AN: Apologies for the delay in this chapter; I hope you enjoy it...
Chapter summary: The Doctor adjusts to having a bossy woman as his assistant, Clara buys a dress and the first performance arrives...
They spend the next couple of days going through his old routine trick by trick.
"I feel foolish," The Doctor states, waving his hands in her general direction as he stands alone on the stage. Clara has settled herself into a chair in the front row, notepad in hand, pencil tucked behind her ear and her every present cup of coffee sitting precariously on the armrest next to her.
"Well you don't look foolish," Clara replies, a joking tone in her voice.
"Thanks!"
"Come on, just get on with it! I wanna see your act as it is now; you were the one who wanted an assistant, so here I am, assisting." She's got a broad grin across her face and he can't help but roll his eyes as he pulls a deck of cards from his pocket and immediately starts shuffling, the cards and his fingers moving in familiar rhythms and sequences as he prepares for the next trick in his act.
He steps forward on the stage and he can sense Clara's eyes on him, on his hands. He's noticed, even in their short acquaintance, that she focuses on his fingers and hands whenever he's shuffling a deck of cards. He thinks, momentarily, that he should bring it up with her in the quiet of his dressing room later, but decides against it; she's probably only doing it to mock him someway - no one's ever been that interested in his shuffling techniques.
"You're being a pain in my arse more like," he shouts teasingly, suddenly launching the cards in her direction and laughing as a single dove flies at her from the midst of the pack.
Her own high laughter sends a shiver down his spine; he's not heard that much enthusiasm for that trick in a long time and her delighted giggle is on the verge of being infectious.
"That was amazing!" Clara shouts, standing up quickly to see where the dove has settled, head and body turning left and right to spot the bird. She knocks her coffee cup over as she does so, but her quick reactions just prevent the lid from coming off and causing brown liquid spreading across the seats.
"I try," the Doctor says nonchalantly, before he whistles slightly and holds his hand out for the dove to return. He runs a finger down its back as it lands softly in his palm and sends it off to the side of the stage where he knows it will return to its cage - he's trained the bird well over the years and, Clara aside, its the only thing he's had for company for years.
"So what's next?" Clara calls back then, eyes alight with laughter, voice eager to see the rest of the act.
"Wait and see," he replies simply and with that his nerves and fears of looking ridiculous to her are gone. He concentrates on the task at hand, focuses on performing the solo tricks to the best of his ability.
An hour later, he finishes his final trick, a rudimentary disappearing act using smoke bombs and lighting effects and then he's done. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the stage, hands twisting in front of him as he awaits her judgement.
There's silence for a moment before he hears Clara yell and clap and he looks up, a shy smile on his face.
"That was great!" she says, moving up the stairs to join him on the stage. "There's loads of potential for adding extra stuff I think. But you were brilliant, you don't even need an assistant at all."
"Thanks," he mutters, unsure of just how to take the compliment.
"One thing though," Clara says quietly, moving her hand to rest on his arm. Her other moves to his back and the Doctor pauses, frozen at the unexpected touch.
"What's that?" he manages to utter, voice quiet and betraying all of the conflicting feelings that are rushing through him.
"You need to bow at the end," Clara says, and applies pressure to his back and pulls slightly on his arm, causing him to pitch forward slightly in an obscure reference to a bow.
"OI!" he shouts half-heartedly as his balance shifts and it takes all of his grace and technique to prevent both of them from falling forward onto the stage.
"Sorry!" she replies, laughing softly as she helps him straighten up. He tries not to notice how her hand trails over the back of his waistcoat before her fingers leave his body. "You were just so stiff and awkward up there, you need to loosen up Doctor!"
"My goodness, you are a bossy one aren't you!" He exclaims, as he walks into the dressing room to discover that it's been overtaken by pictures and blueprints. Some of them he recognises from the files he'd collected in his dressing room. Others, however, are new, and he wonders just where Clara has procured them from.
"I think you'll find it's one of my many endearing qualities."
"I'll believe that when I see it," he replies jovially as he wanders casually over to her side. His words earn him a soft punch on the arm that he doesn't try to manoeuvre out of. He's still not entirely comfortable with human contact, but he's finding Clara's presence decidedly different from most of the other people he interacts with.
"What are you up to anyway?" He finally asks, settling down next to her, apple in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The Doctor picks up a couple of sheets of paper and quickly takes in the pictures scribbled all over it. There's a diagram of a saw, a box and a couple of stick figures; one tall one wearing a top hat and a shorter one in a skirt. Clearly Clara has been considering the old 'let's saw the assistant in half' trick and he thinks for a second that it's a good thing she's specialising in English and not Art.
"Trying to adapt some tricks for our show," she states simply, not taking her eyes off the piece of paper in front of her. "I've been doing some research over the last couple of days, been looking over videos for some inspiration. These are some of the things I've found that we could easily adapt I think. But I'm not sure of what equipment you've got here, so I just kind of printed all of it off and doodled a couple of ideas too…"
Clara trails off, gesturing to the large amount of paper that now litters his desk. The Doctor scans the tricks and ideas that he can see easily. There are tricks here that he hasn't seen or thought of for years, but Clara's right; there's a lot of potential here, a lot of opportunities to add a new twist to a couple of old, almost forgotten illusions.
"Okay," he finally says, after a couple of minutes of quiet studying. "This is some really great work Clara, thank you." He smiles softly at her, and he's happy to see she returns the gesture. "I guess the next thing to do," he continues, tone quiet as if he's revealing some great mystery, "is to explore the basement…"
"I'm not being the Jonathan Creek to your Adam by the way."
He stops halfway down the stairs, eyes her suspiciously. Or at least attempts to, seeing as there's very little light available on the staircase.
"Huh?"
She sighs, despairingly and rolls her eyes. The gesture is lost on him though, as he can't really see her face in the darkness.
"Y'know, Jonathan Creek? Used to create magic tricks for his boss, solved crimes on the side."
"The who to my what?"
Clara shakes her head at him in disbelief before she jumps down a couple more steps to land right behind him. They're heading down the stairs leading to the area underneath the stage. The Doctor hasn't specified why but Clara's just happy to explore more of the old theatre, especially with the Doctor acting as her guide.
"Never mind," she states simply, "old TV show about a magician's assistant who solves crimes." Clara pauses again, leans back a little to take him in. He's in a new suit today, minus the jacket; the stark white shirt glows brightly in the dark of the stairwell. "You'd probably like it actually. Full of mysteries."
She wiggles her fingers again in the 'spooky' manner, but he ignores her in favour of flipping a giant light switch. Clara squints as the brightness hits her eyes, but when her eyes adjust she carefully takes in her surroundings.
The two of them are currently underneath the main stage, somewhere he told her he hasn't really been properly for months. It smells stale, the air filled with dust and there's a distinct odour of mould. Great.
The Doctor waves his arms in the general vicinity of the wide space before them. Clara leans round him to take it all in, but he can sense she can't really see anything; at least two of the bulbs down here have blown and it was never very well lit in the first place.
"I used to keep most of my equipment down here," he says by way of explanation, his hands once again gesturing vaguely towards a couple of stacked wooden boxes in the corner. "I moved most of it up to the main dressing room, but there might be a few old relics we can use; seeing as you're completely determined to revitalise the show."
"Damn right I am," Clara mutters absently as she pushes past him and into the semi-darkness of the space. She's absolutely positive that they'll find something useful down here, something that will kickstart the show and get them well on the way to being one of the most popular shows this tourist season.
The Doctor merely sighs again and follows after her.
"Well, I'm not wearing this…" Clara exclaims suddenly a short while later, her head stuck deep into one of the old boxes under the stage. The Doctor watches with interest as she stands up completely, pulling something silver, sequin-y and incredibly garish from the midst of the box. Clearly this had been the costume container and he leans back against the wall as she turns to face him completely, horrific dress still in hand.
"God, nor would I expect you to! You'd disorientate half the audience every time you turned around; you're short enough to be mistaken for a disco ball in that thing."
He laughs as she throws the dress at him half-heartedly. He flinches as the sequins somehow reflect a little of the light right into his eyes. It really is an awful dress.
"I'll buy something for myself yeah? That's probably the best bet." The way she says this leaves him with no doubt that even if he said 'no' she'd do it anyway. From what he's learnt of his assistant in the last few days, it's that she's headstrong and not afraid to do whatever the hell she likes. It should be an incredibly frustrating trait, but the Doctor finds he likes it about her.
"Mmm," he eventually hums quietly in assent, his concentration now focused on the large mirror he's uncovered.
"Good, glad you agree," Clara says, and the Doctor can tell without looking at her that's she's smiling.
"Just make sure it's ready for the performance on Saturday," he says to finish the conversation (and because he always needs to have the last word in these things.)
Clara laughs and punches him half-heartedly on the arm. The Doctor feigns being injured, but smiles nonetheless.
The day of their first performance eventually arrives and the Doctor paces his dressing room while he waits for Clara to reappear. She'd poked her head round the door half an hour ago, a bag over her arm and a broad grin on her face.
"Sorry, hi, I'm here, bus was a bit late! Got my dress though," she'd said in a flurry of rushed explanation and she'd flown back out the door before he'd had a chance to say a word.
He pulls the old pocket watch from his waistcoat and flicks it open, the movement familiar and comforting. There's 20 minutes left until the two of them are due on the stage, and he really really wants to get up there in plenty of time. He's got a couple of youngsters from the local college sorting through the tickets and the seating, so all that's left from he and Clara to do is, well, get up on stage and perform. They're not going all out for the performance. Instead, they've chosen a few tricks from his old routine, and added in a few where she can help out. A week wasn't the best period of time to get her acquainted with all the necessary tricks, but he'd promised that they'd work intensively on them in between performances.
There's a quiet knock on the door, and the Doctor mutters a quick 'come in' while he tries to find a spare deck of cards in one of the drawers.
He hears, rather than watches, Clara enter the room, and it isn't until she clears her throat after a few moments that he bothers to turn around.
Oh wow, The Doctor thinks, as soon as his brain kicks back into gear. He suddenly feels very under dressed.
She's bought something simple yet elegant, that will clearly give her her enough freedom to move around on the stage, yet would still manage to distract even the more perceptive of audiences. The dress is a combination of copper and black sequins, styled like a 1920's flapper gown that hugs Clara's figure beautifully. It's short, but not outrageously so, and the look is rounded off by a pair of tall black heels and some long black gloves.
She looks stunning.
"So, do I pass muster?"
He's not used to the nervous tone in her voice, but instead of finding it ridiculous, he finds it endearing. The Doctor tries to find the words to show that he likes the dress, that he loves how she looks, without sounding like some dirty old man…
"Oh you actually scrub up quite well don't you; you look like you've had a wash and everything;" he says, giving her a quick once over when he realises that he could quite happily just stare at her all afternoon. However, they do have a performance to put on, even if only a quarter of the theatre is full. "Come on, it's nearly show time…"
He completely misses the look of disappointment that crosses her face at his poor choice of words, and instead holds out a hand.
"Ready?" he asks, waiting until Clara slips her hand into his. The warmth of her palm relaxes him immediately, but he doesn't dwell on it; now's not the time to be considering any potential feelings for his assistant.
"As I'll ever be. Lead the way Doctor."