Clara slipped the key Nina had given her out of her pocket and unlocked the door, planning on just going back in and taking another nap—she felt drained, despite not really having done much other than walk around and confront a possibly deadly alien. However, when she walked inside, she was surprised to see her flatmate sobbing on the sofa, a pile of tissues on the floor around her. Nina glanced up as the door creaked open, and offered a teary, "Hey."
"Hey," Clara replied slowly, closing the door behind her and coming to sit next to her on the couch. "Are you all right?"
"Do I look all right?" Nina sniffled, then laughed pathetically. "I've drank nearly a whole bottle of wine since you left. I am so sodding drunk and I still can't stop crying."
"What happened?" Kicking her shoes off under the table, Clara pulled her legs up onto the cracked leather seat and put an arm around Nina. "Is this something to do with your boyfriend?"
She let out a watery chuckle. "How'd you guess?" She readjusted herself on the cushion and sighed, dropping her head into her hands. "We had a huge argument. I don't know if we're still together, and now I feel like I'm going to be sick on top of all of it."
Clara bit her lip, thinking for a moment. Finally, she retracted her arm from around the other woman's shoulders and got off the couch. She held out her hand. "You know, whenever I'm having a rotten day, a hot shower always cheers me up."
Nina shuffled hesitantly on the sofa, adjusting her position so she was halfway to sitting normally, and appeared to be mulling it over. "All right," She mumbled. "That sounds pretty nice." She took Clara's offered hand and stumbled to her feet, swaying slightly.
Clara caught her and helped her drunk flatmate down the hall and to the tiny bath at the far end. Nina loosened her vice-like grip on Clara's arm and practically fell over, grabbing onto the doorframe to remain upright. "I got this," She slurred, waving one hand towards Clara. "Go away."
Clara offered up a small smile and turned to go back down the hall. She heard the door slam and the sound of staggering footsteps, before the shower started up. Briefly, she wondered if letting someone that drunk take a shower was a good idea, but at least if she got sick it would be easy to clean up. After stepping briefly back into the living room to clean up the pile of tissues, Clara retired to her room and once again pulled the pocket watch from its spot nestled against her hip in her trousers. She fell back onto the bed, her hair spread across the mattress, and traced the etchings with one finger, marveling at how, even though she had thought before that it didn't work, it seemed to pulse gently beneath her touch. Thinking it almost exactly matched the four-beat pulse of a Time Lord's hearts, Clara clutched it tightly in her grasp, dropped her hands to her chest, and once again fell asleep.
Craig reclined in the cracked sofa he and Sophie had brought from his old flat, rocking a sleeping Lila in one arm as the other held the Doctor's letter open in front of him. Like he'd told that girl, Clara, he'd gotten it a few months ago with absolutely no context, crammed into his mailbox with too many stamps and loopy penmanship it took him an irritatingly long amount of time to decipher. Still, in his confusion he'd read it many times over. Now, as he hummed the last traces of a lullaby stuck in his head and listened to the Time Lord-turned-human blundering around upstairs. He found himself reading the note again, even though he'd practically memorized it by then.
Craig! Hello, Craig! I hope this letter works. I don't quite understand your post system. I would get Clara to help me, but she's not here right now so I think I'll just make do on my own. Probably. If this letter reaches you very far in the future, I probably messed up. Or a long time in the past. If you aren't Craig, please burn this letter.
But if you are Craig, hello! Again. This is a very important letter, because I think I might eventually need your help. It's hard to explain. Bit timey-wimey. Don't ask questions! There's a chance I'm going to one day show up on the streets with a companion (hopefully) and I'll be human and have no real memories, and that's when I'll need you to help. I've purchased the flat above yours in case that happens. I might—
The next part was several lines of writing which had been heavily scribbled over in the same ink. Craig had tried to decipher it at one point, figuring it might be important, but whatever it had said had evidently been useless enough for the Doctor to practically rip the paper crossing it out. The next part it picked up at was completely random, as if he'd just removed a chunk of the letter and forgotten to rewrite it.
-don't let me eat pears. I hate pears. I think. Don't let me eat them anyways. Actually, you know, now that I think about it, I think Clara's the one who did all the official stuff with the flat. She seemed rather confused about it, couldn't figure out why I needed her help with a flat. Anyways, that's definitely all you need to know. If this ever happens, I'm counting on you, Craig! Wait hold on, it was Amelia who bought the flat for me. That's right.
-The Doctor
Upon finishing the rereading of the letter once again, Craig set it down and rubbed his fingers in circles against his temples. He wondered if the most important section of the letter was the part that had been scribbled out—the part that had probably contained the most crucial information. He figured it probably was.
Craig was distracted then by the sound of a loud shout from the hall, followed by Sophie's high-pitched squeal of surprise. Lila awoke in his arms and started wailing, so he jumped to his feet and ran to the door to see what was going on.
His wife was standing just inside the door, the pink puffball of her keys still hanging limply in one hand. She was staring up the stairs, eyes wide. Craig followed her gaze to see the Doctor (John?), standing on the landing, his hair in a mess and an electric toothbrush in his hand. Craig wondered why he kept doing that.
When Sophie saw him open the door, she turned to look at him. "What's the Doctor doing here?" She asked, sounding confused.
The aforementioned jumped down a few steps. "Hello!" He said brightly. "Sorry, the Doctor? Doctor who? No one else is 'round."
Craig grimaced and grabbed a hold of Sophie's hand. "There's been a slight development," He hissed to her under the sound of Lila's upset screaming. "Come on, I'll explain it to you inside. And don't call him the Doctor."
He saw Sophie shake her head in confusion, but she followed him inside and took Lila from him, cooing softly to the crying baby until she quieted and burbled happily, reaching up towards the strands of blonde hair that framed Sophie's face. She chuckled, bouncing the baby on her hip and looking towards Craig. "So…" She started uneasily, giving him one of her trademark uncomfortable smiles, "What, exactly, is going on?"
"It's a long story." Craig heaved a sigh and sat back down on the couch. "This might take a little while."
A/n: Hey! Sorry, this one's a little shorter, but I kind of needed to plow through that one, so it'll get moving again soon. I figured I might as well finish this one because it's been a while since I updated. Sorry! Anyways, if you liked it/have opinions/suggestions/thoughts, please drop a review in! I'd love to read your feedback, and it really motivates me to finish. Thanks!