A/N

Hello Ladies! (and men, if there are any reading this.)

This update is a nice large one for you all, as I haven't updated much recently :/ expect the next one on Wednesday, maybe Thursday, I'm not sure yet (it depends on how much coursework my teachers decide to dump on me).

The history of Fenric, as in this chapter, is mainly based on the TV version of events. Some aspects, however, are purely fictional.

Love you guys,

-Jazz

Clara teetered outside the kitchen door, teeth worrying her bottom lip as she debated whether to go in or not. On one hand, her and the Doctor were on the verge of making some real progress with their relationship; he was willing to open up to her and share some of the fears and worries that had been bottled up inside of him.

But, on the other hand, Clara had been hurt by the Doctor. He had looked into her eyes and said the words that had cut her heart so deep, fire burning in his normally calm features as he spat her flaws at her, told her that nothing she could do could help him. And to be honest after that experience she was a tiny bit scared to try.

Just do it 're here now, you might as well just open the damn door and get on with it. Hear him out, and if you don't like what the has to say you can leave and never come back.

Clara edged the door open and slipped one hand around the side. She could hear humming and the faint hiss of food being fried. Curiosity overcoming caution she peeked her head through the gap between the door and the frame. What she saw made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. The Doctor was standing by the oven in Clara's red soufflé-stained apron, twirling a fish slice in his hand like a conductor's baton as he fried bacon. His face was wrinkled with concentration as he watched over the rashers, humming a tune that Clara vaguely recognised but couldn't quite place. As she watched he scooped up the bacon from the pan and slid it onto the slices of bread waiting on the other side, squirting a generous amount of tomato ketchup on top before deftly flipping the slices on top of each other and cutting it in half. Clara stayed frozen in the doorway as he started on another pan full of bacon, back turned towards her. She had expected the Doctor to be sitting at the table or pacing, not making them both bacon sandwiches. But since when had the Doctor done anything that she expected?

Clara moved one foot forward slightly to get a better look and cursed when a floor board under her gave off a loud creak. Typical.

The Doctor whipped around, tense, but relaxed when he saw that it was only Clara. "Hello." he said warmly, pointing to the second plate that he had just placed in Clara's usual spot at the table. "I made you a bacon sandwich. Lettuce, no ketchup." He made a face at her, waving his arms enthusiastically. "Bit rubbish without sauce if you ask me. Did you know, there's a planet devoted to making sandwiches. Arthur Dent, good friend of mine, used to live there and passed on his knowledge of sandwich making to the locals. Oh, Arthur. Brilliant man, if slightly confused and hermit-y. Mind you, none to popular with those Vogons though-"

Clara coughed, hiding her smile with one hand.

"What?"

She raised her eyebrows at him pointedly. "As much as I would love to hear about your friend, we do have...things...to talk about."

The Doctor's face fell and Clara almost felt bad about interrupting him.

No. I have to stop this , this feeling guilty whenever I do something that he doesn't like. I don't need him to be able to feel loved.

That's what she told herself anyway as she sat down at the table, pulling her sandwich over and taking a bite. The bacon was burnt, but Clara ate it. She was starving.

Across from her the Doctor picked at his own food avoiding eye contact. He wasn't hungry, his stomach churning with nerves. He was afraid that Clara wouldn't want to travel with him, not when he started telling her about all the events that he had lived through, the actions that he had been forced to do not out of love, or even hate, but because of the simple instinct to survive. People had been hurt, people he loved had died as a result of trusting him and Clara simply did not need to know the details. She was a kind, loving, compassionate person and would be horrified at the paths he had chosen, the enemies that he had made and the innocent people that he had killed, unwittingly or otherwise. He was certain that if he told her the full truth she would leave, despite her earlier assertions that she wanted to help him out. The Doctor could lie, but the idea of lying to Clara was almost as repulsive as the thought of never seeing her again. No, he would tell her about Fenric, but not the whole truth; just enough to satisfy her ever-present curiosity but no more. There were some things that Clara should not be burdened with, and that was one of them.

Clara finished her sandwich and looked over at the Doctor, who was glowering down at his own, untouched, lunch. He looked conflicted, brow furrowed, hands twisting in his lap, muttering abstractedly to himself. A tiny voice in her mind urged to comfort him but Clara suppressed it, mind and heart having a heated battle of wills before finally her head won and she stood up, picking up her own, empty plate then reaching out for the Doctor's, hand hovering uncertainly.

"Are you going to eat this?" She asked, voice softer than any silk. The Doctor looked up and waved a hand.

"Take it." He mumbled glancing up at her then shifting his gaze away to a spot on the ceiling which, apparently, was more favourable at the moment than she was. Clara humphed at him, stacked the plates, successfully fought the urge to give the Doctor's hand a reassuring squeeze and walked over to the sink, forcing herself to act like she would normally as she began to wash the plates and other utensils that the Doctor had used to make the sandwiches that oddly included a whisk and a sieve.

That man.

As she was washing up the Doctor fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. An awkward silence grew between them.

"So.." said Clara when the tension became too much to bear. "Are we going to talk about this or not?" She plunged her arm up to the elbow in bowl, searching for any cutlery that had escaped her attention earlier. She looked over her shoulder at the Doctor pointedly, raising an eyebrow. He jumped up from his chair.

"Yes. But not quite yet." He averted his eyes from her piercing gaze and grabbed a tea-towel from a drawer, flicking it in Clara's direction as he started to dry up.

Clara triumphantly unearthed a steak knife from the suddy bowl and waved it at him threateningly. "You'd better tell me soon, mister, otherwise I'll be out of here so fast I'll be a blur."

He chuckled. "Oh really? I'd like to see you try to get past me." He threw the tea-towel over his shoulder, freeing up both his hands so he could stack the plates back into the overhead cupboard safely. The last time he had had the wet towel in his hands as he was stacking resulted in smashed china on the floor and a very angry Clara. She had punched him so hard in the arm that a large purple bruise had swelled during the night, and it had hurt to move his arm for ages afterwards. Nope, it was best to be safe; Clara was already pretty ticked off with him and he had a feeling that breaking her plates was not going to help the situation.

"Oh, I would get past you easily. You run like a old woman." Clara teased, flicking the bubbles on her hand at him as she poured the excess water from the washing up bowl down the plughole. To her disgust a fork floated out, taunting her as the water drained around it.

The Doctor covered his hearts with his hands, adopting a mock-affronted expression. "I do not run like a old woman!" He wiped his hands on the teatowel, puffing out his chest proudly, "I, Miss Oswald, run like a Time Lord."

"Same difference." Clara snorted back, scrubbing viciously at the offending fork with her sponge.

The Doctor shot her a wounded look, and, when she ignored him, finished drying up, gently removing the fork from her grasp before she scrubbed it to pieces.

"Go and sit down, Clara. I'll make some tea." He pushed her towards the table gently. She frowned at him but did as he said, watching him carefully with her chin in one hand brain whirring away. The Doctor longed to ask her what she was thinking of but instead busied himself with the kettle, and five minutes later set two steaming hot mugs of tea down on the polished wooden surface of the table. They sipped silently, Clara blowing across the top of her mug to cool the scalding liquid. The Doctor traced the intricate whirls in the dark wood with his fingertips lightly and cleared his throat.

"Fenric..." He began, sitting back in his chair. "Fenric was one of the Great Old Ones. Myth says that he was born at the Dawn of Time, one of two forces- one good, one evil. Both forces were caught up in the Big Bang and the evil one survived. He went by many names- Hastur The Unspeakable, the Wolf, the Hunger, Aboo-Fenraen."

Clara giggled at the last one and sipped her tea thoughtfully. "So why is he called Fenric?"

The Doctor raised a finger. "I'll get to that in a minute." He tapped his fingers on the table to an irregular beat. "Fenric used to have a body of his own but, like many of the old ones, lost it and instead had to rely upon the bodies of others to give him physical form. He could possess more that one at a time, capable of controlling multiple hosts."

"Like an octopus' tentacles?"

"Yes, if you like. Apart from octopi can't possess people. Each tentacle had a person on the end of it, and they were Fenric's eyes and ears of the universe. Anyway, when he lost his original body Fenric was forced to embody one of his hosts, which by chance happened to be human. And so Fenric came to Earth. He landed in Constantinople, in the third cut a long story short, Fenric was terrorising the surrounding country side for years until the local royalty, Prince El-Amjad- lovely fella- confronted him and told him to leave. To everybody's surprise Fenric agreed as long as he could have the first thing the Prince named when he returned to his castle."

"Why would anybody agree to that? Fenric could have named anything." Clara said, brow furrowed.

"The Prince wanted a peaceful life, and besides he knew that if Fenric chose to fight him he would lose. El-Amjad had a family he needed to protect, and that was the best way to do it." The Doctor drunk some tea to refresh his voice. "Due to Fenric's meddling, the first thing the Prince named was his youngest daughter."

Clara gasped. "What? Doctor! Please tell me he didn't..."

He shook his head urgently but didn't look at her as he said, "No, he didn't. He sent him her weight in gold instead, thankfully. Unfortunately, Fenric had developed quite a liking for the girl and went back to ravaging the locals until, of course, I turned up." He twiddled his bow tie. Clara didn't even bother to roll her eyes.

"So this princess...did Fenric love her?" She asked, genuinely curious. The cold hearted, insane man that had kidnapped her hadn't come across as someone capable of love. The Doctor shifted in his seat, staring down into the depths of his mug.

"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Nobody really knows but him." He smiled sadly at the dregs of his tea. "She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman."

Clara felt a surge of jealousy toward the unnamed woman. She swallowed it down, forcing herself to smile despite the twinges of sadness resonating in her chest.

See, Clara? Her subconscious mocked her. The Doctor falls in love with sophisticated, beautiful women not short bossy ones.

She told her to shut up and zoned back in to the Doctor's voice, who seemed oblivious to the direction her thoughts had been going in.

"-one of my friends, Zeleekha, was imprisoned as a slave by mistake in the castle and ,in return for her release, I agreed to deal with Fenric."

"How did you do it?" Clara leaned forward. This was it. This was surely the weakness she could exploit; the chinks in Fenric's impenetrable armour.

"We played chess."

"Chess?" Clara was taken back and a bit disappointed. She had half expected there to be some massive stand-off: not a fight exactly, but an impressive display of alien-ness, much like when they went to Akhaten and he faced off against the Old God. Plus, Clara had no idea how to play so the knowledge would be pretty much useless on her own against Fenric.

"If there's one thing Fenric loves, it's chess. We played chess in the desert for eighty days, if you believe the legends."

"Did you?"

The Doctor tapped the side of his nose knowingly. "Spoilers, Oswald."

"I bet you didn't and it's all an impressive lie that everyone believed. Did you get in the TARDIS afterwards and skip forwards eighty days?" She laughed at his disgruntled expression. "You did, didn't you?"

He crossed his arms. "Shut up."

Clara smirked at him, mimicking his movements. The Doctor sniffed.

"After forty days of stalemate-" Clara snorted, earning her a disapproving glare from the Doctor, "I managed to trick Fenric into believing that I could win the match in one move. He then spent another forty trying to solve the problem and became so weak that his body expired. I was then able to capture his essence into a flask, and banish him to the Shadow Dimensions."

"What's that?"

"A universe that exists outside of our own, but is only accessible to the Great Old Ones and their elders."

Clara nodded slowly, twisting her now empty mug in her hands. "So that was it then? Fenric banished, princess saved, a civilisation of grateful people in your debt?"

"Not quite. He managed to possess unwitting humans even from the Shadow Dimensions. They became his Wolves- hence the name Fenric, it was derived from the Norse wolf god Fenrir- and over a period of time they freed him. He can manipulate timelines, you see, and he did with mine."

"How?"

"He made one of my companions, Ace, his Wolf. Twisted our timelines so we were inextricably linked together then used her as an indirect instrument to kill he did to her... I defeated him, but barely, and almost at the cost of a friend."

Clara winced. The Doctor was frowning, lines of anger written all over his face. He banged a clenched fist on the table and Clara jumped.

"I thought he was dead! I had killed him, properly, fully, there was nothing left of him I made sure of that but...but...aargh!"

Clara had never seen the Doctor so worked up. She reached for his hand, ignoring the voice in her head urging her not to, and squeezed it in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

"We can do it again, Doctor. You've done it twice already; you can do it again."

"That's exactly the problem! I've done it twice but he just keeps on coming back! Fenric is so powerful that even his own kind live in constant fear of him. You've seen what he can do Clara; he took you from the TARDIS right under my nose. Nobody can stop him. Nobody. There's nothing I can do." The words left a sour taste in the Doctor's mouth. He was powerless, he had known it from the start but admitting it to Clara brought home the brutal reality that they were living. Fenric had won, and the battle had barely begun.

"Fenric can manipulate timelines, so in theory he can see them as well, yes? Like what's going to happen in a person's life, he can predict."

The Doctor nodded. "Go on."

"He can see yours, then."

The Doctor sat up in his chair a little straighter, listening intently. "In theory, yes, I suppose. It'd be difficult- you saw for yourself how jumbled my timestream was, all those lives- but yes."

"There must be so many moments in your life that Fenric could just, you know, swoop in and finish you off at your weakest. So why here? Why now, not when you're at the most vulnerable? Why me, not you?" Clara's forehead screwed up in concentration. It just didn't make sense. If Fenric had wanted the Doctor dead, he could have done it centuries ago.

The Doctor watched the cogs whirring away in her brain as she tried to figure it out. He knew why Fenric had chosen this particular incarnation of him, and Clara, to make his move. It was because he had never had a weakness quite like her before. The Doctor was a unkillable as Fenric was, and they both knew it. They both also knew that the only way to get to him was to target someone he loved- Clara. He loved Clara like no-one else, and it must have been plain to see from his timeline how strong his feelings were for her.

See Doctor, this is why you do not fall in love. This is why you have friendships, not romantic relationships with your companions.

I am so stupid.

Of course, the Doctor couldn't tell Clara the nature of his feelings for her. How could he, when just wanting more with her had landed her in so much trouble? So he hid his warring emotions behind a mask of self control then said with a shrug, "Beats me. My best guess is because I'm old, and am prone to mistakes that I wouldn't have made when I was younger."

One look at Clara sceptical stare told him that she hadn't bought it. "You know why. I know you do. Are you hiding things from me again?" She said accusingly.

"No." He replied firmly. "I am not."

"Doctor..." She said pleadingly.

"Clara..." He echoed in the same tone of voice.

She got up from her chair, kicking it backwards and slamming her mug down on a kitchen counter. "Alright. I guess I'll just have to go home then."

"No!" The Doctor jumped up and ran to her, pressing his hand on her chest to keep her in place against the worktop. "Please."

She sighed. The Doctor could feel her heartbeat thumping to a slightly erratic rhythm on his palm. He briefly wondered if her condition had reached her vitals but pushed the thought aside quickly. It was too early a stage for the sickness to have reached her heart.

"I need to go home, Doctor. Explain to my Dad and my friends whats happening. I won't tell them that its alien," she added, noticing his nervousness, "but they need to know what's going on."

The Doctor peered into her eyes, noting how scared the notion made her. "I could come with you," he offered quietly. She blinked, surprised by the proporsition.

"I have nowhere for you to stay." Was all she could think to say.

"I can bring the TARDIS!" He waved a hand behind him. "She won't mind camping on your lawn, will you Sexy?"

The TARDIS groaned, a sound that clearly said to Clara, Yes, I do mind actually, but the Doctor interpreted as a no.

"See?" He said brightly, grinning eagerly. "Half the time you won't know that we're there. Quiet as a mouse, that's me."

Clara sighed again. She couldn't bear to disappoint him, not when he was so excited at the prospect of living with her for a while.

"Alright, you can stay." She said. "But, we'll have to lay down some house rules."

The Doctor pouted. "Claaraaa."

She crossed her arms and stared him down. He removed his hand from her chest and copied her, adopting a serious face that lasted all of three seconds until he caved in.

"Fine."

He grabbed her by the hand and ran out of the room, Clara stumbling in her heels as she tried to keep up.

"Oi! Slow down! What's the hurry?" Clara panted, tugging on his hands to slow them to a jog. The Doctor grinned at her lopsidedly, hair falling into his face.

"I'm living with the most important human in the history of the Universe for a week. Of course I'm in a hurry."

Clara blushed, but didn't miss a beat of their pace. "Well then, Doctor. We best get started as soon as possible."

"I couldn't agree more."