A/N Sorry for the long delay. Got caught up on another story (oh and that pesky thing called work). You finally meet John. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 7 - Fiction

"It's the oldest story in the universe, this one or any other. Boy and girl fall in love, get separated by events. War, politics, accidents in time. She's thrown out of the hex, or he's thrown into it. Since then they've been yearning for each other across time and space, across dimensions. This isn't a ghost story, it's a love story!". Lost to his own stories, it took the Doctor moment to realized he had his arm around Clara's shoulders. How long had be been doing that for? He didn't even remember starting. The Doctor quickly removed it hoping she didn't notice. Clara, his impossible, wonderful Clara. He had spent so little time with her and yet she filled his head. 'The only mystery worth solving' he had said, and he had meant it. He couldn't seem to think of anything else these days. 'Very pretty' well yes, of course that was true. 'Very clever' most certainly. 'More scared than she lets on' probably right. The only part of the assessment the Doctor couldn't believe was that she was a "perfectly ordinary girl'. He glanced down at her, at her big, warm eyes, her lovely dimples and cute up turned nose. He'd been staring at her for days now and he didn't understand a thing about her. This train of thought was interrupted by shouting in the distance. He couldn't quite make out the words but he had the vague sense someone was calling for him.

"Hey Stupid Face. Time to get up!" John opened his eyes and saw Amy standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

"Love you too, Mom," he called back. She rolled her eyes theatrically and disappeared down the stairs. John sat up and stretched, his mind drifting back to his dream. It had been so clear a moment ago, but in the morning light it was already beginning to fade. He remembered pieces. The Doctor has been there of course. That was pretty common for him. And there had been ghosts, or was it monsters? And there was Clara. This wasn't the first time he had dreamed about the Doctor's pretty companion. Which probably said more about his age than anything else.

John rubbed his eyes once more and let the dream fade from him entirely before he made his way downstairs for breakfast. There was already food prepared on the counter. Amy sat at the table cutting up Anthony's eggs. "You know it is my day off," John said as he piled his plate high with food, "I should be able to get up whenever I like."

"Well not today, mister. Aunt Clara's visiting today. Your Dad will be back with her any minute. She hasn't seen you in years and I don't fancy the idea of her seeing you like that" she indicated to his pajamas with Anthony's fork, before handing it back to him.

The small boy happily shoveled eggs into his mouth and ask, "Is Clara the one who travels with the Doctor?" Both John and Amy stared at the boy. He swallowed his mouthful of food, trying to read their expressions. Finally he put it together, "that's not right, is it? Those stories are..." He was hunting for a newly acquired word, "fiction?"

"That's right, buddy," John said encouragingly.

"And that means they're not true, right?"

Amy smiled down at him, "That's right. Clara use to take care of John when he was a baby, remember?"

Anthony nodded, and then through a mouthful of toast said, "Why hasn't she ever come before?"

"She's from England, like your Dad-"

"And you," John pointed out. She shot him a dirty look. He had learned very early on how to needle his fiery, Scottish mother.

Turning back to her youngest son she added, "It's not always easy to make it across the pond."

John ate his breakfast, their conversations drawing his mind back to last night's dream. To the beautiful, 'fictional' Clara, "Is that why you named her that?" Amy looked puzzled, "The Doctor's companion, in the stories. Did you name her after this Clara?"

Amy thought about it for a moment, "Yeah, something like that." John had finished his breakfast and Amy grabbed the dishes before he had a chance to even stand. "I'll do them. You go get ready."

John took a couple steps towards the door, before turning back, "How long is Clara going to be here? Is she staying with us?"

Amy had already filled the sink with soapy water, "I'm not sure of her plans yet, honey."

"After she leaves, maybe later tonight even, can we talk about school?"

"John-"

"You were right. Working for a year, earning money, having responsibility, it's important, and I've learned a lot. But my training is going to take me years as it is and I just don't want to delay anymore. I've talked to a number of school and with my marks they'd take me in the spring term." Amy's back was to him, but he could tell by the stiffness of her movements that this conversation was upsetting her. Every time he tried to talk about the future she always got the saddest look in her eyes. He knew why. Knew how much losing their first child, Melody, had hurt his parents. And whenever he tried to talk about school or his future plans, Amy always looked like she was worried she was going to lose him too. "There are a lot of good medical schools in the city. I could still live here. You wouldn't be able to get rid of me."

Amy turned around to look at him, smiling with everything but her eyes, "You're right. Why don't we talk about this later tonight? Now go wash up and get ready. I know Clara will be extra pleased to see how you turned out."

With excitement and possibility bubbling up inside of him, John practically flew out of the kitchen. He paused at the foot of the stairs and called back, "Is she cute?" which earned him a sponge thrown at his head. With a laugh he headed for the bathroom.

Amy must have been in his room while he was in the shower, for there was a neat pile of clothing on his bed when he returned. John couldn't believe she still tried to lay out his clothes for him, he hadn't taken her suggestions since he was five years old, and he had to laugh at the smallest piece, sitting right at the top of the pile: a bow tie. He would never understand her fascination with them, or rather her fascination with him in them, for she never subjected Anthony or their father to bow ties. And no matter how much John adored his mother, he could not accept the premise that 'bow ties are cool'. Ignoring the pile altogether he dressed quickly and headed down the stairs, certain he'd heard the front door open while he was getting out of the shower. As he descended he could see everyone had assembled themselves in the kitchen.

"This is our youngest son, Anthony," he heard Amy tell the guest.

Quickly followed by a predictable shout from his bother, "I'm adopted!"

John couldn't see them yet, but he knew Clara would be looking for some sort of explanation, and right on cue Rory said, "We've always been honest with him. Told him that he's adopted, but that doesn't mean we don't love him completely and totally. And for some reason he's taken to announcing this whenever he meets someone new."

"Well I think you wound up with an lovely family," John barely noticed his brother's immediate agreement, he was too busy thinking about the voice. It must be Clara's of course, but John felt suddenly strange when he realized he knew it. He reminded himself that he must have known that voice very well when he was an infant, and even though researchers were still debating how early children begin to form and store memories, he had always been the type to learn something once and remember it forever, so it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities that he remembered it from childhood.

He was standing in the doorway of the kitchen considering this, when Amy finally noticed him, "And here's the man himself. John, come say, 'hello' to Clara."

The guest turned around to greet John, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Dark hair, large eyes, it was Clara. The Doctor's Clara. Clara from his dreams. "Right," was all he said before running back upstairs towards his bedroom. The adults all exchanged glances and then quickly followed behind. When they entered his room, he was going through the drawers. Rory was the first to speak, "Hey Doc, what's up?" he had affectionately called John this since he was three and announced that he was going to be a doctor one day.

"Nothing, just packing."

"Packing?" Amy asked in disbelief.

John's arms were filled with clothes, but he let them fall onto his bed, "That's right, the wardrobe would have anything I need really. It's got all sorts of stuff, bound to be something that fits me."

The adults exchanged another worried look, "John," Amy started.

"I got it all wrong, didn't I? Which of us was the story. Which one was fiction." He looked right at Clara now, "You know he used to be my hero. When I was a kid I would even pretend I was him. Used to dream that he was real and this was all some trick..." his voice broke a little, and he stared painfully at his mother, "I thought he must be so wonderful, but the truth is, he's a monster."

"Don't say that. Don't you ever say that," Amy's words were forceful, yet calm. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the boy. Rory followed suit. Taking this as her cue to leave, Clara walked down the stairs.

She sat on the second last step, her chin practically resting on her knees. The position reminded her of waiting for the Doctor on their first Wednesday. Excited and anxious. Worried that he wouldn't come. Now their roles were reversed and here she was to steal him away from home, but with no promise, or even possibility of return. Having lost her mother around the same age, it grieved Clara to be taking the boy away from his whole family. But her commitment was to the Doctor, and she'd do what she had to. Sooner than she imagined she heard John and the Ponds coming down the stairs. In the end he decided against a suitcase, but he was already dressed in a black peacoat, into which Amy slipped the psychic paper. "Ready to go?" was all Clara could muster.

He nodded, but then looked back at his parents, "Do I have to go now? Can't you just leave and come back later, a few years or something?"

Clara's heart broke, but too much depended on it, she had to be honest, "I'm sorry John, but it's just too dangerous. For us and them. We really have to leave now."

He nodded, his face growing hard. For his family, he would do the right thing.

Not wanting to risk the bus again, Clara decided they would take a cab. It didn't take too long to find a taxi willing to drive them to Buffalo for an exorbitant price. John was silent. He stared out the window and didn't utter a single word. Clara knew she shouldn't be surprised, he always did know how to sulk. They had been driving for nearly four hours before he finally spoke, "All those stories they told me as a kid, were they all true?"

"Well I don't know about Santa and the tooth fairy, but the ones about the Doctor, yeah, they were true."

"They made him sounds so magnificent, but he's not, is he? He's selfish and cruel."

"John-"

"They've already lost a child, you know? How could he give them me knowing I'd just get taken away too?"

"I gave you to them."

"But it was his idea, and you know it."

"They took you gladly, overjoyed to get to know you and to get a little more time with him. They knew it was temporary."

"That doesn't mean it didn't hurt," he thought back to the sadness in his mother, at her fear of his future, and suddenly understood it completely. "And anyway, it wasn't their choice, not really. I've seen the Doctor's world and the people in it. They want to impress him. To help him anyway they can. Like you. He uses people."

"Now that's quite enough, I should think. John I know this is hard, but you've got it all mixed up. The Doctor is kind and generous. He's got the biggest hearts in the whole universe, but sometimes-just like the rest of us-he needs help. He's not the bad guys here-"

Clara was cut off by a great bang, followed by the clunking sound of metal in contact with asphalt. Their driver slowing maneuvered the damaged vehicle on to the shoulder of the road. Once stopped he glance back at them, "Everyone okay? It's just a blown tired, I'll have us back on our way in no time." He stepped out of the vehicle and his passengers immediately heard gun shots. In a moment they had both ducked down flat. John sprawled between the front two seats, Clara trying her best to shield him with her body. She could make out of figure on the righthand side of the car. When no shots followed Clara grabbed John's hand and exited the vehicle on the left, keeping her head low.

"The two of you can go ahead and stand up now, dears," the pair exchanged looks. They were on the side of an interstate, surrounded by forests, and with almost no other cars on the road. Slowly they stood, their hands still locked together.

A/N The Ponds' younger son is based off the unshot scene after The Angels Take Manhattan in which Brian gets a letter from Rory.