"At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man such as her eyes had never yet beheld, came to her; but the King's son began to talk to her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her."
Rapunzel | The Brothers Grimm
Chapter One: Did We Move Too Fast?
Wet hair stuck to her face in several places and she struggled to pull it back in her hair tie. The mirror in the kitchen was filthy, but she believed she was too, so they were a perfect match. Eventually she gave up on looking pretty and just tied the band around her hair without looking in the reflective glass.
Grime painted the kitchen floor, spreading like water through the cracks. Despite the unclean nature of the pub, they always managed to pass their inspection. Though she believed it had something to do with her bosses connections. No one complained about the mess, though. Regulars and newcomers joined the scene every day.
"Come on, Clara, move it along," Donna pipped, her red hair bouncing on her shoulders like flame as it licked down her back. The young woman smiled over her shoulder at her trainee and Clara smiled back, hoping she wouldn't notice how fake it was.
Donna had been Clara's "T.O." when she first got hired. Flirtatious, kind of mean, and extremely sarcastic, Clara found it hard to dislike the woman. Until she very much nearly got Clara fired when she blamed Clara for the cash that repeatedly went missing from the register.
Some fake apologies later and Donna still worked here. Fortunately, or unfortunately, so did Clara.
The interminable chatter of bar patrons and waitresses resonated annoyingly in Clara's ears. She stood just inside the kitchen, waiting behind the door with a tray resting delicately on the palm of her hand. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, preparing herself for the loudness she was about to face. Opening her eyes and releasing her lungs, she nudged the door open with her hip, the tray tilting ever so slightly as she exited the kitchen.
Tables and chairs were spread out everywhere, scraping the floor as people, unsatisfied with either the number of chairs/tables or the placement of said chairs/tables, moved them around.
Yellow lights let off a warm glow in the building and Clara shivered against the extreme heat being let off by the amount of customers tonight. It was a Saturday and there was a football match, so of course everyone came to the local pub. Because who'd want to sit at home with their own beer when they could come here and get drunk for too much money and not enough space.
People dressed in all sorts of odd, revealing clothing, milled about. Clara watched them all bump into each other, their faces pulled into drunken smiles and their fists kept clenched at their sides. She wobbled through the crowded pub, twisting around tables and customers until she got to the bar.
Squeezing in-between two gentleman and slamming her plastic tray on the wooden counter, Clara swiveled her head around in search of Craig.
"Clara, nice of you to show up!" Craig's loud London accent wafted to Clara and she smiled at him as he made his way to her, a bottle of some clear liquid in his hand.
"I'm not late tonight, Craig," she grinned, tapping her fingers against her tray.
"How was home when you left?" He asked, slapping his hand down on Clara's. She flinched, though no pain radiated from where he'd touched her. Despite his former profession, Craig was gentler than a puppy.
Clara narrowed her eyes at him, but stopped when she saw his pout. "It was fine," she assured him. "Patsy was more than willing to let me go tonight." Their cat, Patsy, had a habit of clawing at Clara's legs whenever she wanted to leave the house.
"Good, good." Craig started to put various glasses on Clara's tray and she admired the concentrated look on his face as he dripped several different fluids into them. His lined face was handsome still and if you looked past the scars, he might even be pretty. When he was done, he looked down at her and nodded towards a table in the back.
"They're very close to their limit, those guys, so be careful. The bloke on the far left is a bit grabby."
Clara stared at the man in question and noticed the offset balance in his posture. He was slumped forward slightly and she could see from where she stood his lazy smile and crossed eyes. A grey business suit hugged his beer gut and he suddenly burst out laughing even though it seemed no one had said anything. His friends joined in all the same.
"I'll take care of myself, Craig," she said as she walked off, her tray balanced precariously on her palm and shoulder.
Clara braced herself for the drunken sight, pushing aside several noisy and obnoxious people in her path. The twenty-two year-old sighed, but she couldn't help that she didn't like most human beings. Circumstances and situations had ruined the prospect of people for her. And seeing them like this, inebriated and sleazy, day after day, night after night, truly helped destroy them completely.
She approached the table with a smile on her face still, having to play the part of happy-go-lucky waitress. They paid no attention to her while she placed the various drinks around. The glasses clinked the wood with force when she put them down, the liquid sloshing, threatening to spill.
Her eyes left the busy table when a prickle started up on her neck. Someone was watching her.
Turning her head and putting down the last drink, Clara spotted a lone customer. His eyes were trained on her, begging her to notice him. A blush crept up from her chest and pooled in her cheeks. She couldn't look away. It was as if he had her face in his hand and was forcing her to look.
She'd seen him before. He never disappointed, always showing up almost like magic. One minute there would be no illustrious ladies man and the next all the women in the pub (married or otherwise) fell over him.
He looked different tonight. A bow tie still wrapped around his throat, but his hair, which usually stuck in an unruly mess about his head, was slicked back, revealing one of his stick-out ears. His face was pale in the harsh dimness of the pub and his chin was stubbled in a colour that matched the deep brown of his hair. A smirk danced on his lips and he winked at Clara. Her knees went wobbly immediately while her stomach flip-flopped. Stop it, Clara. This isn't like you.
Which was true, it was nothing like her. Clara had never been one to like people, let alone find them attractive. Faces blurred into one another constantly until it looked like she was the only human in a giant Jackson Pollock painting. What was different about him? Was it because he was looking at her like he wanted to eat her?
Before she could step away from the table she was currently collecting empty glasses from, a hand cupped around her ass and squeezed. Yelping, Clara grabbed at the sweaty limb and found that it belonged to Grey-Business-Suit-Guy. A sloppy grin spread across his face and his crooked, yellowing teeth were on full display.
"Wanna sit for a drink, babe?" He asked. Alcohol wafted into Clara's nostrils and she fought against the bile rising in her throat. His hand stayed plastered against the tight skirt she wore for her uniform.
Frowning, Clara tried to escape. "No, sir," she said through a tight throat.
"Awe, come on, sweet cheeks," he whispered, pinching her.
Clara yelped again. "Calling me pet names won't change my answer. No." Her voice sounded more defiant this time.
The man looked as if he were going to speak again, but before he could open his mouth all the way, a larger hand seized his arm and dragged it off of Clara.
Frightened and shaky, Clara turned to Craig and she watched as he let go of the man's arm and instead grabbed ahold of his tie. Her pulse raced against her throat and she couldn't hear what Craig was saying through the blood rushing in her ears.
Backing away slowly, bumping into people on the way, Clara rushed for the kitchen. The door was in her sights and she pushed on. Customers had spread out, all intent on finding out what the retired cage fighter would do to the drunk man who grabbed a woman's ass.
Of course this would happen to her. It wasn't the first time. She often thought it came with the territory of being a waitress at a pub, but this time was different. It made her feel exponentially more violated.
Maybe it was embarrassment because of the mystery man staring at her. Although why would she be embarrassed? She didn't know the guy and he didn't know her. And yet, the more she thought about it, the more that solution made sense.
Well, only because he was staring and it made her uncomfortable. That was the singular explanation. Mix that with ass grabbing and you've got a racing pulse and a heated blush.
Looking back at the scene unfolding between Craig and Business-Guy, Clara reached out her hands for the kitchen door blindly. What met her touch wasn't the door. It was a chest. She pushed without thinking and found herself falling forward. Rough hands encircled her arms and pulled her down with whoever was grabbing her. Snapping her head back, Clara saw who she had bumped into.
Mystery Man's face was pulled into one of shock and pleasure. Clara could't find time to enjoy it though when she landed on his body with a loud clang. His head went down and hit the ground the same time her chin poked against his sternum.
"Ouch, goddammit," he said in a hushed voice. His voice sounded like a song and Clara secretly begged him to say something else. She got her wish when he shoved her off of him. "God, your chin is like a knife. I think you broke my skin."
She landed next to him and let out a breathy "umph" before scrambling to her feet. He followed suit, lifting himself up and brushing off imaginary dirt from his tweed coat.
"Well, your chin is very square." Clara turned to face him, but was met only with his chest. He was taller than he looked sitting down. She lifted her supposedly pointy chin and caught his gaze. They stared at each other a moment and Clara's heart did that jumping thing again.
He frowned suddenly, a grimace playing at his lips. "What?" He put his hands on his hips and bent down, his face level with hers.
"You-you insulted my chin, so I insulted yours," she squeaked, wanting to shut her eyes and shrink away.
The man stood to his full height and threw his head back, a laugh not far behind. "You think calling my chin square is an insult?"
"It's a very blocky chin," she declared, crossing her arms across her chest. Her heart pounded against her forearm and she took a few deep breaths, trying to get it to calm down.
"Women tend to appreciate my chin, thank you very much. Yours is like a weapon." He reached out and poked said body part. Her breath caught in her throat at the soft graze.
She tore away from his hand and glared up at him. "Well, at least I don't wear ridiculous clothes," she blurted, pointing at his attire. "Who wears suspenders anyway?"
"Where are you from?" He asked, ignoring her comment.
Clara was caught off guard by the question and mumbled, "Lancashire."
The man laughed again. "I knew it. Tell me, Lancashire, what's a girl as small as you doing here?" He gestured around them, pointing a finger at the bar.
"I work here. Thought you would've sussed that out by now. You've been here plenty of times to get a look at me." Clara attempted to walk away from the man, who was steadily pissing her off while simultaneously causing her body to do all sorts of unnatural things like sweat and stutter, but he held an arm out, blocking her path.
"Where do you think you're going?" He asked slyly. Clara rolled her eyes and tried to push by him. He didn't budge. Great.
Clara stepped back and watched the ground, thinking about how to best go around him. "I'm working, where do you think I'm going?"
"Come on, humour me," he lifted his foot and nudged her shin. It should've hurt, he was pressing against her tibia rather hard, but instead of pain, a wink of longing sparkled up her leg. She flicked her eyes back to his face, trying and probably failing to hide her shudder.
"Humour you?" She raised an eyebrow and huffed a laugh.
He opened his mouth to speak, but screams radiating behind her tore her away from their riveting conversation. Scanning quickly, Clara saw Craig's arm tucked underneath Business-Guy's chin. The older, drunker man sputtered, his face visibly turning red. Spinning on her heel and turning a blind eye to the flirty man-boy, Clara rushed for Craig.
"Mr. Owens, let him go," she warned, touching his arm gently. Craig immediately released him and staggered back, looking as if he'd just awoken from a horridly vivid nightmare.
He shook his head and Clara noticed he was visibly shaking. She took his hand and led him to the back, not sparing another glance at the mass of bodies surrounding the fallen soldier. Muffled accusations flew around her head as she tugged Craig behind the bar.
"Owens," an angry voice called. Their boss, Strax, in all his shortness stood in front of the counter, arms crossed and a frown in place. His bald head reflected the light above him and Clara wanted to shield her eyes. He was dressed in his typical silver, shiny suit that did nothing to hide his enormous belly.
"Yes, sir," Craig stood up straighter and Clara let go of him, retreating to the side of the bar where she could still hear their voices.
"What was that?" Strax asked, flicking his thumb behind him and pointing at where Business-Guy still had people tending to his neck, a bruise leaking along the man's skin quickly.
"He was drunk and had grabbed at our servers asses all night. I'd had enough," Craig may be large, but Clara knew how soft he was. His voice was small at the moment, dwindling into nothingness.
Clara heard Strax sigh and out of the corner of her eye saw him rub his forehead as if he had a massive headache. "And you couldn't throw him out?"
"Eavesdropping, Lancashire?" A voice sounded in Clara's left ear. She jumped, a squeak tumbling through her lips. Her hand went up automatically and swatted at the breath that tickled her skin. It hit something hard. She looked up and saw Mystery Guy holding his nose.
"God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that," she whispered, pulling his hand away and inspecting the damage. A small red mark outlined the tip of his nose. Her skin rippled when she noticed he was staring at her again. She was closer this time and could make out the colour of his eyes. In the dim lights they looked like a cross between teal and hazel. They moved over her eyes, dancing between them again and again.
"It's fine," he said finally, taking her wrist in his hand so softly she felt like a feather in his grip. He held her for a moment longer before dropping her wrist. It flopped to her side, limp. "Were you then?" Clara looked at him quizzically. He sighed, an annoyed sound seeping through his teeth. "Eavesdropping, I mean." He tilted his head at Craig and Strax. They looked more civil than before and Clara let out a breath.
"What does it matter to you?" She asked, her patience wearing thin.
He clicked his tongue and pursed his lips. "Why are you being so snappy, Lancashire?"
Clara rolled her eyes, figuring it was better than slapping him. "Why are you asking so many questions?"
Mystery Man laughed again, a sweet sound that Clara loathed if only because it made her tummy feel fuzzy and her mouth water. She closed her lips to stop the drool from spilling out.
"You do realise you keep on answering my questions with questions, correct?"
"So do you," Clara defended, smiling when she realised she had broken the pattern. She shook her head and dropped the smile.
"Mm," he grinned, showing off perfect, white teeth. Wonder how much they cost. "But I do it for a reason. Really, though were you eavesdropping?"
"Maybe," Clara said, inspecting her fingernails, her ears catching the words 'But I do it for a reason.'
"Is he your boyfriend?" Clara jerked her head and found Mystery Man's eyebrows raised in question.
"Craig? My boyfriend?" Clara asked, looking back at where Craig and Strax were talking still. Craig's face had significantly calmed down and Strax was no longer fuming.
Mystery Man lowered his eyebrows heavily over his eyes. They darkened immediately and held Clara captive. "I'll take that as a no then." He stepped forward, swiftly invading Clara's personal bubble. She usually kept it clear of people excluding Craig and her grandparents, not that they spoke to her anymore, but she was entranced by his presence. He gave off a delicious scent. It was male and smelled like he had lived in the woods and the rain for years.
She wanted to step back, tell him to shove off and not bother her anymore. Her head kept saying to do just that, but her feet would not move. When he crept upon her again she realised he had cornered her against a wall. His body inched closer and soon enough his chest was nearly flush with hers.
"I don't wanna play anymore, Lancashire," he whispered, his breath ghosting her jaw as he grazed his nose along her chin.
Looking above his head and to the back door, Clara struggled to breathe, all sense of anything lost to her completely.
"Play what?" She asked, her voice quivering. He closed his eyes as she spoke, letting her voice flow over his cheeks. He took in a deep breath and moved one of his hands up her side. Goosebumps rose on her skin, but she still didn't want to move. His fingers rested on her back and warmth from them soaked through her black t-shirt.
"This game," he said quietly as if he were struggling to speak properly.
"I. . .don't know what you're talking about," Clara said finally, her eyes closed and her head leaning against the wall in submission.
Just as she thought he was going to kiss her, release all the tension between them, his body left hers. A whoosh of cold air breathed across her skin and she shivered for entirely different reasons than before. He didn't speak, he simply stood at full height, watching something with a solemn face.
Clara frowned. "Are you okay?" She asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. He blinked awake, and without saying a word, he ran out the back door. It opened with a loud slamming noise that sounded deafening to Clara. She was caught between embarrassment and stupidity, her mind replaying the event again and again.
Clara's body was frozen as she watched his silhouette disappear into the rainy night through the window. Her mouth hung open and she felt something slide down her chin. Lifting her hand to inspect what it was, she pulled her fingers away. "Saliva. I am literally drooling."
She stared at the door for a few more seconds, her mind caught on Mystery Man. Her wrist stung in a gorgeous pain from where he'd touched her and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why. He clearly flirted with her, expecting her to run away with him and she found herself wishing she'd chased after him. Her stomach felt weird and the whole situation was starting to frighten her.
"Clara."
Clara whipped around, expecting to find Mystery Man again. Her heart fell flat and her cheeks reddened when Craig poked his head up from the bar.
"What?" She hissed, immediately regretting the harsh tone to her voice. Craig didn't look hurt by it, but Clara still felt she needed to apologise. "Sorry, Craig. What can I help you with? Need me to sweet talk Strax into rehiring you again?"
Craig shook his head, a small smile tweaking his lips up. "No, I need you to get back to work so I don't have to sweet talk Strax."
Nodding her head, she walked to the bar and found another tray. Craig put glasses on it and filled them with various amounts of coloured alcohol. Some drinks donned salt rims and lime while others got mango and strawberries.
"I don't think you're his type, by the way," Craig whispered under his breath. He said it so quietly Clara wasn't sure she even heard him correctly.
"Whose type would that be? Strax's? Because my amazing flirtation skills worked that one time you broke a customers nose," she reminded him, punching his arm lightly.
He smiled wider. "Yeah, yeah, I owe you for that one still, but no. I'm talking about that guy you were talking to earlier."
Clara's heart started buzzing and she pressed a hand against her chest as if it would magically slow down with pressure. "What's wrong with him?" She gulped, chastising herself for sounding weak.
"He's a bit of an asshole. I've seen him around before, just picking up birds. New one every time he comes," Craig said as he swiped up spilled beer from the countertop. He flipped the towel over his shoulder and grinned at Clara, motioning his eyes at the tray.
"Oh, right," she said and picked up the tray. "I wasn't fooled by his macho man façade, by the way. He just spoke to me is all."
Craig looked at her, something flickering behind his eyes that she couldn't place. Fear? Jealousy, maybe?
"That's all he has to do, Clara. His voice is like honey. It attracts both bears and flies."
Clara blinked at him a few times, processing her friend's words. "You calling me a fly, Craig? Because I don't really know what that means, but if it's offensive, I'll probably hurt you."
"You're not a fly, Clara. It's a metaphor. Just take it. And go deliver those drinks. The games about to end and they're all rowdy. Wouldn't want another riot."
Saluting Craig, she wandered off to find the feisty alcoholics before they decided to start a fire. Her mind kept going to Craig's face and Mystery Man's sudden disappearance. It was odd, right? But she shook it off because nothing weird ever happened here. The sun set the same way every night and except for a few robberies and perhaps a couple of mob bosses, the streets stayed clean.
When her shift was over and the pub looked like someone had set ten powerful wind machines off, Clara heard the sound. She heard it above the noisy, left over bar patrons and the static television sets, above the squeaking of chairs being rocked back and forth and the crashing sounds of glass smashing on to the tables, Clara heard a bang. It was soft when she first noticed it, but the more she replayed it in her head, the louder it got. Bang, bang, bang!
..1..1..
"Shit," The Doctor cursed under his breath as he ran through the slippery, way too tall grass, his trousers glued to his legs. Rain splattered into his eyes and his magnificently manicured hair was drooling across his forehead. Thunder rumbled above him and if he looked hard enough, he could see the streaks of lightning behind the clouds.
He knew he should have left the girl alone. What was it Amy always told him? "You can't keep it in your pants, can you?" She always said that. Then she would follow it by saying, "It'll get you killed one day."
At the time, he'd shrugged it off while trying to look cool under her watchful gaze. Now he wished she'd never said anything. Because here he was, trailing a path through a field with madmen on his heels. And it was that girl's fault. She mussed with his brain, made him do things. Usually he made the women wait a bit, tease them mercilessly until it was them who pounced him. He sincerely could not contain himself with her, though. She breathed and talked and moved like magic. With wide eyes and a nonchalant attitude, she'd made his heart do funny things. Like beat and ram so hard in his chest that his ribs hurt.
She looked so taken. She was definitely quick to submit. Although he had a feeling it was because no one had ever touched her the way he had. Lancashire's body language and the way she said things, it was like everything and everyone was out to get her, like she had to be sarcastic because that was the only way to defend herself against the harshness of humanity.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud banging noise that echoed through the windy night. Gunshots, three of them. They're shooting. The Doctor appreciated the distance between himself and the snipers as the beach came into view. The sea sloshed with the rain and the sand gleamed a broken grey colour beneath the blackening sky. Trying not to slip against the sleek grains of sand, The Doctor rushed to the beach huts. Their colours depressed him deeply in the night and he couldn't figure out which was his until it was right in front of him.
Whipping his head back to where the men would be following him, he ceremoniously crept next to the stairs of the hut and shuffled on his knees to the trap door. He pulled out the pointy, "screwdriver" thing he had taken before leaving Torchwood headquarters and pressed the button Song had shown him. It sunk in after a few clicks and a green light shone. He quickly moved his hand over it to shield the dazzle but his flesh did nothing to hide the noise. It was loud and he thanked the sky for its thunder as he traced the trap door. A few bolts moved around and he lifted up the lid, dropping down into the small, cramped, and musty cellar.
The Doctor waited, listening for anything out of the ordinary. It was easy to hear in this space, the thunder rumbling and vibrating his skull. When there were no voices or footsteps above him, he reached into his soaked pocket and pulled out his mobile. The disposable phone lit up the dark room and the man spotted his briefcase in the corner, propped against the lone chair.
Before he could dial any number, his phone started buzzing in his hand. He nearly dropped it in surprise. Catching his breath and smoothing his shirt, The Doctor pressed the ANSWER key and held the phone to his ear.
"Did they get you?" A Scottish accent asked him. The Doctor laughed and sat down in the chair, yanking his briefcase into his lap.
"Yes, Amy, and they stole my vocal box. Believe nothing I say for it is not me who says it," he replied as he unzipped the case and started flipping through various files. One caught his eye and he dragged it out, opening it up to read.
"I never believe anything you say anyway," she said tiredly. He braced himself for a scolding. "You were stupid. I told you not to go to the pub tonight. You needed to leave before the rain started. You've jeopardized the entire thing now!" She shouted, but The Doctor merely held the phone away from his ear as she yapped on about the proper etiquette to take in regards to stealing government secrets.
"Yes, Amy, yes, I know all of this. I just wanted a drink," he defended as he continued to read the wordy file.
Amy sighed and The Doctor smiled, loving how he made her tick. "You wanted a quick fuck, don't lie to me. Don't think I didn't see the girl you had your eye on." At the mention of Lancashire, The Doctor's pulse started to speed up. He choked on nothing and hit his chest a few times. He could hear Amy's smile. "Gotcha."
"Okay, fine," The Doctor admitted. "I was stupid. I get that. Can you ensure my safety to the next stopping point now?" He asked, growing impatient. He closed the file and placed it back inside his briefcase.
"Yes, Raggedy Man. But be warned, they've got the big guns out now. Song is not too pleased with you."
The Doctor grinned and stood up, placing his briefcase by his feet. "I know, but I got what I wanted. What we wanted. I'll be leaving now. I'm gonna miss Hunstanton. Frinton next, correct?"
"Mm, Frinton-on-Sea. Be careful, Doctor. We need you alive for this article. You know the way from here. Phone me tomorrow when you've left." And with that, she hung up, nothing beating against The Doctor's eardrums except the reverberating sound of rain hitting the trapdoor.
"I love you," he whispered slowly, his mood turning solemn for a brief moment as he tried to think out a good escape route. He reached down for the map in his coat pocket and unfolded it, laying it down on the sandy ground. Shining his flashlight on the paper, he traced his finger along the route he most desired and exhaled gruffly, his breath mixing with dust.
Sometimes he didn't like running. It wore on him. His eyes were constantly sunken and he feared his beautiful face was aging quicker than his body due to the high amounts of stress he endured.
But then he remembered the thrill. Of the chase, of sleeping with extravagant and wicked women. The thrill of typing up an article to challenge the great Hunter Thompson and sending it off to whatever magazine offered the most money. He was changing the world, whether or not the world knew it yet. And now, now that he held a secret the government was willing to kill for. . .well, there was no way he could turn his back.
Wanting to look at it one more time, he reached inside his briefcase and fiddled around for the secret compartment. He felt the latch give and he felt cold metal twist in his fingers. The key looked so ordinary, so useless. No writing, not even a brand. Just a smooth silver colour and spiky grooves.
He dropped it from his hand and let it slide back in place when he figured he'd wasted enough time. Getting up, The Doctor examined his ruined clothes and prepared himself for more gunshots, more chases, and more secrets.
"God, I love my job."
..1..1..
Clara held tight to the umbrella stationed a few inches from her head, noticing more and more the pointlessness of having it there. Rain still spattered against her face and swam in her eyes. The clinking of her work shoes harmonized nicely with the crackling sound of rain hitting the cobblestone road and the subsequent vehicles parked rather courageously along the edge of the pavement. She decided when she left the pub that wearing her hood would only make matters worse, but now she had to deal with wet clumps of hair smacking against her cheeks and felt angry at her past self.
A warm glow of moonlight reflected on the ground and if she squinted hard enough it was almost as if stars were shining under her feet. The walk home usually calmed her from a busy day at work, but something about this particular night jumbled her nerves.
First there was the Business-Guy, then Mystery Man and his flirtatious glory. Clara's head swirled with the banging noise she'd heard. It was a mix between the slamming of a metal door and running your nails down a chalkboard.
Shivering against the chilled rain of May, Clara quickened her pace, the overwhelming sense that something bad was happening hanging over her like the storm clouds. The flat she shared with Craig was just around the bend. A crack of thunder echoed through the deserted streets and Clara squinted against the rain whipping in her eyes, blurring her vision like tears.
She glanced to the side, her gaze landing on a family sitting in their living room, a replay of the football match from earlier on the telly. The father, she assumed, sat to the far left with his wife, she assumed, pressed to his side. His arm slung lazily around her shoulder, grazing her bare shoulder with affection. Clara noticed the woman wasn't watching the match, rather fascinated with her lovers neck.
A warm flash sent goosebumps swerving down Clara's arm, bursts of pleasure popping up where they did, as she remembered Mystery Man's neck. How his pulse throbbed against his skin, the veins in his neck popping when he spoke. His Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, Clara's lips centimeters from his.
Clara shook her head vigorously, willing the images and sensations to fly out of her mind. She fumbled through her purse when she was finished, the images and sensations still floating around, looking for her key. As per usual, Clara's preoccupied thoughts blocked her hearing. The running, slapping footsteps fell on her deaf ears and it wasn't until she was flying backward, her key dropping from her hand and her umbrella following suit, did she realise she had nearly walked into a wall.
Adrenaline pulsed through her as if she had just shot herself up with the stuff. Hands fastened around her shoulders, stopping her from completely falling back. Clara let out a squeak of protest, her fingers gripping at her savior's arms. She looked past the water falling in her eyes and tried to see who had nearly killed her and then rescued her.
"You. . ." she breathed before his hand clamped around her mouth. His hand was so large and her jaw was so small that his fingers easily curled to below her ear. Her heart thrummed in her chest as a warming sensation spilled along her skin from where he was touching her.
"Shh," he said, though it slipped through his teeth like a warning. His eyes flicked up and around as if he were looking for something dangerous. When he seemed to think the coast was clear, his mouth opened again, wider this time. "House?" Clara knew what he meant, but his hand was still wrapped around her mouth. She let go of one of his arms and tapped his hand. He let go immediately, pulling his hand back and pressing it to his neck like he hoped it would give him some energy.
"Just around the corner," she breathed, wanting to slump in his arms and fall asleep. He seeped warmth and it calmed her so greatly that even in the rain, the dark, the thunderous roars, and held by a stranger, she was sure sleep was just a blink away.
He pulled her to her feet and she wobbled only a bit before brushing her clothes down and looking at him. Water made her uniform stick to her like gloves and she resented Mystery Man for a moment for seeing her like this. Bending down, Clara searched for her key. A glint of something reflecting the street lamp above them caught her eye and she moved her hand to grasp it.
Without saying a word, and without really knowing why, Clara walked on toward her home. She didn't need to turn around to know Mystery Man was following her. His feet squelched in his shoes and Clara smiled to herself, thinking about all the times her flatmates in uni bragged about luring men back to the house and how often she pursed her lips and frowned at them. How the tables have turned. She mused as she stuck the key in and twisted the lock until her door opened.
He closed the door behind them, wiping his feet on the mat as she had done. Patsy mewed from the top of the stairs, coming down to meet Clara and her companion. She wound around her legs, leaving cat hair sticking unflatteringly off her clean-shaven calf's.
"She's not really friendly to most people," Clara said when she noticed Mystery Man squatting, his hand held out for Patsy to sniff. Surprisingly, Patsy went up to Mystery Man and pushed her head against his hand. A sign of great affection from a cat. Clara frowned. "Huh," she said, crossing her arms and tapping her shoe-clad foot.
Mystery Man looked up at her through his lashes and Clara sucked in a breath, caught off guard by the darkness in them. "What?" He asked, his voice chillingly soft.
Clara uncrossed her arms and let her fingers fiddle with the hem of her untucked shirt. "Well, she never does that. It took her a month and a half to warm up to me." Jealousy, however uncalled for, coursed in her veins, making her itch.
"I often feel I can talk to cats," he mused, not looking at her anymore. He had sat down and Patsy was in his lap, brushing the length of her body across his soaked jacket. Patsy's orange fur glistened on the cloth.
Clara walked over to the lovely couple and scooped Patsy up. Even though the cat seemed entranced by Mystery Man, Clara smiled when Patsy still went limp in her arms.
Mystery Man stayed on the ground a moment longer, looking lost in thought, before he snapped awake and got to his feet. Clara had forgotten how tall he was. It made her knees shake and her stomach drop.
They didn't speak and they didn't move. Clara didn't even notice when Patsy leaped from her arms and ran up the stairs, her mews dying out the further away she got. Mystery Man's eyes were still dark, but instead of being frightening, they were mesmerising. Clara vaguely thought of the hypnotists she'd seen on the telly. How they held a watch and swayed it back and forth, telling their patient to follow it. How the next second, when the hypnotist's fingers snapped, the man or woman went into some trance.
Clara felt like that now, like Mystery Man, her hypnotist, was telling her to follow his eyes. Her breathing had stopped long ago, but her lungs weren't gasping for more oxygen. She was content, somewhat, just staring at him. Her skin crawled with anticipating when he stepped forward, his body closing in on her.
Knock, knock, knock.
Someone rapped at the front door almost comically, their thumps shaking the picture frames above Clara and Craig's fireplace. Clara's thoughts were pulled to the present and she saw Mystery Man's face drawn into a look of pure terror.
"I should probably get that," Clara said clumsily. She started walking for the door, but a hand seized her arm. It should've hurt, the hand was holding her tight, but a sliver of want spurted in fear's place.
"Don't."
Clara's mouth fell open at the bone-chilling sound that came from Mystery Man's mouth. He let go of her arm, but didn't move.
"What's going on?" Clara asked, her own fear inching up from her toes.
Mystery Man pinched his nose and grabbed her arm again, pulling her with him to the kitchen. The light flipped on and Clara shielded her eyes against the harsh ache in her head. The Doctor started pacing.
"Clara? It's Craig! I want to get in! I forgot my key!"
"It's Craig. He needs to come in," Clara said, her voice shaking against her will. She looked at Mystery Man for the first time with doubt. Why wasn't he letting her answer the door?
"Is there a back door?" He questioned, a stony expression in place.
Clara blinked. "Wha-what?"
"Back door? Do you have one?" He asked more impatiently.
"Yes, but why does that-"
He cut her off. "Lancashire, we need to go."
Clara stepped back. Mystery Man looked shocked at her movement. "Go where? I'm not going anywhere with you."
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Mystery Man's eyes turned to the doorway as if he could see the front door from here. "We just need to go. You and me."
"Why you and me?" She demanded, anger mixed with something she'd never felt before fuming in her belly.
"Because they saw us. I know they saw us," he said coolly, but Clara could see the vein in his forehead popping.
"Who the hell saw us?"
"They're chasing me," he said simply as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet.
"What? Who? Is this some trick you use to get girls? Because I've seen this on How I Met Your Mother," Clara said disbelievingly.
The Doctor braced one of his hands against the counter top and slapped his face with the other. Clara jumped as the cracking sound assaulted her ears. "The government. And now they'll be chasing you too. With fucking guns. Damn it," he said breathlessly, rubbing his free hand on his forehead.
She stared at him blankly. A ploy, it must be. Just something to get her in bed with him. She was thinking about it before, but now? No, hell no.
"The government?" She questioned, dragging the words out mockingly.
Mystery Man smiled shyly, nodding his head. The young woman took a deep breath, her mind running over his words. Clara honestly did not know why, but she believed him. She believed him when he said the government was chasing him. Which one of them was crazy? Him or her?
"What did you do?" Her tone was accusatory but weak, her breaths leaving her in puffs of smoke. She could believe him, but she didn't have to be nice about it.
"What makes you think I did anything to them?" He asked, throwing his hands up. Craig knocked on the door again, but Clara could barely hear it.
"Well, they're the ones chasing you with fucking guns, so it would kind of make sense that you did something to piss them off!" She shouted, her heart rising to her throat, shock beginning to settle in. Clara backed against a wall, holding a hand to her cheek. She was warm.
"Exactly! They," he pointed behind him toward the window in the kitchen, "are chasing me."
Clara scoffed as if this were old news and not completely, earth-shatteringly scary. "Well, I highly doubt they just decided to run after you for no reason!" The Doctor wouldn't meet her eyes and she laughed, an emotionless sound dripping from her tongue. "I knew it."
"Look, they'll be here soon. You need to come with me," he said desperately, his voice pleading with her. She looked at him shocked, like he were an alien asking her to follow him through the stars.
"But I don't know you," she tried to insist, but even the words sounded foreign to her, as if she'd spoken them in some language she never knew she learned and still now couldn't figure out how to translate it into English.
"Oh come on, Lancashire," he said softly, leaning his head closer to hers. Clara's breath caught in her throat. "We've been flirtatiously glancing at each other for a month. We're practically married." Clara looked at him, her eyebrow kinked in an unsatisfied way. Mystery Man sighed and opened his mouth again. "Look, it doesn't matter to them whether or not you know me. They saw us at the pub and they saw us just outside. They're the government, Lancashire, they don't need reason. They want what I have and will stop at nothing to get it. You think you matter to them? To the gun-wielding madmen?"
"How do I know you're not a madman?" Clara asked shakily.
Mystery Man bent down and bit his lip, holding back a laugh and looking up at her through the hair that had fallen over his eyes. "Sweetheart," the way he said that word made Clara forget that she was kind of angry at him and that there potentially were gun-wielding madmen after her. "I am a madman."
It was stupid, she knew it. They'd just officially met today, no matter how many times she found him staring at her. Or the other way around. She didn't even know his name. And yet, that was all it took to get her to agree. He must have sensed it because he nodded his head in the direction of her staircase. She turned to go upstairs, thinking over what she would bring. Not too much. That's what they always said in movies.
She hopped up the stairs, stopping at the top when she heard the knocks again. "What about-" but he cut her off once more.
"He'll get the hint eventually."
Clara didn't bother asking what he was going to do. He didn't appear too harmful. Yet again, gunmen were chasing him, so she didn't really know that for a fact. But something in the way he held like she was a flower made her sure of it.
Her bedroom was clean and she couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up her throat. It was if she had entered a dream and was just waiting for the wakeup call.
Patsy swiveled around her legs as she gathered a few bits and pieces. Bras, underwear, band t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants, two pairs of jeans, one pair of shorts, a jacket, and, for the hell of it, one sexy dress. It was deep blue, like cobalt, and fit her snugly enough that she'd never worn it anywhere. Craig had convinced her to buy it when they were roomies at uni for when she'd get asked out on a date. But that'd never happened, and although this was far from a date, she felt like Joan Wilder in Romancing the Stone or Bilbo from The Hobbit. Being swept up into some grand adventure. No thinking. Just doing.
Craig's voice shouted through the house, "Never mind, I remember we keep a spare."
Worry riddled her bones and she wondered who could have heard him.
Clara shoved all her clothes into her backpack's front pocket, piling her three favourite books on top along with her iPod and sunglasses. Then she ran to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Grabbing her deodorant, toothbrush, a bottle of toothpaste, the money she kept in an empty gum container, and her travel-sized comb, she dropped them into the front pocket and zipped the pack up.
What else did you need when you were running away with a madman?
Stripping off her currently soaked uniform, she changed into fresh, clean-smelling clothes. A tight, blue camisole and a warm Reading Festival jumper she'd gotten when she and Craig went last summer. She shoved her feet into a pair of jeans, having to roll them up due to her stumpy legs. Clara found her trainers and threw them on, lacing them up tight.
"Lancashire!" A voice called.
Standing up, she flung her backpack on and looked at Patsy. The cat purred, lying on her pillow in deep sleep. Not wanting to wake the thing, Clara bit back tears and exited her room.
When she reached the banister, a smile curved her lips. She imagined that if she were looking at herself in a mirror, she wouldn't see the normally weak, lame face. In its place would be a sinister smirk and a quirked eyebrow.
Clara flew down the stairs, stumbling slightly and falling into the warm grasp of Mystery Man. She chuckled, embarrassed.
"Just couldn't say no," Mystery Man mumbled, setting her upright. "Write him a letter." He said plainly, pointing to a desk in the lounge where a piece of paper and pen were shining.
Clara frowned at him and looked at the desk. Feeling Mystery Man's eyes on her, she turned to face him only to find him watching her, inspecting her.
She wandered to the desk and began writing:
Dear Craig,
I don't really know what to say or how to say what I don't know how to say, but I need to say something. I'm leaving, Craig. I don't know how long I'll be gone or if I'll come back at all. Gosh, that sounds horribly morbid. What I mean is I'm going on an adventure. Like we used to talk about doing when we were at uni. Remember? Like Ender? Or Ishmael? I love you, Craig. You're my brother and I will miss you. Take care of Patsy and tell Strax I quit. Don't be too sad now.
Love Clara
Clara kissed the paper for a brief moment, ignoring the odd look Mystery Man gave her, and put it back down, folding it neatly.
"Right, let's go!" Mystery Man shouted, grabbing Clara's hand and turning them around.
"Bye, Craig," Clara whispered to the one person she'd been able to trust since leaving her grandparents as she and Mystery Man fled her home, pushing the back door open and stepping into the night. The rain had stopped, but the grass was still wet.
"There's no gate," Clara warned when Mystery Man led her to the high, wooden fence.
He smirked at her, a cocky grin that melted Clara's soul. "Who needs gates?" Mystery Man bent down and put out his hands, motioning to them.
Shrugging, Clara stepped in them and grasped the edge of the fence. "Ready?" He asked. She couldn't see him, but she knew that smirk had spread into a full out smile.
Splinters were pinching Clara's skin, but she couldn't feel the pain or the blood spilling against her skin through the new burst of adrenaline pumping in her. She took a deep breath and looked at the clearing sky, the moon hanging like a white spotlight. One word spilled past her lips, one word that cemented her position in this run, in Mystery Man's life, "Yes."
A/N: We're getting a glimpse of Clara and The Doctor now. This is just set up, and yes, they did move a bit too fast. The title does not lie. But that's the point. She doesn't know him and vice versa. They'll be learning more and about each other as the story goes on. Craig still has a place here, don't worry. And so do many other characters, if you can take a guess at who they are.
Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Still don't have a schedule for this and I may never. School's back in swing, so I'm now fumbling around with projects and work.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Thanks again! - LoveIsATemple