Author's note: Here's the second chapter for you all :) I hope you enjoy it; I'm still trying to get my head around writing for these two so any feedback would be most welcome.
Chapter summary: The Doctor and Clara start their working relationship with a week to go before their first performance...
Clara wanders into his dressing room early the next day without a by your leave and immediately slumps onto the sofa in the far corner, her summer dress fluttering slightly with the movement. She immediately crosses one of her legs over the other and shuffles back slightly, clearly making herself right at home. The Doctor frowns and notes that her hand is clasped around a takeaway coffee cup from the Starbucks opposite the theatre. It smells faintly of hazelnut, but he's not entirely positive. Instead of dwelling on it though he chooses to take a sip from his own cup of coffee; black but filled with five sugars, sweetness hidden in the darkness. He's sitting up at the small table in the centre of the room, paper folded haphazardly as he attempts to read the local entertainment news; so far there's nothing of note about his failure to start his summer performances - it's a small blessing really.
"I've seen you before y'know."
There's no preamble, no 'good morning' or 'hello'; she just marches straight on with her statement, voice quiet and full of amusement. The Doctor finds it slightly endearing and tries not to think about why. He's only just bloody met her, he shouldn't be finding anything about her endearing.
"Yes you have; only yesterday in fact. You know, when you barged in here and all but demanded a job."
He watches as she throws a piece of fruit at him across the room. He catches the apple with ease and takes a hearty bite out of it, a smug smile on his face. Clara doesn't say anything initially; just rolls her wide eyes at him.
"No, idiot. When I was little. I saw one of your shows with my Mum and Dad and you were brilliant. I had a poster on my wall for ages afterwards…"
He ignores the joking insult she's thrown his way and instead rolls his eyes at her following statement, because of course, his new assistant has some link to his past. Typical. Still, he reasons with himself, at least she'd seen him at his prime rather than the rundown act he has become in recent years; he's changed so much since then that he wonders if she'll recognise anything from the show at all.
"Well, it probably all went downhill from there to be honest," he mutters, leaning over and grabbing at his coffee again, fingers tapping idly against the warm mug. "And you lose today's pay for making me feel old…"
"I'm sure that's not the case," Clara reassures him, ignoring his jibe about pay and instead standing as she speaks. He watches her move quietly towards him, tossing her finished cup into the bin by the door as she makes her way across the room. "It's just that people forget the traditions, forget the joy of witnessing magic on a stage; especially nowadays."
She settles in the chair next to him, hands linked together and resting lightly on the table in front of her. The Doctor frowns at her movement into his personal space, but doesn't mention it. Instead, he processes her words, mulls over them carefully before he answers.
"Wherein lies the problem. How am I…" Clara coughs loudly, which prompts him to change his wording, "sorry, how are we supposed to draw in the crowds when the kids would rather be a home on their computers or whatever?"
"Well that's easy," she replies simply, fingers gliding over the pack of cards that lie on the desk beside his paper. "We just have to make them believe again…"
The Doctor puts his head on the desk in frustration; this summer is setting out to be an impossible task, he can tell…
He doesn't really have an official contract for her to sign, so they stick with the handshake from the previous afternoon and instead decide to discuss the plans for the show in his dressing room. It's a brief conversation though, mainly because Clara has no idea about how a magic show actually works, so the Doctor decides to give her the grand tour of the theatre before they continue to focus on how their new performances will come together. There's still a week to go until their first potential show, so he's happy to take the time out to get her used to the unfamiliar settings. He decides to start in the lobby, and figures he'll work their way through to backstage, taking the route the performers have used for almost a century.
He explains about the architecture, how his parents built the theatre from scratch, how he'd grown up surrounded by audiences and had spent most of his adult life on the stage. Clara takes in every word, fascinated by the history of it all. The Doctor continues to tell stories as they continue the tour, adding small personal anecdotes when something crosses his mind. He's not entirely sure why he's sharing so much of his personal history with someone who is essentially a stranger, but if he's honest with himself he's not felt this comfortable around someone for years; he's not going to waste the opportunity to have a decent conversation with a captive audience.
"And this," he says dramatically as he holds the door open to the main theatre, "is where we'll be performing."
Clara ducks under his arm and dashes into the room. It's not particularly huge, only seating 400 or so, but it's spacious enough to make the whole place seem incredibly traditional and awe inspiring. There's none of the modern technologies found in many of the newer theatres, no panoramic TV screens, no overly complicated lighting set ups; instead it's exactly what a place like this should be - seats and a stage, nothing between the audience and the performer...
"It's beautiful," Clara whispers as she takes in the sight before her. The Doctor feels a rush of pride at the sheer look of joy on his new assistants face.
"It's not perfect," he mutters eventually, moving to stand by her side. He takes in the sight, looking from the stage to the lower seating to the couple of private boxes and expansive higher tier. He still feels a tingle down his spine every time he steps in here. If he closes his eyes he can still hear the thunderous applause of the audience and the pride of his parents after his first solo performance. "But I've been very happy here; it's home to me…"
He's not really had the money to renovate the theatre a great deal in the 20 years he's owned it outright since his father passed away. He's touched up the paint work every now and then, and the seats have been replaced in the main auditorium a couple of times, but beyond that it's still essentially the same outdated 1920's theatre he'd grown up in. The traditional 1920's decor still make him smile and he's pleasantly surprised to see the same look on Clara's face.
She's wandering around the edges, hands tracing lightly over the walls, fingers looping carefully around the circular designs that cover the outer edge of the theatre. The Doctor sticks his hands in the pockets of his trousers and just watches, taking in the experience of someone falling in love with the theatre as he had done so many years before.
They spend a few minutes wandering around, and the Doctor can't help but chuckle to himself as Clara eagerly clambers onto the stage and peers down at him.
"It's quite scary up here," Clara shouts down to him as he settles into one of the front row seats. "I can't imagine all those people staring at you, watching your every move."
"You get used to it," he replies, watching her as she spreads her arms and spins a couple of times, twirling like a small child with all the freedom in the world. "By the time the performance starts I'm normally such a mixture of nerves and determination that I hardly even remember the audience is there."
Clara smiles at him as she perches herself on the edge of the stage, legs dangling off and her small heels banging against the wood every time she swings them.
"Maybe that's something we can change now I'm here."
He looks at her curiously and tilts his head to the side in confusion, an unasked question on his lips.
"Well, now there's two of us there's more of an opportunity for audience participation right? Adds another element of distraction so that you can keep wowing the crowd with your magic."
"Ah," the Doctor mutters in reply, before nodding, "it's a possibility; more movement on stage does make it easier to keep the audience's focus off what I'm actually doing."
Clara beams at him, clearly ecstatic that she's beginning to understand the basic principles of how a show runs; distraction, sleight of hand, the element of surprise.
"Come on," he says eventually, as the two of them lapse into another period of silence, "let's carry on with the tour; I want to spend some time going over the basics this afternoon, see if we can come up with something to start tomorrow."
"Well then, by all means, lead on Macduff," Clara says, jumping off her perch on the stage and wandering over.
"You know that's not actually the proper quote," he says absently, his eyes drifting back up to the now empty stage while he waits for Clara to join him.
"I know," she says as she approaches, "I'm training to be an English teacher in the Autumn; I should know my Shakespeare. I just thought it sounded good."
He doesn't reply, simply nods and moves to walk ahead of her. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Clara reaches out and catches his arm before he's too far away, and a tug on his jacket forces him to turn around. He stares down at her, wondering why on earth she's decided to manhandle him in the middle of his own theatre.
"Thank you," she suddenly says quietly, words gushing out of her like she's unable to stop them.
He's confused again.
"For what?"
"For giving me this tour. For letting me work for you. For giving me a chance; I know you didn't have to."
"It's nothing," he replies, voice still laced with confusion, brows furrowed. "You'd only be causing trouble somewhere else if I hadn't hired you. I'm really just doing a favour for society."
She laughs then, a bright happy sound, and the Doctor tries to ignore how much it affects him. God, she's so much younger than him, so much more carefree and joyful; had he ever been like that?
"That's probably more accurate than you realise," she says cryptically and marches out of the theatre ahead of him. The Doctor shakes his head and follows her, finds her waiting out by the main door but peering down a disused corridor. There's a locked door at the end of it, and piles of boxes and old furniture littering the hallway in front.
"There's a flat upstairs," he comments, gesturing towards the cordoned off area. "I don't stay there often; it's become more of a dumping ground if I'm honest."
"So where do you sleep?"
Clara seems genuinely interested, but the Doctor still gives her a wary look, as if she's prying too far into his privacy.
"I've got a fold out bed set up in the back of my dressing room; seems to serve it's purpose well enough. I don't sleep often to be honest."
"I see," Clara says, her concentration now on the corridor they're currently wandering through. It's the one that contains the dressing rooms, and the two of them stop outside of the Doctor's; the same one where she'd introduced herself the day before.
The Doctor gestures past the door, motions for Clara to continue walking. He stops outside of another door, painted pale blue and a small sign stating "DR.2" hangs somewhat haphazardly on the the outside.
"This is the second dressing room," he states, even though he figures it's pretty obvious. "You can keep some of your things in here over the summer if you want. It's a bit smaller than mine, but you should find it quite comfortable; you are significantly shorter than I am after all, take up less space…"
He stops mid-sentence when he realises that he's basically just insulted her height, insulted her and the Doctor immediately expects her to throw something at him and walk out at his abrasive words. Instead, Clara merely laughs and swats him slightly on the shoulder.
"Is this how you're going to treat me all summer?" She asks, humour lacing her tone.
He shrugs, and gives her a wry smile.
"Pretty much," he admits, "I don't think I'm the nicest of men. I don't mean to insult you, it's just how I am."
"It's fine," Clara replies, a soft smile still adorning her features, "I get it. I've got the same sense of humour; we're probably just as bad as each other."
The Doctor figures they probably are, judging by the way they've instantly settled into an easy repartee and jovial banter despite only meeting each other the previous afternoon. He's idly wondering whether this is a good thing when Clara suddenly clutches his jacket sleeve again and tugs him towards his own dressing room.
"Come on," she utters excitedly, an enthusiastic expression on her face as she continues to pull on his jacket, "I need a cup of tea and some lunch and then we can get down to business of planning our shows; I really want to get started now..."
"Oh. Yeah, okay," he replies quietly, following along in her wake. It seems that Clara Oswald is unwavering in her determination to start her new career and the Doctor has a sudden, dawning realisation that he's probably only along for the ride…