A/n: A thousand thank yous to those reading and reviewing!
She was dreaming of that night, but it wasn't the fire or the wreckage she was focusing on. It was what wasn't there. The lack of his voice on the radio, the lack of his body stumbling from the ruins, the lack of his arms around her. She remembered falling still for the first time since it'd all began. She remembered falling from her own aircraft, flanked by a few of the strongest who'd chosen to follow her into the fiery sky. She remembered the bite of the rocky ground as she was shoved to her knees, the pull of her shoulders as her arms were restrained behind her, the dig of someone's kneecap into her lower back. Her face was shoved into the gravel so hard that she'd felt her skin tear and rip. She hadn't cried then. She hadn't cried as she dug the gravel out of her shredded skin, alone in a dark cell. She hadn't even cried when she missed his funeral. But she cried as she dreamt of it.
She woke herself up this time. She must've been quietly weeping, because Vastra was snoring gently in her bed, unperturbed. She pried her wet cheek off her pillow and sat up slowly. She'd just shakily reached for the glass of water on the floor beside her bed when she heard someone clear their throat.
At first, the sight of him illuminated by the red safety lights made her freeze in terror. She only knew that he wasn't supposed to be there, that he was dangerous, that he could hurt her—but then she noticed the distance he kept from her door, the way his eyes were wide and echoing with something that looked like curious concern, the tense posture of his body. He wasn't looking at her like a predator would. He was looking at her like he was just as uneasy with the situation as she was.
"You were crying."
She pulled her arm back up, forgetting the water. She set her hands in her lap and stared at him for a few long moments, unsure how to react. He waited patiently.
"Yes," she finally agreed. Her voice was slow and measured. She paid rapt attention to every shift in his posture and his facial expression. She was having a hard time understanding his intentions, and that made him impossible to control or even predict.
His eyes moved from hers. She watched him scan his eyes down her body, but he didn't seem to be doing it for pleasure. There was no lust in his eyes, only deep interest. She didn't think there was much interesting about her at all. She wondered what he'd do when he realized that, too.
"Why?" He finally asked. He lifted his hand to his face a moment later. She watched him press the heel of his hand to his forehead with chagrin. "No, not—why. I know why. Why did I ask why? It's John. He's why you're here. He's why you've come."
Clara sat up straighter. She felt her heart clench at the sound of his name.
"John?" She asked sharply. She watched him slowly lower his hand. "Did you know John?"
"Yes. He used to write to me in here. He would write the most beautiful things about you. I wondered…but now I see. At least some things."
She forgot to be cautious or afraid. She swung her legs off the bed and stood. She padded her way slowly towards the door. She peeked at him through the open, barred window.
"What do you mean?" She demanded. "Who are you?"
Did he love me? He says he did. But…did he? I want to believe he did. I want to believe he loved me enough to forgive me.
"How did you get here?" She asked instead. "Aren't all the doors locked?"
He smiled, but it was sad and sarcastic and not at all happy.
"You ask a lot of questions, don't you? I suppose it's how you learn to manipulate."
It was an offhanded comment. Clara went up in arms anyway.
"I do not manipulate." She bit out, slowly and dangerously. That word always made her heart drop. It was a byproduct of her horrid court sessions.
He lifted his hands defensively.
"It was a compliment, Clara. It wasn't an insult. And as for how I got here—I can go anywhere I want in this prison. Except out." He paused. She watched his eyes dart from her mouth to her eyes. "I wanted to ask you something. But you were asleep."
She reached up and pushed her hair back from her face, overwhelmed and confused.
"Ask me something? You've been here for like twenty years. What would you want to ask me?"
"Still need to make that phone call?"
Clara froze. She eyed him uncertainty.
"What?"
"The phone call. I heard you were asking about phone calls. I was coming to see if you still needed some assistance." He explained.
She was caught between all his unanswered questions and the desire to yell yes! She wanted—needed—to know how he knew John, but she also needed—and wanted—to phone Danny. She wasn't sure she trusted him, either. But she didn't really trust anyone anymore.
"Maybe I do." She finally said, slowly and suspiciously. "How are you going to help me?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a narrow hand-held radio. It'd been built upon and dismantled, though. Enough that Clara could tell from the dim lighting.
"Open the door and take you to the phones." He replied easily. "Normally you can only phone numbers that have been preapproved, but I know a hack around the monitoring system."
Clara stared.
"I-I haven't got money on my pin," she admitted. She tried not to let her disappointment seep into her tone.
He arched a bushy eyebrow almost coyly.
"I do."
Clara hesitated. She knew what she wanted—what she wanted was to take him up on it immediately—but she was afraid of so many things. Of him, of getting caught. He seemed to read that on her face.
"Clara, Clara, Clara," he sang. He made her name sound almost musical. "I never would've thought you were one for fear. How long did you get?"
She licked her lips. "A long time."
He nodded. He almost looked sympathetic for a moment, but it passed.
"We won't get caught. But if we did, what exactly do you have to lose? They've already taken your freedom and your control. But there are ways to take it back."
She fiddled with her fingers.
"Why should I trust you?" She asked quietly.
"You shouldn't. You should trust yourself. You'd never put yourself in a dangerous situation, and even if you did, you're more than capable of getting yourself out of it." He replied coolly.
"You give me loads more credit than I deserve." Clara scoffed.
He pressed his lips together, like her words displeased him.
"I'll think you'll come to realize I give you just enough."
Clara observed him for a moment longer, and then, with a rush of abandon, she nodded.
"All right."
He approached her door, that device held ready in his hand. He looked up at her through the bars before he did anything. Their eyes locked and he held that gaze seriously, intently. It made the back of Clara's neck tingle, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant. She swallowed dryly.
"If I do you this favor, you've got to do me a favor." He told her.
That shattered the moment. Clara grimaced and stepped back, her nose scrunched with disgust. She gestured around her furiously.
"Seriously?!" She snapped, before she could stop herself. She felt her heart racing with anger. "All this for a blowjob?!"
He cocked his head to the side, amused.
"You really are a wee little egomaniac." He commented. "Absolutely beautiful, but mad."
Her vision was dancing with rage.
"Perhaps there will be a day when I'm desperate enough to service cross criminals, but that day is not today, and for the record, any oral sex from me would be worth far more than a phone call!"
"I'm sure it would. That's why that's not what I was asking for."
"Yes! And another thing, it's inherently creepy that you—wait."
She blinked at him. His upper lip was curled up with dark humor, his arms crossed over his chest. Clara exhaled slowly.
"So…you weren't going to ask…"
"No. That's not the favor I was looking for. But it does say a lot about you and your impression of me that you thought that was the only thing I could possibly want from you."
"Oh." She looked down and shut her eyes briefly in chagrin. When she looked back up, he was watching her patiently.
"But it is a dual favor. And you won't understand either of them just yet."
She regarded him warily.
"Okay," she said slowly. "What?"
He stared at her, and for the briefest moment, Clara caught an expression of need in his gray eyes. But it passed over quickly.
"I need your help and I need you to let me touch you."
She reared back, but he continued before she could chastise him again.
"Not in a sexual way. Just your face. Just for a moment." He explained. He sounded too keen to sound embarrassed. Clara furrowed her expression.
"You want to…touch…my face? Like…my cheeks and forehead and nose?" She clarified slowly.
He nodded once, firmly.
"Yes. And I want you to be okay with it."
She shook her head, bemused.
"I—" she stopped, unsure what to say. "What's the thing you need help with?"
His lips curled up. He pressed a button on the strange device in his hand and it lit up green.
"Mutiny." He responded.
Clara's eyes widened as the door to her cell clicked open.
She could feel the Doctor's eyes on her as she brought the phone to her ear.
He'd been quiet the entire walk to the phones, keeping an almost suspicious distance between them. She'd stared at him from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge him to see if pressing him for information would be safe, but in the end she decided she didn't yet know him enough to risk it. She was afraid to set him off by asking too many questions. She had no idea what he'd do if he was set off. She had no idea who he even was.
She paused before she pressed Danny's number in. She kept her voice lowered so even he had to lean closer to make out what she was saying.
"I don't just routinely cause mutinies. It's not a hobby. What happened before…there were circumstances. Regardless of what the judge may have felt, I'm not a narcissistic threat to public safety. And I'm not in the business to cause rebellions anymore. I'm…reformed."
She'd stolen the word from Vastra. She could only hope she was a bit more truthful than she'd been.
The Doctor didn't seem bothered by her words.
"I was certain you'd say that. That's why I'm not asking for you to agree to cause a mutiny right this moment. I'm just asking you to agree you'll help me."
She shifted, frustrated.
"Okay, but how exactly do you want me to help you? Because I'm not interested in doing what I did in the RAF again. I won't cause any more deaths. I won't hurt any more people."
He nodded. Clara was unsure if he'd truly grasped her seriousness or not.
"I know. I just want you to listen to what I have to say. That's how I want you to help me. Just listen. Just see me."
Clara felt tired.
"Can't you just tell me what you want to say right now."
"No."
She lowered the phone and sighed.
"Why not?"
He stared. She waited.
"Because I want you to promise you'll stick around to hear it. However long it takes."
She could feel her mind spinning as it pulled apart his words. Her fingers felt weak and she had to quickly tighten them to keep the receiver from slipping out of her grasps. She was hesitant.
"So…you're asking for my…company?" She asked quietly.
He averted his eyes for the first time since she'd met him. He stared down at his feet.
"You could say that, sure." He said gruffly. He cleared his throat and looked up, glaring fiercely this time. "Finish your call. I haven't got all day."
She sighed.
"Fine," she grumbled. "But you're looking for help in the wrong place. I can't even help myself."
"Once again, I think you'll find you're wrong about that."
Danny answered after only one ring.
"Clara?"
She almost wept at the sound of his voice.
"Danny, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Hey, it's all right. It's fine. Are you okay? Clara, how are they treating you?"
"I missed his funeral."
"I know. I'm sorry. I tried to get you out just for that day, but they wouldn't listen. They fired me for asking. Very paranoid about where people's allegiances lie these days."
"I forgot to tell him I loved him that morning."
Danny was quiet. Clara turned so her back was to the Doctor, horrified that he was hearing these things and seeing her this way. She longed for Danny so deeply and completely that she would've done anything to have him there with her.
"Oh, Clara," he whispered. She listened to him take a shaky breath. "He knew. He always knew."
She wasn't so sure of that, and that was part of the reason her heart hurt so terribly. The thought of him dying with the thought that she might've sent him to his death…it ripped her apart from the inside out. It was what kept waking her up at night.
"Are you okay?" She asked Danny. "No one questioned you, right? They believed I knocked you unconscious?"
"Fully and completely. The concussion helped." He admitted lightly.
"Con—?!"
"It's fine. I did it myself to make the story more believable. Although…Clara, I wish we hadn't done that. I wish I'd gone in there with you."
Deep down, it was what she selfishly wanted too. But the words made her react defensively.
"Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You don't deserve to be here."
"And you do?"
"Without a doubt."
"Rubbish."
"No. It's not rubbish. I—I killed eleven people, Danny. I turned over two hundred against their superior officers. I shattered eleven families. All for John, and in the end, he…" she stopped. She bowed her head. It took extraordinary effort to keep speaking. "I deserve all I'm getting. You deserve to be home and safe."
"Maybe home doesn't exist when you're gone."
She shut her eyes, overcome with sorrow. Her nose seared with oncoming tears.
"Danny…"
"No. I don't want—I didn't mean for us to have this conversation again. And I suppose it doesn't even matter now, anyway." His voice was thick.
For the first time, Clara risked a glance back at the Doctor. He was standing a respectful distance away, but she remembered that every minute she was on the phone was costing him. She turned back around.
"I need to go," she said apologetically. "But come visit me. Last night I got a VO number for you. You can go online and book a time to come. Please, will you?"
Clara could hear the unrestrained love in his voice.
"Of course. As soon as possible. Hang on, let me get a pen." She listened to him shuffle something about. "All right. What's the number?"
She trilled the number off quickly, worried the line would die on her. But it waited until the end to do that.
"Love you." He whispered.
She was parting her lips to reply when the connection split. She stared blankly at the machine, horrified. It took her a moment to realize the Doctor had pressed down on the switchhook, ending her call.
"Any longer and I wouldn't have enough to buy anything on canteen this week."
Clara blinked against the burning in her eyes. She spun around to face him, her gaze hot with accusations.
"I would've paid you back. You didn't have to hang up on him."
"It's better to end calls before you say the L word. Before you make promises you can't keep." He practically spat.
Clara's eyes were welling with tears. They were mostly from fury.
"'I love you' is not a promise." She bit, her words slow and dangerous. "It's an admission."
"You're wrong, bonny girl." He sneered. His tone was almost condescending. Clara despised it. "And one day you'll see that."
She was so cross she was shaking. She knew part of her anger was simply from the overwhelming nature of getting to talk to Danny for the first time in months, but she felt comfortable to blame the Doctor anyway. She waited tensely in front of her cell door for him to open it, but he made no moves to. Clara looked up at him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. They slipped and fell to her sides when she saw the look on his face. Expectant.
"What?" She demanded, and then she remembered the first part of their deal. She felt blood surge to her cheeks. "Oh," she mumbled. She shuffled closer to him begrudgingly. She lifted her eyes from the floor and looked into his. "Just my face?"
"Of course." He affirmed.
She inhaled shortly and then exhaled. "I still think it's weird."
"That's okay. It might be. I haven't decided yet."
She moved even closer to express her quiet permission. She stared determinately over his shoulder as he lifted his hands. She eyed a crack on the wall like she could mend it with her eyes. His rough fingertips touched her cheeks for a moment—and then he quickly retracted them, like he'd been burned. Clara averted her eyes back to his, partially curious. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he reached forward once again. His fingertips stroked her cheeks gently with the lightest of touches, and at first all Clara could feel was all the blood racing underneath her skin. And then he traced his index finger down her nose, caressed a thumb over her lips, stroked her hair back from her forehead. She felt an unexpected and wholly inappropriate surge of arousal, one that made her blink rapidly in surprise. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from jumping back from him.
"Oh," he said softly.
Clara looked around them nervously, looking everywhere but his eyes. His fingers continued to trail curiously over her skin. She could feel her heart racing.
"What?" She asked. Her voice was a bit higher than she would've liked.
"I like the feel of you." He admitted. There was wonder in his tone, but frustration, too. Clara swallowed hard.
"The…feel of me?"
She looked down and tried to follow the movements of his fingers, but she ended up going slightly cross-eyed as he moved his finger back to the bridge of her nose. He hummed with warm realization.
"You were right. There's nothing wrong with your nose. Not at all."
She was red-faced and gaping as he opened her door, turned on the spot, and strolled away.
She could feel her skin tingling.
There was an intimacy in whatever had just transpired that she couldn't express in words, so she decided she wouldn't speak of it.
She slept for perhaps three hours, John's watch pressed to her cheek and Meditations tucked in beside her, and then the lights flickered on and everyone woke. She was sluggish and quiet the entire morning, too tired to even obsess over the path of the Doctor's fingertips as she had that night for hours before she finally fell asleep.
"You look horrid. Did you sleep at all last night?"
Clara looked up from her breakfast pack. She'd been given two tea bags by accident, something that had made her grin like a fool despite her exhaustion. She turned a teabag between her index and middle fingers as she contemplated how to respond to Vastra.
"Not really." She admitted. She held up the bag. "May I use your kettle?"
Vastra inclined her head politely. "Of course."
Clara grabbed the hard, plastic mug she'd finally been given and crossed over to the kettle. She carried it to the sink and filled it, her mind circuiting back to the Doctor as she stared at the water. She kept blushing as she did and she could only pray she'd forget it. It was difficult to when it'd been the first time she'd been genuinely touched since she'd been arrested. She was sure after a few days it'd lessen in her mind.
"Don't forget to check your private cash balance today." Vastra reminded her.
Jenny had tried to help her make her phone call the previous night, but when they'd asked about her balance, the screw said her money had yet to be posted. He said it should be up by sometime today, which was a huge relief, because Clara needed another bar of soap and some more toothpaste. A few different food goods wouldn't hurt, either. And she was hoping to get her own electric kettle, an extra pair of socks, and (of course) a lot more tea bags. She'd told her dad to just put most her bank account contents in, as she was going to die in here most likely, so if everything had posted she was going to buy some sugar, too. She'd never been so excited for shopping in her life.
"I won't." She crossed back over and set the kettle on the ring. She turned as the water heated. "You know my friend that I told you about? Danny?"
"Mmhmm."
"He's coming to visit me."
She smiled at Vastra. That smile quickly slid from her face as Vastra frowned.
"How exactly is that? You haven't filed a form or phoned him." She reminded her.
Clara froze.
"Oh—I…yes, you're right. I mean he's going to come visit me, once I phone him and give him a visiting number." She backtracked.
Vastra looked at her suspiciously for a moment. She turned down to her container of dry cereal.
"Well, don't get your hopes up, Oz. People aren't always so reliable when you ask them to visit." She commented dryly.
But Clara wasn't worried at all.
"This man is."
She carried a piece of paper and a pen around with her for the rest of the day. She was keeping a list of things she wanted to talk to Danny about, things she wanted to say. She didn't want to forget a thing, since she didn't know how often she'd get to see him. Jenny and Vastra teased her lightly about it at lunch, but it wasn't mean-spirited.
She sat down near the back of the field during their outdoors hour, that piece of paper pressed against her thighs. She spun the pencil between her fingers as she reread the things she'd listed out, mulling over what else to add. She was so absorbed in it that she forgot to look for the Doctor. But it didn't matter; he didn't forget to look for her.
"Hi." He greeted.
His tone was stiff and formal. Clara looked up at him, squinting some from the sun.
"Hello," she replied, somewhat uneasily.
He gestured towards the thin grass beside her.
"I'm going to sit?"
Clara set the pencil down on top of the paper.
"Are you asking or telling me?"
"Asking. Telling. Both." He clamped his lips shut. Clara wondered how long it'd been (before her) that he'd had an actual conversation with a human being. She wondered if she'd ever get the chance to ask him. After a moment of thought, she nodded.
He sank down beside her rather ungracefully, a mess of long limbs and creaking knees. She shifted the paper onto her other side, just out of his line of sight. She looked up at him. He seemed intent on examining the grass. Clara struggled to break the awkward silence.
"Thank you for the phone call." She blurted. She cleared her throat and looked down at her lap. "It was really kind of you."
He made a noncommittal sound. She waited for him to speak.
"I could tell you really needed it." He finally admitted.
Clara turned and looked up at him. She studied his eyes.
"I did." She agreed. She watched him look back down at his hands. "How did you know John?"
He forcibly ripped up blades of grass.
"If I tell you, it might change the way you feel about him."
Clara took a steadying breath before she replied.
"Felt about him." She corrected. Even if it made her chest sting with pain. "He's gone. And nothing can change the love I've already felt."
He shifted and turned to look at her. He seemed disbelieving, but he began to speak anyway.
"He was my military in." He admitted.
Clara pressed for more, even though her heart was sinking. Even though she was already beginning to understand.
"Your military in?" She pressed.
"Yes. I got all my intelligent information about the military from him. We were part of the same organization. The Time Lords. We all went by the same code name the Doctor. Had our own numbers for each section of the government and society we were involved in. He was eleven, the military."
Clara's gut reaction was to deny it. She shook her head before she could think it through.
"No. I was his commanding officer. He wasn't…rebelling against me."
"In some ways, no, he wasn't. But in the strictest sense? He was. Every single day."
Clara turned. She stared down at that white paper. Her throat was narrowing dangerously. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly before she asked her next question. Her words were laced with dread.
"Was…was there a man named Danny?"
"No."
Her posture visibly relaxed. She exhaled slowly. Her head was throbbing and she couldn't wrap her head around it.
"What did your organization do? What was your purpose?" A thought occurred to her suddenly. She thought about the Air Commodore's words. About how they'd picked John very carefully. "Did the army know about this?"
"It was theorized among us that they must have." The Doctor answered. "And as for our organization…well, that's a conversation for another time. But all you need to know is that we're feared and despised by the government. And that our main objective is to protect the human race. We weren't the bad guys, Clara. Not anymore than you were."
She meant to press for more information—to find out exactly what kind of information John had been supplying—but a sudden, horrid idea slammed into her. She was breathless from the pain of it.
"Oh, God," she whispered. She could feel nausea rising within her. In her mind, she was seeing a quick montage of all the times John had asked her curious questions about her privileged information, all the times she'd thought it was just pillow talk. She bowed forward, so her forehead was almost touching her knees. Her words were pained whispers. "He was using me. He…oh, I think I'm going to be sick—"
She started to scramble to her feet, but the Doctor reached over quickly. He locked his hand around her forearm and gently tugged her back down. She felt dizzy and unfocused as he reached up and grasped her face gently. He redirected her gaze to him.
"No." He said firmly, angrily. "No. Not for a fucking second. He loved you."
She stared at him, wide-eyed and horrified.
"But…he asked me for information so much, I never even realized—"
"It didn't even start like that, Clara. He genuinely loved you. I've got the letters to prove it. I'll—I'll give them to you. Okay? You can have them. You can see. I'll have to teach you our code, but once you read them, you'll know. His feelings were real. Christ, he was the only genuine person I ever knew. I can't stand to think of anyone doubting that."
She was terribly confused, and all at once, all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed. She felt even worse when he lowered his hands from her face.
"But why didn't he tell me?" She asked quietly. "I could've protected him somehow. I could've helped. Why didn't he trust me?"
The Doctor was looking at her strangely. She didn't understand and she was tired of being confused, tired of feeling so lost.
"He trusted you more than anyone else on the earth." He told her patiently.
"How do you know that?" She snapped. "Did he write that in a sodding letter? Because he could've lied. Like he lied to me."
She watched the Doctor smile, oddly entertained by her sorrow. She wanted to smack him.
"No. I know it because he chose you to be his successor."
"His…successor?"
The Doctor was patient where she was frenzied. She was sure below her churning confusion there was a bit of anger. He'd never told her any of this. He'd kept so many secrets. And now she found out he'd made her some sort of inheritor to his role in an anarchy group?
"Well, you would've been, anyway. Were you still in the military. He'd never thought you'd end up here. He always thought that—when he was taken out—you'd still be exactly where you were. It was our job to update you on everything, including the suspicious details of his death, and he trusted you to carry on doing what he'd started. But obviously that'll never happen now. They only need one jail informant and that's me."
Clara reached up and cradled her face. She shut her eyes tightly.
"This is too much. What do you expect me to do with this information?" She demanded. She lowered her hands and turned to look up at him. "He's gone and he's left this huge mess and…what do you expect me to do about it?"
He shrugged. He turned back to the pile of yanked grass blades beside him.
"Nothing. I'm not really actively involved in it anymore either. I got caught a few years back—our code didn't prove to be as indistinguishable as we'd hoped. You just asked me how I knew John. So I told you."
She stared down at her lap. She didn't look back up until she felt his hand settle on her shoulder, warm and oddly comforting. She felt his thumb rub back and forth. She turned her head and glanced back up at him.
"I'm not who you think I am."
"Nobody ever is." He agreed.
She studied his eyes.
"I mean—I'm not threatening. I don't have the answers. I'm just…me. Clara. That's all I can be. So if you want to be…friends, or…acquaintances…that's fine by me. But not if you're expecting me to be someone I'm not."
He pulled his hand from her shoulder. He lifted his palms into the air.
"Like I said," he started innocently. "I just want your company."
She eyed him suspiciously for a moment longer. And then she leaned back on her hands and stared up at the sky.
"All right, then."