The tour was interrupted by the sharp ring of a phone which was closely followed by Mr Smith profusely apologising and answering rather sharply to the person on the other end of the line.
Clara and John stood awkwardly looking anywhere but at each other.
John had his hands clasped behind his back and started rocking on his heels, whistling to puncture the deafening silence.
If there was one thing he couldn't bear it was silence. Many of his teachers said the reason he talked so much was because he loved the sound of his own voice, as usual they were wrong. In actual fact it was because he just couldn't stand the feeling of the heavy, uncomfortable weight that settled over him when anything was too quiet. He had to have some form of noise or else he was alone with his thoughts ad he didn't particularly enjoy that. Often times he found himself talking aloud just to keep that feeling at bay.
His father returned rubbing the back of his bald head, which John feared would one day match his own unlike the mass of floppy hair he had now.
"I'm so sorry Clara, I've had an urgent call from the head office, I'm going to have to join the conference call," John would assume he was being genuinely apologetic however there was something else there, a suspicious glint in his eye. Something that was very rare when it came to Mr Smith.
For a man who had so much to be happy about he rarely ever showed it on his face and even then it was much rarer for it to reach his eyes.
This abrupt change set alarm bells ringing in John's head, after years of experience he knew when his father was up to something.
"Oh that's quite alright I can just go get settled into my room," Clara started, turning to go as she spoke, until she was interrupted.
"Nonsense, for a start your things won't be unpacked yet you don't want to be apart of all that," He turned to face John a smile forming at his mouth that screamed 'danger' leaving John with the sickening feeling that he may have been right before. "John why don't you show our lovely guest the grounds? There's plenty to see, oh you'd love it in the summer Clara it's simply stunning."
He knew it. He'd be willing to bet everything he had on that phone call being prearranged. It wouldn't be too far of a stretch.
"Uh," for once John Smith was speechless.
"Don't just stand there boy, take the girl on a tour," his father commanded before stalking off for his 'conference call'. "Oh and John!" He called back without turning round "Change out of that suit first, there's no need to be so formal."
Sometimes, just sometimes John could envision punching his father.
"Right then," he shrugged at Clara "I'll just go change, meet you back at the door?" He posed it as a question but left before she had time to answer unwilling to drag this out longer than necessary.
—
Coming back into the beautiful foyer, Clara spotted one of her countless shoe trunks. The bright pastel colours and stark whites the boxes were decorated in were vibrant against the natural brown, wood panelling of the wall. The contrast felt so great to Clara, part of her felt like she was intruding; leaving an unwanted mark or a great change.
Unlike many of the people around her, Clara didn't take pleasure in taking up much space nor did she enjoy changing things to fit her.
Whatever other people enjoyed she went with, even if it made her unhappy at times.
Silently praying for a pair of converse that wouldn't break her feet in the name of fashion whilst rambling about the property, she searched through the trunks, heaving a sigh of relief to see one of her prayers answered.
The battered, burgundy shoes slipped straight on (she'd worn them in enough) and she was sure her stylist wouldn't faint immediately at the sight since they seemed to match the rest of the outfit fine.
Personally, she hadn't ever really cared what anyone thought of her outfit- it was her business after all- but apparently 'we shape the publics opinion and perception' according to the PR team. This was the only argument they ever presented and she had never managed to find a suitable counterpoint.
She plopped herself down in a plush armchair by the door to wait for John and ignored the flurry of activity going on around her: she was never allowed to help and was often declared a nuisance if she did so Clara learned a long time ago her best bet was to tune it out.
Suddenly she heard a mass thundering down the main staircase that almost made her heart leap out of her chest in fright.
That man just didn't seem to care, there was no grace in his movements it was all limbs like a giraffe.
She'd never seen him this casual before.
Just normal.
He wore a black guns n roses t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up even higher and jeans just as dark to match. She tried to ignore he was wearing his own pair of converse to match. Great minds her head taunted.
She'd never seen his arms before, she couldn't help but focus on the muscle definition as he came bumbling down. He wasn't completely unattractive she wasn't so proud that she couldn't admit that. It was getting easier to see why girls seemed to throw themselves at him.
But that wasn't the case here she seemed to insist to herself.
He was shoving said arms into a dark jacket as he moved with no coordination which was evident as he nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Right!" He said with a clap of his hands "Let's dooooooooooo it,"
"Was that a Blackadder reference?" Clara asked shyly which John had to admit was kind of cute. He didn't expect her to be shy, stuck up yes but not shy.
"Yeah, yeah it was. Not many people catch those," her cheeks betrayed her as they started blushing furiously which only caused John to smirk more.
They were heading for the door when he abruptly stopped."Hang on a second- SONIC!"
He bellowed out into his cupped hands, his voice reverberating through the house.
Clara heard the sound of claws scratching along the floor as a German shepherd came bounding round the corner, its tongue lolling to one side and its fluffy tail wagging furiously eager to see his master.
"You named your dog Sonic?" She asked half laughing, half looking at him with utter bewilderment.
"Yeah it's a brilliant name for a dog! I considered Susan but it didn't really fit," he joked back.
"Oh right so she's a girl," Clara bent down to rub Sonic's head and was instead greeted with both paws being planted on her knees and a nose rubbing against her face.
"No, he's a boy that's why I didn't name him Susan."
Clara just stared at this man, this completely insane man.
—
The grounds went on forever and it was a shame they didn't have a better day for it.
The sky was in a permanent state of grey, without a cloud in the sky it seemed to just have the colour drained from it along with the white sun, lacking it's usual yellow hue.
Clara and John walked in step with each other with Sonic jumping around in front. It was clear from the smile on John's face he adored that dog and Clara thought the look suited him.
They were walking in mostly silence neither of them particularly comfortable with the other yet, though at different spots John would point things out like a proper tour guide, with a terrible accent to match, taking his task 'seriously'.
Clara assumed this man took nothing seriously, from the way he dressed to the scrapes he got himself into. For instance right now he had tied one of his ridiculous bowties around his wrist to compensate for the fact that he was wearing a t-shirt, which in all honesty is only slightly less cool than when he actually wears them.
"You don't like me." He said more as a statement than a question, finally breaking the silence.
Clara stopped unsure of what to say. He certainly didn't beat around the bush when he wanted to.
He turned continuing to walk but backwards, choosing to face her instead.
"What makes you think that?" Clara tried to say nonchalantly a steady fire rising up the skin of her neck, she never really dealt well with situations like this. No one was quite as blunt as this John Smith. She much preferred when everyone pretended to get along just to keep the peace. She might not like him very much but at least she tried to remain civil.
He chuckled at that. A low sound that wasn't completely unpleasant to the ear. Ok, it was extremely pleasant to the ear.
"You put on a show with everyone else. Every person I've seen you interact with gets a sweet smile and doe eyes and nothing but manufactured warmth. In all honesty you have my father eating out of the palm of your hand, something I haven't managed to do in 28 years and most importantly you even seem to be nice to Sonic, which I'm sure he appreciates," she smiled at that.
"Well as long as Sonic is happy," She began walking again, allowing him to continue.
"Not me though. There was no show there. Just clear disdain and I would quite frankly like to know why." He turned his head slightly to look at her as she swiped a stray lock of hair behind her ears.
"I think you know fine well nicely why." Clara said quite sharply. She was being harsh. Even she could hear it laced in her voice. This was new for her and she wasn't quite sure if she liked it. By now, if she were anywhere else, she would have backed down; she would make a quiet apology and hope no feelings were hurt.
But not with him.
Something about him made her want to keep going.
He was like a raging fire that spread to those around him and now she was on fire too. For once in her life she would stay strong. She had to stay strong or she was going to go insane.
"Nope. Thats the point of asking Miss Oswald." He bumped into her shoulder playfully but received a stony gaze in return.
"'Mr John Smith, the playboy of the planets'," she mocked the newspaper headline with jazz hands.
"That was actually quite clever when you think about it, I am the future of space travel- at least so I've been told." He seemed to gaze off at the end like a man who had many other ideas.
"You see that's not the point, I think you'll find the word I'm focusing on is playboy."
"Why disappointed you won't be the first?" He smirked again. God it was infuriating. Well maybe the kind of infuriating where you'd ask him to do it again. Just maybe.
"With you? Down boy. I have absolutely no interest in-" and with that crushing rejection her foot gave way and she found herself crashing into John because the universe has all the time in the world to make her miserable. Seriously, it might have to find a new hobby because the powers that be were pushing Clara to the brink.
She was clinging onto his neck for support trying to drag herself up to stand like a normal person and couldn't miss the grin she wanted to wipe from his smug face.
"Really no interest? Coming from the girl leaping into my arms, don't be annoyed if I don't take that claim seriously."
"You know fine well nicely, I tripped you absolute git." She said swatting him with her arm after she had unwound them from his neck, however his hands still lingered on her waist from where he'd been holding her up "You can let go of me now." Now it was her turn to smirk back at him, "if anything I think it might be you who's interested in me." Ok. Definitely new for Clara. Flirting was a rarity. Some part of her enjoyed it immensely with the tall man in front of her. The rest of her whole heartedly disagreed.
He sniffed the air before calling for Sonic, walking a few paces behind her. She could hear him muttering to the dog as he went.
"You're rather attached." she called out.
"Yes you see he is a living creature. It's no different than being attached to you, though I'm sure we'd struggle to find someone who is." He grumbled still irritated from before.
"Well the thing is I can actually respond with more words than woof,"
"Well the thing is," he almost mimicked her, "woof happens to be a lot more interesting than anything else you've said thus far." He bit back.
"Oh really?" She twisted round just to glare at him "and pray tell what do you consider 'interesting?"
"Physics, literature, little bit of gossip every now and then and how you feel when you look into my eyes," he taunted her clearly baiting.
"I can answer that last one," Clara smiled coyly drawing herself closer to him. (If she was going to change her entire way of being for one conversation she might as well go all out.) Seeing her bat her eyelashes at him like that John nearly had a heart attack before he felt her hand whack him across the arm "Complete and utter loathing."
"Well they do say you can't have hatred without love,"
"God you think you are so clever." She snapped stepping even closer if that were possible.
"On the contrary," he bent down to whisper in her ear, sending an unwanted shiver down her spine "I know I'm so clever." Her nostrils flared and before she knew what she was doing she was storming off back to the main house, tour be damned. The only sounds in the whole of the countryside was John Smith's howling laughter.
—
She'd attempted to go to the room they had assigned her but was immediately shooed out with only one foot in the door.
You'd think with all that power and status she was supposed to have she'd be allowed a strop in her own, temporary room.
Instead she made her way to the library, a haven in any place that had one. If anything reading a book would take her mind off of things or one thing in particular.
She hadn't meant to get so emotional. Emotions were something she had kept under wraps for years, tucked away in the furthest corner of her mind, purely for her own understanding. No one knew what she really thought and usually she preferred it to stay that way.
Yet here she was arguing with a man she had just met, simply because he annoyed her like nobody else. If she actually thought about it logically for a moment, she'd realise what John Smith actually did was challenge her and when he did he took her seriously.
As it stands, she didn't think about it logically and instead continued to grumble about the unfairness of it all until she found herself at the door to the library.
The marble fireplace was roaring, a comforting sensation and sound that suited this room perfectly and filled her with a sense of home that she never believed she would associate with anything belonging to John Smith.
She made sure to avoid the cluttered table at the back, she didn't need to know what he got up to in here and she was certain he wouldn't want her snooping- or maybe he would? He seemed like the kind who likes attention wherever and whenever he can get it, he'd probably be thrilled at the mere thought of her inspecting his pile of books.
Above the fireplace was a great, blank space that looked big enough for another painting or perhaps a mirror yet they had left it empty. Well judging by the nail they had actually removed something.
Clara focused her attentions on the ornate bookshelves instead, each of the carvings more beautiful than the last. She ran her fingers along the spines of the books before plucking a worn copy of pride and prejudice from the shelf.
She doesn't know why she's picked it.
Of course she adores it but perhaps there must be a specific reason for wanting to read it now.
Pointedly ignoring that niggling thought she opened the book to find writing scrawled in the gaps along the page. She flipped through each page and sure enough there was at least one note on each and every one of them.
Forgetting the actual writing of the book she nestled into the chair by the fire and began reading each handwritten note.
She was in fits by chapter six. Each note as pointless as the last 'consider this: we add zombies' and 'perhaps Mr Darcy had a point when he said she wasn't pretty enough, who are we to judge?'.
Clearly sarcastic in nature Clara found herself immersed in the conversation the previous reader had began. She was tempted to find a pen to add her own thoughts and answer the silly questions posed but thought that would be an intrusion. Her father always told her to wait for an invite- never assume.
The writing changed every so often, sometimes it was crazy with massive loops scrawled across the page and other times it was in a small, delicate cursive (those tended to be the more poetic thoughts). It really did read like a conversation so it was safe bet that there were multiple people adding their thoughts.
Her curiosity piqued, she went back to the bookshelf and retrieved another book by Jane Austen 'Emma'.
Again it was filled with little drabbles, thoughts and feelings. She flicked through landing on a random page and was greeted with 'I still stand by 'Clueless' being the best adaption of this', giggling she continued on until she reached her own personal favourite quote. She was intrigued to know what the noters thought about it: 'if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more'.
Sure enough the cursive writing was present 'Wanderer, find someone who makes it impossible for you talk about how much you love them'.
Clara had no idea who Wanderer was but she could sense the pain, this page in particular was stained with tears that had since dried despite the grief that clearly lingered amongst the pages.
She couldn't help but agree nodding along with whoever put the pen to paper on this specific page. She'd never known a love like that. Ever. She'd dated of course, each one being a premeditated match, but she was consistently unable to talk about how much she loved them not for the reasons presented here but because she never did.
However, seeing the small curves and loops of this opinion made her heart, for lack of a better word, flutter. The idea of it suddenly seemed stunning, beautiful and almost magic. In a way she never considered before, at least to this depth, she wanted that kind of impossible love.
She wondered if it could possibly be John, who wrote these thoughts, but the idea of him seeing this kind of beauty in the written word seemed laughable. It was even more unlikely that he could possibly read Jane Austen never mind enjoy it and he certainly didn't have the capacity to turn it into laughable comedy.
A cold, wet nose brushed along her hand, shocking her back to reality. Sonic was back inside his tail thumping rhythmically into the side of her chair, a happy smile on his face (at least that's what it looked like to Clara).
"Hey buddy," she cooed rubbing one of his ears softly receiving a small whine in return, "Where's John? I thought you'd stick to him like glue…" Obviously not expecting an answer Clara returned to the notes in the books in front of her as Sonic settled himself in front of the fire, clearly a routine for the dog.
She smiled a soft smile at the fluffy heap on the floor and started reading to him "I cannot make speeches, Emma. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me." Some would call her insane for reading to a dog. She considered it more relaxing that psychotic though she would most likely never do it with an audience. Judgement was something else Clara didn't handle well.
Clara considered when the Parisian clock on the mantle chimed that perhaps this was John's routine too and that's why Sonic had chosen to come to the library of all places. For the briefest of seconds she worried that she'd kept him from the library when she heard a voice call out.
"What are doing with that." It was sharp, it was dark. It was John.
Her eyes met his. Once traces of laughter and a permanent smiled resided in there but instead they were purely black with fury.
"It- it was just on the bookshelf I didn't know it was yours," she managed to stammer out, it was hard to believe that the funny carefree man from before stood in front of her now. This was what she dreaded most of all. She'd let herself fight back, argue and almost flirt and now she was far too comfortable. She'd intruded and it was wrong.
She should have kept her head down like usual rather than getting smart, she had never intended to hurt him.
This is why she didn't let her guard down, she was supposed to remain detached. She'd broken one of her only rules.
Sonic had stood to attention and went to reside by his master. A lump rose in her throat, a steady red filled her face and she did the only thing left to do: she fled.
She planned on putting as much distance between them as possible, she couldn't handle real conflict. This was the same as when she bowed down to her father's commands or gave in to Linda's demands, she wasn't prepared to deal with disagreements.
However something caused her to stop once she was out of the room.
The sound of crying, not the wailing of a child desperate for a dolly but the crying of someone who wishes not to be caught.
A soft gentle weeping, that despite being quieter and private, broke you heart in a way a screaming tantrum failed every time.
Peering round the door she caught a glimpse of the impervious, playboy John Smith sunk into the armchair she had been sat in, crying over the very same page she had read allowed.
—
He'd returned to his room after a while. He had cried openly for the first time in months and the way his head spun he couldn't decide if it was a good feeling or a terrible one.
After the first two months of his mother's death, his father had callously informed him that the typical mourning period was over and all but confirmed he was no longer allowed to publicly cry.
It wasn't the first and it wouldn't be the last time that his father prioritised appearance over people. Even over the supposed love of his life, even over his only child.
He was desperate to talk to his best friends in the entire universe. Nothing else mattered and they would understand.
He pulled up his chair to the computer and rang Amy, hoping they would be awake.
They had grown up together in England and attended the same boarding schools and even the same university, but since Amy had taken over the publishing empire left to her by her Aunt Sharon they'd moved out to New York so Amy wouldn't have to travel all the time. This decision had left John even more isolated than before and whilst he would never begrudge them moving on with their lives, he often found himself missing his two best friends.
"Doctorrrrrrrr," her Scottish accent drawled loudly from the computer screen.
"Alright Pond? Where's the Roman," it took seconds for them to fall into their old ways, the kind of ease you only have with those closest to you.
"RORY!" Amy called, he couldn't help but beam when he saw the pair of them sat in front of the screen. No matter what happened it was always him and the Ponds against the world.
The ginger hair and the nose mostly filled the screen and John had to refrain from teasing them too much, he needed their advice after all.
"Not that we don't love hearing from you but, what do you want?"
"Thanks Amy, absolutely lovely sentiment. Couldn't I just be calling for a nice chat? Bit of a catchup?" He looked at them with a face of sincerity before all three broke down laughing.
"Yeah right ok even I heard that, the issue is my new 'lodger' of sorts," he went on a tangent explaining his latest troubles with Miss Oswald and barely paused for breath.
He stumbled through talking about how from the start he was the only one she didn't like and rounded off with their (well, his) blowout in the library.
When he was finished he felt the tension go from his shoulders, "So Ponds as the only loving parents I have left what advice do you have to give?" He looked to them expecting the usual warm comments from Rory but Amy got there first.
"You are an idiot!" It always sounded harsher coming from her, he wasn't sure how she managed it.
"What? Pond I'm stung."
"No seriously, you very evidently have a crush on this Clara girl, cause we all know how much you enjoy a challenge, and you went and fucked it up right off the bat by scaring her senseless"
"I didn't scare her senseless," he scoffed.
"Doctor we've seen you when you're angry. You scared her senseless." Rory chimed in.
"Oh Oh I see how it is, you're ganging up on me now- happy wife happy life ey Rory?"
They rolled their eyes obviously used to his opposition to criticism. "Stop it Doctor, go find her and apologise, maybe explain exactly why you flipped out on her?"
"Well I'm not doing that."
"Stubborn as a mule. I'm getting Rose Tyler flashbacks," she declared dramatically with a hand to her forehead. "Well if you can't take our advice we'll leave you to figure it out on your own," Amy taunted in a singsong voice hoping to illicit some sort of response.
"Alright, alright- you know Pond you really are the worst. Must be the ginger in you."
"OI-" he managed to hang up before he had to deal with the fallout of that jokey comment.
Making his mind up and physically psyching himself up, he came to the conclusion that (as usual) the Ponds were right and he would have to apologise for the greater good and the harmony of the house for the next month.
Of course they were only right about that one specific thing. Nothing else. At least that's what he told himself.
