A/N: I just wanted to say, before the story takes a twist next chapter, that I'm making a playlist for this story (like a soundtrack – a song per chapter) and once this whole fic is complete, I'm going to post it on tumblr, if you're interested in that! If you don't have tumblr, I'd be happy to message you the list. I absolutely love hearing from you and know you're all reading, so big thanks to the reviewers from last time: Linesy, Foeseeker, bloomingredroses, saharajohanson, Anonalways, Abby0512x, xandrota, sassywriterchick, ImpossibleClara9, orchids117, Dede42, FandomsAreCool, Someone, sillysouffle, Guest, Tom and the lovely OhMyStarsShiz!
Chapter Nine: 23rd November 2011
29 years old
"I don't like him."
"You don't?"
"No," the Doctor said, shaking his head adamantly as they stared at the television. "There's just something about him. Can't quite place it."
"Oh, I don't know," Clara teased, biting her lip and turning to face her husband. "I think there's something incredibly sexy about a bad guy."
The Doctor met her stare. He narrowed his eyes because he knew she was purposefully trying to evoke a jealous retort. "There's a difference between a bad guy and a terrorist, Clara."
She couldn't help but laugh. The Doctor and Clara were snuggled up in a blanket on top of the sofa in their apartment, catching up on the weekly episode of their favourite sci-fi show. It only hit Clara now and again that they had been married for two months, that this was their apartment with their photographs decorating the fireplace, their books on the shelves, their bedroom and their bits and bobs furnishing the living room. It all felt like a dream – this was their grown up life. Together.
Clara let her hand dangle across the Doctor's shoulder and stroke his unshaven cheek. He moved into her touch, wrapping his arm around her waist. Clara twisted around to capture his lips, running her tongue across his bottom lip. The Doctor returned the kiss with a growing enthusiasm, repositioning himself for a better angle. His hands gripped her sides, kissing her passionately. Clara let him take the lead, holding onto his hair and sliding her fingers through his locks. The Doctor redirected his lips to her neck, his hands finding their way underneath her top, and that was when Clara pulled away.
"Doctor," she warned, "my dad is going to be here in half an hour."
He looked up at her, his eyes wide and beseeching, his hair sticking up in all directions. "Clara! It's unfair for you to tease me with a kiss like that."
Clara raised her eyebrows. She was challenging him. Leaning forward, she made a move to kiss him again but the Doctor stuck his index finger against her lips, pushing her back. She frowned and crossed her eyes to stare at him indignantly, unable to understand what he was doing.
"Nope," he said in his most huffy voice, "your dad is going to be here in half an hour. You're dangerous."
Clara slapped away his hand. "Dangerous, am I?"
"Yes." He gently lifted her off his lap and got to his feet. "You're too irresistible. It's dangerous. So, if you excuse me, I'm going to have a shower and change into something more presentable before your father gets here."
Even then, as he was walking over to the bathroom door, his eyes wandered back to Clara, who was still sitting smugly on the sofa, smiling down at her hands. He dragged himself away, locking the door behind him in case she decided to follow. Clara rolled her eyes and switched off the television. She wasn't used to the Doctor being the sensible one, she happily knew she could get her own way quite easily with him, but then again – he had reason to be sensible when Dave Oswald was involved.
Especially since the first time the Doctor and Dave Oswald had met, the Doctor had been completely naked.
It was a story Clara would revel in telling her future grandchildren.
No wonder he was calling Clara dangerous in the circumstances.
It was around half an hour later, Clara and the Doctor were dressed with the table prepared for Dave Oswald to arrive for Sunday dinner. The Doctor had done most of the cooking – a past time he now regularly committed to – and Clara had made a rather scrumptious looking soufflé. (The Doctor didn't want to admit that Clara's soufflé had deflated while baking, and he had replaced it with one of his own, an exact replica, just so she wouldn't get upset.)
Dave Oswald was right on time; just like how he'd been for most of his life. Clara greeted her father with an open-armed hug, while the Doctor resorted to a friendly and light handshake. Dave was completely grey now and had laughter lines around his eyes, along with a slight tug of a wrinkle under his lips. His face was a constant picture of happy and sad; with the happy moments in his life being truly the happiest, and the saddest balancing them out.
Clara looked more like her mother than her father, the Doctor always noted from photographs. The only resemblance between father and daughter was the mischievous twinkle in their eyes, every time they smiled. And by the sound of their laughter, the Doctor reckoned the Oswald family household used to be a very happy and safe place for Clara when she was growing up. Dave's eyes simply said one thing when he looked at her: he adored her.
No more than me, the Doctor always said to himself. Perhaps he always experienced Clara-loving envy.
"Wine," Dave said, handing the bottle to his son-in-law. "And a belated two month anniversary present," he added, handing a package to his daughter. "Now, where's the feast?"
"Roasted stuffed peppers with couscous, bacon and a side of salad," the Doctor started as Clara led the way over to the table. He wasn't trying too hard to please, more like, trying too hard to justify himself. "Then we have roast chicken, stuffing and –"
"John," Dave said, sitting down facing the two of them. "Have you switched careers again?"
Only his parents ever referred to him as 'John Smith' but Clara had yet to explain why everyone called her husband 'the Doctor.' It felt too long, too irrelevant, and technically Dave was right, so they never bothered to correct the nickname.
The Doctor stuttered to reply. "No – no, I haven't, why?"
"You've miraculously turned into a michelin star chef overnight, that's why," Dave teased. "I would've been happy with shop-bought produce, John; there was no need to go out of the way."
"Honestly, Dave, it was no trouble," he said humbly, while Clara smirked. He'd been slaving over the cooker for two days, and he still insisted he made the absolute minimum effort.
"So, how's married life treating you, hm? I must say, you've kept the apartment in perfect order."
Clara affectionately patted the Doctor's arm. "Well, you've got John to thank for most of that. Now that he's working from home."
Dave couldn't help but look impressed. "How is my favourite son-in-law's job going?"
"I'm your only son-in-law," he objected.
Still smiling, Dave brushed it off. "Let's not get picky, shall we?"
All the Doctor needed was a bit of self confidence. During his time in Gallifrey, he'd forgotten his true talent – inventing. Fixing things. Wasn't that where his nickname originated? Last Christmas he had opened a repair shop, with the help of some sponsoring from Clara. She wouldn't let him take out a loan, not when she had savings of her own. For a few months he committed himself to his new job so that he and Clara could afford their wedding. He enjoyed it more than he anticipated, and during his free time, Clara would find him in their bedroom, meddling with the radio or the toaster. Trying to improve it. After their wedding, the Doctor hired a helper – Craig Owens. Craig looked after the shop, managed the new orders while the Doctor spend most of his time at home, planning and researching and inventing. The Doctor was making a pretty penny now, from his combined resources at the repair shop and selling off his own inventions to private retailers. Despite the many offers he received, he swore never to be sold to a company ever again. Freelancing was his passion, without the regular routine and scrutiny of a money making company, the Doctor felt free at heart.
"It's going well, thanks. I have a meeting on Wednesday with a business executive who is interested in my blueprints for a new creation of mine," he said, being modest, glancing down at the table.
"The new Einstein of our generation," Clara praised proudly.
"And what about you, sweetheart?" asked Dave, turning to his daughter.
What about Clara? Well, life at Coal Hill was going very well for her. She was one of the most loved teachers ever to walk through those doors, and despite her age, the promotions kept coming. Over the past year she had completely renovated the English department. She was organising another play, this time for Christmas – A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Her pupils, of all ages, were getting good grades and Clara loved every second of it. For a while now, she was under the suspicion that Mrs Killen, the current headmistress, was training her up, taking her under her wing, almost preparing her for something. Last week they had a very unusual conversation.
"How long are you thinking of staying at Coal Hill, Clara?"
"Why?" Clara had joked, stacking the last novel on the shelf. "Do you want rid of me?"
Mrs Killen grinned – it was faint and quick, as was her usual personality. A difficult woman to those who misunderstood her; a compassionate, tired woman for those who did. "You're a young teacher. Not even thirty. Yet, you command the pupils like you've been here longer than me. You could excel somewhere a lot more established than Coal Hill."
Scrunching up her nose and crossing her arms around her chest, Clara shook her head. "Nah. I like it here. Posh isn't really for me. I'll stay for as long as you'll have me."
A silence fell between them. Mrs Killen's eyes drifted to the window behind Clara's desk. Clara waited for her to speak, as it was obvious she was thinking of what to say or how to say it.
"I'm thinking of leaving soon."
"Leaving?" Clara squeaked, unnerved.
Mrs Killen met her gaze. "Within the next five years or so. I'm quite firm on that point. I'm also concerned as to who would take over once I'm away. You see, Clara, when I was at school, the headmaster changed twice. Everyone loved the current Principle, and when he was replaced by a less likable character, it felt like an imposter running our school. Children, especially teenagers, need a figure they can look up to. Someone to keep them in check, but also, someone who they like. Do you understand what I mean?"
Clara didn't respond. She had a feeling she knew what Mrs Killen was implying, but she couldn't be certain she wasn't misinterpreting. Hearing something else entirely. It wasn't until Mrs Killen took a few steps towards the classroom door, and confirmed her suspicions, that Clara allowed herself to reply.
"All I'm saying is, age shouldn't be a factor in who is suitable for a role. Especially a role as important as headmistress." Mrs Killen paused. "Gerald is older than me. He's retiring at the end of the next year, and soon after, I will follow him. Meaning, I'll need a new deputy to replace him, and in turn, replace me." She turned around as soon as she reached the threshold. Her eyes locked onto Clara's face. "I will fight in your corner, Clara."
She had yet to tell the Doctor, or her father, anything from that conversation. Not that she was intentionally being secretive, it was more to do with Clara not even realising that this might be something she wanted, until Mrs Killen had suggested it to her. It was a lot of responsibility, probably too much, but Clara preferred to focus on the opportunity. How could she turn an offer like that down, considering her age?
"Another promotion might be in sight," was all she told the two of them. "But I don't know any details yet." To quickly change the conversation, she asked, "And how's the politics going, dad?"
As Dave Oswald started his rambling and in-depth analysis to every little aspect of his day, the Doctor excused himself to serve up the starter. It was a thing Dave did quite frequently – he couldn't briefly describe how he was, he had to have a discussion. The Doctor didn't blame – or judge – him for this, in fact, he felt rather sorry for the man. He lived on his own in Blackpool for most of the year, in an empty family house, all by himself. Every few months he would stay in his rented London home, whether that was for his job or just to feel closer to Clara, the Doctor wasn't sure anymore. Dave was lonely, and due to his job, many people he talked to on a day to day basis were indifferent to him. So, when he came across someone who actually seemed to care, he let everything spill.
It was when they were in the middle of eating their main course of roasted chicken and stuffing, that Dave said something mildly sensitive.
"So, when can I be expecting grandkids?"
Both Clara and the Doctor reacted in exactly the same way. They dropped their cutlery and stared wide eyed at Dave, like two scared teenagers asked if they were dating. Suddenly the space in between the two of them felt like static electricity, and if one of them made a sudden movement, they were sure to be shocked.
"What?" they both echoed.
Dave laughed. He sat back on his chair, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, come on. This is something you've talked about before. People usually have this conversation before they get married!"
"Um…" the Doctor stared. His neck was hot, his cheeks were burning. Why, oh why, did Dave have to mention this?
"We haven't really…" Clara trailed off.
The Doctor rushed ahead. "I mean, we're definitely going to have them, but –"
Clara spun around, her hair whipping about. "We are?!"
He tried to back track. "I mean, I thought, I don't know!"
"We haven't talked about this before; I didn't know you were so enthusiastic!"
The Doctor well and truly blushed. "I'm not enthusiastic! I mean, I am, one day, not right now, unless…"
Dave raised his hands, instantly bringing silence down between them. "I didn't mean to intrude. That was obviously the wrong question to ask."
They sat there, like two scolded children, staring down at their plates.
Sighing, reminiscently, Dave interjected to diffuse the tension, "Ellie would've loved this. She would've said exactly the right thing."
He said it with such tenderness, tinted with regret, that it made the Doctor's heart melt. His eyes flicked over to Clara, who in turn appeared to be a little deflated. He swiftly remembered the soufflé ready to be served, and knowing this would brighten up the situation considerably, the Doctor announced;
"Clara, speaking of your mother, don't you want to show your father what you made yesterday?"
Her entire face lit up when she remembered the soufflé. Using it as the perfect excuse to leave the table, Clara ran into the kitchen. Left alone with Dave, the Doctor smiled. Dave returned it, mouthing a silent 'sorry.' But it was okay, the Doctor wasn't annoyed – after all, Dave was probably right. He and Clara should have discussed the topic of children long before today. What if they wanted different things?
He failed to see that happening, somehow.
Dave was overjoyed to see Clara's attempt at making her mother's recipe. One spoonful into it, and he claimed it was 'just as good as Ellie's.' This made the Doctor feel guilty until he saw the look on Clara's face.
Dave stayed for a few hours after dinner. Later that evening, when Dave was leaving for his London accommodation, he hugged the Doctor for the first time since the wedding. He muttered something along the lines of 'I have to admit, she could've done a hell of a lot worse.' He knew that was the best compliment he could ever hope for from a proud father, and it made him glow inside.
Clara was clearly exhausted. She fell down on the sofa, her hair splaying over the cushions, her eyes flickering closed.
The Doctor had so much to say to her. But not yet.
It was these little moments. The little bits in between, when time just slowed down and an aura of light flew down from heaven and rested on his shoulders. It was moments like this that enlightened the Doctor to just how beautiful Clara was, inside and out. He noticed her beauty every day, of course, but now and again the extent of it would hit him like a brick to the face. He was enraptured by her, and he couldn't believe his luck in life every time he realised she was the person he would spend the rest of his days with – she was his forever. What did he do to deserve her?
"You're my whole world, do you know that?" he asked.
And unbeknown to the Doctor, Clara Oswald opened her eyes to stare back at him, and was thinking exactly the same thing.
Note: This was a little catch up chapter where we can see where our two main characters are in life and where they're going next. As for the next chapter, it's going to take a little longer to write. I don't want to give anything away but it's sure to be a big one. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!
