So look at that...a whole year.

I suck. I've accepted that, but here I am

If anyone still remembers this and cares I'm grateful

Would you believe me if I told you this is literally no where near done and for that I can only apologise

Sorry again...enjoy?

Extraction plan. That's what she needed. Some simple way to unravel this coil that their bodies had made when they entwined together.

That wasn't so difficult. Clara could definitely manage that.

Step one had to be let go of him. Really what was she thinking? Just going round grabbing onto men who were sort of totally attractive and funny and smart and…this train of thought is totally not helping the extraction plan she hissed to herself. She bit her lip and lowered her hand from his shoulder, giving herself a moment to mourn the loss of heat from her hand.

That same hand guided its way down to her waist where his matching hand was clinging to her.

She was half tempted to wake him up. Yet she couldn't decide, if she did that, whether to give him a sharp shove and kindly ask if he'd like to keep his hand there or not, playing it as cool as you like, or whether she'd quickly feign sleep, pretend she knew nothing of the whole ordeal and let him deal with it.

No she couldn't do that. To put it simply, John Smith was undeniably an outrageous flirt, but, he was also, somehow, one of the most awkward men to roam the Earth, especially when it came to girls he wasn't interested in. If he was the one dealing with their predicament, they were beyond screwed.

If he even knew this was happening his blush would rival a desert sunburn.

Nope, this has to be something Clara Oswald just sucks up and deals with like a big grown up girl. It was on her shoulders.

She twisted herself around so her back was pressed against him instead and resisted the urge to lean in when he nuzzled further into her hair.

"Get a grip." She whispered to herself quietly, sort of hoping that hearing the words out loud would be more influential than the voice in her head, which she's since learned to silence thanks to John.

Tactfully, his hand was removed and she shimmied her way back over to her side of the bed, the cold coming in fast and cruel and without remorse. He made a muffled noise and rolled over but thankfully remained fast asleep.

Clara breathed a quiet sigh, her heart rate lowering and her mind quietening.

Her feet made a soft padding sound on the wooden slats as she made her way towards the bathroom, intent on a shower to wipe away the almost-perfect-not-real date of last night and the subsequent nighttime aftermath.

Good Lord Linda and the Board would have a field day if they knew. She'd been sent in to the Smith House just to see the everyday goings on, to make sure that they weren't running an illegal cat fight club or smuggling something decidedly too exotic through their offshore links.

Instead she was off gallivanting on fake dates with two of the members of the family, one preplanned one decidedly not, and falling a little bit helplessly head over heels for a genius/idiot who didn't even look at her twice most of the time.

The hot water was not soothing her thoughts as much as she would have liked.

Surely, she had done what was expected of her though? In some weird way.

She'd gotten to know the family.

Smith Sr was exactly as expected, upper class and proud, but at least that meant nothing was hiding beneath the surface. Sure he was a materialistic snob but, evidently, there was worse things he could be.

Harold Saxon was hardly much of a problem; she'd witnessed first hand his failed attempts at weaselling his way further into the company and each time it was shot down further, proving that there were no flaws in the Gallifrey Industries infrastructure.

Finally, John. Well he'd flipped all of her initial thoughts on their head. He was more than some playboy who had to have his own way, he was brilliant and complicated and overwhelmingly more than what the paparazzi would have you believe. Looking back she's almost astounded to think how cruel and dismissive she was towards him.

For all of his swagger and quick remarks, there was something terribly caring about John Smith that tugged at your heart and made you cave to his bloody smirk and stupid ideas, and Clara was frankly and scarily becoming all too familiar with that feeling of care from John Smith.

Despite this, there was undoubtedly some form of darkness there, that seeped through into his heart and made it almost potent when angered. From what she had witnessed, it was terrifying but also not separate from his mother's death and his father's harsh dismal, and she often found herself wondering, surely, that wasn't cause to write him off?

Or more accurately the company off she internally scolded her thoughts for drifting away from their intended focus.

Yes, a similar but slightly different voice in her head confirmed. Clara had indeed done her job.

She'd go back to the Board when this month was up and she'd present her findings as a vital part of the company. She'd tell them with her head held high that Gallifrey Industries was a fine company for Oswin and Co to get into bed with…to do business with and that she had no qualms for the future of the two companies.

They'd have no choice but to take her seriously, to view her as more than the boss' daughter but as a genuine candidate for CEO one day.

Her father would be exceedingly proud and he'd finally tell her as much, and Linda?

Well she'd wipe the smirk off of Linda's face when she returned triumphant and happy and successful and it was all just swell.

Satisfied with her direction and feeling wholly more clean, she turned the shower off, climbed out and wiped the steam off of the mirror, smiling to herself because for once Clara Oswald knew what she was doing.

No tall, vaguely pretty, bowtie wearing moron asleep on the other side of the door would change that today.

Clara knew where this month was headed and that was into a business venture and nothing more and it was about time her heart got on board with her head.

Feeling settled she left the steam filled bathroom to get ready for the day.

"Are you feeling ok?" John asked her, his eyes briefly looking over to her before they cast back onto the road.

"Yes? Why wouldn't I be ok?" Was she acting weirdly? Did he know how she woke up?

"Well we've been driving for about half an hour now and you've barely said a word but your mouth is doing like a half smiley sort of thing and I've come to the dramatic conclusion that you've finally figured out how you're going to kill me."

Clara hadn't thought much about it, but he was right. The drive back from London had been largely silent except for the sound of the window wipers rushing against the rain and John's playlist on low volume.

"Oh no don't worry, I figured that out ages ago."

"Well that's comforting, I sort of hoped I'd reach retirement and do retirement things like keep bees and water colour." He smiled at her and she felt her heart start to melt in that really annoying way that transported her back to a certain bed at a certain time-

"Ok what if I kill you after you've done retirement things?"

"Suits me nicely, if anything you're preventing me from ageing hideously and I thank you for your service." He saluted and the car swerved a little causing him to re-grab the wheel, shrugging impishly like they didn't nearly come off the road.

"Eyes on the road please," Clara sing-songed, "besides who thinks of it like that? You'd greatly suit old age, you'd be like a mad professor yet somehow very distinguished. In fact, I'm going to make it my personal mission to ensure you see the oldest of age." She realised after the fact what she had just said and she silently hoped he didn't think she was presumptuous or frankly insane.

"Clara Oswald, if you were the one keeping me alive I'd live for 4.5 billion years, very happily." She smiled at her reflection in the wing mirror and said nothing so he continued on. "So what's with the smile?"

"Am I not allowed to smile in your presence? I can restrict myself to a sullen look from now on if that suits you?" Teasing him came sort of naturally now and her brain didn't hold the capabilities of dealing with that.

"God no, a miserable you is a miserable me, I couldn't be dealing with those moods," he grinned at her from the drivers seat and she rolled her eyes in response.

"Maybe I'm just feeling very settled with my general direction in life, is that not something to smile about?" He raised an invisible eyebrow.

"Oh that's something to beam about, I'm sure my father would pay big money for me to have that same epiphany."

'Well there you have it, smile explained, happy now?" Her words seemed pointed but her tone was anything but malicious.

"Oh yeah overjoyed," she didn't miss the way his eyes flitted to the signs on the road that indicated they were getting closer to the Foxberry area.

"Cheer up Doc," he looked shocked at the use of the nickname, "plenty of fun to be had when we get home."

If she had looked at him then she would have seen how his mood shifted upwards when she used the word 'home'.

"Doc?"

"Thought I'd try it out, think I prefer John."

"What have you got in mind?" He asked.

"Well to be honest I haven't spent much time thinking about different nicknames for you so those options are your lot,"

"You know what I meant, what's plenty of fun?" They wore matching grins.

"I want to play hide and seek."

"You what?"

"Famous kids game, someone has to seek, the others hide, that's basically all the rules."

"I know what hide and seek is Clara," he chuckled, "I'm just surprised you want to play it is all."

"Its your influence, you've de-matured me."

"Don't blame me, you're clearly a child at heart like the rest of us," Clara swatted him across the arm whilst he laughed at the blush creeping up her neck.

"It was just a suggestion, we don't have to-"

"Oh no it was a great suggestion, text Amy and tell her to prepare for battle and that I've already decided Rory is on," Clara typed out his response as he spoke, "and if she asks why Rory's on say its for my own amusement."

The message was sent and the pair found themselves actually excited to return to the manor. Clara beamed at him from her passenger seat as he wordlessly turned up the music and steadily drove on.

"You are a child I hope you know that." Amy greeted them at the door without so much as a hello.

"Why hello Amelia, yes I did indeed have a pleasant night away, the show was fantastic and the company splendid." He reached out to give her a hug.

"Who needs pleasantries when you've been friends this long? Doesn't change the fact that you're a child."

"This one is not on me, the sheer childish immaturity of this decision lies solely with Miss Oswald." He rocked back on his heels, grinning to himself that Amy couldn't blame him for once.

"This was Clara's idea? God we are bad influences, it's Rory 2.0."

"Clearly she's been affected much worse than I ever have, I'd rather die than suggest a game like you idiots- no offence Clara." Rory chimed in from the armchair he was lounging in.

She held up a hand to signify no offence taken.

They laid out the ground rules rather seriously and Rory took being the seeker on the chin.

For Clara there was something positively freeing about this environment. For so long her head had swirled with thoughts of not being good enough, with abject fear of failing her company that wasn't hers just yet and maybe never would be.

But with them? With them those issues melted away. She felt like a kid but also entirely mature as her perspective shifted. She knew in her heart any single one of them would encourage her and tell her she could do anything in the exact same minute they shoved her in the pool for a laugh.

It was like life had been breathed into a doll that had sat, made up, on the shelf for years and she loved it. She found herself craving their antics. Their antics that were becoming her antics.

The house was so huge they were confined to certain areas- no garage, no stables, no outside, no kitchen, no attic and no turret- Clara tried not to focus on the pointed look Amy had given her when she decreed that rule.

Her nightly walks had made finding a hiding place slightly easier. She remembered a small cupboard underneath the less grand, back stairs, it could easily fit her.
It was an old oak door with an iron handle that squeaked when you opened it. Genius.

She crawled in, settling herself on the floor. Surrounding her was tarp covering flat objects that were likely paintings. A single bulb swung from above and she was grateful for the light it provided.

Two minutes later, daylight hit her eyes and she cursed.

"Already?"

"Oh this is occupied I see." It wasn't in fact a seeking Rory but a hiding John who apparently wanted her spot.

"Yes it is, so off you pop."

"Or what?" He challenged, crawling in next to her.

"Or I'll turn you into a frog? I don't know." She sighed resigned to the fact that she was sharing.

"Very threatening."

"I do try."

"Shift over a little," he pushed at her feet.

"I will not, I was here first, you're an intruder, if you want space you go somewhere else."

"Maybe this is my very favourite hiding space and you're a thief?"

"Is it?"

"No but that's not the point," she rolled her eyes. "Rory knows where my favourite spot is, this was my second choice."

"I don't know if I'm buying that, maybe you're just a little over attached to me now, I promise it's ok you can go somewhere else, I'll still be here." He turned a little red and she attributed it to the warmth of the enclosed space.

"Whatever, just shove over."

"Ooh no snarky reply, have I done it? Have I rendered the Great Dr John Smith speechless? I'd like to thank the Academy and my mother and-" He swiftly clamped a hand over her mouth. She was about to protest when he made a gesture to be silent.

Creaking came from above. Someone was walking up the stairs.

"Could be the staff." She whispered once his hand dropped.

"Could be, not taking my chances."

"You are so competitive."

"You love it."

"Hardly."

"Besides this was your idea I'm just fulfilling your wishes milady." John gave a mock bow, his hand twisting with a flourish.

"Well I thank you kind sir for your benevolence but I find your sporting spirit wanting."

"Did you take a course in medieval jargon?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I used to like playing princesses- shut up." He was unsuccessfully trying to control his snickering.

Clara would never admit under torture how long he spent making jokes about that little fact from her childhood.

"What's under the tarp?" She finally asked after a lull in his teasing.

"Pictures." It was a rather blunt response considering his previous extended period of mockery.

"Of…" she prompted. He sighed in return.

"Of my mother." Oh. She immediately wished she hadn't asked. That she'd left her curiosity bottled as she had always been instructed. "Don't worry I'm not going to fly off the handle, you're not trapped in an enclosed space with a madman…well you are but not a furious madman."

"Daddy dearest wasn't all that interested in keeping her memory around to haunt us, everything got packed away into little spaces like this. Her portraits, her photographs, her scrapbooks, anything and everything."

"He's a hard man to love your dad, but it's hard to blame a grieving widow." Clara reflexively reached a hand out to his knee.

"And the grieving son?"

"Has plenty of people to talk to, including the person he's sat in a cupboard with."

He stared at her for a while. It was on the brink of uncomfortable until he looked away and pulled at the tarp, tearing it away to reveal a canvas oil painting. Each stroke combining together to create the face of John's mother.

"You look like her."

"No I don't. Everyone says it I'm my dads spitting image- except for the hair, I'm still thankfully clinging on to that but Amy keeps making comments about a receding hairline and I can't lie I'm quite panicked." He was rambling. She had noticed he always did that when feelings were involved.

"No you're right, but you do look like her, in the eyes. They aren't just the same colour, she looks at things the same way you do. Brilliant artist, they've managed to capture that incredibly well."

"Do you think?" He barely nodded and a singular tear dripped from his eye.
Her hand shook as she tentatively raised it to his cheek. Her finger swiped it away as her palm settled on his face. He leaned in closing his eyes and for the first time since Verity Smith died, John allowed himself to truly weep.

Not in anger or frustration but out of love for the woman that his mother was and for the possibility that some small part of her lived on in him and maybe just maybe that was worth something to someone.

Hours passed and Rory hadn't found them. Their limbs had grown stiff and the tears had eventually stopped with Clara's head leaning against John's shoulder.

At some point they had wordlessly agreed to give up and clambered out of their spot. The walk through the house was slow and silent.

They broke apart and Clara shut her door with a click leaving John alone once more.

His head had that hazy feeling that was almost a headache but lighter, the kind of feeling that only came from the most cathartic cry.

The day had been an utter whirlwind and he wasn't sure where he stood with anything anymore.

He had woken up to the sound of Clara walking away, but instinctively felt her absence; the cold of her side of the bed, the lingering smell of her perfume on his pillow. He knew they'd been closer than either of them would allow consciously and he cursed himself for allowing it to slip from his fingers that quickly.

Everything she did was rapidly becoming torturous and he didn't know how to control it. He received sheer joy from winding her up but also craved that sweet smile she gave when he did something good.

It was confusing and convoluted and altogether unnecessary in his day to day life.

Now she morphs once again into his confidant. The person he bares his soul to and exchanges secrets with in a darkened room. He hadn't known her long enough, he couldn't have known her long enough, to warrant it. Yet here he stood, an utter fool for a short, bossy brunette who lit up over soufflé's and freaked out over rollercoasters and the harder he tried the less he was able to come up with reasons why he shouldn't be.

For so long John had searched for some small part of his mother that he could hold even tighter than he held her beloved books, and here was this girl that had opened up his hand and placed upon it the perfect words in the perfect sentence to create the perfect bliss and connection he had only dreamed about.

In Clara Oswald's selfless heart and beautiful mind she had somehow gifted back to him a part of his mother.

"Oh there you are!" Rory turned down the hallway with a sigh of relief, "I didn't think I was ever going to find anyone, this house is too bloody big for hide and seek and I'll be telling Clara this when I find her."

"She's in her room." John gestured to the door. "We gave up." Rory must have noticed his deflated mood and instinctively asked the question to which the answer was always 'yes'.

"Fancy a pint mate?"

"Don't you have to find your wife?"

"To be honest, I'd be quite interested to see how long she'll hold out for, besides she's won anyway and that will keep her happy." He slapped him on the back and guided him towards their favourite bar in the house, the pool bar with the distinctly 70's decor where Rory had somehow repeatedly found himself offering guidance to two idiots.

Rory took a sip of his drink, wiping the froth from his upper lip, "What's wrong?"

"Whatever do you mean Roranicus?"

"You know what I mean. I can't help if you don't tell me."

John sighed. As much as he loved Amy there was something oddly calming about Rory and for all the years he'd known him he had always trusted him with everything implicitly. He was the only person to have known about River and Rory had proved time and time again that this trust was well earned.

"I saw my mother's portrait for the first time since the crash."

"I'm sorry." Rory rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. Ever the nurse, ever the carer.

"That's the thing, I'm not sorry. I'm glad of it. I saw her face and everything seemed a little brighter for once."

"Isn't that a good thing?" John laughed and Rory looked at him like he was insane. Perhaps he was.

"It should be. But it was her."

"It was who?" The Doctor didn't usually make much sense to Rory but this was a new level even for him.

"Clara. I think I felt that way because of Clara."

"Isn't that an even better thing?"

'Of course it's not! Come on Rory keep up, she's gonna leave at the end of the month and then where will I be? I can't be bloody dependent on some girl who barely tolerates me most of the time." This was Rory's turn to laugh.

"Barely tolerates you? God you're such an idiot. But by the by, maybe Clara's given you a helping hand to do the healing you were meant to do all along? Maybe you don't have to view this as a bad thing like you always do. Vulnerability isn't a cardinal sin after all."

"It is in my book."

"It is in your father's as well."

"Touché." They clinked glasses, taking a simultaneous sip.

"It's funny but I forget it's only been a month of the two of you, it almost feels like years of your 'will they won't they' bollocks."

"Come off it Rory I should be so lucky."

"See I'd agree with you but I'm more happy that I've finally gotten you to admit that you do in fact fancy her." This conversation was sadly leading to Rory becoming more and more smug.

"Of course I fancy her, I'm an idiot with eyes. The problem is actually liking her. I think I do a little too much and I'm not sure what to do with that."

"Uh the normal thing? You tell her and then you go on a real date maybe learn her favourite colour, get a puppy, I dunno whatever takes your fancy, that's normally how you go about things."

John always admired Rory's black and white outlook on life. His direction was firm and his morals even stronger. However, it did mean he struggled to see John's issues with things.

"It's never that simple though, not with me you know that. I mean let's say she does miraculously feel the same," Rory snorted at this, "then I ask her out, we start dating, the press gets hold of it, do you really think my father is going to let me walk away from another high stakes relationship like that? I'd have to marry her."

"Well marry her then."

"What if I can't? What if that's the final nail in the coffin of my life and I become my father and have a son who despises me as much as I despise him?"

"That's a lot of what if's." The clock on the wall chimed eleven.

"That's all that keeps running through my mind, ever since she came along."

"I don't think this as bad as you're making out, for a start no child of yours could ever despise you, Uncle Rory would make sure of that, and you are everything your father isn't and remember Clara isn't your mother. As much as you don't want to hear it, she wouldn't silently sit back whilst you became a societal bastard like your mother did and you know it. Verity was great but she wasn't very vocal. Clara is the whole bloody cats choir vocalising."

John knew he was right but he still tensed at any perceived slight against his mother. Rory sensed this and immediately gripped his shoulder.

"Don't get angry I'm just trying to undo the knots your brain has made."

"I know I know…Should I tell her?"

"For the love of god yes, please put us out of our misery, I'll have to phone everyone who's been in contact with the pair of you and say it's safe to come out now."

"You're becoming more and more dramatic like your wife and it's entirely unhelpful and unamusing," he said with a sniff, "speaking of whom, not a word to the ginge until I figure out how to solve my Clara problem."

"Now that's cruel, Amy's already picked out her bridesmaid dress." He joked.

"I mean it, Code River." Rory shook his hand signifying his understanding.

"Do you ever find it a bit strange that you picked the least secretive code name for that scenario ever?"

"Shut up Roranicus."

As John walked back to his bedroom that night a few things became apparent:

Number One- he liked Clara Oswald as a lot more than a friend and he should really learn to be honest with himself sooner because there's only so long a man can debate colour theory with her eyes before he has to admit he cares just a little bit too much.

Number Two- he had absolutely no clue how he was going to approach his new revelation. For one thing he didn't exactly want to be rejected by the first person to truly challenge him in a long while and for another he was entirely set on the whole marriage- kids thing. For another his father would be a nightmare, as would the press, as would Amy apparently.

Why couldn't Pond be useful and hate her so he had to hate her as well?

Number Three- he was still lying to himself about the whole marriage-kids thing being something he didn't want with her.

Number Four- he finally found a breakthrough in his grief and he had to thank Clara Oswald.

As he rounded into the foyer he saw the same Welsh maid that was often helping out Clara. She jumped in fright at the sight of him.

"I'm so sorry I thought everyone had gone to their rooms." She had a large brown envelope in her hands, signed off by Dr Constantine.

"No, it's my fault for creeping about, is that for my father?" She looked at it almost awkwardly before nodding.

"Do you want me to take it across for you?" He found himself volunteering to see his father (a rarity). He told himself it was to save the poor maid having to speak to him, but in all honesty he wasn't sure how true that statement was.

"Oh no it's quite alright I've got it." She scuttled off with a 'thank you' before he could interject any further and John found himself thinking if she wanted to throw herself to the lion's den more power to her.

At that point Sonic barked shocking him out of his thoughts.

"Hey buddy, hey," he bent down to fuss his best pal, "sorry we haven't seen much of each other today, I've had a rather busy day, I'll tell you all about it later."

Not for the first time he wished the dog could say something back.

Just a light 'sure thing boss' or 'anything for you bud' in return, if the dog could talk and drink a pint he'd be a rather suitable replacement for Rory he laughed to himself.

"Come on Sonic," he called with a whistle.

And with that John Smith returned to his room grappling with his newly understood feelings, blissfully unaware that across the house the object of his affections was pacing up and down on the phone to her own best friend trying to understand why she herself wanted to wrap her arms around the elusive Doctor and never let go.

Harold Saxon was furious.

The man often had a lot of bottled anger that he carted around as simply as he did his house keys or his phone but today the bottle was threatening to overspill and burst, flooding his mind with poison as it did so.

He swung open the door of his stark white townhouse, throwing his suitcase onto the floor as he entered.

Lucy had figured out pretty early on to keep her head down and pretend she was a part of the furniture and she played this role to perfection.

Harry uncorked a bottle of scotch and took a swig directly from the bottle before hurling it across the room at an antique painting. Glass shattered and brown liquid stained Lucy's carefully chosen wallpaper but she said nothing, acutely aware of what kind of night this was.

"Good God can that fucking moron do no wrong?" He screamed, "his father can barely tolerate him at the best of times but when I come into play, I still lose? Where is the equality in that?" He opened another bottle of aged scotch and Lucy said a silent prayer for her cream rug.

"I mean come on I literally managed to print proof Clara Oswald was a cheating bitch and he still came out on top looking like the bloody lover boy! How does that work, huh?!" Lucy flinched as he edged closer.

He slowly knelt down beside her perch on the couch and began to chuckle low and dangerously and for some unknown reason this sickening sound terrified Lucy more than any previous display of anger.

"This just won't do will it Luce?" She didn't move. He gripped her chin with his hand and shook her head from side to side. "No. It. Won't."

"But what can be done about a prized pony that won't stop winning life's grand national? Especially when you can't put it down."

He lurched up and began to pace. Slowly a breath escaped Lucy's body, quietly to ensure he didn't notice her relief at the new found distance.

"Put it down…Put it down…maybe that's it? Huh Luce maybe that's it, put it down." He grinned manically and she gave a half smile to pretend she understood his rambling.

He moved across the room to the antique rotary phone she had insisted upon 'for a touch of class' and he dialled number one at the top of his pad.

"Yes is this Simeon's office? Perfect can you just pop me through to your boss as quick as you like honey, there's a good girl." He waited for Walter's sneer to come down the line.

"Simeon! It's Saxon, listen I need that intel you've been gathering…no no just on him…yes…no…and that's all I need to do?…If I get those that's job done?…Perfect thank you very much Walt, you're a gem, I'll call with any updates soon enough." The phone clattered down onto the end table, the dial still ringing and Lucy resisted the urge to wince.

In any normal relationship she would have asked with an exasperated sigh, 'must you?' But this was no ordinary relationship and this was no ordinary man.

She often wondered if she'd been smarter would she have seen it coming, she usually ended that thought with questions about whether it would have mattered at all.

She didn't like to entertain those thoughts much. They gave her worry lines and Harry didn't like those.

He poured himself a scotch into an actual glass with ice and she took that as a sign that he had calmed, satisfied with himself.

When the storm settled he wasn't all that bad and he looked after her really and she knew that when he finally took the company from his ungrateful cousin everything would be perfect and happy.

They'd have children and move into the manor as he promised and everything would be perfect in Lucy Saxon's world.

She moved to his side swanlike as instructed and he softy planted a kiss on her cheek indicating job well done.

She had kept her calm. She had remained poised. She had done her job perfectly unlike Clara Oswald ever could.

Lucy smiled demurely and knew for a fact that her Harry would deal with his cousin and he'd never think of Clara Oswald again once they were at the top of the pyramid as intended.

Oh look! You made it to the end, you waited a whole year for a chapter entitled "running an illegal cat fight club" and tbh I'm not sure any of it was worth it but hey ho, you read it and I wrote it.

I am really really sorry about the wait, if you can believe me I had big chunks of it written twice and my computer crashed..twice. Eventually I gave up on unsaved documents on Word and reverted to trusty pages where nothing ever gets deleted- genius

Thank you to everyone who messaged me asking me to update I felt awful for doing that to you but then again I'm lazy, but I'm not dead so that's a bonus outcome right?

Either way- I hope you enjoyed, less of the references in this unlucky chapter 13 and a lot of stolen dialogue- it was actually very dialogue heavy but that's because I flirt with myself to see what I come out with so please tell me if you find me grossly unfunny and I'll start describing the setting a bit more or something I dunno? Just know that 7 year old me based her entire personality off of 11 and Clara and now I like to think I speak like them allow it

Please let me know your thoughts if you did read I live for the comments and tbh if you hadn't messaged me to update I probably never would have- whoops sorry not sorry but also actually really sorry- (forgive me if you care enough to have grievance ?)