Ok so this took forever because well I don't really have excuse except it being a bit of a filler and rather difficult to get into but that's on me, sorry.
Hope you enjoy despite the wait x

John looked around at the once immaculate kitchen and was instead greeted with the image of a bomb site. Flour coated the marble countertops, eggs were cracked and leaking and he was ready to cry over spilt milk- literally.

At the centre of destruction, the eye of the storm, was the manic, short brunette who somehow looked so beautifully serene surrounded by her passion whilst simultaneously looking murderous. She brandished a wooden spoon in one hand, the other fisted as she gave a stern lecture to the soufflé in front of her.

"Now you are going to rise, yes rise. When I take you out, you are simply not going to sink or burn. You will be the most sublime soufflé the world has ever had the pleasure of meeting, do I make myself clear?" She blew air upwards in an attempt to move a piece of stray hair from her eyes, which only lead to further scowling when it didn't work.

"Oh absolutely clear, I don't think any soufflé will fail to rise again." John teased her in his usual manner greatly anticipating her witty response. He really shouldn't like this back and forth as much as he did.

That doesn't mean he's going to stop.

Rather than returning with a good retort, Clara wheeled round at breakneck speed, coming closer than ever before with killer's intent.

"Don't. You. Dare. John Smith." She almost hissed, the wooden spoon looking far less comical and decidedly more violent. He should be threatened he really should. Instead he found himself conflicted between being amused at the equivalent of a pixie shouting at him and fighting the urge to kiss her.

Not because he particularly wanted to kiss her, really, it was just so she'd stop telling him off that's all, it was definitely not because John had thought about kissing her rather a lot lately. Not at all.

"Alright, alright you're the boss." He held his hands up in mock surrender, a mixture of relief and disappointment crashing over him as she turned to go.

At some point in their friendship (if that's what you would choose to call it) Clara would have asked "Am I?". Sadly for John she knew perfectly well that she was.

She turned to the modern oven behind her and gently slid her 'baby' in, shutting the door with a tidy slam and a sigh of relief.

"Just like my mum used to make. It's her soufflé."

"How can it be her soufflé? I'm pretty sure you're the one who destroyed the kitchen." John joked.

"Because the soufflé isn't the soufflé, the soufflé is the recipe." She looked at him in almost wonder as if she had the secrets to the universe behind her caramel eyes and for just amount he truly believed she did.

"Let's hope it's a wonderful recipe then."

"Don't worry, it's just the best."

At some point, before the timer had rung to a very alert Clara, Aunt Sarah and Luke had packed up to return to Ealing for Monday morning. John was going to miss Luke. This visit had been short but sweet and he loved every minute he got to see his 'little brother' even if said 'little brother' was a teasing toe rag about a girl he totally didn't fancy.

It was quite unfair. As the maturer, example setter (sort of) John wasn't allowed to turn around and tease Luke mercilessly about his not so subtle crush on the same girl that John categorically did not like. The poor boy flamed red in her mere presence yet John was the one being harassed about how he stares at her and being told to "Stop drooling".

It definitely didn't matter that John was struggling to find reasons to blame Luke for being so infatuated. It also didn't matter that if John set his pride aside for no more than a tenth of a second he would find he was on a very level playing field with his cousin.

They waved them off into the cool night air, the crescent moon and the shining stars lighting their path as they drove down the hill.

Amy hadn't made it downstairs and despite Rory's sincere apology, John had to hold Rory (and himself) back from punching Harold after he remarked, intentionally loudly, to Lucy how rude it was.

For the second time that night John could have kissed Clara Oswald when she said with hidden malice:

"You would know." Before stalking back into the house to check on her masterpiece.

Rory excused himself back to his room only slightly barging into Harry's shoulder as he went. If he bothered to listen to Lucy's small cry of outrage for her husband, he certainly didn't show it.

John scampered back through the house and down the stairs to the now modern kitchen in the victorian basement, almost whooping and hollering in glee. He rounded the corner nearly crashing into the island and was ready to pull Clara into a hug for her graceful handling of the situation, when he stopped short, staring at the scene in front of him.

Clara held in her hands the most perfectly risen chocolate soufflé John had ever seen- and he'd seen them in Michelin star restaurants. She moved gently as if she were carrying the most precious cargo in the entire universe and in a way, he supposed, she was.

She slid it onto the counter, a tear appearing in her eye as she prepared the powdered sugar.

She spun around, beaming at him as she squealed. He felt her fling herself into his arms and he momentarily lost all thoughts his brain had ever had as he tried to figure out where to put his hands. He finally settled, after some intense waving (that he always seemed to do around her), to pull her close and hope for the best.

She mumbled something into his chest which sparked him into releasing her.

"What was that?" He asked.

"I said, I've never made it like that before- ever." She was almost hopping from foot to foot in the most delightfully adorable giddy way. "My mum could do it every time, but me? Well lets just say the poor dears weren't quite so lucky."

She stopped for a minute and turned to the kitchen behind her.

"You."

"What? What have I done now?" For someone who supposedly didn't care, John was certainly panicked.

"You have a magic kitchen. This kitchen is bigger on the inside just to fit all of it's soufflé making magic. This kitchen…oh my stars this kitchen, what have I done to it?!" She immediately grew a steady crimson from her neck to the tips of her ears and John tried desperately to hide his laugh from behind his hands as she ran around attempting to wipe and wash everything at once.

"I destroyed it! We have to clean it up!" John tried desperately hard not to notice how her eyes got even bigger in a panic or the way her cheeks flushed in that adorably cute way, after all they were friends now and friends don't stare and think about how short the other friend's dress is.

That's not what friends do.

"Calm down," he motioned with his hands as if he were calming a spooked horse before quickly dropping them back to his side when she looked at him thunderously. "Right first things first, a certain Scottish friend of ours is upstairs in desperate need of that soufflé."

"Yeah you're right." Clara eventually started to breathe again as she realised why she had actually bothered to decimate the kitchen in the first place.

"I'll make her and Rory a cup of tea, you get that on a tray and we can clean while we wait, ok?" He placed his hands on her shoulders bringing his face level to hers. He watched in relief as she allowed her panic to release back into the atmosphere.

He wasn't entirely sure when he started getting protective, if that's what he was. Something about seeing her like this pulled him in without much say in the matter. He wanted to pull her into a hug and hold her there until she said it was ok.

John had always been stubborn though. Even if she outright asked him his thoughts he'd lie. He'd never tell her he wanted to hold her when she was hurting. Just like he would absolutely never tell her, he secretly wanted to hold her even when she wasn't.

The flick of the switch going up on the kettle snapped him out of his thoughts and he felt a hand fly to his face automatically, checking for a trace of heat in case he had been blushing.

He was never shy around girls. Closed off and 'emotionally distant', as Rose so eloquently put it, yes, but not shy. He really had to figure out what exactly Clara Oswald was doing to him.

He offered to carry the tray as they walked through the house but Clara simply swatted his hands away with a simple "I don't think so chin boy".

They would have to discuss her nickname choices after this.

John lightly rapped on the door and was quite surprised to see an even paler Amy through the small crack that opened.

"Is that chocolate cake?" Her voice was so small and weak in comparison to her usual harsh and loud tone he loved so much and he nearly enveloped her into a hug right there and then, but he knew it was best to wait with Amy.

When she had been hurt she usually withdrew as much as it pained him and Rory.

"It's chocolate soufflé, I heard you had a sweet tooth." Clara smiled slightly, the corners of her lips tilting up and John forced his gaze back to Amy just to stop the irritating urge to press his own lips to hers.

"Thanks." Amy opened the door wider to accept the tray. She left it open as she carried it back to her bed, a clear invitation that they were allowed in.

As they entered John finally took it all in. Amy was burrowed under the duvet with a mountain of pillows in a pair of cupcake pyjamas, that she reserved for her worst moods, and her hair was wet after a bath or shower.

Her clothes from earlier were thrown over the armchair as if someone had attempted unsuccessfully to fold them. The air hung thick with steam from the bathroom, lingering condensation clinging to the window panes.

Rory was in the other armchair, his eyes were hollow and he looked tired. Just tired. As if he were defeated. They barely looked at each other as he sipped the tea she had handed him and she tasted Clara's perfect soufflé.

John knew Rory had dealt with it all on his own and as much as he loved Amy, he knew she sometimes took a moment to step back and see the equal level of hurt that Rory was facing.

He strode over and gave Rory's shoulder a reassuring squeeze which was met with a grateful smile.

Clara stood awkwardly in the door frame, unsure if she could enter fully.

"I'm assuming you know." Amy spoke between spoonfuls.

"Um yeah, John said something…" Clara looked around as if she'd rather be anywhere else and John presumed she probably would.

"I gathered by this," she gestured with her spoon to her dessert, "God this is…top level sympathy." Amy joked with a weak smile. That was the small ice breaker Clara needed to shut the door and come in properly. She sat down on the ottoman at the end of the bed.

"Do you really like it?"

"It's perfect, thank you. I'd say thanks to you too Doctor but knowing you, you had absolutely nothing to do with this." Amy smirked, her old self filtering through much to the relief of everyone in the room.

"Excuse you Pond, but do you not remember that French cooking course I took? I am a fabulous cook." He sniffed indignantly and tried not to swell with pride when Clara laughed.

"How could we possibly forget? When you got back from Paris you made nothing but omelettes for a month!" Rory eventually chimed in. He got up off of the armchair and slowly padded over to the bed, swiping a spoon to join his wife in devouring the soufflé.

"I didn't hear you complaining!"

"That's because you couldn't hear us over the classical music you blasted while you made it." Amy rolled her eyes, taking yet another spoonful as they all laughed.

Silence settled for a while before John knew he had to ask.

"Seriously Ponds, are you ok?"

Rory nodded not quite meeting his eye, but as he did so he wrapped his arm around Amy and in contrast to when they first found out, that was good enough for John.

"We will be." Amy smiled a little before turning cold. "How that bitch knows how to push all of my buttons I'll never know." John saw Rory stiffen. He saw Clara's eyes fly to his. He felt himself physically recoil as they all became unsure of what to say. Luckily, Amy continued.

"Everything we do they have to bloody talk about just because we were born 'right', I'll never understand it and I'll never understand how they even have a market for it."

"It was pretty strange," Clara said. "That had never happened to me before, I mean I'd seen you all in the papers before," she gave John a pointed look and he had the decency to blush a little. "But I'd never been hounded like that, I guess I wasn't interesting enough for them."

"I'd say congrats on getting noticed but it isn't actually a good thing." Rory looked so downtrodden it broke John's heart. He knew his best friend hated the limelight they were thrust into, especially as once upon a time he had a choice.

For John and Amy there was no such choice. Their births were announced in the papers much like Clara's probably was. Their first day at school was a media frenzy and every altercation they found themselves in wasn't a fun story for the grandkids but a public scandal.

Rory's dad Bryan was groundskeeper at their primary school and eventual boarding school. That's how Rory had gotten a discount into their lives and John had gotten his first trowel- which he still treasures.

When he became friends with them it was assumed he'd sink into the background, unnoticed. Instead he was pictured with them and became the pauper with the prince and princess, 'living above his means' as they branded him.

When they turned their friendship into a love triangle, simply because it was a slow week, every supposed reporter proclaimed John as the better match and superior in every way for publishing heiress Amelia Pond.

Rory took it to heart. Amy didn't.

When she asked him out, the papers called him a home wrecker standing in the way of true love and when he believed them John broke one of their nosy cameras.

Their opinion of Rory only shifted when he married Amy because now it was the 'childhood romance' of the ages for every young girl to aspire to. It was a romance that transcended class, despite the class restriction being created by them in the first place.

They had just been kids on a playground, each hounded for a different, laughable reason.

John often wondered if Rory would do it all again if he had known what was in store for him. If he knew that for the majority of his young life he would be treated as an outsider, as lesser than.

Then he would see him look at Amy and knew that he definitely would, every time. He'd go through two thousand years of that if it meant he could be with her at the end.

John often wondered if he'd ever find a love like that.

Something worth waiting for.

They sat up for a while, laughing and joking to bring some life back into the Ponds who were gradually returning to normal after the earlier ordeal. At some point the tv had gone on as background noise, lulling Amy and Clara to sleep.

Amy had already been tucked into bed and was out cold as Rory removed the excess pillows from behind her head and the now empty tray from her lap.

Clara, on the other hand, was curled up in a little ball at the end of the bed, too tired to make the trip back to her own room. John sighed as he saw her burrow her way further into the duvet, he didn't have the heart to wake her.

He leaned over, smoothing her dark hair away from her face, and scooped her up into his arms bridal style. Her small fist reached up to clutch his lapel and she nuzzled her face into his tweed jacket unconsciously as she continued to sleep, apparently unfazed by her change in location.

John suppressed the urge to beam at the fact that she felt so comfortable in his arms because after all she had no clue she was even in them never mind feeling safe or whatever he hoped for. Even if she did they were simply friends, that's all. Friends shouldn't get a shooting thrill from the base of their spine at the simple notion of their friend enjoying the feel of their arms, should they?

Instead a soft smile fell over his face as he looked down at her soft features, hazy with exhaustion.

"I'm gonna take her back to her room, you make sure you and Pond are ok," he whispered to Rory.

Rory, in turn, looked at him a little skeptically.

"What?" John really didn't have time for whatever parental lecture Rory wanted to bestow upon him today. For such a small person, Clara really was a bit of a dead weight and his arms were starting to ache.

"Nothing, I just think you're stubborn that's all." Rory gave him a pointed look.

"Well that's news to me." John snorted voice thick with sarcasm.

"You have to admit it one day." Rory called to John, who was currently half way out of the door, trying to remain a little quiet for the benefit of his sleeping wife.

John simply shut the door behind him, refusing, as per usual, to admit anything that he didn't want to. If lying by omission was considered fully lying then John may well be the biggest liar on the planet.

He carried Clara down the hallway back to her room, grumbling quietly as he went about reporters and Ponds and how he 'doesn't have to admit anything'. When he is good and ready he'll admit what he likes but currently he had nothing to admit to. At all.

He found his inner musings disturbed as Clara shifted in his arms mumbling softly. It was as if a rather irritated storm had settled. A thousand thoughts that crashed like waves along a beach settled serene as a glassy lake by her mere presence being made known. It terrified him and calmed him all it once and for the first time today John wanted to put Clara in another room and just run and run and run if it meant he understood his own head for once.

He settled her into bed, fully clothed, closing the curtains and switching off lights as he went ignoring the sudden tension building in his shoulders that often occurred when he had to deal with anything real.

John Smith was not the type to stay. John Smith was not the type to feel so deeply it soothed him whilst also setting him alight from deep within his bones.

John Smith was not the type and that's the way it would stay.

The next morning he dressed for breakfast swiftly, not bothering with a bowtie around his neck or wrist. The sun was shining despite the cold temperature and the birds greeted him happily with that usually annoying birdsong that, for some reason, didn't bother him to day.

He had taken the next few days off work- which really only meant he didn't have to sit in his room and make design plans, he never went into the office anyway- and he planned on spending all the time he could with the Ponds before they headed back to America.

If the day lead them to a movie binge or a dip in the pool that was for fate to decide, John's favourite way of decision making.

As he wandered into the dining room with a wave and a cheery "Good morning!" He should have sensed that, of course, this feeling of open spontaneity and bliss was a trap. A trap that he had fallen for hook, line and sinker.

His father sat in his usual place with his usual morning paper, except this time there was a rather hefty stack of different papers that he either saved for later or avoided at all costs. He only read one paper at breakfast.

John was prepared to shrug it off until he saw the look of panic in Rory's eyes from behind his china teacup and the anger in which Amy gripped her spoon. At this point he was getting a little suspicious.

Harry sat near Smith Sr, smug as ever, but something about today was as if it were Christmas Day in SmugTown. Lucy was as uninterested and blank as per so at least the world hadn't gone totally insane.

He took his seat across from Clara who wouldn't quite meet his eye. He naturally assumed that she was feeling awkward about him putting her to bed last night so he smiled brightly hoping to ease her embarrassment.

"John Smith aged twenty seven," his father read from the front page of his favourite broadsheet.

"I know my name and age Sir," John quipped, hoping to lighten up the somber morning crowd. Judging by the shake of Amy's head and Harry's chuckle that was decidedly at him and not with him, John realised that might not be possible and quickly shut up.

"Pictured with new girlfriend Clara Oswald aged twenty four." John swallowed thickly. That wasn't too bad. His father was always on at him to settle down and he was the one who invited Clara so it was his fault after all.

It was hardly terrible press considering past incidents.

"Bad boy bachelor turns shy society sweetheart rogue as he threatens camera man." There it was.

His father folded the paper with a sigh, picking up another and continuing to read.

"John Smith does it again: Photographer in terror."

He decided to give a few samples to the table. Some were rather too vulgar about Clara to mention.

"Heiress led down destructive path by John Smith"

"John Smith, fiercely protective of possible new love?"

John groaned into his eggs as Clara was blushing a furious crimson.

"Tell me John, what is so difficult about going out for the day without causing a media frenzy?" His father's voice was stiff but not loud. The shouting would come later, when they were alone.

"They were harassing us, insulting Clara! I wasn't just going to stand there a let them!" John's voice was not as controlled as his father's.

"You have made every front page of every paper that matters for apparently being 'threatening'. One simple job: don't rise to it." Harold was suddenly grinning like a Cheshire cat and John was more than worried.

"If I might interject Uncle, in John's defence it wasn't every paper." He saw the quizzical looks from everyone else at the table at his cousins attempt to help him but John knew better than that. There is no way in hell this would benefit him.

"The Kovarian Chapter didn't report on it, I don't believe."

John Smith Senior was usually very forgiving when it came to his viper of a nephew but it was clear even he struggled to stomach that latest blow.

"That hardly seems important right now Harold." Amy had gone back to staring at her plate firmly ignoring everyone else at the table. John could only assume what had been said about her this morning.

"Come with me John it's best if we take this somewhere more private. I'll send for you momentarily Miss Oswald." With that his father swept out of the room leaving Clara to choke on her tea in his wake.

John followed dutifully behind, only pausing to swipe Harry across the head like they used to do as kids, though he could only expect this time was a lot harder than it was back then.

As soon as the door shut behind him and the outside world was silenced the rant began.

John wasn't entirely sure what was being said, he was only catching snippets here and there when he could be bothered to listen. He'd heard it all before, this would be nothing new.

"Just this once could you not embarrass your entire family! God your mother would be ashamed." At this John sat up in his leather chair almost going as red in the face as his father.

"Ashamed? Ashamed! It's only been a year I didn't think you'd forget what she was like that quick!" His fists balled, knuckles burning a furious white.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me!"

"I'll take whatever tone I like, I know for a fact mother would have been proud of me, I defended the innocent if you want me to take it a more heroic route." He stood up, now inches away from his father's face. "You can't pretend to like those vicious creatures."

"No but I certainly don't have to pretend to dislike scandal, which is all you know how to create!" The older man jabbed a finger into his chest.

"She's your guest, you'd think you'd be pleased with me for once in my life!" John spread his arms wide as he simply couldn't understand the way his father's brain worked.

"Don't worry John, the day I'm pleased with you the whole world will know."

"And how's that?"

"Because the pigs will be flying!"

John felt like he'd been sucker punched in the stomach as he sank back down into his chair. He knew his father viewed him as a disappointment, it was the kind of thing you could sense in the way he sighed or looked at him whenever he did something less than perfect (which was a lot). Hearing him say it? That was a different story, there's no way he could brush it aside now, no way he could pretend that deep down he did love him.

In the end John Smith was a disappointment and he should have known.

"Go fetch Clara." His father commanded with a lazy flick of his wrist as he sat down behind his desk. John didn't bother arguing further.

He stalked into the dining room signalling to Clara to follow him who did so with little pause, clearly this room was as uncomfortable as the study and she was hedging her bets on which would be worse. In John's opinion she chose wrong.

Amy and Rory had gotten their hands on a copy of the Kovarian Chapter, as Amy sat with a red pen cap in her mouth, doodling devil horns on its editor in chief 'The Madame's' photograph.

Harry was enjoying himself immensely tucking into his breakfast, he seemed to be in such a good mood he'd even allowed Lucy biscuits with her tea. John hated that man.

He would never say it aloud because once upon a time they had been family by choice rather than just blood, but Harold Saxon certainly made himself a difficult person to love as John had come to find out.

Clara settled into the twin high-backed chair next to John, smoothing her skirt and fiddling with her hair as she did so as if she were attending an interview. John wanted to reach for her hand and settle her like he did in the theme park but at this point it seemed a little inappropriate considering the headlines.

"I must give you my most sincere apology Miss Oswald," his father began and John almost snorted at the sheer unfairness of it all. The phrase 'it takes two to tango' sprang to mind but of course he was always the guilty party.

"I know you haven't had much experience with the tabloids," she shook her head numbly.

"Lucky for us we have had more than our fair share of run ins." He looked pointedly at John who met his gaze, determined not to back down.

"The press department at our office will be dealing with it but they require your presence so I need the pair of you to head into London I hope that's not an inconvenience?" John knew he wasn't asking him so he didn't even bother to reply.

At his father's insistence John was not driving (something about his movements needing to be controlled). Instead Clara had offered to call her own driver, Mickey. He was a funny man with a cockney accent that John found rather endearing in comparison to his father's harsh eye roll.

From the minute Mickey had opened his mouth to welcome Clara back, John had known it would be a long drive. His father hated conversing with 'the help' -another layer of his snobbery- but he especially hated overfamiliar 'help'. It was extremely fortunate that Mickey wasn't in his employment or the poor sod wouldn't last five minutes.

The sleek, decidedly-not-blue car pulled up outside of Gallifrey Industries headquarters, a towering, glass skyscraper that crushed more dreams in corporate speak than the X-factor did per show.

His father swept out of the car barely acknowledging Mickey as he entered the building and strode over to the lift. John and Clara thanked the driver, who was waiting in the Smith's private parking space, before following suit. They stood shoulder to shoulder behind the bald man a shared sense of solidarity keeping them afloat.

The lift dinged and Smith Sr entered pushing the closed button immediately. Everyone who worked there knew not to enter the lift at the same time as the boss, especially on days like this.

John hated coming here. He knew that everyone else knew he'd one day be in the top office his father currently sat in. He knew they all judged him for that fact; that they all thought he had everything handed to him on a plate. As far as they were concerned, he had never worked a day in his life. They never stopped to consider that he actually worked hard for his degree and doctorate in astrophysics.

To the people who would one day work for him, he was exactly what the papers portrayed him as.

The glass walls of the building made sure no distaste was hidden. However, that didn't mean that they all magically stopped sucking up to him for one minute whenever he actually did show up. No, they were totally fine to do that.

To add insult to injury this was the only place with a literal shrine to his mother. A massive photo, fresh flowers and candles taunted him as he walked past, as if to say 'she's dead in case you forgot'. It was the only photo his father allowed to stay hanging, but that of course was due to keeping up appearances. It's clear as day that it caused his father as much pain as it causes him, anyone looking could see it in the way his eye twitched as they passed.

"Donna!" Smith Sr barked to his ginger personal assistant. She stood up and calmly strode towards him without even a hint of a hurry. It was one of the many things John liked about her: no matter what mood her boss was in she did as she pleased unlike the others who scurried to meet his demands.

"Have you called the PR team?" He was so demanding sometimes.

"They're already in your office." She replied cooly. To John, having Donna in your corner was one of the only bonuses to the job.

"Did you get those files to Clom Tech?"

"Shipped off last night with a first class stamp and a very harsh letter about providing the correct delivery times." She ushered John and Clara into his father's office, grinning slyly at John with an added wink over the top of Clara's head. Not her too John internally groaned.

"Did you get those pills from Dr Constantine?"

"Catch." Donna tossed a rattling bottle of pills to Smith Sr with barely a second look. The older man opened it and took a small red pill.

"Right you two, take a seat we need to do some damage control. At this point the world is suspicious of your relationship- that you don't have, yes I know John there's no need to look so outraged." He shook his head as if he were bored. "Now I'm purely just suggesting here…" That usually meant whatever he said had to be done. "But what if, you didn't deny it?"

Clara's eyes bugged out of her head and John was certain that if the day kept giving her these surprises she was going to have a heart attack.

"I'm not saying to confirm it either no no, I'm simply saying you could just avoid it. This is pretty good press for the both of you, especially since Rose Tyler John, so let them speculate. It can't hurt." That's what men like John Smith Senior would never understand: oh yes it very much could hurt.

Donna had ushered them out of the office before John could physically maul his father and was dragging them to at least one hundred different pre-planned formal interviews. The majority were clearly orchestrated by his Aunt Sarah (who had been too late to stop anything from going out last night) and every single one of them keenly avoided the question of 'are you dating'.

Not that it would have mattered of course. It was a clear message from ground control that they would have to tweak the truth a little if push came to shove. John wondered what Clara's father thought of all of this. His own father was more than happy to sell him off if it meant a better image would be curated but surely Clara's dad couldn't think like that?

The reporters allowed John to tell his version of events with the most simpering faces as they awed over his 'bravery' and plug a charity that Donna had picked out. In return they got a few details about his 'personal life' that he couldn't believe they were actually interested in, yet here they were frothing at the mouth to know his favourite colour.

Really, he'd had more interesting first dates.

Overall it wasn't the worst amount of clean up he's had to do. The press conference after the limo incident was certainly the worst.

He just couldn't come to terms with the need to lie (or 'withhold information' as his father preferred to call it). All it would lead to was awkwardness between him and Clara and a false idea amongst the tabloids, who deal with enough lies as it it. Besides it's not like this was some magical fix to all of Smith Sr's problems; they couldn't smile and nod and somehow turn John into the dream son through the power of fake love.

Really it was absurd and quite frankly the worst idea his father's had yet- coming from the man who had accidentally bought a cow that was the only source of income for an entire village whilst drunk, that was saying something.

Clara barely spoke in the meetings unless she was spoken to and she didn't speak at all as they trailed behind Donna. John couldn't help but panic as he wondered if it was his fault. Was she angry that he had gotten her into this mess? Was she shy because everyone thought they were dating? Or was she keeping her distance to let him know that of course she didn't want to date him?

He couldn't blame her of course, but some small part of him that had been tucked away for quite a long time, the part that hoped, rather wished she did.

"Right, that's this weeks incident handled. Personally, I thought you were going to set a record and not do something stupid for me to have to deal with yet here we are." She flashed him a wicked grin, sarcasm flowing from her like a fountain.

"Ah well if I hadn't I wouldn't have gotten to see your lovely face." He booped her on the nose and regretted immediately.

"Oi I'll have none of that. I will, however, have dinner at that flash new restaurant 'Gravity', on the your card of course." She knew how to get what she wanted.

"Tell you what, we'll go and you can order the biggest lobster on the menu but I'm putting it on the company card, how's that sound?" He leaned back against the walls of the lift as Donna pressed the button for the ground floor.

"Even better." She winked, flashing him the card that she had already swiped from his father's desk. That woman was so lucky this place couldn't run without her.

They ended up sat at a table for four after John had invited Mickey along for dinner (it really didn't seem fair to have him drive them there and then not invite him in). The table was slightly difficult to get but due to Donna's reputation and a harshly worded "Don't mess with me sunshine," the host was more than happy to squeeze them in.

The company was fine and John was more than happy to put Donna and Mickey in a room together again just to watch how funny it would be as it got louder and louder. However the slight dampener to the whole mood was Clara's stoic silence. Her face barely moved the whole time they were sat and John was growing steadily more concerned.

She hadn't grinned at the sight of Donna with her ginormous lobster nor had she shown any disdain when the blonde, Australian waitress (Astrid he thinks her name was, he wasn't paying too much attention) openly flirted with him in front of them all much to Donna's disgust and Mickey's overwhelming respect. John tried not to be stung by her lack of reaction, he had no reason to be after all…but again that small flash of hope that she could have felt something, anything, lit up within him and he was growing more scared by the second over every change Clara Oswald had caused in him.

When they paid the bill and returned to the car to pick up his father she had only said the smallest of 'thank yous' to the staff out of politeness. Not once did she look up at him with those big eyes that so often spoke for her. If she could just look at him that would set him at ease.

John was in agony over what to do. Screaming and shouting he could do, an intense debate he could do, flirting to a certain extent he could do, but not the silent treatment! His mother had often blamed his need for an audience on being an only child and John didn't have the heart to correct her.

In actual fact, he found it was the inexplicable loneliness that came in silence, he just couldn't stand it. When he was alone he often spoke out loud just to stave of the quiet.

Now it was even worse because Clara was the one being silent and he couldn't understand why.

If John knew the whirlwind currently running through Clara's own mind he may have been relieved or maybe even more panicked, it's quite hard to tell. However Clara wasn't allowing her face to betray her thoughts today and he would have to worry in the privacy of his own head much like she was in hers.

"Thank you for the tip off, we greatly appreciate it."

In a small restaurant in the outskirts of the centre London, classy enough to be upmarket but far enough to be discreet, the two editors for the Kovarian Chapter and the Great Intelligence sat down to dine with Mr Saxon, their greatest inside source for knowledge.

"Well I am of course a patron of the arts, I think it's our duty to promote music, art and writing." Harold raised an eyebrow, attempting to conceal the smirk from behind his wine glass.

"Even if such writing devastates your own cousin?" The Madam was not afraid to openly smirk.

"Especially then."

The Italian restaurant was clean cut and white, a stark contrast to the deals being made in the only darkened corner of the place. A few people sat in the currently sparse space but it seemed that such a malevolent force generated from that one lonely table, no one but the servers ventured nearer.

"Whilst I am more than happy to deliver for my avid readers, I am rather curious as to what you hope to achieve? The beady eyed, callous Walter Simeon asked.

He was a strange man, Harry often thought. So exceedingly wealthy yet he barely spent a penny. No luxurious houses or cars beyond what he needed, no extravagant holidays, no family or friends. Many had described him as a modern day Scrooge and Harry could certainly see the Victorian Values of the penny pinching miser.

"You see," he swilled his wine around his mouth, always calculating his next sentence, his next move. "I'm playing a long game. There's going to come a point where you, Madam, will ignore a certain requirement from your hush money and where you, Mr Simeon, will start toying with the truth a little regarding my dear, dear cousin. When that time comes, I will be ready."

Harry was an ambitious man. Some people viewed it as an attractive quality, something that success was dependent upon. Others saw it as cruel, especially the kind that came from Harry's hand, but really would it not make an impressive feature on his CV when he finally gets a chance at CEO?

It just wasn't fair that's all, that the simple act of being born a little to the left on the line of succession left him out in the cold with little chance of success. It just wasn't fair that the resentment that had festered within him like an infected wound on his heart had led to the breakdown in his relationship with his cousin.

This was of course not a sentimentality issue, no, what was unfair about that, was how it reduced his chances of climbing the ranks once his Uncle was out of the way because there was no chance John would stand aside. Of course not, he was just too proud, too full of it, too holier than thou with his carefree attitude and inability to act proper.

Honestly, he called Harry a snob but Harry understood how the world worked, he always had. Men like him would rise to the top with women like Lucy to serve at his side. Men like John would amount to nothing without it being handed to him in the first place and that was exactly what had happened, and it just wasn't fair.

It wasn't his fault that there was a hierarchy even though John acted as if it were. It was John's fault he acted like there wasn't to appear likeable to the press…yes Harry knew his game and would certainly put an end to it. By winning.

"I see…" The Madam eventually spoke leaning back into her chair as Simeon leaned closer to Haeey with a grin that would be sickening to anyone not at this table.

"What exactly do you need us to do?"

Please favourite or review if you liked it, trust me I check my email like a crazy person once I update so it is noticed!

1) I feel really bad about making the Master the bad guy purely because I've gotten into Life on Mars and I'm struggling to see past Sam Tyler but I must get over that (side note on my side note, there's a new season coming and I have never been more excited.)

2) Quick question that I'd love to hear opinions on, do you think Clara would still have been interested in Danny Pink if eleven had never regenerated, purely because he'd still be flirty and touchy like a boyfriend so would she have looked elsewhere or was it inevitable?

3) Is there anything you want to see like as an individual chapter? I may have a few flashbacks in the work focusing on some minor characters this far (look at me talking as if I'm a mastermind with a huge following, allow me to live in my bubble please it really helps with the process or something)