Clara moved out of the Headmaster's office after listening to him lecture her on what was and wasn't appropriate to discuss in front of children, with the implication that Clara needed to get both of them, and herself, some sort of therapy and she'd ended the conversation with a simple thanks. Closing the door quietly behind her, she glanced up at the two children with their heads bowed. Their legs had stopped swinging and she knew why – they knew she knew what had happened, but they could never understand her guilt.
Smiling at an office assistant who passed, Clara took a few steps towards them, standing before them and waiting until both sets of eyes lifted to find hers. She frowned at the injuries sustained because of each other – because of her – and she sighed, telling them gently, "Let's go."
They climbed into the car and she checked on them both, making sure their belts were locked in before touching Henry's face, trying to get a better look at the bruises around his left eye. Then she glanced at Olive, who was holding her hand in her lap and staring out the window. Lost in her thoughts.
Much like Clara.
"You two," she whispered as she inched back and shut the door, dropping into the driver's seat and taking the car down the street towards their house, occasionally glancing at them in the rear view.
Olive continued to watch the houses as they passed and Henry stared at his feet, occasionally glancing up at his sister beside him questioningly. She could see the hurt in his eyes, just wishing his sister would look his way and Clara slapped a hand against the steering wheel, hearing them both gasp as they jumped in their seats. She could feel the tears emerging and she didn't care anymore because she understood that maybe it had never been the pristine family unit she believed they were and she absolutely knew it would never be.
"Honestly, Olive!" Clara shouted with a shaky voice. "Talking back to teachers! What would possess you to do that! I've always told you to respect your teachers," she watched Olive's bottom lip tremble slightly before Clara turned a corner and continued, "And Henry, why?" She glanced at him through the rear view, "Why didn't you tell me the boys in school were bothering you! I would have…" her voice trailed as she clenched her jaw, "You're not supposed to fight with one another!"
Pulling the car off the road, she swung it into a space along the sidewalk and put the car in park, laying her head back against the seat as she cried. Clara dropped her head down against her hands on the wheel and she tried to control herself because she had to talk to them. She had to explain it to them. And she was terrified because she didn't know how to.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, lifting her head slowly and dropping her hands into her lap. "This is my fault."
Henry shifted slightly and offered a quick, "It's Olive's fault, really, mum."
She laughed lightly, glancing at the worried look he was giving her. "No, baby, this is my fault. I should have told you the truth."
"The truth?" Henry questioned.
"You asked me," she started, voice disappearing, before she forced it back, "You asked me if the Doctor was your father, because you liked him and he was silly and he made us all happy and I told you he wasn't. I lied to you and I shouldn't have done that. I didn't know what else to do…" she trailed, seeing the hurt look in his eyes.
Henry dropped back in his seat, confused.
"He's your father, but he's also not someone who can be your father," she shifted in the chair, turning to look at him properly, "He can't… you don't understand," she shook her head.
With a shake of his own head, he asked, "Why can't he be?"
She saw the confusion on his small face and she pointed, "You said he was a magician, he had a magic box. If you had a magic box, where would you go? Every day, where would you be?"
With a bright grin as his eyes glazed over, Henry told her honestly, "I'd fly to the stars."
Letting him revel in that fantasy, Clara then asked blankly, "Would you come home for dinner?"
The lights dimmed as he looked back at her and it was painful to watch, her son's fascination with his father's obsession dying away as he shook his head, but then he replied lightly, "Why wouldn't I?"
Clara laughed, "Because the stars in the sky, Henry, how does that compare to sitting next to your sister, who just socked you in the face, and having your mother complain about the food you've just spilled on the table."
With a small frown, Henry thought about it and, after a moment, he raised his head and questioned slowly and pointedly, "What would the stars matter if I couldn't come home to you?"
And in that moment she understood there had been hope. If a six year old boy could give up the universe for his family, maybe a grown man had been capable. And she'd sent him away. Told him never to return. Clara turned back around and rested her head, staring out at the blue sky, going darker in the early evening hours, and she laughed to herself. He would have tried. He wanted to try and she thought it impossible.
You're my impossible girl.
Raising her hands to her face, she covered her mouth and screamed and then dropped her hands away and glanced at the two in the back seat who were both staring at her. "Mummy hasn't gone mad," she assured them.
Henry eyed Olive, who had gone back to looking out the window, quiet tears rolling over her own cheeks and Henry shouted out, eyebrows rising as both his mother and sister glanced at him curiously. "What are we fighting over!" He called to both of them.
And Clara recognized the words, she'd repeated them a million times on a million mornings for a million reasons and she was familiar with the small hint of a grin on his face – he'd said the words on purpose, a mockery of her own frustration. An assurance that this was, to him, ridiculous – as ridiculous as fighting over yellow socks or who got to control the remote or which one of them got to sleep with Peanut, the purple elephant. Clara laughed at him, watching that little twinge in his lips as he realized what he'd done had worked.
"You clever boy," she told him wryly.
He dropped back in the seat, hands coming up to rub the short hair atop his head and he grabbed hold of his ears, pulling them out and blowing up his cheeks, turning to give his sister the face. Olive stared at him a moment, then looked to her mother, who was chuckling, hand over her eyes, and Olive breathed out a laugh, pointing at him and telling him, "You look like a monkey!"
Henry made noises like a monkey would and Clara shook her head at them. Her brilliantly ridiculous children now making faces at one another and laughing at one another. Her heart broke because she wished he could see them. She wished he could have seen them born. Been with her when they found their hands and chewed their feet and crawled about babbling nonsense at her. Clara could imagine the look of joy in his eyes when they'd taken their first steps – Olive first and Henry two months later in frustration. He would have loved their first words: Mumum and Booboo. And he would have cried on their first day of school.
Clara imagined he would have read them stories and made up his own and he would have built them hammocks and insisted on a tree house in the yard and a fort out front. The Doctor would have soothed their nightmares and carried them around the house when they were sick. He would have helped Olive bathe her dolls and corralled Henry's dinosaurs.
Lifting a hand to wipe at her tears, Clara turned to switch the car on knowing in her heart, he would have loved them dearly if he'd returned when he should have. He would have made a life with her, with them, and they would have been happy. And she found herself glancing down familiar streets and listening for familiar sounds as the children in the back quieted, knowing they were going home.
It seemed ridiculous, that he'd ignore her wishes, but, she knew, it was what he did – wasn't it? When something didn't make sense, she knew, he came right back on in and poked at it until it did and her wanting him to leave was the most nonsensical thing in the universe. Clara pulled the car into her driveway with an odd hope inkling in her gut and she ushered the children out and into the house before moving quickly through to the kitchen and to that side door, peering out expectantly.
And her heart sank because he wasn't there.
"Mummy?" Olive asked from just beside the dining room table.
Clara turned and bent slightly, "Come, let me see your hand."
The girl approached her and shook her head, lifting her hand so Clara could remove the bandage that was, she knew, entirely unnecessary. She looked at the bruised knuckles and then up at Olive, who informed her sadly, "Henry's got a hard head."
She nodded, "Wanna order a pizza?"
Olive stared at her, surprised, "Yes!"
Clara stood and hugged her, pulling her mobile phone out of her purse as Olive stood with her hands wrapped around her waist and she ordered food, going to find Henry in the living room dancing around the coffee table watching cartoons. The boy did a familiar twirl and in his hands, Clara could see his Lego Sonic and she sighed, walking Olive to the couch so they could sit down.
They squished into her sides and giggled while she ran her hands over their shoulders and cradled them against her. Clara sighed, zoning out on the odd animation on the screen and listening to the two children occasionally break out into wild fits of laughter over jokes she found more disturbing than amusing and when the doorbell rang, it pulled her out of a daze.
"Pizza!" Olive and Henry shouted, both standing and doing a dance around the coffee table together as Clara laughed and moved to the front door, opening it with a smile that dropped away when she saw the man standing there that was, obviously, not a pizza delivery person.
He smiled at Clara and she supposed he thought himself charming, but she simply stared at him in his dark blue button up shirt and old overcoat. "Can I help you?" Clara asked, hearing the children behind her quieting.
"Captain Jack Harkness," the man told her quickly. "And you are, most definitely, Clara Oswald."