Chapter Twenty-One
Clara became acquainted with quite a few of her unfamiliar coworkers that evening. Jenny Flint was the sweetest, her cockney accent and optimistic persona bonding the two in a friendly conversation. She had come with her wife, Vastra, a kindhearted detective with more stories in her mind than actual thoughts; Clara had always wondered what it was like to live in the mind of an investigator. Jenny explained how many of Vastra's cases had inspired her for novels. Kate Stewart had arrived later in the evening, Clara reacting to her presence in the manner of a squealing teenage fangirl. She had always imagined what that moment would feel like, meeting the one person who had touched her life in that intangible, abstract way. Kate's books had always painted the picture of a 1920's film noir atmosphere, the film itself flickering in the imagination of her mind in a daguerreotype filter. With all that inspiration stated, The Doctor, being the obnoxious optimist he was, thought it was a great idea for them to meet.
Of course, the conversation had mainly consisted of awkward pauses in which Clara herself would recover from the unceasing urge to scream in achievement. Albeit the circumstances, Kate was thankful for the acclaim and none the less friendly with Clara, also congratulating her on the success of her book. Clara, her expression humble yet her smile beaming off rays of the sun, didn't know how to respond to such compliments. Having a role model of hers praise her for work of her own felt incredible, Clara realizing how many minds had intertwined themselves with the words of her book.
Later on in the night, TARDIS publishers became ecstatic to hear that Amy had won the award of Best of Women's Literature, the redhead herself practically screaming in triumph, fists held proudly in the air as she then proceeded to attack her fellow coworkers with breathtaking embraces (Literally), the sound of instant applause ringing out like bells as she made her way onto the stage. She almost tripped on the hem of her dress from the enthusiasm, only laughing it off wholeheartedly she ran up to accept her award. "Wow..." was the first word that was released from her tongue, a euphoric grin on her face as she tried to come up the words for an impromptu acceptance speech, nothing coming to her mind for the first few seconds. "Um," she laughed, scratching the back of her head. "I'm an award winning author and yet I can't come up with the words for my own acceptance speech." she said dryly, laughs erupting from the awaiting crowd instinctively. She sighed in content. "I'd like to thank so many people, but if I did, I'd be here all night." she admitted, wiping back the tears that shuddered on her waterline. "Thank you to all of my friends at TARDIS, my ridiculous editor-practically my brother-John, for putting up with me; and Rory, especially, my wonderful husband and best friend..." she trailed off, sniffling in an overwhelming wave of exultation. "I wouldn't be standing right here if it weren't for all of you." she concluded confidently, acclaim and applause roaring from the blur of faces before her as she hugged the brass metal weight-load of her victory close to her.
After many concluding hugs to the award-winning author, the reception receded from its excitement, only to lead into the hours of what was to be a late-night party. Jack was far from sober, Clara gasping for air from the laughter as he danced wildly to the music echoing off of the walls. She quickly became close friends with many of her coworkers as the night progressed, maybe even enough to call them her family. Everyone had welcomed her warmly, Clara needing a few moments herself to take it all in. Her job, writing stories and crafting them into books; it didn't feel like work, it felt like a passion. It was as if it were the only thing to let her mind wander off independently, maybe that's what she loved the most about it.
Her brown eyes stared into the sea of people, dancing, talking, drinking into what would be a rather unforgettable night. She took the chance to smile at the scene from her chair, twiddling her thumbs idly as she stared at it all. She loved it, and that was the truth, but something in her told her that this wasn't how the night was supposed to end. She would generously accept to fall asleep with memories of this, but her mind seemed to drift otherwise, almost as if it knew that the night wasn't over yet, as if it were saving a place in her brain for something else, something even more special in the tiniest of ways. It was like a shelf, a spot dusted for something to be put there later on, that souvenir unknown and tentative of existence itself. She shook her head from the thought, for she had a tendency to over-think things too often. It was a common habit of hers.
A light gasp escaped her lips as she felt arms wrap around her neck gently, a familiar face beside hers as she smiled softly. "Hello, Doctor." she whispered, his skin so close to hers that she could sense his smile of return. "Hello, Clara." he replied. "What do you say we head out for a while?" he offered.
Clara arched an eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean? We are out." she observed, gesturing towards the swarm of lively people.
He tilted his head in agreement. "Yes, but I figured we could have some alone time. You, me, a quiet dinner. My treat." he suggested idly, Clara grinning at the thought. The growling plea coming from her abdomen agreed to the thought as well, which is when Clara actually realized that all she had in her stomach was a glass of iced water and a single slice of bread from its free appetizer basket. She was too preoccupied with talking to her new alter egos to eat, she had supposed. She sighed in content, leaning back on The Doctor's shoulder comfortably as she replied, "Yeah...that would be nice."
The Doctor beamed. "Perfect; I know just the place."
Clara scoffed playfully. "Even in another continent you know just where to go."
"And you would find that I am a brilliant at tourism." he remarked proudly. "Restaurants and everything."
Clara smiled. "...can we just say goodbye to Amy and everyone else before we leave?" she asked.
He nodded. "Of course."
The two greeted everyone a goodnight, them receiving a surplus of hugs during the process. When the news of their departure had reached Amy, she immediately embraced the two just as she did at the beginning of the evening, and when the couple had started towards the double doors of the building, Amy grabbed a hold of The Doctor's collar, and yanking him backwards she whispered to him, "Hey. She's a keeper, for sure. Who loves you to death." she chuckled, her facial expression suddenly faltering. "And that is not to be taken literally, I swear, I mean, I love pancakes to death, oh and Rory, yeah Rory too, but it's not supposed to be-" she inhaled deeply only to sigh in disappointment of herself. "I'm really screwing up, aren't I?" she observed. "She just really loves you, okay? Trust me, she's told me." she shut herself up before she could say anything else, and hugging him one last time, she said, "Now go to her and have a wonderful rest of your holiday together, okay?"
The cool air swept by them leisurely as the stars of the darkened sky peered down upon their little outdoor table, pedestrians and customers bringing the French Quarter of New Orleans to life. Her eyes did the smiling for her as she gazed across the table towards The Doctor, a half-eaten plate of jambalaya sitting between them, its mild spice and savoring taste limiting their conversational chances, not like Clara was upset or anything; the food was amazing, so she couldn't complain. They had decided to just share a plate in the end, The Doctor having to suppress an unforgivable laugh when ordering their food to the waiter, just the sound of the word jambalaya in the accent that seemed to benefit him the least throwing him in a fit of giggles. Clara, a small smirk of amusement on her lips, lightly kicked him in the shin from underneath the table. The waiter only smiled, and closing his order pad, he asked politely, "Never been here before I suppose?"
Clara sighed, her grin radiant, the laugh in her receding. "Is it that obvious?"
The waiter released a wholehearted chuckle. "You all enjoy your dinner, alright?"
After he had left, The Doctor had allowed himself to give in, his laughter unceasing as his forehead met with the table, his quiff of hair sprawled out amongst the white tablecloth. Clara leaned towards him, and in her most playful scowl, she said, "You are terrible." She stifled a laugh as she watched him pick his head up from the table, and with a childlike grin on his face, he sighed in content. "It's so fun to say: jam-ba-lay-a."
He was such a child at heart, the magnetic charisma of his comical being only bringing a smile to her face. Never had she met someone so clever and idiotic at the same time, someone whose personality revolved around such contrasting characteristics; she couldn't describe him without the use of an oxymoron. She had talked to Amy earlier that evening, and she had found herself falling into a ramble of sorts about him. "He's smart and utterly stupid at the same time. Shy, and yet the most ridiculous outsider of a man I've ever met. And albeit the peculiarity, you love everything about him."
"Doctor...?" Clara suddenly found herself saying, the reason behind it uncertain. He looked up from his view of the table. "Yes?"
She shook her head shyly. "N-nothing, just..." she trailed off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear instinctively. "...thank you."
He smiled at her. "What for?"
"Just...everything." Clara replied simply. She inhaled deeply and looked down upon her hands folded atop of the tablecloth, for there had been something she wanted to talk to him about, but it was a rather tentative subject. A mere abstract idea that was sprawled out into a disarray of sloppy diagrams and plans in her mind. "Actually Doctor, not just that, I, uh..." she bit her lip anxiously, exhaling slowly, she found the courage to lift her head and look at him. "I love being an author, you know I do, and I still want to be one, it's just that...I've been looking at a few...job opportunities lately."
The Doctor's eyes became an expression of curiosity. "Such as...?"
"...teaching." she smiled weakly. "English especially."
"What about the restaurant entertainment?" he queried. "I quite enjoyed that."
"Well, my contract is ending soon, and...I don't know, I just want to branch out, I guess." she shrugged her shoulders casually.
He sat back in his chair to get a better view of her, his eyebrows drawn together and his mind at work. Could he imagine Clara as a teacher? Grading papers and exams, lecturing the works of Shakespeare, setting students straight with her unceasing sass, sitting on a little high stool every weekday as she read aloud to her class the everlasting importance and beauty of modern literature. He raised his eyebrows, for it wasn't a surprise that he found the whole idea appealing. "...yeah..." he finally said after a long silence, nodding his head in approval. "That suits you. Teaching. Lecturing. Scolding."
"I do not scold-!" she snapped, The Doctor smirking at her as she released a guilt-shaken laugh. "Okay, maybe just a tad."
The Doctor chuckled. "No, but really, you should give it a try. See if you'll like it."
Clara nodded confidently. "Yeah, alright. I will."
After they had finished their dinner, a cuisine of which she had decided will not be named aloud for the rest of the night, for Clara's sake, they walked around the French Quarter's little side paths, the lights illuminating their faces and shaping their shadows of silhouettes. Clara clung onto The Doctor's arm like a child not wanting to get lost as they weaved through the scattered components of people walking along against and beside them. Its lively atmosphere kept Clara on her feet. The architecture was just like Clara had imagined it, paint chipping window shutters, quaint little shops with windows that displayed dolls and worn-out library books. Horses tugged along carriages in the street of neon reflections, sidewalk cafés emitting aromas of cakes and coffees.
A saxophone trio down at a street corner park gazebo played melodic accompaniment tunes to the animatic life of New Orleans, Clara arching her eyebrow slightly when she found herself humming along to its familiar tune. I actually know that song. She told herself in a matter-of-fact, needing a bit of convincing herself. A smile slowly painted her face, her muscles the painters as they curved her lips upwards in excitement. As they neared the corner park, Clara's mind flashed with an extempore opportunity, her hand slowly sliding down The Doctor's forearm to grasp his hand tightly within hers, and thinking none further, she tugged on his hand heartily as her feet shifted from the direction of the sidewalk path. She pulled him out onto the dewy strands of grass, The Doctor sputtering out his confusion in the form of mumbled unorganized words.
She laughed to his surprise when he asked, "That The Lion King?"
"Caaan you feeeel the loooovvveee tongiiiigghhtt?" she sang out, her voice into the direction of the stars, almost as if she were performing for them. She was surprised at the quality of her voice, its conviction and decent key, the circumstances being that she didn't sing that profoundly. The Doctor only smiled, and taking her hand, he asked politely, "May I have this dance?"
She stared at the offer blankly, thoughts racing through her head wildly, her shoulders shrugging in flirtation as she replied, "I thought you'd never ask." He grin only broadened. "I'd…I'd love to, actually." she said in merely a whisper.
In all honestly, she had been rubbish when it came to slow-dancing, the discomfort of such a simple thing making her feel uneasy. The Doctor could tell, as her oblivious expression clearly stated that she had the slightest experience with romantic gestures. He only smiled, taking her small hand and placing it on his shoulder, and placing his on her waist, he could feel her flinch from underneath his skin. "Sorry," she apologized quickly, giggling in amusement of herself. "Tickles."
The Doctor only laughed quietly, and holding her free hand with his, he assured her, "Just follow my lead, okay?" Clara nodded in reply as he took small steps, forward, left, backward, then right, Clara mirroring him nervously as she looked down at their feet. "Hey," The Doctor nudged her gently. "Look at me." She did as she was told, and meeting his eyes, she gave him a small smile.
"I have no idea how to do this," she admitted, for it had been years since she had felt this close to somebody, while dancing, that is.
The Doctor only smiled. "I think you do it like this," he said, and squeezing her hand gently, he spun her around, Clara laughing wholeheartedly as she leaned her head on his shoulder. "You're a great teacher, you know." she remarked playfully.
"And you're a fast learner," he remarked back.
"People are staring." she laughed again.
The Doctor merely shrugged. "Good then. I want them to see what a quick learner you are."
"Or what a great teacher you are," she added.
"Or both."
She lifted her head, meeting his eye, its green aura staring back at her, she nodded confidently with a smile. "Yeah." She agreed. "Definitely both."