She had nearly forgotten what joy felt like. So when the feeling hit—when she felt her heart soar upwards, lighter than ever, her face open with a grin, laughter bubble up in the pit of her stomach—it was almost alarming.
And it was sickening how quickly she had forgotten the sight of him. How quickly she'd forgotten how secure she felt in his arms, the smell of him, the short, throaty laugh he always gave when she hurdled herself into his embrace. She gripped his shirt so tightly in her fists that she was likely ruining the fabric, and she swore with her face tucked into his neck that she wouldn't let herself forget again. It did her a disservice to.
"Commander Oswald," he greeted. She didn't have to lean back to see he was smiling. She could hear it in his voice.
"Group Captain Pink." She shot back, but her voice lacked her usual airy sass. She sounded choked up and aching.
She knew he could sense how spread apart she was as he cupped her shoulders. He touched her gently, like she might break, and she honestly couldn't recall being touched like that in years and years. Not since her mother died. Certainly not in the army. For reasons unknown to her, being touched as if she was broken made her feel even more shattered. Especially when that touch came from someone who ordinarily held her like she was powerful (because she had been, once).
He pulled her back and looked down at her face. His dark eyes were tender. His body was still as solid and strong as it had been, but Clara could see evidence of the emotional toll losing his two best friends had caused. The skin beneath his eyes was puffy. His cheekbones were perhaps a bit sharper than they had been. He looked exhausted.
She looked down at his fingers as he moved them to her cheek. He traced them over her skin, and Clara didn't even remember her face was injured until she felt the light sting of pain that touch caused. She had scraped her face during her botched escape. She hadn't even cleaned it. She wondered when she'd gotten as detached from her own body as she was from the outside world.
"What is happening in there?" He wanted to know. His eyes drifted from her eyes, to her lips, to her injured cheek. He was so close she could feel the warmth coming off his body. It felt better than anything. "What have they done to you?"
She reached up and wrapped her hands around his wrists. Even her fingers felt weak. She stroked her thumb over the back of his wrist as she struggled to maintain her composure. She looked down at his chest and breathed shallowly through her parted lips, trying her hardest to quell her tears. She didn't want Danny to see her crying. That hadn't changed.
"It's just a scrape," she finally managed. She avoided his question all together.
"Clara," he reprimanded. He paused. "I'm not stupid, you know."
She licked her dry lips. She tightened her grip on his wrists and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. If he didn't see the tears, they didn't exist.
"No, I know, I do, that's not what I—" she stopped, because when she risked a glance up at his face, he was wearing that patient but x-raying expression that always broke her. She dropped her hands from his wrists. She held onto the lapels of his jacket. She shut her eyes as she smoothed them down, her mind working rapidly to come up with a way of saying: I'm not okay, I'm not okay, please, help, without sounding desperate. "Things are quite bad." She settled with.
"I wouldn't imagine them being any different." Without another word, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Let's sit."
Clara had been so focused on Danny that she'd disregarded the visiting room until that moment. It was lavish compared to everywhere else inside the prison. It had new, plush carpeting running from wall to wall, the lighting was bright and cheery, the walls were a crisp yellow shade that reminded Clara of a honeydew melon. They settled down onto the sofa against the back wall. It was the most comfortable thing Clara had rested on since arriving, and her back ached because of it. She guessed it wasn't used to leaning against something soft instead of hard.
She was glad that Danny didn't remove his heavy arm from her shoulders. It felt comforting, safe, familiar. Like home. It was funny—it had been years and years since she'd had a home. She'd moved about the world and never settled for long in any one place. She guessed it was because of that that her only two constants had become home (John and Danny). Now she had a solid "home" but no constants.
"I've missed you so much, Clara." Danny admitted thickly. Clara leaned her head against his arm and turned her face up, looking towards Danny. He looked down at her. It reminded her of the warm nights she, John, and Danny spent together in front of the television, when they weren't on tours. She sat between them on the sofa and pretended to watch one of their silly films. She usually ended up nodding off between them, lulled to sleep by the warmth of their bodies and a day full of good food and loads of laughing. If only she could be that girl again.
"I've missed you, too," she admitted thickly. And because she just had to know: "How was his funeral?"
"Honorable." Danny answered. He didn't say anything else, even though Clara waited. She wondered if it hurt to speak of it. She wondered if he blamed himself, too.
She tried not to give into the aching in her chest.
"Was his Granddad there?" She asked. Her voice was wavering. Her hand closed over John's wristwatch. "I suppose not, since I have this."
Danny looked at her oddly.
"Clara, he's the reason you have it. Didn't you get his letter?"
Clara felt her heart seize for a moment. She sat straight up and turned so she was facing Danny.
"What?" She asked. "No. I didn't. I got this in a box of things my dad sent, I assumed…" she stopped. "I bet they confiscated the letter when they went through my things." She felt assaulted, violated. She fought against the angry tears threatening to rise. "Do you know what it said?"
Danny looked down and away. He wouldn't meet her eyes.
"Yes, or at least, I've an idea." He admitted. Danny was never anything less than truthful. "But I think it will upset you."
Her heart pounded. "Try me." She ordered.
He was quiet.
"Clara—"
"No. Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up." She was twisting the wristwatch around and around and around her wrist. "Tell me."
He met her eyes again. He studied her expression carefully before uttering a word.
"John was almost finished saving up for a ring. His granddad thought…well. You know. He wanted you to have something of his even if it wasn't his ring."
Danny knew nothing as well as he knew Clara. It did upset her. Worse than that—it made her feel ill. Nothing hurt worse than what should have been. But her gut reaction was nearly hysterical disbelief.
"He doesn't blame me? He—he doesn't—" she stopped and looked down. She took a shaking breath and started again. "I thought he would hate me. Because I—killed him. I went against rank. I was a horrible soldier. I—"
"Clara." Danny interrupted. She stopped and looked at him, her eyes hot and hazy. "You did everything a superior officer should do. You fought to the death for your soldiers."
She didn't agree, and she found it difficult to believe his granddad thought that, but she didn't argue. She blinked rapidly and tried to fight back against her tears.
"I didn't know. About the ring." She admitted thickly. She looked down at her knees.
"I'm sorry." He whispered. Even though it wasn't his fault. It was hers. "It isn't what he deserved. It isn't what you deserved."
Clara thought about all the people in that prison. She lifted her shaking hand and wiped the wetness off her cheeks.
"Nobody deserves anything." She realized. "There's nobody keeping score, Danny. It just comes down to what you're willing to do to get what you want. It comes down to who owes you."
"That doesn't sound like Clara Oswald." He said uneasily.
"Haven't you heard? I'm not Clara Oswald. I'm RY2227." She spat.
His hand caught hers. His grip was tight, firm—not at all like the fragile way he'd touched her before. She looked up at him, her eyes burning, cheeks wet. She looked at the calm but firm expression on his face. It was one she knew very well.
"You are better than that." He told her. It was quiet after those words. She stared at him, and he stared at her, and all the while she could feel tears sloshing about inside of her. "I don't know what they've done to break you down like this, but I know Clara Oswald. She is the most amazing, most wondrous—most capable and kind and strong person in the entire universe. How could you let them make you forget that?"
It was unfair. She snatched her hand from his. She pursed her lips together.
"You've no idea what you're talking about. You're out of your depth."
She cringed away when his hand settled against her cheek. His eyes bore into hers anyway.
"I met you when you were still shaken from what happened with your mum. But even then, Clara. Even then you were fighting back. Why are you stopping now?"
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It took her a moment.
"Because I lost, Danny. I'm here for the rest of my life. John is dead. My mum is dead. You've been taken from me, my dad has been taken from me. I don't know—" she stopped and turned her face away. She had to close her eyes and take six measured breaths before she could control her tears. "I don't know what there's left to fight for."
It was easy for him to see.
"Yourself, Clara." He reached up and rubbed his face. It was only then that Clara realized he had tears sparkling in his eyes. "You're stuck in here, but you don't have to die before you even die. If you can't fight your way out, fight the system. Do what you need to do to thrive, to live. Make a life worth having. Even if it's a life in here."
"But—"
His words were gentle. "That's an order, Commander. I taught you how to fight—put it to good use. I love you too much to watch you waste away."
And despite it all, she loved him too. Maybe not the way he needed her to, the way he wished she did. But despite the tangled definitions of their love for each other, they loved each other deeply and without reserve. They would have died for each other—and almost had on many occasions. They were partners in everything.
"You have no idea what it's like in here, Danny." She admitted.
"I don't." He agreed. "But I want you to find a way to get the respect you deserve. Have you made any friends yet? Not that there's a lot to choose from in a Cat A prison, but…" he trailed off.
It was a comment she would've made before this, too. But for some reason, his words offended her. She had to stop herself from scolding him, from saying: Don't lump them all into one category of worthlessness, because I'm one of them.
"I have three friends." She said instead. She didn't know why, but she was hesitant to speak of the Doctor. "My cellmate's name is Vastra. She's a sort of...vigilante. She is strong and firm in what she believes. Jenny's her girlfriend and she's an absolute gem. She's kind, warmhearted, thoughtful. They are really lovely."
He had always paid close attention to numbers and detail.
"The third?" He wondered.
Clara looked away.
"Hmm?"
"The third. You said you made three friends. Vastra and Jenny make two."
"Oh, yeah," she said casually. "Sorry, yeah. The third's a genius. Very mysterious and clever. Very—"
She stopped, because it was difficult to put words to him.
"Loyal." She decided upon. She thought about the deep tenor of his voice as he told her how to touch herself, how to find even a fragment of pleasure in Hell. "Helpful." Kind, deep down. Thoughtful. Protective. Attractive. Brave. "We were put in solitary together."
Danny's expression morphed so quickly that Clara felt her spine tingle with fear.
"What?" She demanded.
His expression turned steely. "You're talking about the Doctor."
Clara stared.
"Yes. How did you…"
Danny straightened. He peered at her seriously, his eyes dark. "Clara, the Senior Prison Officer told me all about him. He told me what he did. You can't hang around him. Promise me you won't. He's dangerous."
Clara furrowed her brow.
"He's done some things, but who in here hasn't?" She forced herself to say it. "In case you've forgotten, I'm responsible for eleven deaths."
"Yeah? Are you also responsible for the death of thirty-three government officials, countless children, and one Prime Minister?"
He might as well have punched her in her stomach. She bowed back from him, doubled over, looked away.
"I don't understand. What do you mean…children?" She asked. Her voice with thick with apprehension. She didn't want to know.
"I mean children, Clara! Look at me!" He insisted. When she directed her gaze up at him, he looked sterner than she'd ever seen. "He's evil. He even killed his own daughter."
Clara recoiled from him fully at that. She rose to her feet, her head shaking of its own accord.
"No," she said, and then oddly, she laughed. "No, that isn't true. Whoever told you that is lying. His daughter was born prematurely." I heard the way his voice shook when he spoke of her. There's no way he hurt her.
"Is that what he told you?" Danny demanded. "His daughter was born perfectly healthy."
"That doesn't make any sense." She felt tearful. She was having a difficult time speaking. "Why would he do that?"
"Some people are just evil, Clara." Danny answered.
But that wasn't true, either. She'd yet to meet anybody here who hadn't felt morally justified by doing what they did. Everybody had an ulterior motive, a "greater good". Where was the "greater good" in killing children?
"How does that fit in with killing government officials?" Clara asked. Her voice sounded a bit shrill. "Don't you think it's probably more likely that the government was responsible for those deaths, and they just blamed him for them?"
The look of deep concern that Danny gave Clara made her feel idiotic. It made her feel mad.
"You can't really believe that, Clara." He whispered gently. "Can you?"
A heavy silence settled over them. Clara couldn't meet his eyes.
"Please be careful, Clara…that's all I ask. If something happened to you, if I couldn't see you anymore—" he broke off. He cleared his throat gruffly. "I would be very lost."
For that moment, her confusion and distress were buried underneath her affection for him. She settled back down onto the sofa and all but sat in his lap. She pressed her face into his shirt and reveled in the comfort of being touched.
"Will you come visit every week?" She asked.
"I'll come every day."
"It's very far."
"I'll move."
She sat up. "You can't do that."
He arched an eyebrow. "Why not? What's stopping me? I lost my job. I lost my best friends. I have no family. What is there left for me back home?"
She couldn't reply, because he had a point.
"Besides," he said. His fingers pulled through her hair. "Somebody's got to make sure you're staying in top combat shape."
Clara's sad smile echoed his. She looked down at her wristwatch.
"We have half an hour left." She informed him. Painful trepidation settled over her bones. Her fingers shook. And to her horror, Danny stood.
"Where are you going?" She blurted, panicked.
He looked back at her and then pointed at the table in the far corner. Clara watched him carry the heavy basket over, curiosity warring with her distress.
"I brought this for you." He explained. "I wasn't sure what you'd want or need, so I made some calls. I ended up chatting with a woman recently released from here. She said things like hair bands, lady products, soaps, and extra knickers were best, since the quality of the ones you can buy at the prison are "fucking terrible"—those were her words." He gestured at the products on the left side of the basket. "I did my best. I brought your knickers from your flat, but I had to get the rest, and I tried to buy things that looked familiar, so hopefully I chose well." He turned the basket around, revealing bags of loose leaf tea and a portable glass infuser mug. "These were my idea. I figured it might be good to have a way to brew your own tea, but I didn't know how much space you'd have, so I didn't bring a full teapot. And these are just all the teas you love, of course. Here's some photos—thought it might be nice to have. Oh, and two of those chocolate bars from Johannesburg you loved so much. And—" he shoved some boxes around on top, digging for something layered underneath all the other items. After a moment of struggle, he pulled the edge of a familiar quilt up to show her. "Went by your flat. Or, I guess, your old flat. Thought you might want this."
It was all lovely, but it was that last item that did her in. She didn't even apologize as she began sniffling. She didn't know where to start.
"Danny," she whispered. She reached up and pressed the heels of her hands over her eyes. "Thank you isn't strong enough. You have no idea what this means to me. You have no idea how much better this will make my everyday life."
He grinned hugely at that. "I don't need a thank you. That's all I wanted right there. To help you."
Her eyes scanned almost greedily over all the items. She finally had her own bars of soap, and it was nice soap. Thick, triple-milled lavender and sandalwood soap. She had tampons that weren't glorified cardboard chunks, an assortment of teas, and Danny had even emptied her entire underwear drawer into the basket. Her fingers touched the stack of photos, her heart rising into her throat at the sight of the one on top (her, John, and Danny floating on their backs in the Dead Sea), but it was the quilt that wrung the tears from her. It wasn't even that it was a terribly good quality quilt. It was just that the bed it was on was the very last place she'd made love with John. This quilt was the very last thing he'd slept under. As she cried, it was from relief more than anything. She felt it was only right that she had it back with her.
She was emotionally strung out and of teetering strength when she turned to face Danny. She could feel the rough stubble of his cheeks underneath her palms as she held his face. She didn't think of it as she leaned up and pressed her lips to his—she just knew she loved him, loved him, loved him. She couldn't do a thing without him. He startled beneath her, his hands hesitant to rest on her lower back. She fell into their kiss in a way that felt warm, comfortable. She wasn't aroused and she wasn't trying to initiate a thing. She just wanted to be close to him. She wanted him to know how much it all meant to her: him coming to visit, his basket. It gave her something she'd been missing. Hope.
"Thank you." She whispered against his lips. He looked stunned when she leaned back, but she didn't get a chance to question that, because a loud knocking filled the room a moment later. Clara looked around and realized it was coming from what must've been a two-way mirror before the door opened.
"RY2227, we're here to look over your gift. If no contraband is found, it'll be delivered to your cell by the time you return." A screw informed her. Clara wondered when they'd started telling her anything.
"Will she be able to keep it all?" Danny asked worriedly. "What isn't permitted?"
The screw didn't look happy about what she said next.
"RY2227 has a pass for all items except weapons, drugs, or alcohol."
Clara's suspicions rose.
"Why?" She asked slowly, her eyes narrowed.
The screw lifted the basket. She answered Clara as she turned and headed back out of the room.
"You're on a special permissions list—as long as you behave correctly."
There it was again. Clara couldn't let it pass this time.
"Exactly what's the definition of…"behaving"?" Clara wanted to know.
"Our SPO will be more than happy to cover all of that in his office at a later date." The screw replied. She shut the door behind her. Clara stared at the space she'd occupied.
"It doesn't make any sense." She told Danny. "He hates me. The SPO. I've gotten into loads of trouble. Why am I being rewarded?"
"I think perhaps you're being bribed." He clarified.
Clara shook her head, confused.
"Well yeah, but bribed for what? Why is the SPO so involved in my compliance? It doesn't hurt him if I'm punished."
Danny gave a short, unexpected laugh. Clara snapped her eyes to him.
"You forget how powerful you are, Clara. People ordinarily try to bribe and placate the people they feel the most threatened by." He leaned back against the sofa. "You turned soldiers against the men they were most dedicated to in a span of ten minutes. I'd imagine you could do terrible, terrible damage here, where the inhabitants already hate their superiors. My visits and your special permissions are little gifts. They think if they keep you happy and content, they'll ultimately be happy and content."
Unfortunately, she felt he was probably right.
"Seems wrong. Dirty, almost." She admitted. "There are plenty of people here who deserve extra things more than me."
"Maybe. Or maybe it's like you said. Maybe here, it has less to do with what you deserve, and more to do with what you're willing to demand."
She didn't say anything about it to Danny, but she wondered how the Doctor played into the SPO's plan.
She spent the remainder of his visit curled inside the circle of his arms. They didn't talk, didn't sleep. They sat in a companionable silence until Danny was forced to leave. Clara was terribly cold afterwards.
True to the screw's word, her basket of goods was on her bed when she returned. Vastra was still gone. She sorted through it carefully to make sure everything was there, and when it was all accounted for, she went about organizing it all in her drawers. She had just finished putting her underwear and teas up when Vastra walked in.
"Who'd you rob?" She greeted. She blinked. "Do those tampons have plastic applicators?"
Clara felt giddy enough to bounce on her feet. She nodded.
"Need one?" She offered.
"No, but I'm so excited to see them that I may take one anyway." Vastra admitted in awe. "Whatever you do, don't tell anybody you have these."
It was only then that she realized the potential value of her "special privileges".
"You and Jenny are welcome to them. I can have Danny bring them as often as I need." She turned and rummaged around the basket. "Look. Spiced Christmas tea. And Betty's Blue Sapphire."
She brandished the tea tins. Vastra was looking at her with an almost predatory—albeit prideful—expression.
"I knew I lucked out with you, Ossie."
The tease was perched right on the edge of her tongue. For once, she didn't have to fight with her sorrow for a bit of lighthearted banter.
"You just like me for my assets." Clara joked.
Vastra arched an eyebrow. "With an asset like that, who would blame me?"
They shared an amused smile a moment later.
Clara told Vastra all about her "special privileges" as she made them some of her new tea. Her cellmate listened intently, spread out on top of the bed, idly looking through Clara's photos. When she carried Vastra's mug over to her, the woman looked concerned.
"As much as I love smooth tampons and fresh tea, that sounds extremely suspicious." She shared. She sat up so she could take her mug. She blew lightly over the top of the liquid. Clara sighed as she crossed over to her own bed, tea in hand.
"I think so too." She almost didn't mention her next worry, but she had to. It had been quietly rotting away in the pit of her stomach. "I think they're trying to keep me away from the Doctor. I am fairly certain that when I have a "meeting" with the SPO, that'll be his main rule."
"Hmmm." Vastra commented. She took a tentative sip of her tea and closed her eyes—whether to savor the taste or think, Clara was unsure.
"And," Clara continued. She balanced her hot mug in the palm of her right hand. She let it burn until the pain was enough to focus her mind. It was beginning to wander again now that the joy of Danny's visit was beginning to wear off. She didn't want any flashbacks. Not now. "I think he's even got Danny trying to convince me not to be the Doctor's friend."
That surprised Vastra. She lifted both her eyebrows.
"Oh? Why would you think that?"
Clara moved her mug into her left palm. She stared at the angry red circle it had left on her right.
"Well, Danny told me…something. Something about the Doctor. That I really don't think is true." She hesitated for a moment, but she guessed telling her what Danny said was okay, because it wasn't the truth. "She told me the Doctor murdered children."
In retrospect, it was perhaps the wrong thing to mention to a vigilante of Vastra's title. Her spine straightened immediately. Her eyes went sharp, alert. Clara suddenly worried that the Doctor might end up on her menu.
"What?" She asked darkly, coldly. "That's impossible. I know the name of every child murderer. Punishing them was a hobby of mine."
"It's not true." Clara said quickly. "I know it's not. But I think it's interesting that the SPO made a point of telling Danny this. Knowing how Danny feels about children…how I feel about them."
Vastra crossed her ankles almost primly. Her posture was still precisely straight.
"I'll be certain to find out if it's true or not." She promised. It sounded less reassuring than it should have.
Clara set her tea onto her chest-of-drawers. She pulled her folded quilt from the basket and unfolded it. She wrapped it around her shoulders and deeply breathed in the scent of her flat, of her life with John. But it had been a mistake. Once she did, all she wanted to do was curl up underneath that quilt and weep.
"Don't go dark now." Vastra ordered. It was her usual strict, serious tone, but there were unexpected gentle edges to it. "I need to tell you about recreation."
Clara grappled for control over her emotions. She clenched right onto the edge of it.
"What about it?"
She cocked her head to the side curiously. "Did you tell the Doctor you'd meet him at the door?"
The crash of her heart to her toes was violent and painful. Clara sat straight up, her quilt dropping from her shoulders.
"Oh, God," she gasped.
"I thought so. He waited at the door for the entire break. Didn't even sit down." Vastra informed her. "Jenny and I thought about going to speak to him, but he looked rather temperamental. I think he even asked a screw about you."
Clara screwed her eyes shut tightly.
"And I'll bet the screw was more than happy to tell him I was with Danny." She bit out.
"If they're trying to keep you apart…yeah, that's a fair bet." Vastra agreed.
Clara rose to her feet. She rubbed her upper arms nervously.
"I've got to find him."
Vastra stood, too.
"I think that would probably be the end to your privileges." She pointed out. "Sneaking from your cell is not really categorized as behaving."
Clara paced the small space in front of her bed.
"I don't care. I'll figure out how to do it without being caught."
"And how do you think you'll do that?"
Clara looked at her distractedly. "I don't know. I'm highly trained—I'll figure it out."
Vastra shook her head sadly.
"Those brutal tampons are going to feel even worse when they take your visiting privileges away."
"They won't take them away. I won't be caught." Clara swore. She put her shoes back on, but then thought better of it. They were thick-soled and noisy on the tiled floor. Instead, she pulled a second pair of socks on. She grabbed one of her new hair bands and secured her hair into a tight bun so it wouldn't get in her face. "I'll be back in an hour, tops."
Vastra crossed her arms over her chest.
"And how exactly are you going to get the door open?"
"With patience and two hairpins."
"There's no way that's going to work. If that it was that easy, we'd all be roaming about."
"I never said it was easy."
It took nearly two hours and quite a lot of curses and perspiration, but she was able to fashion a tension wrench strong enough to release all the lock pins. She stuck the mangled hairpins into her pocket and flashed a tired smile at Vastra.
"Easy? No. Possible? Definitely."
Vastra shook her head in amused fondness.
"Go on then." She urged, shooing Clara off. Clara grinned and spun on her socked heel without a moment's hesitation.
Getting to the Doctor's cell without being spotted was a lot harder than she'd anticipated. There were screws wandering about everywhere it seemed. After sliding behind many trash bins, pillars, doors, and even a texting screw, she made it to his door undetected. She rose up onto her tiptoes and knocked quietly on his door.
"Doctor?" She hissed.
She waited. She could feel the back of her neck prickling and she kept turning around every few moments, nervously checking that she hadn't been spotted. She knocked more urgently the second time.
"Doctor!" She exclaimed.
After an excruciating thirty seconds passed, she began to get a sinking feeling. Either he was ignoring her, or he wasn't in there.
"Doctor? Are you there?" Clara tried again. She waited impatiently for another ten seconds, but then she was getting antsy. "I can't stand out here forever, so if you're in there, please open up."
She let out a relieved breath when she heard his footsteps approaching from the other side. She smiled and stepped back, waiting for the door to open. But it never did.
"Go. And don't come back." He said.
She stared at the door. She could hear footsteps growing closer than she was comfortable with behind her, but she couldn't seem to get herself to move.
"What?" She asked. She glanced behind her uneasily, but decided she couldn't leave on that note. She walked closer to the door. "Look. Whatever they told you—it's a lie. They're up to something. They told me lies about you, too."
"They didn't tell me anything. You told me something. You told me to wait for you—and I did. And you weren't there."
"So you're going to stop talking to me because of it? What are we—eleven year olds?" She demanded. She glanced behind her again and let out an anxious breath. "Meet me in the library tonight. We can talk."
"Nothing to talk about. You'd better move. That screw is dangerously close to spotting you."
She shifted her weight from foot to foot anxiously. She blinked back angry tears.
"This isn't fair. I didn't do anything."
"We're in prison. Nothing's fair. I learned my lesson about getting used a long time ago."
Her anger increased to a simmer. She turned on the spot, unsure whether to continue arguing or to tell him to fuck himself and return to her cell. Her anger and fear eventually won out. She moved forward and pressed her face into the crack of his door. She spat her words.
"Fine. You can enjoy spending the rest of your life all alone in that lonely, little cell. I'll be here if you decide to stop throwing a temper tantrum."
She was messy in her emotional state. Wasn't that always the case? She rounded the corner and ran right into a screw. One of the meaner ones, in fact.
He had a menacing glint in his eye.
"Would you look at that," he chuckled. Clara crossed her arms and looked away as he continued laughing. No use running. "I think we can find a small room down in Hell for you. A closet, even. Let's go."
She locked her legs in place.
"I want to speak with the SPO." She didn't have time to feel frightened or worried. She just knew she was angry and she had some sort of power here. Now was as good a time as any to figure out exactly how much. "Now. Not in the morning, not in a few days' time. Now."
He observed her in disbelief. "Exactly who do you think you are?"
"I know who I am, and it's going to be very embarrassing for you when you realize it."
He jabbed his elbow roughly into her spine. "Get moving."
"I know what you did," she said, as he manhandled her down the hallway. Her knees were still locked but he was pushing her across the floor. Pain was radiating down the length of her back. "With the computer."
It was a shot in the dark. At best, he'd looked at some confidential information. At worst, he'd looked at some internet porn he was particularly ashamed about.
He stopped walking.
"What?" He demanded. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, you want me to say it out loud, right here?" She asked in surprise. "Blimey, I thought you'd be ashamed. Sure. I KNOW WHAT THIS SCREW DID ON THE COMPUTER, ON—"
Thankfully, his hand slapped over her mouth before she had to make something up. He leaned down so his lips were hovering right above her ear.
"Who the fuck told you about that?" He bit. He lowered his palm from her mouth.
"Confidential." She said, false apology in her tone. "But if you take me to speak to the SPO, I'll forget all about it."
He grabbed roughly onto her waist and squeezed in frustration.
"I ought to drag you to Hell by your hair," he hissed. He shoved her forward. "Get walking. He'll only be here for another hour."
She could've spent the entire walk mourning about her lost friend (and maybe even more). But she was too angry, and all she really felt was determination. So she wouldn't have him—so what? She had special privileges, she had Danny, and she had Jenny and Vastra. She'd get on just fine.
"You'd better hope you're not a liar." The screw snapped. "Because you'll regret it."
She blinked up at him. "I'm honest as they come."
"Maybe I should stay here, at camp." Clara worked to keep her voice casual, light. "Danny's been talking to Arnold. He wants me to go to Initial Officer Training. Might look good to stay here and do extra work."
She rubbed the page of her book between her thumb and forefinger as she waited nervously for John to respond. He was outside the mosquito netting of his bunk, his head stuck underneath the bed as he searched for his sock.
"I could catch you two another day." She continued.
"Clara." His voice was terribly muffled. "He's come all the way from London."
"For a lunch with the Big Boys. They were flying him out here already." Clara argued. John's granddad was well known and well-respected in the RAF, having been an officer himself. He had made the journey here to visit with "colleagues". And to see his favorite grandson and, to Clara's horror, his grandson's girlfriend.
She heard his shuffling about, then a hard knock, and then a curse. John emerged from the other side of the mosquito netting rubbing the top of his forehead.
"Every time. Every sodding time." He muttered crossly. Clara bit back a smile. He didn't even have to look up. "Stop smiling. It hurts."
The pout to his lips was insanely kissable. Clara sat up and carefully turned her book over, lying it out on John's pillow so her spot was saved. She pushed the netting out of the way and reached for John. She tugged him over onto the bed easily. He was pliable as she set her palms on his shoulders and pushed him down. She settled herself on top of his middle and peered down at him seriously. After examining his head, she spotted the already swelling bump. She leaned forward and gently kissed it. Her palms found his cheeks and held his face gently. She stroked the pads of her thumbs over his windburned skin. She moved her face down and pressed her lips gently to his.
"Better?" She asked, after pulling away.
He smiled, his eyes still shut. "Better. Mmm. I love you. And you're still meeting my granddad today."
Her smile melted right off her face. She scowled and slid off him.
"I take my kisses back."
"Clara, what are you so afraid of? He already loves you."
"No, no. He loves the idea of me. He's never met me. What if he hates me? And then makes you hate me? And then you leave me?"
"Seriously? Are you having a heat stroke?" John exclaimed incredulously. "Get over here."
She eyed him suspiciously from her side of his bunk, but eventually complied. She rolled over into his embrace. Tried not to smile as he rolled them over and pinned her beneath the warmth of his frame. He kissed the tip of her nose delicately.
"You're so ridiculous." He told her gently. "As if I would ever leave you."
She swallowed the lump that formed traitorously in her throat. She looked away.
"You could. You leave me." She argued quietly. She hoped she didn't sound as frightened as she felt.
"Just because I could doesn't mean I ever would. My granddad is going to adore you. And if he didn't, do you know what I'd say?"
She let her eyes flutter shut as he leaned down to kiss her throat. She kept them that way. If there were lies to be seen in his eyes, she didn't want to see them.
"What?" She finally asked.
"I'd tell him to get over it. Because you're my girl. My impossible girl…but my girl no less." He answered.
"Don't lie to me. Don't be a liar." Clara ordered.
He kissed her collarbone. "I would never lie to you. Ever."
"Shut up." She sniffed. He kissed her mouth seconds after the order.
"I wouldn't. I'm honest as they come, and I'm telling you I will never leave you. Okay?"
He lightly tapped her closed eyelids, a wordless plea for her to open them. She blinked up at him warily. His eyes were warm, honest. She let her eyes flutter back shut as he kissed her again.
"Okay." She gave in.