A/n: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm sorry this is kind of late- work has been kicking my ass. Happy reading :)
It had all started relatively insignificantly.
Clara was putting clothes in the wash when she heard Angie's voice coming from the study, right across the hall. Sometimes Angie retreated in there to talk on the phone and her brother's recent saxophone playing had rendered the upstairs practically useless for that purpose. So Clara wasn't surprised by that, but what she was surprised by was the giggling. Angie, on principle, did not giggle. She was not a giggly child nor a giggly teenager.
Clara let the door of the washer slam shut as she lifted her head to listen better. She rested the empty laundry basket on top of the wash and edged closer to the open door. Over the thumping of the dryer and the vibrations of the washer, she could just make out what sounded like flirting.
She knew she had no reason to be shocked. Angie was a teenager now, after all. Eventually all teenagers found people they fancied and started getting involved in relationships. She was just a little thrown aback that it could have happened so quickly without her even noticing it. She supposed she had been busy the past few weeks, with Melody's sickness and then her new relationship with the Doctor, but it was sort of her job to notice something like that. Angie didn't have any other adult females in her life to talk to.
She left the laundry room fairly quickly after that, not wanting to eavesdrop on Angie's conversation, and spent the next hour watching television with Artie. She was in an intense conversation with him about good versus evil –spurred on by the unexpected actions of one of his favorite characters—when she suddenly heard the sound of cupboards being slammed in the kitchen. Artie fell silent and turned his head around to look into the kitchen, his eyebrows furrowed, and Clara felt her heart sink.
"Angie's at it again. Won't you tell her to stop acting so horrible?" Artie complained.
Clara frowned and set her hands on her knees, nervously tugging at the hem of her skirt. She listened as Angie slammed some things down on the counter and was suddenly transported to her first and only breakup. It was easy to be horrible when you felt horrible.
"I'll go talk to her," she promised Artie. She rose slowly and nervously scratched at her palm as she walked the short distance to the kitchen. When she rounded the corner, she hesitated in the doorway, because Angie looked actually, properly sad. Angie hardly ever showed her emotions, and if she knew Clara was in the doorway, she wouldn't have.
"Angie? You okay?" She asked in concern.
Angie—with her back now to Clara—stilled immediately. Her shoulders tensed and she didn't move, except to lift a hand to presumably wipe away tears.
"Go away." She finally said.
Clara shifted further into the room.
"You know I can't do that." She told her gently.
Angie spun around then, her eyes hard and all trace of sadness gone, except for the shine of tears still on her cheek. Clara could tell by the way the corners of her mouth twitched that she was going to yell.
"Yes you can! You can and you always could have! So just do it, okay! Just go away!" She screamed.
Clara stood quietly and watched as Angie's anger faded into distress once more. She turned around again, this time letting out a quiet sob. Clara crossed the room slowly until she was close enough to set a hand on her shoulder. Predictably, Angie cringed out of her touch.
"I'm never going to. I'm sorry if that makes you angry, but I won't." She said.
Angie groaned in frustration and turned to flee the room, but Clara reached for her hand, stilling her. Angie tore it roughly from her grasp and then turned to face her, her eyes tear-filled and hard.
"I don't want you here and I don't want to talk to you. Just leave me alone." She ground out, her teeth clenched.
"Why didn't you tell me about him, Angie?" Clara asked, unable to keep the question in any longer. "You tell me about your fights with your classmates and your creepy history teacher and the new jeans you bought. But you didn't tell me you had a boyfriend?"
Angie exploded. "I don't have a boyfriend! He's a prick and I hate him! And I didn't tell you because you aren't my mum!"
Clara tried not to let the words get to her. She had developed a thick skin when it came to the things Angie said to her, as the girl could be ruthlessly cruel at times, but she felt her heart begin to ache. It would have all been so much easier if she didn't care about Angie, like Angie obviously thought, but she did. Of course she did, she always had, and always would.
"I have to be your mother to know you're dating someone?" Clara demanded. "That doesn't seem quite right. I thought the stipulation for knowing something like that was just that you trusted someone." When Angie didn't answer, her glare still leveled on Clara, Clara continued. "What did he do? Did he hurt you?"
Clara's frown deepened as Angie's eyes filled with tears. She shook her head and turned from Clara.
"Just leave me alone." She said softly, and it was so unlike Angie to be so quiet that Clara just stared in shock as she walked from the room.
She shouldn't have done it, but she couldn't help it. She was worried. She followed after Angie, catching her halfway up the stairs.
"I just want to help." She told her, a little helplessly. Angie's mouth began to twitch again.
"I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP! I WANT MY MOTHER!" She bellowed. Clara felt herself growing smaller and smaller as each word sank into her.
"I want my mother too." She finally said, a little sharply. "But I don't have her either. All I've got is you guys."
"Well I don't want the only thing I have to be you." Angie said coldly, and with that she was racing back up the stairs.
Clara groaned in frustration and lowered herself down onto the stairs. She sat there with her head in her hands until she heard Melody's small footsteps behind her. She looked up as the girl came to a stop on the stair she was sitting on, her arms gripping the bear the Doctor had given her so tightly that her forearms were turning white. Clara frowned and shifted to her left so she was facing Melody. She patted the space beside her.
"Come here," she invited, opening her arms once the child was sitting beside her, and Melody was eager where Angie was resistant. She clung to Clara like she needed her, because truthfully, she did.
"Why does Angie always fight with you?" Melody asked her curiously and quietly.
Clara wasn't really sure how to answer that in a way a child would understand. She sighed and stroked back Melody's hair for a moment, thinking of some answer that would make sense.
"She misses your mother." Clara finally settled on. "She needs her because she's sad. It's not fun to not have anyone when you're sad."
Melody was quiet for a couple of minutes. Her head was such a familiar and comforting weight against Clara's chest, and she suddenly couldn't imagine a day when it wouldn't be there, when Melody would be all grown up and would probably have little interest in seeing her childhood nanny ever again. She held her tighter for a moment or two, just because she could right now. Because Melody still needed her to.
"But she has you, right, Clara? Doesn't she?" Melody asked.
Clara could have tried to explain how it wasn't the same, but instead she kissed Melody's head and smiled sadly. She wished she could always stay like this.
"Right, Mel. She has me." She said. "Sometimes she just doesn't know it."
Melody shook her head and then sat up. "That's silly. I'm going to go tell her."
Clara caught Melody's arm gently before she went scampering back up the stairs.
"Actually, I think Angie wants to be alone right now. But I need some help with a soufflé. Do you know any little girls who might want to help?"
Melody grinned immediately and began tugging on Clara's hand, attempting to pull her to her feet.
"Me! I do! I want to help! Can we do a chocolate one?"
Clara began to rise slowly, allowing Melody to think she actually was hauling her to her feet, and then laughed at Melody's enthusiasm.
"Sure. We can even bring one to the Doctor later, if they turn out okay."
Melody was even more thrilled to hear that. She had an understandable attachment to the Doctor and was very fond of him, despite the circumstances under which they'd met. In fact, everyone in the Maitland household was fond of the Doctor, including Angie. It was something Clara loved because it made it that much easier to picture him in her life for a long while.
Not at all unexpectedly, the soufflés did not turn out okay.
Clara could tell things were headed steadily downhill only five minutes into baking. She and Melody were seated cross-legged on the kitchen floor, right in front of the oven window, peering anxiously in at their creation. Clara sighed heavily and Melody sighed right after her.
"It's rising too quickly. Why is it doing that?" Clara asked.
She turned to Melody and looked at her in confusion. Melody heaved a sigh again and then set a heavy hand on Clara's shoulder.
"Clara, I have some bad news." She began. "You don't really have the cooking touch."
She patted her shoulder consolingly, her eyes wide and sympathetic. Clara felt her lips twitch and then she was laughing so hard she had to lean forward and rest her forehead against the oven window. She gripped her stomach and heard Melody's giggling mingling in with her own laughter. Suddenly, she didn't mind that their soufflé was almost definitely headed towards cremation. It was worth it to be able to sit here with Melody, like she used to do with her mother as a child.
The two knew there would be no soufflé, but they sat there for the rest of the time anyway, peering closely at it and making comments every few minutes. Melody was a self-proclaimed soufflé expert and liked to provide "status updates" to the entire house as it baked. But after running up and down the stairs three times, she decided it would be better to just yell out the updates instead of delivering them personally.
When the timer went off, they both stood up slowly. They sighed in unison and exchanged a somber, determined glance.
"Here you go." Melody told her sadly. She handed her the pot holders and stepped back so Clara could open the oven.
When she did, her burnt soufflé began slowly inching back into the ramekin, like it was shrinking away from the outside world. By the time Clara had it on top of the stove, the poor thing was completely caved in and charred.
Melody set both hands on the counter and lifted herself up a bit. She shook her head sadly.
"Oh bollocks." She muttered. She fell back down onto the floor, her tap shoes that she insisted on wearing 24/7 making a loud click as she did.
Clara snapped her eyes to her immediately, her eyes widening.
"Melody!" She exclaimed. "Don't say that! Where did you hear that?"
Melody looked thrown aback by Clara's scolding. She frowned.
"Angie says it all the time. She didn't say it was bad." She defended.
Of course. Clara settled a hand on the top of Melody's head and smoothed her red hair back, smiling slightly at the ashamed girl to help ease her guilt.
"Let's not say that anymore, okay?" She asked.
Melody nodded immediately and then lifted herself back up to peer once more at their soufflé. She lifted her voice and began to make another update for the house.
"Status update number…" she trailed off and turned to look at Clara. She lowered her voice. "Clara, what number am I on?"
"Twenty-four." She supplied. Melody nodded.
"Status update number twenty-four! The soufflé is dead. Dead as a doorknob. I repeat: the soufflé is dead as a doorknob! Until next time." She did a quick little dance on her shoes to create the typical "end-jingle" for her updates.
Clara was about to correct her and explain that it was technically dead as a doornail when she felt her phone begin to vibrate. She pulled her phone from her apron pocket and grinned when she saw whose name popped up.
"Who is it?" Melody asked excitedly, craning her neck to try and see the screen.
"The Doctor." Clara told her. Melody grinned as she answered it.
"Hello." Clara greeted.
The Doctor's voice was a lot less stressed than it was last time he called her, and for that, Clara was grateful.
"Hi!" She could the smile in his voice.
"Can I talk to him Clara?" Melody begged. She tugged on Clara's apron. "Please?"
Clara tried her best to ignore Melody's insistent tugging, but she heard the Doctor chuckle a minute later and knew he'd heard.
"I think someone there wants to talk to me." He said smugly.
Clara rolled her eyes in exasperation and passed the phone to Melody, who gripped it tightly and jumped up and down. This, unfortunately, caused quite a lot of noise due to her shoes. Clara gently set her hands on her shoulders and pressed her back down to the floor.
"Doctor, our soufflé is dead as a doorknob." Melody greeted. Clara could hear the Doctor's laughter from where she was standing. Melody was quick to laugh along with him. She was quiet for a few moments as he spoke, her smile still in place, and then her eyes traveled up to Clara. "No, we're okay, Clara says soufflés are just too beautiful to live." Clara smiled at Melody and turned around, busying herself with prying the failed soufflé from the ramekin as the two talked. She tuned the conversation out a little as it turned to the Sally Sparrow movie and the Doctor's car and a new type of metal that might make her tap shoes tappier and anything else the two could think of, but then she heard her name and zoned back in on what Melody was saying.
"Yeah. I think so too. Me too. Really? I think she'll like that. Really! She will. I bet she'll kiss you she'll be so happy." Clara could hear the Doctor's laughter again. She bit back a smile of her own, even though she had no idea what they two were talking about. "Okay, I'll tell her. Okay. Bye. Bye."
Melody handed Clara's phone back to her with a grin.
"He says you're pretty, Clara." She informed her. "I told him I think so too."
Clara felt her heart warming up, and for a second she was concerned it'd get so hot it'd sink just like her soufflé had. It sure felt like it might. She hugged Melody briefly.
"Not as pretty as you." She assured her. Melody beamed.
Clara waited until Melody was in the living room before she finally lifted the phone back to her ear.
"You just get smoother and smoother as each day passes, don't you?" She greeted.
His voice had that low, smooth quality to it that he always had when he was kissing her.
"I've always been this smooth; I just haven't shown it a lot." He insisted.
She walked up to the window and picked at a chip in the paint idly, her lips curving up into a smile.
"Well, you should show it more often. It works in your favor." She said slyly.
"Good to know. Speaking of things working in my favor, what time are you coming over tonight?" He asked.
She winced as she accidentally took off more paint with her thumb nail. She nervously smoothed the pad of her thumb over the spot, as if she could take back what she'd done. She decided to step back from the window after that, lest she messed up anything else.
"Whenever George gets back, which should be a little before dinner. Will you be providing us with a meal or shall I bring over an intricate culinary delight?" She asked, mocking a lofty accent.
"By intricate culinary delight I'm assuming you mean either Chinese takeout or pizza?" The Doctor teased.
Clara thought momentarily to Melody's statement about how she didn't have a "cooking thumb" and grinned.
"Precisely. I'm glad you know me so well." She laughed.
"Never well enough, Clara." He admitted. "I think I'm going to cook us something. It's a great opportunity for me to show off how great of a cook I am."
Clara cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Forgive me if I don't completely believe you."
"You'll see, Oswald. You'll see." He sang.
Clara went through the rest of the day with a secretive smile on her face. She'd all but forgotten the sad taste her fight with Angie had left in her mouth, that was until the girl herself failed to come down for dinner. George was concerned when Clara pulled him aside and explained their fight, a little guiltily.
"I know she likes to be left alone when she's sad." She admitted. "I guess I just got so caught up with wanting to help."
George shook his head. "I'd rather them have a nanny who cares too much than not at all." He assured her. "She'll come around. Maybe you could try talking to her again tonight? Maybe she just needs some time. I'd like for her to talk to you, if she would. I'm afraid her father's probably the last person she wants to talk about boys with."
Clara's mind went quickly and selfishly to the plans she'd already made for the night. When the Doctor asked her to come over, he really meant stay the night, and she knew that. But she figured she could go back over to the Doctor's after attempting to talk to Angie. She nodded and gave him a reassuring smile.
"Yeah, of course. I'll be here. I've got dinner plans with the Doctor, but I'll come by around eight and give it another go." She promised.
Clara went upstairs to get ready, and as she passed Angie's room, she paused in front of her door. She lifted her hand to knock, but then thought better of it. She figured she'd already pushed enough.
After a few minutes of pushing back hangers distastefully, she settled on the red, collared dress she'd worn the day she realized that the Doctor was, in fact, not as asexual as she had previously assumed him to be. She wished her soufflé would have lived just this once, so she could have brought it over with her, but she figured he'd much prefer it this way as she grabbed a substitute dessert that consisted of a package of Jammie Dodgers.
He was practically glowing with excitement when he opened the door. Clara grinned up at him, his smile making her heart swell, and then she reached up and touched his new bowtie.
"Sharks. I love it." She commented. The compliment made him bounce happily on his feet. She passed him the package of Jammie Dodgers and took the time while he was peering happily at them to examine the rest of his outfit. He'd ditched his jacket and was clad in a grey waistcoat and ivory button down, with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. True he was a lanky fellow, but when he turned the package over to shake it momentarily, the muscles in his forearms shifted in an oddly attractive way. Clara looked back up at his face and smiled. "You're looking a tiny bit sexy, Doctor, did you know?"
She looked back up and met his eyes, which were a little slower to make it back to her face as well. He flushed and the sight of him blushing made Clara's stomach tingle with pleasure. Oh, she loved him. She hadn't told him yet, but she did. And she knew then that she probably always would.
He recovered quickly and smirked. "Just a tiny bit?"
She reached forward and took the hand he extended, allowing him to pull her gently through the doorway.
"Okay, maybe a—"
Her words died on her lips. She could feel the Doctor's eyes on her as she took a few, stunned steps further into his home, her eyes flittering around the room in surprise. For a second she foolishly wondered if they'd stepped into a different house, because at first glance nothing was recognizable. The room in front of her was fully furnished and decorated, with a long midnight blue suede sofa, a coffee table, a bookshelf with actual books on it, a few lamps, and even a television. The longer Clara looked, the less her eyes got stuck on the foreign objects, and she began to notice a few static items. The Doctor's rickety desk was still where it had been prior, as well as the drawings Melody made for him. The blanket he had been using with his mattress was folded neatly and resting on the back of the couch. And his lamp was still there. But over all, this was not the living room of a depressed and lost genius. This was the living room of a man who had made this place his home. For reasons unknown to her at the moment, the sight struck something deep within her heart. She felt pleasure that seemed so much like pain begin to seep into all the small fractures inside of her, and with that came the first prickling of tears behind her eyes.
She opened and closed her mouth wordlessly, turning to face the Doctor. Her eyes sought out his, and when she saw his simple smile, she could not nothing but hug him. She rose up onto her tiptoes and looped her arms around his neck, settling her head on his shoulder as she pressed kiss after kiss to the side of his neck. His hand caressed her back as he laughed, obviously a little surprised by her reaction. It was hard for her to find the words to explain it to him, but seeing this made her feel safe. Because it showed that the Doctor really planned on living now. He was really dedicated to making a life for himself.
"You don't think the blue couch is a bit much?" He asked.
She lowered back down onto her feet and touched the curve of his smile with her fingertips.
"It's very you and just right." She decided.
He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, his eyes sparkling with excitement, and then threaded his fingers with hers.
"There's more!" He told her, and then he excitedly pulled her along throughout the rest of the house.
In the kitchen, Clara was elated to find that he'd purchased dishware and a table. He'd also gotten a few small kitchen appliances and she was stunned into giggling when she saw he'd even thought to get placemats, even if they had awful designs of zoo animals on them (the ridiculously lovely man). The bathroom looked nice, with rugs and hand towels and a wider assortment of soaps and shampoos, but it was the bedroom that really stole Clara's affections. Perhaps it was because, prior to the home makeover, she'd never even seen the room, but walking into his bedroom now was like walking into an entirely new home. He'd gotten rid of the old mattress he was using before and purchased a large, king-sized platform bed that took up most of the room, but Clara decided the room was better for that because the bed looked that inviting. It looked so comfortable that she immediately fell back onto it before she even took in the rest of the bedroom. She slid her hands across the fluffy blankets and decided that he had surprisingly good tastes in bedding, as his duvet (which was black with constellations sewn on in shining, silver thread) was the softest she'd ever felt. After idly stroking the material for a few moments, she sat up and peered around at the few other things she'd missed. He had a wardrobe with mirrored doors across from the bed and an old armchair in the corner, in front of the window. By the time Clara finished her examination, the Doctor fell down onto the bed beside her, his hands quick to gather her close to his side.
"I'm never going to leave this bed." Clara declared. She wanted nothing more than to kick her shoes off and curl up underneath the covers, but she knew he'd probably gone to a lot of trouble to make dinner, and taking a nap instead seemed a bit rude.
"Okay." He said happily. The Doctor's hand was a lot braver than he was sometimes. It stuck up underneath her dress, just a little, and stroked her thigh. Clara shifted, suddenly feeling heaviness begin to blossom at the bottom of her spine, and turned to look at him with her eyebrows lifted. He looked back at her happily, an innocent smile still on his face, and Clara just smirked.
"Big, inviting bed, roaming hands…there's such a thing as too keen."
The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Clara looked pointedly down at her thigh and his eyes followed hers. When he realized where his hand had gone, his mouth made a small "O" of surprise.
"Oi!" He exclaimed. He quickly extracted his hand from underneath her dress and smacked it with his other hand. "Who told you you could do that?!"
After glaring sternly at his offending hand, he looked at Clara in embarrassment.
"It's probably even worse that I did that without even really thinking about it." He said sheepishly.
She reached over and squeezed his thigh in response, her lips twitching up into a grin.
"Let's go eat before I decide to see what else your hands can do without your permission."
She heard his scandalized, nervous laughter as she rose and made her way to the bedroom door. When she turned to look behind her, to see if he was coming, he was staring at her like he was trying to solve a mystery. She paused.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked.
She looked down to make sure her dress hadn't ridden up or something, but it was hanging down like normal.
"I was just thinking that I was lucky." He finally told her, gnawing on his lip like he was examining a particularly distressing physics problem. "And trying to decide what the catch is. You're not a trick, right?"
She laughed a little, eyeing him with curiosity. "A trick? Why would I be a trick?"
He scratched the side of his face nervously. "You're just…well, you're perfect." He admitted. "Absolutely perfect. And I don't usually believe in perfection."
Her confusion melted slowly into affection that surged and swallowed her whole in only an instant. And then she was walking back over to where he was. She stood between his legs and leaned over him, her hands stroking his cheeks, and began to lean forward, guiding him back against his new duvet so they were both lying, their legs hanging off the edge. She pressed a long, lingering kiss to his lips, her eyes fluttering shut and a pleased hum coming from her lips without her permission. His hand pressed firmly against her lower back, his lips finding hers again, and she gave him a final kiss.
"You're good to me." She told him softly, like it had only just occurred to her. She traced her nose down his and then turned her head a little in order to press a kiss to his cheek. But that kiss turned into two, and then her lips found his again without her even deciding on it. She kissed him as many times as it took to slightly soothe the fire in her veins, and then she tried to complete her drowned thought. "You make me happier than I've ever been."
His arms wound tightly around her waist and he flipped them abruptly, pressing her into the mattress with his body and kissing her deeply. When he pulled back, he was slightly breathless and grinning once more.
"Oh sod it—if you are a trick, I don't even care." He murmured, more to himself than her. Clara leaned her face up a little and then she whispered her next words so that her lips brushed against his, like each word was an individual kiss.
"I'm not a trick." She promised.
The next words were perched, right there. She could feel them teetering just inside of her mouth, waiting to be spoken. But she just couldn't do it.
It turned out that the Doctor was, in fact, an excellent cook.
He made her laugh so often throughout the meal that Clara began to feel wary of taking sips of her wine, worried that she'd end up spitting it across the table by accident. He was so happy, so exuberant, that it seemed to be a golden glow around him. He spun jokes out that both intrigued and tickled Clara, his lips always pulled into a smile, and Clara couldn't believe for a moment that this was her life. For a moment, she understood the Doctor's concern over whether or not this was somehow a trap.
After dinner, they curled up together on the midnight blue sofa and ate every Jammie Dodger from the package. Later, when they were covered in crumbs and feeling a little ashamed of themselves, they firmly asserted that they wouldn't have anything else sweet that night.
After their laughter had trailed off, and Clara's head had found a comfortable resting spot in the Doctor's lap, he proceeded to tell her about his interview. Clara listened quietly, her eyes trained on his expressions, and was disappointed to find that she still didn't feel much better about him working there than she had before. But she was sure (at least over halfway sure) that her discomfort came from her own reservations about the Doctor working with the man she'd been having sex with for a year, so she didn't figure she could offer the unbiased opinion he needed.
When he finished, he reached for her approval.
"What do you think?" He asked her. He gazed down at her like she was the center of his earth, with an unparalleled focus, and Clara could only smiled a little tightly at him.
"I don't know." She said honestly. "Simeon's really weird. He's always given me the creeps. But it sounds like something you'd be good at, and you'd be helping people, and the benefits and pay are nice."
He nodded in agreement to each of those statements, his teeth pulling at his bottom lip again.
"Oddly, when I think about the job, the things that bother me are small things. Like the frames I told you about, and the jar of dirt on top of his bookshelf, and some of the things he said." The Doctor shifted a bit, jostling Clara's head, and then peered down at her more intently. "When you hear the verb exterminate what do you think of? Give me an example sentence."
Clara had long stopped questioning the Doctor's subject shifts. She replied instantly.
"I think of bugs." She said simply. "I mean, you know, like: our house was infiltrated by spiders and we had to call someone to exterminate them."
The Doctor nodded fervently. "Right! The sentence the man used was something like: we're on our way to exterminating all misery and inconveniences."
Clara shivered unexpectedly. She even felt goosebumps rise up on her skin, although she wasn't sure why.
"Creepy." She acknowledged.
The Doctor nodded again in that same, passionate manner.
"I know! It seemed odd to me too. Technically the word makes sense but…it's like I learned you weren't supposed to use that word like that in school or something. I don't know. I have this memory about that word but I can't remember it for the life of me."
Clara reached up and touched the thin line that formed between his creased eyebrows.
"You're too clever for your own good, I think." She shared.
He sighed heavily.
"I think you're probably right."
Clara sat up then, leaving the Doctor looking a little disappointed. She made that expression melt off his face rather quickly when she shifted into his lap instead. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and nuzzled her neck for a moment, before lifting his lips to press to hers. She kissed him back warmly, her hands threading into his hair. When she pulled back, she was suddenly of clearer mind.
"It's just a job." She reminded him. "Try it. If you don't like it, look for something else."
Her suggestion seemed to ease some of his confusion. He nodded slowly, mulling over her words. "I suppose you're right. I wasn't thinking about it that way. Besides, the conferences are nice for us." He grinned.
Clara beamed back. "Oh, does that mean I get to be your travel partner?"
She hadn't wanted to jump to conclusions prior. He looked at her like she'd said something ridiculous and then kissed her again.
"Of course. You are my companion after all, remember?"
She laughed lightly. "Right." She affirmed affectionately.
Eight o'clock arrived all too quickly. She promised the Doctor she'd be back soon, and then she walked quickly back to the Maitlands, her cheeks already aching from laughing so much.
The Doctor had another secret that he was afraid to share.
While he waited for her to return, he stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom and spoke it aloud, over and over again. He was hoping that if he said it enough times, he'd stop feeling the intense need to say it to her. So he gripped the tile counter, took a deep breath, and let himself say it.
"I'm falling in love with her." He whispered. He felt foolish, but he kept doing it anyway. "I'm falling in love with Clara. I'm falling in love with Clara very rapidly. I might already be in love with Clara. Blimey, I love Clara."
He rubbed his eyes tiredly. Emotions were so tangled to him, sometimes. He knew he loved her as a friend, and he had for a while, but he was understanding now that this was becoming different quite rapidly. He didn't just love and care for her. He was falling madly in love with her, like men do in storybooks and cliché romantic comedies. Yowzah, the Doctor thought, my life's a romantic comedy. I wonder who'd play me?
He wandered around his home for the next few minutes, alternating between feelings of happiness and alienation as he looked at his new belongings. It made the home feel more like a home, but without Clara in it with him, it still felt a bit lonely, a bit aching.
The Doctor sat down on his sofa and let himself acknowledge another truth, hidden deep within him. I love her more than she'll ever love me. He knew it was true, and he knew it without anger or sadness. He thought he must have known that from the moment he met her, that this would be the girl that he'd love so much it was practically untouchable. But after so long of feeling nothing at all, it was almost a gift to feel so strongly about someone. The stinging happiness felt beautiful.
When she walked through the door an hour later, he was worried about her, because the corners of her lips were pulled down just a little too far. She walked into his arms immediately, no words leaving her lips first, and when he gripped her body close to his he could feel her distress. It was obvious in the way she pressed into him almost as if she were trying to crawl inside of him and hide from something.
His lips sought out her temple and he pressed a kiss to the smooth skin, his nose running lightly along after. He knew her talk with Angie must not have gone as well as he would have hoped.
"She loves you, Clara, even if she's too angry at the world to show it." He reassured her.
She slipped her cool, soft hands up underneath his shirt. He felt small waves of pleasure shoot through him as she stroked his skin, her nose still pressed so hard into his collarbone that it was almost painful.
"She told me she did." Clara finally whispered, her voice a little thicker than normal. "She's never said that to me. Ever. Not once in the six years I've taken care of her."
He understood her fully then. Her distress wasn't from anger or sadness. It was from happiness, relief, and maybe a little nostalgia too.
"That's great, Clara." He told her honestly, his heart warming for the woman in his arms. "Is she okay? Did you find out what happened with the boy?"
He was intrigued by whatever she was tracing into his stomach with her fingers. He tried to following the gentle motion of her fingers, but the fact that it felt so surprisingly good kept him from being able to fully focus on it. She sighed into his neck, softly and almost inaudibly, and it was little moments like that that the Doctor had to bite his tongue to keep from admitting one of his secrets to her.
"She's okay now. They had an argument. She actually talked to me, you know? And we had a heart-to-heart. It was…wonderful." She said, but something in the heavy weight of that last word made the Doctor realize that it also wasn't, in a way.
"But?" He pressed gently.
Her hands stilled against his stomach. She leaned back a little, and he glanced down and studied her face. She scrunched up her nose, just a little, and it was all he could do not to lean down and kiss it.
"Well, it kind of felt like a goodbye." She admitted. "Maybe just because she's never opened up before, but it just seemed so…final."
Her eyes dropped to his bowtie for a moment. She reached up and fiddled with it, her lips turning up fleetingly at the corners when she saw the sharks again, and then she met his eyes once more.
"Do you think they've outgrown me?"
The Doctor slid his hands up her back and took to stroking his fingers through her hair. The soft strands felt like silk through his fingers, and he had to lean forward and press a kiss to the top of her head, just to smell the scent of her shampoo again. He kept his face pressed there as he responded.
"I don't think anyone who's loved you could ever outgrow you." He replied truthfully.
The Doctor knew it was because Clara had a way of sliding in between someone's ribs and planting herself inside of them. And then she just grew, grew, grew. He couldn't complain though, because he'd been the one to cultivate this growth. He wanted it. He needed it.
The Doctor figured Clara had decided to save that question for another day, because that topic ended there. She stepped back from his embrace, her hands falling away from his skin, and he felt foolishly cold because of it. She pushed her hair behind her ears, a soft smiling taking residence on her face again, and when that dimple made an appearance again the Doctor had to have her. He just—he couldn't keep his hands from stroking her face, from pulling her body close, from kissing her lips. She was in a similar place, because she couldn't seem to keep her hands anywhere but underneath his clothing. He began to feel his world narrowing to a pinpoint, where the only things that he noticed or thought about or cared about were Clara and her small sighs and her warm hands and her soft hair. Things tended to get carried away with them, more often than not, and so the Doctor wasn't at all surprised when they found themselves stumbling back towards the bedroom, their tongues and hearts pressed together. But halfway through the kitchen, Clara let out a sudden moan when he sucked on her bottom lip, and suddenly the distance to the bedroom was far too far. She must have agreed, because when he pulled back and looked into her glassy eyes to suggest they just go back to the couch, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and began dragging him over to the counter. She hoisted herself up and wrapped her legs around his waist, her lips quick to find his again, and he was just glad he could devote all his mind to kissing her now instead of trying to navigate through the house.
This time when his hand slid up her dress, he was entirely aware of it. He stroked her thighs as his lips found her neck, and she leaned her head back against the cupboards, her breathing turning into little gasps. He wanted to touch every inch of her, but he wanted to really touch it. He wanted to touch it in the way that he might be able to draw it from sensory memory in the dark, because he knew her body that well. And knowing someone's body that well took time, it took care and love and tenderness, and so his hands were almost selfishly careful as he traced them up her body. He knew where he wanted to touch her, he knew how he wanted to touch her, but instead he traced his fingers up her ribs and pressed his palm over her heart. He kissed her neck once for every heartbeat, but soon her heartbeats were too quick to possibly keep up with.
"Doctor," Clara whispered, her voice taunt and out of breath.
He figured she was scolding him for being a tease. Her legs tightened around his waist and his hands found her breasts, eliciting a small gasp from her. Of course he'd wanted to touch her here for a long while, way before he'd kissed her for the very first time, and somehow he felt a sort of extended disbelief as he caressed her. Like he couldn't really belief she was here, and he was here, and they were together doing anything at all. He felt her hands—which had previously been on his shoulders, her nails pressing lightly into his shirt—lift to his face.
"Doctor," she repeated, a little more urgently. He quickly dropped his hands and pulled they from free from her dress, worried he'd gone a bit too far without realizing it. He pressed a final kiss to her neck and then lifted his face, expecting to find her flushed and a little apologetic, but instead she was looking at him with a look he hadn't expected. Her lips were parted and her eyes were wide and gentle, but a little panicked. She licked her lips and then gave her head a small shake.
"I'm falling in love with you." She blurted out. She said it in the way that made the Doctor realize she'd had to choke back the confession, too.
She looked scared of what the Doctor might say. He saw the shine in her eyes begin to dim, and her hands began to pull her dress down a little self-consciously. But he just wanted her to see what he saw, to feel what he felt. If she knew how blissfully amazing she was, how even the sound of her voice could soothe his worries and make him feel happy again, if she knew the dark places she'd pulled him from, she'd never feel worried in his presence again. Because she'd know what he knew (that he'd love her forever, more than anyone had ever loved anyone, and it was the truth).
"I'm falling faster." He admitted.
She smiled one of her surprised, overjoyed smiles. He had to kiss her again (with her, it was always a compulsion). When he pulled back, she tugged playfully at his hair and gave him a very Clara smile.
"I'll race you." She said wickedly, and he chuckled as his heart began to rise higher than it'd ever been before.
"Deal." He breathed against her lips. He kissed her again, and again, and again, and then he asked her another question. "What do I get when I win?"
"Same thing I get when you lose," she replied, and then she looped her arms tightly around his neck and kissed him open-mouthed, her legs tightening around his hips so he was pulled flush between her legs, her intent tremendously clear.
When she pulled back, he blushed.
"Yowzah!" He exclaimed, flustered. "And still the falling increases."
Clara rolled her eyes. "You men make half your decisions and emotions with your—"
He silenced her with a sudden kiss, the intent of her statement making him desperate to prove her wrong. He tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her slowly and tenderly, his tongue caressing hers gently, his lips all but speaking the words I cherish you. He desired her, something that was blatant to him and to her, both physically and emotionally. But he wanted her to know that most of that desire came from the fact that he just loved her. He fell in love with her hidden vulnerabilities and her creased, lovely soul first and foremost. Now everything was just a desperate attempt at getting closer to her, because he wanted to be with her always.
When he ended the kiss, he looked into her eyes, happy to find that hers were welling with emotion.
"Message received." She told him breathlessly. And then she had a similar message for him, one she gracefully conveyed to him with the simplest of touches. Her fingertips danced down his cheeks, over his chin, her eyes filling with a look that could only be described as adoration.
The mood had shifted seamlessly from frantic grasping to gentle caresses. Clara slid off the counter and took the Doctor's hand with a smile, tugging him along behind her as she walked to his bedroom. He stood in the doorway and watched with a grin as she pulled her dress over her head in one fluid movement. She tossed it towards his wardrobe and found her home in his arms once more. He ran his hands up and down her back, thinking that nothing felt as good as her skin underneath his fingertips, and then let her unbutton his waistcoat and shirt. He wasn't sure what they were doing, or what she had in mind, but he didn't entirely care, because anything that involved them together was good.
They reached for each other and fell back onto the bed once the Doctor's outer layers were gone. It was so simply wonderful to lie there with her, almost all of her bare skin against his, that he felt he could die right then and it'd be a beautiful death. She crawled up underneath his covers after giving him a final kiss and gave an excited giggle, something so unexpected that the Doctor could only laugh along with her. She pulled the blankets up to her shoulders and sighed happily, her hair haloed out around her head.
"Wow."
At first, he thought she was talking about the bed, and so he smiled as modestly as he could and began a rant about how it was so comfortable because the percentage apart each spring was placed complimented the number of inches the memory foam top rose...only for her to laugh and look at him strangely.
"What?" He asked in confusion.
She sat up slightly, the blanket puddling down at her waist, and the Doctor felt his focus shifting a bit as his eyes did. She nudged his leg with her foot and waited until his eyes were back on hers to continue.
"You." She replied simply, as if it were obvious, which it wasn't. He frowned and glanced somewhat self-consciously down at his briefs. Perhaps he shouldn't have worn rocket ships on a date.
"What about me?" He finally asked, his eyes rising to meet hers once again. She threw the covers back, a silent invitation for him to join her, and then smiled softly at him.
"It's all about you." She murmured, her legs intertwining easily with his once he was underneath the blankets with her. He stroked her hair and kissed her neck, his mind struggling to make sense of that uttering and why it felt so much like an I love you.
"Okay," he said slowly, playing along. He rested a hand on the small of her back and pulled her close to him, his face pressed into her hair, and he smiled when she automatically leaned into his touch. She was back to idly tracing words that he couldn't decipher into his skin, and he was quickly finding it to be altogether comforting and pleasurable.
"I mean-I met Rory, right? And he lived with you. Only at the time I didn't know that in a few years time you'd be my...well, you know." She paused for a moment, perhaps waiting to see if he'd provide a label for their relationship, but he was equally uncertain. She gave her head a small shake and continued. "So Rory always said he could see us getting along well, and then he planned for me to come visit, but that plan fell through. One opportunity to meet that didn't happen. Then the Maitlands adopt Melody, I become their nanny, and you do your own thing for a few years. You start working on a cure for the Crimson Horror; Melody gets the Crimson Horror. Then you show up at that exact diner I stop in on Wednesdays to get coffee, in this exact town, at that exact moment, exactly when I needed you most, and exactly when you needed a reason to live. It's just...well, the idea of destiny is rubbish, but you have to admit it's kind of..."
She trailed off gently, her words dying in her mouth as her hands stilled as well. The Doctor smoothed her hair back from her forehead and pressed a kiss there, his eyes falling shut once more.
"It's kind of impossible." He concluded.
"Exactly. And therefore it's the only right outcome." She concluded.
The Doctor felt like right was a good adjective to describe them.
On occasion, Dr. Simeon liked to drive past his childhood home.
He was a man now and his boyhood was far behind him, but even he fell prey to nostalgia sometimes, and he found that these trips were the best way to let that emotion fester. He was all about letting things fester. Nostalgia, anger, loneliness. He let it all simmer until it boiled him alive.
On this trip, he decided to take someone along with him. On the drive down, Dr. Simeom made calculated small talk.
"So, what do you think of our new prospective partner?"
Dr. Simeon knew very well what the man in his passenger seat thought of him. But perhaps he just wanted to watch Latimer's emotions fester, too. Festering was good, festering was noble. Festering was letting things reach their full potential.
Mr. Latimer shrugged his shoulders and peered almost sulkily out the window, like a scolded child, and Dr. Simeon felt a smile tug on his lips.
"He seemed a bit pretentious." Latimer muttered.
Dr. Simeon took a familiar exit and then began driving down a road that looked less familiar now than it had in his childhood.
"On the contrary, I thought he was modest. Except when it came to his personal life." Dr. Simeon faked a shudder.
He didn't have to glance at Latimer to know his head snapped towards him after that statement.
"What do you mean?" He questioned.
Dr. Simeon supposed the fact that Latimer hadn't demanded where they were going yet was telling to how irritated he was. Which was the way Simeon preferred it, needed it. For things to go correctly, he needed Latimer to burn alive with hatred. He knew the man was on his way to that point, but Simeon had to make sure the anger was pointed in the correct direction.
"He's just very...blunt about his romantic life." Dr. Simeon said awkwardly. "You know, it doesn't even seem like his girl's that into him to me. He seems to be rather obsessed with her."
Latimer's face morphed from annoyance to angry concern quickly.
"Really?" He asked. "Do you think he's making her stay with him?"
Dr. Simeon ignored Latimer's question for the moment, because he was pulling into his city. He stopped the car in the middle of the road, his smile warming up his face, and leaned his arms against the steering wheel.
"We're here. This is the town I grew up in." He said proudly.
Latimer was quiet for a minute. He stared through the windshield blankly and then he swallowed nervously.
Dr. Simeon began giving him a tour.
"That pile of bricks right there used to be a shop with the best sweets. That twisted metal right there-you see it? Right behind the car radiator?-used to be the slide at our playground. If you peer very, very closely to your right, you can just make out the rubble to the entire thing. Oh! And my school is a couple miles that way, but it's completely in ruins. Did I ever tell you about my mates from school? They were my only friends. We were tighter than blood. We even had a little nickname for ourselves. We got up to some crazy stuff, I'll tell you. The craziest. Us and our older brothers."
Dr. Simeon smiled at his ruins while Latimer peered uncomfortably around.
"Why'd you take me here?" He finally asked cautiously.
Dr. Simeon grinned, because his festered plan was about to reach its full potential.
"Because I have some information about this town and Dr. John Smith that might interest you. If you're concerned about the wellbeing of Miss Montague, that is." He began. "And I figured a visual of what this man can do might help you better understand the gravity of her situation. But you must know something before we begin this talk: I've got problems with him, too, and we're doing this my way. The slow way. The steady way. Because it's the only way to succeed. I won't tell you anymore until you agree. Is that understood?"
A long stare, a furrowed brow, a deep frown. Then, finally:
"Yes."