Chapter Twelve
Run To You
As evening drew closer and closer, the uncertainty settled again in Clara's stomach. While she helped Bill get her toys all packed up for the big move, a dread formed in her stomach. She ached, in her chest and in her head. By the time the sun was lower than the horizon, she wanted to be sick.
Still, that uncertainty held. Does she tell him, too late and with much hesitation, that he has been the closest person to her in years? Or does she let him and his daughter start their new life together? After all, half of her was screaming to just let it all go; let him go. Forget about it and move on.
The door opened, and Clara's blood turned to ice. Shaky fingers dropped Bill's toy horse. By some miracle, it didn't break.
When Bill had made sure her horse was still intact, she jumped up and ran to the door. Clara realized somewhere in the back of her mind that the girl shouldn't be running, especially after she had already fallen once today. But most of Clara's mind was too focused on the fact that this was their last time greeting John as he came home from work.
Maybe her last time ever seeing him.
She swallowed, forced some composure. Then stood, slowly, and followed Bill to the front room.
John was there, with an arm around his daughter as he tried to put his medical bag on the floor. Clara chuckled softly.
"Bill, let's let him relax for a moment. I'm sure he had a long day at work."
Bill gave her a sheepish smile, and then darted off to gather up the toys that hadn't been packed away yet. John and Clara both watched her go with wide smiles.
As soon as she was out of the room, however, the mood shifted. The laughs died on their lips, and neither pair of eyes would meet the other.
The ominous feeling of something coming to an end, just as it was getting started.
"Clara," John started, reaching into his inside pocket. "I have the rest of your pay. And I have also included a letter of recommendation."
He handed her a thick envelope, a smile playing at his lips. Clara tried to hide the slight shake in her fingers as she took it from him.
"Thank you, John."
"You deserve it, Clara. You deserve more than I can give you, if I'm honest."
She looked up abruptly and knew he was not only talking about the money.
"I will miss you, John," she said, a wobble in her voice.
He still had that soft, sad smile on his face.
"Not as much as we will miss you," he said, voice quiet.
Silently, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. He held her hand in his for just a second too long; Clara could feel his hesitation in letting go. It almost threw her over the edge.
"John."
"Yes, Clara?"
The words died somewhere in her throat. What was the point, now? What would be accomplished? He would leave and there would be even more heartache.
No. It was over. It was dark and the Smiths had to get to sleep for their morning journey.
"Have a safe trip.," she said at last. "And, please, don't hesitate to write."
His lips twitched downward. Then he forced a smile.
"Thank you, Clara."
They held each other's eyes for another moment; so many words trying to be conveyed in mere irises. And then John stepped back and called Bill back into the room.
"Let's say goodbye to Miss Clara, Bill. I'm sure she wants to start home before it gets too cold."
Bill was shyer than usual, standing with her hands folded, John's hands on her shoulders.
"Goodbye, Bill," Clara said, with the biggest smile she could muster.
Bill was silent at first. Then, she tore out of her father's grasp and took Clara in a tight hug.
"Goodbye, Miss Clara."
Clara rubbed the girl's back, closing her eyes to get some composure.
"Have a wonderful time in Wales."
Clara forced her legs to the door; forced her hand to the knob.
With one last look, and one last goodbye, Clara left the Smith's flat and trudged out into the snow.
. . . . . . . . .
It took all of about five minutes sitting by her fireside before Clara realized she'd forgotten to deliver the Christmas presents. She shut her eyes and took a sip of tea, working out a plan. It was too late to go out now; the snow was piling up and it was dangerously cold.
But maybe...no. However…no.
She silenced her eager brain. There would be no late night deliveries. No more tearful goodbyes. She was done. That chapter was over now, and it was time to get used to it.
And yet…
And yet, just before dawn, Clara found herself as wide awake as if it were noon. Something had woken her; not a nightmare, not a sound. Perhaps a feeling?
Whatever it was, it wasn't letting her go back to sleep. The sun was just peeking through the windows, bathing her room in golden light. It was beautiful.
And it was so, so invigorating.
In the darkness of the night it was easy to cry and feel sorry for herself. It was simple, when it was snowing and cold, to say that all hope was lost and she should just accept the way things were.
But now, sitting up in bed, feeling the bright energy that came with a new day, seeing the snow thawing in the warmth of the sun...now that hope was growing again. Intoxicating, and poisoning.
She jumped out of bed before her brain could catch up. Threw a dress on, laced up a pair of boots; found herself staring at the wrapped presents by the fireplace.
A smile spread across her face. Mischievous and happy and excited and terrified. It was scary how much she was enjoying this, breaking the rules and going against every rational part of her mind.
She should just forget him and move on!
But no! She was not going to do that today. Never, ever.
It was Christmas Eve morning and Clara was outside with two big boxes in her hands. The snow was thawing, but the ground was still slippery so she took it carefully. She walked all the way to the Smith's flat before her heart caught up with her.
Then it started pounding, just as she started pounding on the door.
She knocked once; twice. Then a third time just for luck. She repeated the exercise twice. A little ways away, a small old lady came ambling toward her, covered in shawls and scarves.
"Are you looking for Dr. Smith?"
"Yes," Clara said, smiling in an almost hysterical way.
"Sorry, dear, you've just missed him. Train leaves Waterloo Station at 6:15."
"6:15?"
Clara looked up to the clock on the street corner.
5:55. Bloody…
If she weren't in such a giddy state, she would have given up right then and there. She would have accepted her loss, cried for a day or two, and the moved on. That's what any rational person would do, surely, if in her place.
But she was Clara Oswald. She had nothing but her filthy little flat and a mean landlord. She hadn't been happy, properly happy, in a long time. Not until John. And Bill. Having a family again. Having love again. Having hope again.
And she was not one to give up so easily.
"Thank you," she said to the old lady, already starting down the street.
"Where are you going?"
Clara beamed.
"I have presents to deliver!"
She tore off down the street. Despite the pain still aching in her ankle; despite all sense that told her she'd never make it in time. Despite the few people out this early looking at her as if she were insane.
Despite the worry and dread coursing through her own heart.
"Just this once; just this once give me this," she murmured to herself.
She probably looked like a thief, running through the streets of London with a couple of packages in her hands. Or some very strange form of Santa Claus. One who'd gotten their time zones wrong and was being watched in broad daylight for all of London to see.
She finally came into view of Waterloo station and dared to look at the clock.
6:10.
She ran to the nearest employee, scaring the wits out of him with the wild look in her eye.
"The 6:15 to Wales?"
He pointed down the hallway, looking her over as if she had a tarantula on her head.
"Thank you!" She called, already halfway across the station.
Through a door, up some steps, a few people bumped along the way. Then, finally, the train appeared. Big and bright and gleaming. The smell of coal in the air, but she didn't care. Men asking for tickets, but she didn't care.
She maneuvered through while the workers were busy, then jumped onto the train. She walked through one compartment, then the next. Then the next. Then...there.
She froze, watching John shove his bags up onto an upper compartment at the end of the narrow aisle. Bill was by his side, looking at all of the people around her with a slightly fearful expression. Clra heard John try to calm her, saying something about the train being very popular and Christmas Eve being busy.
Clara took a step forward, and suddenly felt strange. What if she wasn't doing the right thing? What if they'd moved on already and she was just some weird lady following them?
No. She knew that wasn't true. And she'd come all this way. It was time to face what she was afraid of and get over it.
He would say yes and she'd be very happy, or he'd say no and she'd go home and still be alright, in the end. This wasn't life or death.
This was a smile or a frown.
"John?" She called out, but he didn't hear her. She took another few steps forward.
"John."
He spun around, nearly knocking over half of his luggage.
"Clara!"
"Miss Clara!" Bill shouted, running to hug her midriff.
"Hello sweetheart," Clara said with a laugh.
John blinked a few times as if to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
"How did you-?"
"I forgot to give you your presents," Clara said simply.
John choked out a few stammers that didn't end in real words. Clara replied with a smile and handed one of the boxes to Bill.
"That's for you, Bill."
The girl took the box with a wide smile and went to her seat to open it. Clara felt her heart lift as Bill thanked her immensely for the new book, an atlas, and looked through it immediately. Clara turned to John, who still hadn't quite found his voice.
"And this, John, is for you."
He took the box, but didn't open it just yet.
"Clara…"
She was breathing heavy from all of the running. And as she took a step forward, her leg buckled beneath her, ankle screaming out against all of the movement. John caught her as she fell, and helped her to an empty seat.
"Clara, are you alright?" He asked hurriedly, sitting in the seat beside her.
"I'm fine," she said, still wearing that mad smile.
"John." She took his hand. "Before you go...we need to say things to each other. Before it's too late."
He looked down at their intertwined hands.
"I'm sorry for how I acted the other day," he said suddenly. "I suppose...I thought that if I acted like...I thought that I could stop loving you."
His cheeks burned red as he met her eyes.
"You...you love me?" Clara asked, stunned and breathless.
John smiled quickly, his cheeks burning brighter.
"Yes. I do."
"Oh, John." She placed a hand on his cheek, staring into his eyes as if to memorize them. "I can't bear to watch you go. And I've always wanted to travel. Especially...especially if I get to travel with you."
John kissed her knuckles, in a similar manner as last night.
"It's a shame you want to travel so badly."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Why?"
His lips curled into a smile.
"Because I've finally found a reason to stay in one place for a while."
She smiled, and then pulled him toward herself. Their lips crashed together, both of them slowly melting into the kiss. John's hand found her arm and held her; her fingers caressed his cheeks. There was a moment where all that they noticed was each other.
Then, the train lurched forward.
Their kiss was broken as they both jerked in their seats, catching each other before they could fall. They noticed, then, the people watching them and the conductor standing with an eyebrow quirked in their direction.
"Guess we're along for the ride," Clara said with a laugh.
John squeezed her hand and gave her another broad smile.
