhood with him. She knew she probably looked a bit demented, walking around with her dog, looking a mess, and talking to him in French. But the experience refreshed her more than the five minute shower she took afterwards.

The day eventually passed in a blur. She had stopped counting how many interviews she had given after the fifth one, and by the end didn't even realise if it was for a TV channel or for the radio. She hoped she had behaved consistently each time. Her day was punctuated by various coffee cups from various coffee places, a few granola bars and bananas and phone-calls from Jamie who had apparently stopped being able to form sentences which didn't have at least three profanities in them. Clara had never heard such variations on the word "fuck". If she had been in a better mood herself, she might have taken notes for posterity's sake.

She was driven back to Number 10 around six o'clock, and couldn't fathom that she had been up for 36 hours. She felt jet lagged, and had a hard time believing she wasn't actually dreaming. She walked on auto-pilot to Jamie's office but found it almost empty. Thinking she had walked in the wrong room, she retraced her steps and bumped into the nice woman from... was it this morning? Sam, she believed her name was.

"I'm sorry, do you know where Jamie..."

"He went home, as did most of the staffers."

"Oh, I thought I needed to come back for a debrief or..." Clara stopped, feeling foolish as well as desperately tired, now.

"Malcolm's still there, why don't you go and see him? I'm sure he'll answer all your questions about the interviews."

"I'm sure he's busy, it's fine..."

"He's not, trust me. Just follow me." Too knackered to argue, Clara walked behind Sam downstairs, actually glad to have someone making decisions for her once again. What had this day turned into? She had been told what to do at virtually every second. She hoped she would soon have control of her life once again.

Sam knocked on a high Georgian door downstairs, and entered even when she didn't receive any answer from inside. The office was a lot more spacious and regal than Jamie's, that was for sure. But it was also empty.

"Curry must have arrived, then. Follow me."

Not knowing if she had heard correctly or had fallen down the rabbit hole, Clara followed the woman to another door down the carpeted hall. It was a meeting room, empty but for the director of communications sitting in front of what was apparently his dinner.

"Found her wandering upstairs looking for Jamie, so I brought her down. I'm heading home, good night Malcolm."

Clara sat in front of Malcolm, unsure of what she should be doing now that no one was there to tell her. He hadn't spoken yet, but he stood up and exited the room from another door and walked back in again before Clara had time to react. He was holding a bottle of lager in his hand, which he gave to her once it was opened. Another beverage, then. It was cold, and tasted wonderful. She spoke only after she'd taken a few sips.

"Thanks."

"No problem, want some curry? There's enough to feed the whole building, as usual."

"Yeah, why not?" said Clara, who wasn't sure if she was really hungry, but had forgotten how to say "no" sometime during the last two days. He handed her a paper plate and a plastic fork, and told her to help herself. Once her plate was full, he raised his own beer to her in a mock cheer and they started eating in silence for a while.

Clara realised after the third forkful that she had in fact been famished, and she decided that the curry was the best food she'd ever tasted.

"I sent Jamie home an hour ago, we were getting to the point where paramedics would soon need to be called in to revive his staffers. And his wife would have resented me if I got him arrested for not upholding the Geneva convention. Especially just before Christmas."

"Good point," Clara replied, feeling as human as one could reasonably feel after these past 36 hours, which wasn't saying much.

"Guess I'm a cheap date, too," Malcolm then uttered, gesturing to the curry and beer.

"I'm sorry?"

"You said you were a cheap date because you liked Guinness and salt & vinegar crisps. Well, curry and lager is mine, I guess."

Clara did remember, and refrained from commenting. She actually didn't mind curry and lager, if she was completely honest.

"The interviews went fine, if you were worrying about that. The hacks will be busy with Christmas tomorrow, anyway. So your department should be okay until early January."

Clara realised that Malcolm Tucker was actually a lot more talkative when he was tired. He had probably told her more stuff in the last minute than he had ever told her until now. Too bad she couldn't for the life of her think of things to say except for "oh" and "right". She'd probably regret it afterwards.

"How long have you been here, now?" she eventually asked him, remembering Sam and Jamie's conversation that morning and impressed that she could still form entire sentences.

"What day is it?" he asked again.

"Still the 23rd, I think," she answered with a smile.

"I have not missed Christmas, then."

"No, I guess not. Although I think I wouldn't mind sleeping until January the 1st."

"My kind of holidays, you're right."

At that, Clara remembered that she would need to drive to Liverpool sometime tomorrow, and find the time to get the Doctor to Martha's place, since she unfortunately couldn't take him with her.

"I should be heading home," she said, realising that time wouldn't stop just for her.

"Me too, I think. Seems the fuckers have finally allowed me some sleep." Clara didn't know if the fuckers referred to the press or to the various government officials. Probably both.

They finished their food and drinks, and Clara wished Malcolm a good night.

"You're taking a cab?" he asked her just as she was opening the door.

"No, I think I'll walk," she answered, tired of being driven around.

"What is it with you and walking? It must be minus five or something tonight."

What is it with you and caring, she wanted to retort, but didn't. She thought he wouldn't have the "driver waiting for me" argument this time, but he surprised her once more.

"Right, I'm driving you then, I've got my car here."

"What? No, it's only a 30 minute walk, I'm going!"

"Where is it you're going?"

"Close to Elephant & Castle," she answered, already anticipating his reaction.

"I'm driving," he harrumphed.

"It's perfectly safe, nothing ever happened to me. What do you have against the place I live?"

"Nothing, but I'm driving."

Clara tried to show her annoyance in the way that she was stubbornly refusing to walk next to him on the way to the car park. Because of course she had followed him, even though she hadn't actually said out loud she was agreeing to him driving her home. She thought it was fitting that even though her workday was finally officially over, she still wouldn't be able to take one bloody decision for herself. But once she found herself sitting in the comfortable leather seat, she acknowledged that it perhaps hadn't been such a bad idea. If Malcolm hadn't started the engine, she'd have actually probably fallen asleep.

"Isn't that James Bond's car?" she eventually asked as they were getting out of the car park.

"What?"

"It's a DB9, right?"

"Well, yes," he answered, surprised.

"Then it's James Bond's car. That's kind of cool."

"Right," Malcolm said. And Clara wasn't sure if the "right" meant that he agreed with her about it being James Bond's car, or that her somewhat childish reaction puzzled him. She was too tired to find out, and was actually enjoying the ride. Seeing passer-bys bundled up in heavy layers and scarves, she silently agreed that walking home would have been a bit tragic. Especially in those heels. She felt like taking them off in the car but didn't dare to.

"So, where to?"

"I told you, Elephant & Castle," she answered stubbornly, once more.

"But I mean after that. I'm not just dropping you there."

Clara had actually thought that he would. She felt a bit self-conscious now about leading him right to her door, but the vision of her fluffy pillows waiting for her made her worries disappear.

"Just take Walworth Road after the big roundabout and I'll guide you the rest of the way."

They drove in silence, and Clara didn't mind, enjoying Malcolm's smooth driving and the purring sound of the powerful engine. They arrived more quickly than she had anticipated, and she wondered if she had closed her eyes at some point. But she realised that she must have been awake to give him directions, since he had parked right in front of her door.

"Thank you, it was a better idea than walking in this weather, you were right."

"You're welcome. Enjoy your rest, you deserve it."

"Yeah, you too. I'll finally allow myself to crash right after taking the Doctor for a walk."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he mumbled, "Right, I'm going with you," he added resolutely, getting out of the car and closing the door. Clara got out as well, puzzled.

"What?"

"Get your... bloody dog, I'll walk him with you."

"Why? You don't have to do that."

"I'm here, aren't I? Might as well."

"This is stupid, just go home, you must be exhausted. I'm used to walking my dog, nothing's going to happen to me," she tried to reason with him, unsure of his exact motive for wanting to stay.

"I haven't driven you all the way here just for you to step out again once I'm gone," he argued.

Feeling too exhausted to set his mind straight, she capitulated, knowing from experience now that it would be the quickest way for him to eventually leave and let her go to bed.

"Fine, but you can wait here while I go and get him."

"Fine," he mimicked, crossing his arms and leaning against his car, his posture the very definition of a man who had all the time in the world but would she still hurry up please, it was getting a wee bit late.

Clara huffed and walked up to her flat. She hadn't asked him to wait outside because she didn't want him to see her place - she was proud to say it was quite tidy, after all - but because she wanted to greet her dog without him hovering in the background and thinking her certifiable. She also took a few seconds to change her shoes and put on a warmer coat. He could suffer in the cold for a few minutes, he was the one who had insisted on staying, after all.

He was still leaning against his car when she walked down, and he didn't look too put out. She guessed he was just as tired as she was - probably more, given what she had heard this morning.

"Thanks for waiting," she told him, genuinely. She hadn't lied earlier when she had told him that nothing had ever happened to her in the neighbourhood at night, but she was usually on her guard. And given her state at the moment, she felt better having Malcolm with her. After all, her dog wasn't very scary.

"So that's the Doctor then," he asked rhetorically, "A border-collie, right?"

"Yep," she answered, "I've had him for six years, now."

Malcolm stood up properly, and started walking with her. Mindful of his nice car, she chose not to wander too far away. Her dog seemed to understand that she wanted to go to bed, and wasn't too restless for once. He sniffed Malcolm's shoes for a few seconds, deemed him an acceptable presence, and left him alone.

"You've shrunk," he noted.

"I have. Bloody heels."

He didn't comment, but Clara felt him imperceptibly move closer to her.

"So, are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Why you called your dog the Doctor."

"Well, he hasn't fucking time travelled."

Malcolm looked contrite, but he didn't apologise for his words in the car last week. He probably thought he had apologised enough, and Clara actually thought so, too.

"When he was a pup, his coat was a bit different, and it looked like he had a white bow-tie around his neck. I thought that looked doctorly, that's all."

They kept walking for a little while in silence, taking the leisurely steps of people who were either too drunk or too tired to pay much attention to where they were going. Once they had come full circle and were back to his car, she stopped and thanked him once again. He still stood close to her and she could see how exhausted he actually looked. He was very good at hiding it at work, but here under the lonely streetlamp across her door, it was harder to fake it.

"You've been up for 60 hours," she couldn't help but say out loud.

"Something like that, I guess. I never count. I did take a few naps though, so I'll be fine. It's not the first time."

"You're not going to work tomorrow, right?"

"I might, but not too early. I want to go swimming, if the pool's open."

He looked surprised at his own words. Once again, Clara realised that he was much likelier to offer personal information when he was dead on his feet. She didn't know what that meant about him, apart from the fact that she hoped he would stop looking so guilty.

"That sounds really nice. Drive safely, Malcolm," she told him, and stood on her toes to kiss his stubbly cheek quickly, before she had too much time to think about it.

She smiled one last time at him, and walked up the steps with her dog. She heard the car engine start five long minutes after she had closed the door.