Three and a half weeks later, Clara was out of bed and on her feet. The infection had disappeared and all that remained of the gashes were the scars. They were reminders of her status in life that would stay with her forever. When she was younger, her mother would have traced her fingers across the scars, and tell her that they were badges of honor, that she wasn't willing to become whatever her masters wanted her to be.
But her mother was dead now-overworked during the Time War. She wasn't around to tell her that any more. The fact was that her spirit was broken. After so many years, they had finally broken Clara Oswald. She was no longer the girl who looked for the chance to show everyone her attitude. Now, she just looked down and accepted her fate. There was nothing she could do to change her fate.
"Look down. Look down.
You'll always be a slave," she sang softly to herself.
"Look down. Look down.
You're standing in your grave."
Clara straightened her blue dress, the same kind that Martha and every other female servant in the house wore. It was made of a nice fabric that felt smooth against her skin, as opposed to the coarse fabrics she was used to. Clean clothes, good food, decent rest periods, and consistent hot baths were just a few things that the Doctor made sure that each and every one of his servants had, and that rule had extended to Clara.
She was supposed to be attached to the Doctor, in the background, listening to any cues he may drop as to what he needed. It wasn't the worst job that she had ever been assigned, but when she thought about what it entailed, it felt a little inhuman that she was going to be essentially the Doctor's personal servant.
Straightening her back, Clara walked out of her room and made her way to the Doctor's study where he was supposedly working with Vashtra to plan the Celebration Day ball that was coming up. She entered the study and found the Doctor sitting across from Vashtra, arguing over what type of food should be served on the night of the event.
"No, Doctor. It won't do to simply have the same hors d'oeuveres that are served at every other ball. Especially since Rassilon and his family have recently begun a new diet."
"I've already expressed how little interest I have in this whole thing, so why should I care what Rassilon doesn't like to eat?"
Vashtra would have said something else, but she turned her head to see Clara standing in front of the doorway. "Ah, Miss Oswald. How good of you to come so promptly. If you would be so kind as to go down to the kitchen and pick up the tray that Jackie should have ready?"
"Of course, Ma'am." Clara turned and walked to the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. She made her way to the kitchen, picking up the tray that had a fresh pizza, one half vegetarian, and one half piled with meats, olives, mushrooms, and pineapple.
"When you give it to 'em," Rose was telling Clara, "it'll look professional if you put the meat side in front of the Doctor, and the veggies in front of Vashtra. That way, they don't have to swap it around after you set it down."
Clara nodded her thanks and made her way back to the Doctor's study. She set the tray down on the table between the two, trying her best to ignore the argument going on between the two as she did so. The Doctor paused momentarily to thank Clara before asking her, quite politely, Clara had to note, to get a pot of coffee and a pot of tea from the kitchen. Clara obeyed, and with machine like efficiency, poured the Doctor and Vashtra's respective drinks.
"How do you take your coffee, sir," she asked her master.
"White with lots of sweetener, thank you."
"And you, Madame? Your tea?"
"Plain, thank you."
In a minute and a half, Clara handed the two of them their hot drinks, silently waiting for approval. Vashtra seemed quite pleased, but since Jackie knew what tea Vashtra liked, and Clara hadn't added anything to it, it wasn't surprising. The Doctor took an experimental sip and seemed to think about its flavor. For a minute, Clara was afraid he would throw the mug at her in a fit of rage. Instead, he looked at her calmly.
"I don't know what you did differently to this, Clara," he said, "but this has to be the best cup of coffee I've had in some time. Thank you." He raised his mug at her, almost as if her were toasting the servant. Clara couldn't help but smile a little bit. "I think that's it for now." The Doctor looked at the watch on his left wrist. "The servant lunch should be served in about thirty minutes. Tell you what, take the time 'til then off. I'll call you if I need you." Clara nodded silently and took the empty trays from the table before leaving for the kitchen. She had to admit, the Doctor was not as cruel or heartless as many of her former masters had been. He actually seemed to care.
While she sat with the other servants at the tables in the kitchen, she asked around about the Doctor. Nobody seemed to have anything negative to say about him.
"He's the kindest, most caring man I've ever known," Donna Noble, the fiery red-headed baker said.
"I've worked in a lot of houses as a cook," Jackie had told her. "When the Doctor brought me in, I didn't expect to get any respect from him. Nobody else gave me any, so why should he be any different? But the first day on the job, he sat me down, and poured me a cup of coffee. I should have done that for him, but he did it for me. He started asking questions about my life, where I'd come from, if I had any family. I told him I had a cousin, Ianto, who was also a servant. He asked if I'd like to see Ianto again, to which I replied yes, and two weeks later, the Doctor invited the family that owned Ianto over for a week, and he gave me that time off, on the condition I spent time catching up with Ianto. The Doctor didn't even know those people well, didn't spend any time over. He was mostly alone in his study. He just did it so I could see my cousin again."
Over and over, Clara heard stories of how the Doctor took the time to get to know each and every one of the workers in his house. Clara was finding it harder and harder to hate this man. He was just too nice. Finally, Clara received a call from the Doctor to come to his study. Clara made her way to the now familiar room and found the Doctor sitting in front of a pot of tea, apparently still warm, judging by the steam coming from the spout.
"Please, Clara, have a seat," he said, gesturing to the seat across from him. Clara obeyed and looked at the Doctor, who, surprisingly, stood to pour her a cup of tea. "Cream or sugar?"
"Just a little bit of each, thanks." Clara immediately regretted how she had spoken. The words had come out as though the Doctor were her peer, not her master as he truly was. The Doctor seemed to notice how ashamed she was, because when he handed her the tea, he placed a reassuring hand on top of hers. His skin was calloused, but not so much that it was abrasive against her own. Whatever he did in his spare time, the Doctor did it often enough to develop toughened skin on his hands.
"Don't feel like you have to follow social protocol, Clara. Not here. Not now." The Doctor sat back down. "For now, I want us to forget our social standings. Right now, I am simply a man, and you are simply a woman. No titles. Just people." Clara nodded her head in understanding. "Tell me about yourself, Clara."
"There isn't much to tell. I've been a slave most of my life. So were my parents. They were leather workers in the Time War."
"Did you do any work during the war?"
"A little bit, but I was sold a little bit after my mum died. She was just overworked, and the Time War was over, so they got rid of me."
"I too had... experiences during the Time War."
"What kind of experiences, if you don't mind my asking."
Where the Doctor had seemed open before, now he had closed himself off. For some reason, he didn't want to talk about it. "How are your accommodations?" he asked, changing the subject. "Are they enough."
"Yes, thank you." Clara had to restrain herself from asking any more about either the war, or the fact that the house she was now working in belonged to the late Williams family.
"The other day, I heard your surprise at finding out who this house belonged to." Clara froze. So he had heard her little outburst. The Doctor chuckled. "It's alright, Clara. I'm not mad about it. The fact is that I married the Williams' daughter. When they died, I inherited the estate. They were just such good friends that I keep their crest in the house."
"I see." Clara was at a loss after that. She didn't know where to go from there.
The Doctor stood up. "Clara, I know that you've probably undergone some very nasty treatment from some very nasty people, but believe me when I say that I understand all that you have undergone. I know that it seems strange, but it is true. You'll just have to believe me.
"When I bought you at the auction, I told you that I did it out of compassion. This is true also. You will be treated only with kindness here. Feel free to look around the entire house if you wish, but you will not find a single whip or beating rod; no tools used for punishment of any kind. Of course, this comes with the understanding that you won't cause any trouble, though I doubt that will be a problem from you."
"Of course not."
"Good. I just wanted you to know that. I treat everyone who works under this roof as if the Williams are still alive. You can leave now."
Clara set her tea down, untouched since the Doctor handed it to her, and moved to leave, but stopped just before her hand touched the handle. She turned and looked at the Doctor, who had his back to her as he looked out the window. His attire hadn't changed much since the auction, just the colors of the pants and shirt. Now it was a dark blue shirt with ebony jeans, but they were still boot cut over laced work-boots. With his jacket off and his hands clasped behind his back, Clara saw that the Doctor's broad shoulders were muscular underneath his shirt, and his arms were tight with strength. She blushed when she realized that she was imagining what his chest muscles looked like.
The Doctor turned to see that she was still there, causing Clara to avert her eyes downward, but not before she caught a glimpse of his very fit chest.
"Was there something else, Clara?" he asked. If he knew that Clara had been checking him out, he wasn't letting it on.
"If you don't mind me asking, I was wondering... why do you call yourself the Doctor? Surely you have a name."
"I do have a name. I just choose not to use it." The Doctor turned and looked back out the window. "Ever since I was a boy, I've sought to help people. My family started to call me the Doctor, and soon, the name stuck."
Clara nodded in understanding and left the study, allowing the Doctor to return to whatever thoughts he had been thinking.