Clara involuntarily stiffened as she recognized the sharp sound—she'd never met anyone but the Doctor who just constantly kept knocking until someone came to the door.

Craig, apparently, recognized it as well, because he rolled his eyes, laughed and said, "One moment."

Clara watched from her place at the table as he crossed to the door and pulled it open, revealing the Doctor—No, John, she once again had to remind herself—standing mid-knock behind it, both fists still raised. He dropped them and a smile broke across his face. "Ah! Craig! Can I borrow a bit of flour?"

Craig merely sighed and crossed his arms. "John, you already borrowed some. What happened to it?"

John spread his hands and brought them back together with a sharp clap. "Ah, yes," He replied, pointing at Craig as he did so. "Yes, that flour. Well, you see, I was almost done, and then there was a rather lovely bird on the windowsill that I wanted to go look at, and then when I came back I realized I'd accidentally put the biscuits into the oven upside down." He made a face. "It's quite messy, but I'll clean it up later."

Clara found herself listening to his explanation with a small smile. It was funny how he had just taken a huge part of himself away and yet he was still so much the same.

Craig chuckled (though it sounded half exasperated) and he said, "Man, you told me that flour was for dinner. You were making biscuits for dinner?"

"Yes. No. No? I don't know. Can I have some more?" John's hands seemed to continuously have a mind of their own as he spoke, adding little flutters to his words seemingly without him noticing half the time.

"Just order something, for God's sake," Craig responded, shaking his head. "You don't eat biscuits for dinner."

"Well yes, I would, but it seems I've forgotten to pay my phone bills, so the phone doesn't work." John's brow crinkled in a way that suggested another hole in his memory that needed to be filled in.

Craig seemed to sense that too, and replied quickly with, "Yes, yes that was about a week ago, sorry. You had forgotten to, I said I'd help you with that but then you never reminded me."

"Yes, yes, you're right." The former Time Lord still looked confused, but he seemed to accept the made-up detail as memory and moved on. "Then maybe could I borrow your phone? To order something?"

Sophie, from her place at the end of the table, took that moment to stand up and join Craig by the door. "You're welcome to eat with us tonight, John," She invited, gesturing behind her to the set table. "We've got plenty."

His eyes lit up. "That would be lovely!" His eyes settled for the first time on Clara, as if he'd only just noticed she was there. "Oh! Oh, um. Hello, Clara."

The way he said her name sounded so close to right that she could almost believe he knew who she was. But no, it was with a touch too much uncertainty, and a bit of unfamiliarity—two things never in his voice when he said her name. Still, she gave him a smile in response. "Hello, John," She replied quietly. "Thanks for the flowers."

Evidently, he hadn't been expecting her to say that. His entire face flushed such a deep scarlet that, had they been under better conditions, she would have burst out laughing. "Oh! Well, you know, you helped me find my flat and all. So I wanted to say thanks."

"Well, they're lovely."

He returned with a small, almost shy-looking smile as he sat down at the empty chair across from her. "I thought you might like them."

Might as well see what else he remembers. "Yeah," She replied nonchalantly, though a tiny grin tugged at the corners of her lips. "They're actually my favorite flower. How'd you know?"

"Ah, you know." He suddenly seemed very determined to busy himself with a plate provided to him by Craig. "You just… seemed like the kind of person who'd like white roses."

She smirked, but his eyes were on his food and he didn't notice it. "Well, you were right. They're wonderful."

The dinner lapsed into quiet after that, broken only when Sophie tried to get Alfie to eat some broccoli and he shouted "NO!" and pushed his plate off the table. Sophie groaned in a way that suggested this was not the first time, and pushed back her chair to pick up the plastic dish that had clattered to the ground, dumping its contents spaghetti-first onto the hardwood floor. The doorbell buzzed a moment later.

Craig shook his head as he stood up. "Really? Who's that, then? Were you expecting anyone, Soph?"

"No, I don't think so."

Clara took a sip of water and watched as he went to go check who was outside. Whoever it was had pressed the intercom buzzer from outside, so Craig left the front door to their flat open as he went to check the door to the house. A lock clicked in the hallway and conversation wafted through the doorway a few moments later.

It was hard to hear the exact words being said, but Clara could clearly hear Craig's voice, tone raised questioningly. That was normal, and she was about to go back to dinner, when the stranger's voice floated in and she almost dropped her fork. The smooth, sweet, low sound was too familiar—it was one of the aliens.

"Clara?"

Her heart was hammering in her chest, so hard she didn't hear John the first time he spoke. The second time he said her name, she did drop her fork, and forced herself to glance over at him, though half her attention was focused on the half-audible conversation between Craig and the alien. "Mm?" It sounded forcibly nonchalant as she tried her best to pick up the fork again like nothing had happened.

"Are you okay?" He looked concerned, his hazel gaze meeting her shaky brown one intensely.

"F-fine." She set down the fork and took a tiny sip of water. "Why?"

"You went all pale all of a sudden," He replied. "And you dropped your fork."

"I'm fine." Her voice sounded slightly steadier as she set down her glass and pushed away from the table. "One moment."

She could see him watching her closely as she crept towards the open doorway and pressed herself against the wall. He looked confused, but he didn't say anything about it. Clara inched closer to the opening, trying to pick up what was being said.

"I think you've got the wrong house, mate." It was Craig's voice, accompanied by a small chuckle, the tone of lightness overly forced. "I've got no idea what you're on about."

"Don't be ridiculous." This time, the sweet, fluid voice of the creature was underlined by something sharper—almost a hiss trailing after its words. "You reek of it. This residence reeks of it! I demand entrance."

Something clicked. With a feeling of absolute dread, Clara remembered the gun-like weapons which the aliens carried. They must have realized she was connected to the Doctor, and weren't going to let anything else slip through their fingers. She bolted away from the wall just as the door slammed and Craig raced in, eyes wide and chest heaving.

"Get the kids!"

Sophie looked up, eyebrows raised, but when her eyes fell on her husband, the new plate for Alfie that she was holding fell back to the counter. "What's going on?"

"Go!" Craig skidded forward and scooped Lila up out of her high chair, despite the little girl's shrieks of shock. "We need to get out. Now!"

Something heavy hit the door. Sophie screamed and dove for Alfie, but the Doctor had already jumped up and grabbed the child out of his chair. He yelled in protest, but quieted as he was passed to Sophie. She held him close to her, dazedly standing still as Craig slammed the door to their flat shut and ran past her, grabbing her hand as he went. They had started off down the hall towards the back door, but Clara was frozen, the thudding against the door echoing the pounding of her heartbeat.

She remembered exactly what that gun had looked like. She remembered the smooth barrel, the rest all cruel, sharp angles. She remembered it perfectly—after all, it was hard to forget something that had been aimed straight at your face, so close you could smell the chemicals inside the weapon. That thing could blow up a door with one shot, so what was the alien playing at? Did it want to scare them off and then come inside, hoping to find the Doctor waiting to fight them?

But he wouldn't stay. He didn't know who he was, and he didn't remember the aliens, so he wouldn't stay. They didn't know that, though. What would happen if they came inside and no one was there? Burn the house down? Shoot them all? She didn't want to know, but suddenly her feet were rooted to the spot as her head roared with panic.

A hand closed around hers. A rough, familiar hand that wrapped its fingers through hers a little too certainly and shook her slightly. She snapped out of her thoughts and met the Doctor's eyes, seeing her own fear echoed in their depths. The Doctor was afraid. That alone terrified her more than anything. But when he opened his mouth, his voice sounded almost normal, albeit strangely shaky. "Clara, what are you doing? Run!"

She made an incoherent noise and looked at him uncomprehendingly. The hand closed tighter around hers and he bolted for the hallway, pulling Clara in tow. The familiar sensation snapped her out o it and she broke into a run after him. They skidded down the dark hallway towards the square of faint light where the back door had been left ajar. John, still ahead of her, yanked her through the door and they spilled out onto soft grass, their feet stumbling over each other's in their haste.

Craig and Sophie, holding their children, were across the street under a tree, huddled together. Clara and the Doctor had just gotten out to about the middle of the road when there was a massive crash from behind them. Both stopped in their tracks and turned. From inside the house, the sounds of crashing echoed out into the quiet evening air, followed closely by a sudden, intense silence. Clara felt her heart hammering in her chest as they stood there, hands still linked, unsure of what to do next. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, just as another noise came from the emptied house. It was a bone-jarring screech of anger that was, without a doubt, not of human origin. Moments later, a soft glow began to pool from the windows. Clara just had time to scramble backwards, pulling the Doctor with her, before the entire house erupted in a column of ash.

A/n: Merry Christmas! Or happy holidays, if that's not what you celebrate. I wanted to get this one up today, even though it's pretty late and I'm really tired, so I hope you like it! Feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated, as it keeps me writing. It only takes a few seconds, and I would love to read anything you have to say!