*Hello true believers! Another day, another chapter and this one is a pretty brutal one for Clara (they usually are). If I do say so my self, we've got some good chapters coming up. Chapter 11 is very Doctor-centric, followed by a lull in Chapter 12 and then Chapters 13-16 are full of twists and turns and cliffhangers that will have you screaming. At least, that's the hope, they were emotionally exhausting to write. Anyway, it's March 5th in our world, so you know what that means... I hope you enjoy and pretty please with a cherry on top review, favourite and follow and a ginormous thank you to everyone who already has or even just reads. Much appreciated. TPD*
March the 5th. The day that as hard as Clara tried to forget, she never would be able to. That particular year, it fell on a Wednesday, which meant that Clara had lectures she didn't want to go to and probably some social event she was likely to bail on. She hadn't told Jessie why she'd wanted to avoid seeing him that day, but she made up a lie about plans with people that didn't exist. She hated lying to him, but it was pretty heavy to drop on a guy you'd only just starting dating that you were still an emotional wreck from the death of your mother, three years ago to the day. She didn't wake up that morning so much as she didn't sleep at all the night before, eventually throwing herself out of bed at around 9am, having been staring at the ceiling for hours, numb and tearful. She pulled on her onesie, wanting to wear nothing else in truth and looked wistfully at the shower. She needed some sugar before she could handle the hot water, as was her ritual on Mum day. Tea, shower, cry. And hit repeat. Normally, vast quantities of alcohol were consumed, but she already felt numb and sad enough without adding to those two variables.
She had come to expect the Doctor to knock on her door at odd times, so it was no surprise when he did so before she could make it out the room. She opened the door and fell into his arms. She didn't know whether he was expecting the hug but she knew how good his hugs were and she desperately needed one. He squeezed her tightly and she let her tears drench his beige tweed, pulled on over his joggers and t-shirt. The fact that he wore a crimson red bow tie, despite the fact he wasn't wearing a shirt had seemed ridiculous to Clara the first time he'd done it, but now it looked odd when it was the opposite and she found it difficult to imagine there was a time when he hadn't worn them. It was reassuring to see the red bow wrapped around his neck, a little piece of home.
"There's tea and crumpets waiting in the kitchen," he said, his voice as tender as could be. Clara felt a shot of gratefulness run through her and she nodded, her socked feet padding gently as they walked down the corridor. She didn't ask how he'd remembered. She didn't even remember telling him but she knew she had. The Doctor always knew. He'd known when she'd returned the previous month, shocked after a run in with the Master, that something had been wrong, even before she'd said anything. The Master had taken to trying to convert Clara against the Doctor every time he saw her, including some disturbing flirting techniques and the occasional threat. As far as Clara was aware, he hadn't tried anything else, but the threat was still looming over their heads. An explosion the other day had led to the Doctor admitting that he didn't expect the Master to try anything until the prototype was completed and that another slight miscalculation had set him back until May at the earliest.
"Thanks," Clara mumbled, as she nervously bit a corner of crumpet. The Doctor was an expert at many things, but buttering a crumpet was one of the few areas where Clara had him edged out. Mercifully, the crumpet was sufficiently buttered and her tea was the exact right temperature. Thanks heavens for small mercies, she told herself. On today of all days, it was the little things that got her through it. She wanted more than anything to visit the grave, but that just wasn't possible. She'd been with her dad the previous weekend and she'd sobbed her eyes out but this was the actual day. That always made things harder.
"What do you want to do today?" the Doctor asked tentatively. "I mean, is there anything we can do today?"
"You don't have to do anything," Clara said bluntly but not without kindness. "This is my cross to bear. This is my day to feel like complete shit. It helps sometimes to dedicate an entire day to feeling like you want your world to end, that way when the day is over; you've filtered it all out. Bitch-Face taught me that. The Bitch-Face therapist, not the Bitch-Face sleeping with my dad. He suggested bringing her along on Saturday, you know? I told him I'd rather spend the day in the coffin with Mum than with her. That settled that."
Clara had found herself increasingly bitter throughout the speech and by the end she bitterly wished that her tea was spiked with something stronger. Her fists had clenched and the Doctor put his hands on top of hers, which made her smile a little. She was prepared to listen to another one of the Doctor's 'be the better person' speeches but instead, he just said: "Fuck them. Today is your day."
Clara knew she'd feel better after a long hot shower and this proved to be the case. But sure enough, the whispers came at her from under the bed as she towelled herself dry. She could have a little bit, she supposed. Pulling out the vodka, she knew a couple of shots would just keep her ticking over. Keep her numb. Help her get through the day. One day. She could handle one day. She downed the shots, instantly feeling like she needed to wretch but more importantly, she felt numb. The searing pain was gone. She had told the Doctor she could handle going to lectures, but she doubted he believed her, so she snuck out before he had a chance to stop her. She realised that that would involve seeing Jessie, but she put on massive sunglasses and tied her hair up underneath a baseball cap so nobody would recognise her. She also sat right at the front, in a corner, where Clara Oswald never sat and rushed out of the lectures before anyone could accost her.
After a few hellish hours in which the pain returned, greater than ever and plaguing her every thought as Clara tried to concentrate on literature, Clara was done for the day and she crashed into her room, fumbling for the vodka and letting its sweet release wash down her throat and soul. A choked sob escaped her and she drank again, feeling her pain leave her and a haze slip over her vision. She heard him shouting her name again. Why him? Why couldn't he just leave her in peace for once? Clara drank and drank; time slipping away and she felt herself throw up but didn't care, as it just left room for more alcohol. Then, the bottle was gone. She hadn't drunk it all, it couldn't have all gone that quickly, but she couldn't think straight. It wasn't in her hand anymore. It was above her and she jumped for it, lashing out at whoever was keeping it from her. Strong hands were wrapped around her, and she felt herself being moved. She kicked and screamed, flailing desperately for the alcohol. She cursed and then she was lying down, more vomit flying, where she knew not. Clara felt something cold rush down her throat, but it wasn't vodka so she tried to spit it out, only for more to rush down until she swallowed. Then, she felt consciousness leave her.
Clara's head was fit to burst. Something was crushing her ankles. Her chest was broken. The middle one wasn't the common symptoms of a hangover or broken heart, she realised, sitting up. This proved to be a mistake as a splitting pain rushed through her upper half and she glanced at the clock. 3am. Well she had passed out some time before 7pm, so it was no surprise. The source of her leg crushing was a gigantic lump on the end of her bed. She groaned and tugged harshly at her duvet, causing the lump to roll and splutter as it hit the ground. Clara felt a shot of guilt rise up among the bile and she turned to vomit into the bin someone had strategically placed by her bed. She guessed that same someone was the one who had put her to bed, taken her vodka, forced water down her throat and stayed on the end of her bed to look after her. She'd be absolutely stunned if that lump that she'd just thrown to the floor wasn't wearing a bow tie.
"You're awake then," the Doctor noted, rubbing his head as he picked himself up. "I did wonder if I would be rudely interrupted from my dream. I was having an excellent one involving a cactus called Jack and a kangaroo, also named Jack…they were trying to get to Tibet in time for Winter…I'm rambling again aren't I?"
"A little," Clara admitted. "What the hell did I do last night?"
"You were a real state, even by your standards. You were sat in here, about two thirds of the way through a litre of vodka, screaming your head off, crying your eyes out and calling me every name under the Sun while I put you to bed and took your booze off you. Thank God you didn't lock your door, or you might have passed out in a pool of your own sick. You had been sick, but thankfully it was only on your carpet, it'll come out. How're you feeling?"
"Oh God," Clara was white as a sheet. "I feel wretched Doctor, and not just because of the hangover. It's not fair that I keep doing things like this to you. I just, I completely lost control of myself. I don't know what happened. It was just, my mum and the pain and it was all too much and I… I was such a bitch to you and I…"
By this point, she had curled into a ball and was sobbing relentlessly. The Doctor slipped into bed beside her and snaked an arm around her, rubbing her shoulder. She sniffed, trying to regain composure but everything, her mum, the alcohol, the Doctor, just washed into her like a wave of tears. She couldn't believe how much she'd let herself and her mum down by drinking so much and as a result, she'd been a colossal bitch to the person trying his best to help her. She turned and sobbed into him and they ended up falling asleep hours later, still wrapped up in each other's' arms.
"Oswald, can I have a word?"
Clara bit her lip. She had eventually woken up ten minutes before Professor Holmes' lecture and dragged the Doctor with her. They both looked like hell and had sat up front where people could only see the back of their ragged heads. The Doctor shot her a concerned look which she waved away as she stumbled to the front of the lecture hall to speak to Professor Holmes, who towered over her inadvertently. He couldn't look intimidating if he tried, with his lack of muscle and soft facial features, but he was so much taller than Clara.
"What is it Professor?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level, despite its croakiness.
"Oswald, I was a student once," he smiled warmly and Clara felt herself blush. "A long time ago and we've all been there. I once remember sat in an Ancient Philosophy lecture at 1pm, wanted nothing more than to run to the nearest toilet and vomit out the entirety of my stomach lining. I understood about half of what he was saying and went straight to bed afterwards to watch crap TV, seeking sympathy from my mum and nibbling at dry toast. The point is, being a student involves getting hammered. And sometimes, that means you have to miss a lecture. I know it as well as anyone. Go home Oswald. Go to bed. You look like hell and you're not doing yourself any favours by making it to lectures." She nodded, embarrassed and went to leave. "And Clara?" She turned back to him, his crooked smile reaching his eyes. "You're doing really well, keep it up."
"What did he want?" the Doctor asked as she met him outside the lecture theatre.
"To reprimand me for being out of bed," Clara replied with a smile. "And here I thought he was the type of guy who spent his entire university life sat at home on his laptop working. Turns out he was as much of an alcoholic as the rest of us. Who knew?"
"Clara," the Doctor looked at her deeply and she had to return the look. "Are you going to be alright?"
"I'll be fine Doctor," Clara said, as convincingly as she could. "Yesterday was just a bad day for me."
He couldn't stop looking at her the way she looked at him sometimes, the wounded puppy look. She kept saying that she was fine but the way she stumbled occasionally, her hand gripping his shoulder indicated otherwise. He hated the wounded puppy look when she gave it to him, so he tried to stop looking at her that way, but the truth was he seriously worried about her a lot of the time and yesterday had been one of the worst days she'd had in the time he'd known her. As they made it back to K-block, she looked at him, an abashed look that made the Doctor think she was building to something. She kissed his cheek and sighed heavily.
"I never thanked you," she said eventually. "For last night. I mean, once again, you were there for me when I was at my worst. You need to stop making a habit of it, or rather, I need to stop making a habit of it."
"Clara," the Doctor interrupted. "It was nothing. Really. Now, don't you have another date tonight with Mr Handsome?" The words bit into him, but he'd gotten better at saying them without gagging.
"I wish you'd stop calling him that," Clara chuckled as they strolled down the corridor. "His name is Jessie and he's arrogant enough without you building up his self-esteem. But he's a sweet guy Doctor and sweet is exactly what I need in my life right now. I did think about not going, but I can't let my emotions hold me back. I need to move forwards, right?"
"Exactly," the Doctor smiled. He just wished she was moving forwards with him. "You need me to help pick out a dress, or do your makeup or use the burny things? I'm getting good at using the burny things!"
"Doctor, they're called straighteners or curlers!" Clara laughed. "Whichever one you mean. And the last time you tried to curl my hair, you burned your hand five times, which admittedly is a marked improvement on the time before that. And no, I'm going to wear it up tonight, just some mousse. And no, I don't need you doing my makeup. I looked like an oompa loompa slut and believe me that is an achievement even by women of today's standards."
The Doctor smiled. He was used to Clara's gentle teasing; it was what made their friendship work so well. The day she hurt his feelings would be the day when she stopped teasing him about the little things. He nodded and went to unlock his own door but Clara grabbed his arm and pulled him back towards her, sending his heart racing as he raised an eyebrow.
"I don't have to get changed for hours yet you banana!" she giggled. "It's not even noon! How long do you think it takes me to get ready for a date?"
The Doctor sensed that there was no correct answer here so he should keep his mouth firmly shut and shrug in a non-committal fashion.
"Four hours?" he tried. Clara glared momentarily before rolling her eyes and throwing her bedroom door open for him. The Doctor thought he couldn't have been that far out, but she kicked him in the shins playfully as he followed her into her room and slumped back on her bed. She shot him an exasperated look as she sat on the edge of her bed.
"You really are a nightmare, you know that!" she informed him and he grinned at that. "It's part of why I like you. And I'm guessing you must think something similar."
"Who says I like you?" the Doctor replied, cool as a cucumber. Clara wouldn't be the only one teasing. "I could just be tolerating your company because I've had no friends for my entire life and it was this or a tin dog I made myself. Which would involve far less crying and drinking."
"The fact that you put up with the crying and drinking is exactly why you don't want the tin dog," Clara replied masterfully. "Let's face it, you're a Doctor. You enjoy fixing things. Fixing me is just another hobby of yours. Fixing a tin dog is easy, but fixing Clara Oswald," she snorted. "Now that's a challenge."
"You don't really think that's how I view you do you?" the Doctor asked quietly, crawling over to her and putting a hand on her shoulder.
"Of course not," Clara laughed, an evil look in her eye. "But the look on your face was priceless. Come here you big idiot!"
She pulled him into a tension-relieving hug and he couldn't help but pool over her words. Clara Oswald meant the world to him, but what if when she was fixed, when she was healed, she wouldn't need him anymore? What if the Doctor was just that, a Doctor? A way to pull herself onto her feet so that people like Jessie could sweep her off it? A whole new dimension of thoughts entered the Doctor's mind and he pulled out his phone as the hug concluded. Clara shot him a quizzical look as he put it back in his pocket.
"Nothing," he smiled warmly at her. "I'm just meeting Ten this evening when you're off on your date. Wanted to confirm timings, Rose is off on a girls' night."
Clara sensed he wasn't telling her the whole truth, but let it slide. It was only Ten, what was the worst that could happen?
"You seem distracted tonight Clara," Jessie said quietly, as she sipped on her glass of wine. "Is everything alright? I didn't see you in lectures today or yesterday."
"Yesterday was…" Clara phrased it carefully. "A difficult day for me. I don't really want to talk about it; I'd probably just scare you off. But I'm feeling a lot better now, I promise Jessie."
"Hey, Chocolate," He insisted on calling her that despite her protestations. "I just want to make sure you're okay, that's all. I can handle whatever fucked up shit is going on in my life; God knows I've dealt with my fair share of drama. But if it's something that you feel bad talking about, then we'll talk about how this is the nicest steak I've ever eaten. How's your chicken?"
"Dead," Clara replied with a nervous grin. "Thank goodness for seasoning. Thank you, for being so understanding. I really like spending time with you. I mean, I don't want to fuck things up."
"At this stage Clara," Jessie gave her his best smile. "I don't think anything you can say would fuck things up. I want you to be my girlfriend Clara; I want us to be exclusive. I mean, there have been other girls since I got to uni, but you're what we call in the business, a keeper. I know it's only been a few weeks and half a dozen dates but…"
"Yes," Clara said instantly, not even stopping to think. "I'd love that. I've not been a girlfriend for…" she racked her memory. "You know what, I don't even know anymore. Certainly since I was a stupid kid, who thought that the definition of girlfriend was holding hands with a boy."
"Well that stupid kid wasn't far wrong," Jessie told her, taking her hand in his soft grip. "I was wondering if you fancied stopping over at Kendrick's tonight?"
"You mean…" Clara's voice hitched in her throat and she found it hard to breathe.
"I mean whatever you want me to mean Chocolate," he said quietly and Clara found herself nodding. And that was the night that Clara Oswald lost her virginity.