Gravity – Chapter 10

She didn't even have to think about it. Some part of her took control. The part that had scarcely allowed her to function this past week. The part that had kept her awake, night after night. The part that wouldn't let her forget how good it had been between them and how well they fit.

This was certainly still true now, as she dragged a very eager Malcolm inside her flat. Lips locked in a hard fought battle, eyes closed against the superfluous light, hands alternatively stroking and pressing and guiding, they slowly made their way to her bed, which thankfully wasn't very far. Clothes were discarded as quickly as humanly possible. Yes, she wanted him inside her. But first and foremost she wanted to feel the warmth of his skin against hers and savour the very real brunt of his weight. Slide her fingers through his shorn locks. Take a deep breath, then lose herself in the pool of his eyes.

She smiled, he smiled, and that's all it took.

Locking her ankles high on his back to relish every last inch of him, Clara found her way back to his mouth. Fighting for dominance over his tongue, she bit his lower lip. Malcolm retaliated by raising his hips that extra bit, which forced his pelvis to rub against that spot. She moaned loudly then grinned.

This wasn't just about pleasure and self-gratification. No, what she felt above all was unbridled joy. Clara laughed again when Malcolm dragged his teeth across her neck to leave his mark. He raised his eyes to hers, feeling her chuckle reverberate against her skin. Puzzled was perhaps the wrong word to describe his expression – after all, he hadn't exactly stopped moving inside her – yet there was renewed wonder in his grey orbs when she beamed once more after a particularly deep thrust. When he did it again and earned the same result, he simply shook his head and joined in her mirth with a grin of his own. Clara wasn't sure what was happening to her – she just couldn't stop her happiness from showing.

Maybe she'd just been taking sex a bit too seriously until then. Because she was quite certain it had never felt like that. Carefree, joyful and liberating. And from her lover's mystified expression, it was clear that the same held true for him. Oh, well. Nobody said this was supposed to be a grim affair, after all. Raising her lips to his ear, she let him know exactly how good he made her feel before playfully biting his earlobe. He groaned, and it was his turn to laugh warmly. Clara felt his hands slide to her waist. Then to her surprise, shriek included, he quickly switched their positions on the mattress and she found herself on top.

"Tired already?" she cheekily asked.

"Don't tell me a control freak like you doesn't like to be on top?" he replied.

"Au contraire, mon cher," she said, settling firmly against him.

His answering grunt and hiss told her that she should speak French to him more often.

Finding herself on the other side of her bed afterwards, Clara realised as she was getting her breath back that she might try sleeping that way, for once. The ceiling looked more pleasing from that angle, somehow. But maybe that was due to her general mood. Blood was still noisily rushing to her ears and she couldn't hear or feel Malcolm moving about. She hoped that she hadn't utterly tired him out. That certainly wouldn't do, she thought, smiling smugly. Yet, if she were completely honest, she wouldn't mind languidly sliding towards him and fall asleep.

Picture her surprise when she found Malcolm's face looming above her, wide awake and expectant.

"So, are we going then?" he asked.

"Going? Going where?" she voiced out, rolling on her side feebly. Her head was still spinning.

"I owe you dinner, don't I?"

"Dinner?" This was a very slow reboot indeed.

"Yes, dinner! At a posh place, remember?" Malcolm pressed hurriedly, picking up his clothes, "We probably won't get a table at the River Café at this hour, but we can try other places."

Clara could finally see him from the right side up. He was serious.

"We don't need to go out. I was actually planning on ordering a pizza before you showed up."

"But I said I would," he pointed out, already mostly dressed. Impressive speed.

She sat up, alerted by his tone. He wasn't just serious – he was adamant. What was going on?

"Malcolm, wait," she started, signalling with her hands that he had to slow down. "You don't need to take me out. I'm fine with staying in. And I really don't feel like putting on some fancy clothes right now. It's Friday."

She could tell that he didn't completely buy her speech – as genuine as it was. What made him think that he somehow owed it to her to take her to some poncy restaurant? Did he believe that it was what she expected from him? That he had to do the whole strained date-night thing? She hated that! But then, perhaps that's how the women he usually dated behaved around him. Clara shuddered at the thought – just imagining him with that kind of woman (any woman, really, if she was honest) - unnerved her to the highest degree.

"Really, Malcolm. I just feel like staying in tonight. With you, if possible," she added, smiling.

He was frowning at her still, but at least he'd stopped tucking in his shirt.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. And if that bothers you so much, why don't we make a reservation for another day? When we're less tired? How about after that stupid Education Bill is passed, yeah?"

Malcolm nodded, finally convinced.

"Yeah, good idea, let's do that."

Now that she had managed to convince him not to go out, he looked rather lost. Lowering his shoulders, he looked around her room and started ruffling hair that was no longer there.

"I'm going to miss that hair," Clara pouted, looking up at him.

He stopped his ministrations and she was sure that she had made him blush.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-mmh," she confirmed, standing up and reaching him in a few steps.

"The beard I can live without, thought it suited you," she said, sliding her hands over his not quite smooth cheeks given the hour.

"But that hair... It was glorious, that hair," she reminisced.

"It'll grow back."

"It better."

He lowered his eyes then quickly raised them up again – she was still naked and she didn't mind.

"Pizza, then?" he supplied, clearly yearning for something to do.

Clara wouldn't lower her hands, which were still gently cupping his face, her thumbs vainly trying to smooth over the fatigue-induced circles around his eyes.

"Yes I can order it and you won't have to leave."

She hoped she wasn't too forward. But then, she had started to realise that Malcolm didn't exactly need to be handled with kid gloves.

"I don't mind going out if it's quicker, I need to move my car anyway," he shrugged.

Her neighbourhood was usually fine, but she certainly wouldn't choose to park a £100,000 car outside. Especially on a Friday night during pub crawl hour.

"You didn't plan this at all, did you?" Clara asked, smiling secretly and finally deciding on putting on some clothes – she had tortured him enough.

"To be honest, I thought you'd throw me the fuck out," he answered, looking at his bare feet.

"Why did you think that?"

"Well, I've been a fucking arsehole to you. I deserved a good kick in the balls."

Clara was in the process of finding a comfortable pair of jeans. It was a good thing that her back was turned, or Malcolm would have seen her eyes widening in shock. She swallowed reflexively and took her time finding what she was looking for in her drawer to come up with a suitable answer. For the life of her, she hadn't expected him to have any qualms about what he had done. He'd been completely vindicated in his choice to leave her in the car. And yet, a small part of her glowed. The same small part that had taken control when he had arrived this evening.

"You did what you had to do, I understand that," she settled on replying, calmly.

"Doesn't mean I had to be such an ungrateful prick about it," he mumbled.

Clara didn't say anything back while she dressed – it wouldn't hurt if he thought that yes, she might have felt a little stung.

"There's a good curry place on Hampton Street if you want to have that instead. I have beers in the fridge," she suggested before turning back towards him. From his small smile, she could tell that the idea appealed to him. Trust Malcolm Tucker to never refuse a good curry.

"Sounds good. I saw an underground car park a bit further on Walworth. I'll pick up dinner on the way back."

Malcolm walked to the sitting room and started looking in every corner.

"Where's your dog? Do you want me to walk him or something?"

"He's staying at my friend Martha at the moment."

"Oh." He was genuinely disappointed not to see him.

"I think he had a hard time readjusting to London," she added, wondering if she was only talking about the Doctor.

"Right."

Clara thought that he was almost about to apologise. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. In the end, he simply rolled his shoulders, tied on his shoes and put on his jacket. But the lingering kiss he gave her before heading out spelled out his contrition.

Just as she was about to get cutlery from the kitchen, her mobile rang. Jamie. She had no more excuses for ducking his calls. And she didn't mind talking to him – not anymore.

"Hi, Jamie."

"Finally! I'd started thinking you were fucking avoiding me, lass."

"Sorry about that, I was just busy. But I'm good now. How are you?"

"Jesus, you sound chipper. I dread to think why."

"What news have you got for me?" she asked, avoiding his comment. Did she really sound chipper?

"I just thought you wanted to know how everything was going. But I can understand if you're tired of hearing me banging the fuck on about this subject. Especially since, well... I'm guessing Malcolm hasn't been very...

"Jamie..." she tried to cut in, but he was on one of his usual rolls.

"... I know the git can be a bigger arsehole than usual when he is focused on his work, but I'm sure he'll come round – it's you after all – and he's not fucking blind. I'll even have a wee talk with him on Monday if you want, suggest flowers or something. What kind of flowers do you like? Do you even like flowers? Or maybe a restaurant. Would you like..."

"Jamie!"

"What?"

"Thanks, but that won't be necessary," she replied, trying very hard not to laugh.

"Oh. Okay. But wait, why would.." A beat, then a guffaw. "I get it. He came by, didn't he? That sleeky bugger."

"Yeah, he came by."

"Don't tell me he's still there? Jesus fuck, don't answer that. I don't want to know. And don't tell him I called, for God's sake."

"Sure, Jamie. Have a lovely weekend," she told him warmly.

"Oh, and just so we're clear, don't you ever fucking screen my calls again, you hear? I could have been calling you about work."

"If you had been, then you would have eventually found another way to reach me, I'm sure."

"Don't you fucking know it. Right, off I go. You have a nice relaxing weekend as well. Just don't ever tell me about it."

"Cheers," she replied before ending the call with a smile on her lips.

Clara only then realised that he hadn't told her anything about the inquiry. Surely, Malcolm would have told her if anything was bad.

When he came back, he was carrying a small holdall in addition to the take-out curry. At her raised eyebrow he flustered slightly and explained he'd picked up the change of clothes he always kept in his boot because he didn't want to risk staining the only pair of trousers that fitted at the moment. She sniggered discreetly at how uncomfortable he looked – they were past fearing being too presumptuous around each others as far as she was concerned. And she liked him better in jeans, anyway.

It wasn't until much later that they started talking about his case. They had put on the ten o'clock news on mute, and Malcolm was sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa where she was laying, empty containers and bottles of lager still scattered around them. Clara felt pleasantly full and sleepy. She reached out to smooth his hair from her higher vantage point and he didn't complain. On the contrary, she was quite sure she heard a purring sound.

"Are you going to tell me again that it's too short?" he muttered, completely oblivious to the Shadow Minister complaining silently on TV.

"I know why you had it cut, it looks more professional like this. More... Malcolm fucking Tucker if you catch my drift."

"Do you know, my middle name actually starts with an F? What a fucking joke."

"Really, what is it?"

"Finn. My mam wanted Fionnlagh, but that would have been over-stressing the Scottish Gaelic thing a wee bit."

"Just a wee bit, yeah," she agreed with an easy smile. "At least you have a second name. My parents were just too lazy with me. I'm plain Clara Oswald."

"Plain Clara Oswald sounds fucking lovely."

She gripped his hair a bit tighter.

"But anyway, that haircut, it's just such a waste," she sighed, giving his head one last pat, "you have beautiful hair."

"It's going grey."

"I don't care. Grey suits you," she replied.

He turned towards her at her words, frowning

"Trust me, it does."

"Well, the good news is, you might get to admire it going greyer and greyer outside a prison cell rather than inside."

Clara sat up against the armrest, waiting for him to elaborate.

"It's not official yet, but Mike and Sarah reckon that since the solicitor's main priority is to save the Crown Prosecution Services from unwarranted expenses in pursuing cases where they might not secure a conviction, the charges should be dropped soon."

"And that's good, right?" she couldn't help asking, since his tone was unreadable.

"Of course it's good, I can't fucking wait!"

"But?" she prompted.

"But it might take a while until they have enough on Catherine Hadley, her sister, and Hewitt. They have to look at all the angles. And they seem more interested in knowing how they got the pictures in the first place rather than why they put them in my computer to incriminate me. Which I can understand, but that still fucking sucks."

"I'm sure you'll get answers one day."

"Maybe," he replied, non-plussed.

Clara sighed audibly then slid from the sofa to come and sit next to him. When he didn't move, she took the first step and wound her arms around him, tightly.

"So it's over, then," she said in a small voice against his shirt.

Malcolm exhaled and hugged her tighter against him.

"Yeah, it's really over," he acquiesced, never commenting on the few warm tears he started feeling rolling down the back of his neck a few minutes later when he still hadn't let her go.