*Hey guys. Once again, apologies for the lateness, I've been off the ball again today, literally just finished it. Likewise, apologies for any spelling and grammatical errors, I've not had time to read it over. This is a slightly shorter chapter, just over 4000 and it's also a quieter chapter. Not a lot going on, just some cute Whouffle moments. I hope you like it, please let me know what you guys think of it. As ever, thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited. TPD*
Clara had been a bundle of nerves since her interview and was expecting a letter through the post any day. August had passed but there was still no word. The Doctor insisted that it meant nothing, that she'd get a letter any day, telling her if she got it. Although he always he replaced the word "if" with "that". Clara was a lot less certain than him. Or rather, than he claimed to be, as she strongly suspected he'd tell her that she'd get the job, even if she'd fucked her interview, which thankfully she hadn't. She didn't know what to say or do; she just wanted to hear from the school. It was Clara who collected the post the morning it arrived, the 2nd, and she spied the letter instantly. It had her school's seal and her breathing had become panicked, her mind had turned to dust and her fingers had trembled. She finally summoned up the courage to open up the letter and skim read the contents. Oh.
"DOCTOR!" she yelled at the top of her voice. She heard him crashing around and stumbling to the top of the stairs that led down to the front door. For a split second, she thought he was going to come crashing down them, killing himself and injuring her in the process. She was starting to question the logic of this specific flat, with such a dangerous staircase, but he was yet to fall down it, although he'd given her a scare more than once.
"Clara!" he yelled. "What is it? Is it the job? Did you get it?"
She looked up at him with big eyes. She was smiling. "You are now looking at the new Head of English for Coal Hill School," she purred and the Doctor erupted. He flew down the stairs, almost pinning her against the door as they embraced. "They said that I was by far the best internal candidate, especially with Prof Reader's rec and then they considered one or two candidates that were external, but my interviews persuaded them I was more than worthy of the position. I can't believe it!" she squealed. "I did it!"
He eventually relieved the crushing pressure that he had been exerting on her lungs and she giggled as she wrapped her arms around him. He kissed the top of her head, unable to wipe the smile of his face.
"I'm so proud of you," he murmured. She flushed at that. "Well, this calls for a celebration! You and me, dinner tonight at Titalia! I'm not taking no for an answer!" Clara didn't think her smile could have got wider, but somehow she achieved that feat. She couldn't wait. She quickly called Nina and gushed to her best friend, the way that she had gushed to the Doctor. She needed to go into school the next day to get a proper briefing and then she started properly the following week. She was both extremely excited and crazily nervous. She was also worried she might have to drop a class or two to accommodate her new responsibilities. She froze at the thought that followed that. That might even be completely up to her. That was a terrifying thought; she would be running the show. She had signed up for it, but it was still a thought that she didn't relish. And did relish, nevertheless.
Clara was still living off the high, the euphoria of getting the job, the insanity of what that meant for her, as they sat down to dinner in her favourite restaurant, for the second time in just over a month. She would claim he was spoiling her, but she had earned this. A new job, a pay hike, things were looking up for Clara Oswald. As usual, he fumbled over the menu and she rolled her eyes.
"You're definitely pretending," she informed him as she told him for the third time what the food was. "I know you are, I can see it written all over that stupid, childish face of yours." He looked at her innocently, his big eyes wide, like those of a puppy dog. She snorted at him and his face fell slightly. "Just order!" she implored him, the smile never leaving her face.
So he did. Eventually. The waiter and Clara shared a look of pure exasperation and she mouthed sorry, but they got there in the end. He at least had the decency to look sheepish about the whole thing, though she knew that he was secretly playing games with her. She didn't know why he was pretending to be so bad at reading the menus, but it seemed to amuse him vastly and it did amuse her, though she would never ever tell him that. He winked at her from across the table and she threatened to stab him with her fork. He rolled his eyes at that, calling her bluff.
Dinner that evening was exactly what Clara needed to relax her, to remove the supercharged emotions, most of them positive, that were running through her body. She was wired up like a Duracell bunny and must have looked as hyper as she felt. She'd backcombed her hair, so it was wild, her curls flying off in all directions and she couldn't stop grinning like a maniac all night.
She'd only just managed to calm down when he got her home and then he managed to charge her right back up again. The way he touched her, the way he undressed her, the way he kissed her. They did it on the kitchen table and then in the main bathroom. Their en-suite only had a shower, and they'd really wanted to have sex in the bath tub, without having a bath. This both made her more elated than before and also wore her out immensely. She ended up crashing in bed, him lying beside her, them both exhausted.
"I can't believe it's taken us this long to christen the bath tub," he growled.
"I can't believe we christened the kitchen table!" Clara laughed breathlessly. "I thought we agreed that we weren't going to do that! It's your fault, you can wipe your fucking juices off of it!" He looked indignant. "You're the one who pushed me over onto it!" He didn't protest.
So Clara woke up to the sounds of him scrubbing the table. She smirked at that and rolled over, utilising the whole of the bed. It was nice to have a double to herself, she rarely got that chance. She stayed in bed for another half hour before he popped his head in the bedroom.
"You need to be getting up in five minutes or so honey!" he said gently as she rolled over onto her belly and buried her head in the pillow. "Clara!" he added in a sing song voice.
"Go awayyyy!" she whined. "I'm going to get up, I've set my alarm!" She went back to hugging the pillow, desperately trying to scrounge a few more minutes sleep before her alarm crashed her back to reality, screaming at her as she flailed for it. The Doctor threw a cushion from off the sofa at her.
"Get up Clara!" he said sternly. She groaned and flopped, hitting the floor with a deafening thud. He stuck his head in but didn't comment. He was used to her morning antics. Clara was not a morning person. She laboured in the shower, to the point where he was banging on the door to get her to come out. He made her breakfast, which was another nice touch she appreciated, tucking into her bacon sarnie and savouring every bite, sipping her fresh mug of tea. If only all mornings could be this acceptable. Oh wait, she realised. They could be. She was living with him now, she had an unforeseen number of mornings like this one, with him doing the best he could to make her alert.
"Did you add something to my tea?" she enquired, swirling it gently and testing her tongue.
"Just a hint of cinnamon," he replied with a warm smile. "Problem?"
"No," Clara didn't even need to think about it. "It works. It's delicious." He smirked at that.
"Of course it is," he purred. "Now finish your breakfast, you've got a big day ahead of you!"
"You're my boyfriend," she reminded him. "Not my dad. Stop being weird."
"What caring?" he chuckled. "Are you not used to having someone look after you all the time Clara?" He said it sarcastically but the way his face shifted, he realised the same thing she was realising. That no. She wasn't. With Danny, she'd always be the one making the extra little bit of effort, forcing him to come out dancing, or making him breakfast. This was the first relationship she'd been in where she actually felt cared about. She looked at him and he gave her his best, winning smile. She leaned across to kiss him, almost knocking her tea over with her elbow as their lips brushed.
"Thank you," she spoke in an undertone. He shrugged his shoulders and returned her kiss.
"It was my pleasure," he informed her. "Now then, where are you at time wise?"
She was running late. That proved to be a theme for Clara, although she managed, through nothing short of a miracle and him giving her a lift into school, to make it to every single of her string of meetings and talks on time. The day itself wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the constant feeling of stress pressing down on her. She wasn't sure that she was ready for this job, despite the Doctor's reassurances, or the kind words of her colleagues and bosses. The people who hired her, her previous HoD, they all believed in Clara, so why couldn't she?
Her first day seemed to settle her nerves a touch, once she'd finished all the running around and reflected back on what she'd actually achieved. She was still a tad nervous to be returning to action the following week and picking up her new duties on top of it. Still, the deputy head, a lovely woman by the name of Doris, had offered her services to Clara, should she need a hand. There was no pressure; everyone knew that she was new to the job and slightly short of experience. But she was the best teacher the department had and she was full of good ideas and enthusiasm. Clara had always been good at organisation, it was always just about keeping her rampant jitters in check.
She had a long hot bath, which made her feel a hell of a lot better. The Doctor ordered takeaway from the local chippy. It was cheap, it was greasy, and it was exactly what she needed. She didn't even question how he knew these things. He was just telepathic. It was like that for the next couple of days, as the Doctor seemed to know exactly what Clara needed and when she needed it.
"Your new experiment," she asked him as she looked at him suspiciously when he brought her a cuppa, almost the exact moment she ran out. "It's not security cameras or mind-reading is it?" He chuckled at that and didn't dignify it with a response.
Then school started again and Clara found herself having to settle into a whole new routine. She was working later than before, as she had expected, because she didn't want to have to take her work home with her. That meant staying super late after work, crashing in knackered and having the Doctor take care of her.
She hated feeling like a burden to him, but she needed a couple of weeks to get a grip on things. They'd been together eight months, but their relationship was still taking on new dynamics. They'd never lived together whilst they were both working, so it meant that they had gone from spending a lot of time together to substantially less. It didn't bother Clara too much, they still had evenings and weekends, but the evenings were calm, quiet. She rarely was up for anything beyond cuddling on the sofa. And that, she supposed was fine. Their relationship didn't need flare. It didn't require the kind of explosive behaviour that others did. It was two individuals, who cared about each other very much and were beyond comfortable in each other's company.
Weekends were a little more exciting at least. They often went out for dinner and Clara took to trying to see Nina whenever she could. Things at work had shifted now that she was Head of Department. She had less time to hang around with the others, less chances to go out drinking with them. She had to be the mature one, the one who asked them all to stop acting certain ways. One day in mid-September, she had to talk to Tom, had to scold Tom. She hated that. But he was behind and he needed a kick up the backside. Her predecessor would have done it, so Clara did it. She hated herself for it and she tried to convince herself that it meant nothing. But she could see in his eyes, he was slightly shocked and maybe even disappointed.
Clara didn't feel different now that she had a new job. But nevertheless, things were different, out of her control. There was nothing that she could do to wrestle them back under her control and she just had to accept that. She had more disposable income and had started saving. She didn't know where her future with the Doctor lay, but she was already thinking about a house, about kids. It was only natural. He was into his 30s and she was nearly 28. In a couple of years, they'd be thinking about the next few steps. Marriage, kids. A couple of years was a long time, but for Clara, it made sense. He felt different. He felt like the kind of guy who was in it for the long haul.
She wondered where he'd be now, if River Song hadn't died. He hadn't said anything about the two of them planning for a family, but he had been her age when River had been killed and River had been the other side of 30. They must have at least talked about it, having been married for six or seven years at that point. She was tempted to ask him. She and Danny had never talked about having kids. But then, they'd been younger, less involved and he'd not even proposed. She did wonder if he had ever been going to, but then she doubted it. He'd wanted out after all. But the Doctor hadn't broken up with River. They'd been separated by something else. Clara shivered at the thought of it.
She had a lot of time to think, sat alone in her new office, in the early hours of the evening when most of the school had gone home and only a few busy department heads and key faculty members had stayed behind. She thought about the Doctor and Danny and River and all of that nonsense. Danny was underneath her now, literally. She controlled his schedule and whilst she couldn't deliberately be a dick to him, wherever she could she made his life more difficult. Giving her a harder set, knowing which classes contained the little shits and shifting them on to him. Seeing how stressed he was gave her a grim sort of pleasure and one that she took no pride in. It was a shame he was such a damned good teacher, she couldn't call him up on shit because he didn't make many errors.
One evening in September, Clara trudged home to see the Doctor deep in thought, reading a letter. She frowned and crossed the room to peck his cheek. He smiled up at her and kissed her back, putting a hand onto her shoulder blade. The contact buzzed Clara, like she was tingling when he touched her. But she was used to it.
"What're you reading?" she asked gently, slipping down onto the arm of the chair he was in. He scooted up a bit, making a little more space for her and when she recognised the name at the bottom of the letter, she gripped his shoulder tightly.
"A letter from my mother," he informed her. "But you already got that." She nodded. "She wants to tell me she's disowning me. Of sorts. She has apparently given up trying to police my life, though she used the phrase 'guide my choices'. She no longer cares what happens to me as it is clear I have been corrupted beyond help. She wishes dad was still alive to see the wretch I have become and she's going back to America. She didn't mention inheritance but frankly I doubt she can strike me out the will, the sad old bitch hasn't got anyone else to give her money to. Not that I care either way, I've managed just fine without her money up until now."
There was something in his tone. Bitterness and resentment, as she would have expected. Relief, which she certainly didn't blame him for. Sadness? That was understandable. But something else, something she couldn't quite pick out. She examined his face. There was nothing written there that could help her.
"What is it?" she murmured.
"I just…" he sighed. "I can't believe she's giving up on me. I mean, I'm glad she's gone, really I am, but…" He was trying not to cry, she realised. She slipped down onto his lap, kissed his jaw and then snuggled into him. "She's my mother," he said, he didn't need to say more. "I can't believe that my own mother, the woman who…I mean she's always been cruel and a bitch but…but I thought she loved me."
"She does love you," Clara whispered, but she wasn't sure she could believe her own words. Not that it mattered if he believed them, but that in itself was a stretch. "Doctor, she does love you, she just doesn't know how to love you. Doesn't know what love means, how to react to it. That doesn't mean that she doesn't want what's best for you…even if she doesn't have the faintest idea that what she thinks is what's best for you isn't."
"But she obviously doesn't," he replied bluntly and her eyes snapped to his. "Otherwise…" he shook his head. "Ignore me Clara. This is good news. For both of us. Great news. We should be celebrating, not moping. I'll get a wine bottle out."
She pressed a hand to his chest, keeping him in position. She leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth before climbing off him, keeping her hand firmly against his shirt. He watched her all the way up and she gave him a small, almost apologetic smile.
"Let me," she said gently. She didn't know why she was indulging him at all, but she poured two small glasses, no more than half full. She wasn't going to let him have any more. She had come to terms with his alcohol problems, and so had he, long ago, but that didn't mean she couldn't occasionally play it cautiously, especially when he was an emotional can of worms. She returned to him and he had moved to the comfier sofa, which she smiled at, setting the glasses down on the table in front of them and curling up into his arms.
"Thanks," he muttered. "I don't know what I'd do without you Clara."
"Struggle," she teased. "I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you and don't you forget it!" She was joking of course and it was worth it to see the little smile on his face as he looked down at her.
"I won't," he promised and whilst she had been joking, he was horribly sincere. Clara blushed and rested her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. She heard him gulping on his wine above her and casually opened one eye to see him finish the glass and put it down. She reached for her own glass and sipped her own drink, trying not to think about the Doctor and his drinking. She could almost hear him rolling his eyes.
"You know you don't need to worry about me," his voice was soft, but the words said more than he intended them to. He didn't want her to worry about him, she knew that, but it was also reflecting back that same insecurity. That he hated that she still recognised a flaw in him. A flaw that wasn't present in her.
"I know," Clara answered tenderly, cuddling closer to him. "But I will. Because I love you."
She hadn't meant for that to sound, or feel defiant, but that's how it was. It was her emphatically telling him that she was not going to pretend he didn't have a problem, but that she was here with him because of it, not despite it. It was a part of him and she loved every part of him, even the parts that he didn't love about himself. That didn't mean that she didn't want to help him, it just meant that she didn't see him the way he see himself when he thought about it. It didn't lower her opinion of him in the slightest. It was something she had realised about him the day that they'd met and her feelings for him had only gone one way since that day.
"I don't deserve you," he breathed in her ear and she went crimson again.
"Probably not," she teased. "But you've got me stranger. I'm in this for the long haul." She paused. Now was as good a time as any. "You and River…" she was glad he didn't flinch. "Were you guys planning on having kids?"
"Not really," he replied. His voice wasn't betraying any lingering emotion except a hint of teasing to come. "Why, are you asking me for children Miss Oswald?" There was the teasing. She blushed but he carried on. "River wasn't really the type. I mean, I asked her about it a couple of times and she found the idea of settling down laughable. I mean I know we were married, but we weren't settled, the way you and I kind of are now. We travelled as much as we could, we both tried to do as many things as we could. It was exciting, but it was also kind of boring. We were always running from one adventure to the next, but we were never having as much fun as we should have. It wasn't what I wanted."
"If it wasn't what you wanted, why did you keep doing it?" Clara asked gently.
"Because it was what River wanted," he replied with a sigh. "And I wanted what River wanted. It was incredible. But this…this is different. This feels different. It feels right."
"I know what you mean." Clara snuggled back into his body and they lay there for a while, Clara occasionally sipping her wine and him above her, deep in thought. She could see him running about, travelling, and being clever. It suited him so well. Maybe he wasn't saying it because he felt better now, but because he was trying to convince himself that he wasn't happy with River. He was trying to focus on the negatives of the relationship so that this new one felt even better. That would be understandable and, as far as Clara was concerned, it wouldn't undermine what they had. After all, he wasn't comparing the two and even if he was, he would be comparing his feelings for her that were already pre-existing. He wasn't trying to amplify his feelings for her, they were already there.
Clara didn't consider it overconfidence; she just considered it recognition of what was in front of her. And as she went to sleep in his arms that night and every night that week and the week after it, she wondered how she'd ever been able to sleep any other way. Because it felt so perfect, so right, that she never wanted to sleep another way again.