A/N Thank you for the reviews (and all of the what?!'s). You guys rock. See if this adds a little clarity (and hopefully a few more questions).
Chapter Two - The Right Wednesday
All the Doctor's indecision faded in that instant. He ran for the door and didn't stop running until he was aboard the TARDIS and had returned it to the time vortex. "This is not possible," he said out loud. Clara and him. It couldn't be. He knew that it couldn't. It must be a flesh ganger, or the Teselecta, or anything else... heck even polyjuice potion made more sense. It couldn't be him. It just couldn't! But as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew that that man, the one... in bed with Clara, was him. It was the look on his face, a strange mix of surprise, embarrassment, foreknowledge, and nostalgia. It was a look he always saw when he crossed his own timeline and ran into himself. A look that said, 'hey, I remember that,' and it wasn't a look the Doctor had seen on anyone else's face (he was pretty sure no one else had need of it). But this was still impossible. Him and Clara, his Clara. He didn't have the right. Nevermind that he was almost a thousand years older than her (when had he become such a dirty old man?), how could he ever touch her with his blood soaked hands? His clever, brave, perfect Clara. She was too good for him and he would never jeopardize what they had. So it should be impossible and yet there they were, him and his Impossible Girl. That should have been the tip off. If anyone could do it, she could. Not that he ever got the sense she wanted to. She teased him a lot, but everyone did that. She did kiss him at Christmas and flirted mercilessly with him at the Dalek Asylum, but those weren't really her... were they? Images of Clara came unbidden into his mind. Her smooth, flawless skin aglow. The small movements of the muscles in her back. Her delicate hips that fit so precisely in his hands. He had to stop. It was wrong to think of her like this, fetishizing the parts of her body. It wasn't as though he'd never thought of her like that. Never noticed her warm eyes, or adorable nose, or the way her whole face beamed when she smiled, but he knew from experience that something actually happening between them was not possible. Fortunately he was a Time Lord and his people weren't slaves to their passions the way that humans are. His brilliant mind was excellent when it came to compartmentalizing and Clara had long ago been labeled 'Companion, off limits'. So it had never been hard for him. Sure he might hug and kiss her on the forehead a little too freely and he might, on occasion, let his eyes linger on her longer than was strictly necessary, but those things were harmless. He wasn't in danger of giving in. And yet... clearly, eventually he would.
Where was he to go now? Could he really show up at Clara's door and try to act normal? Where else was there? Literally a universe of possibilities and he couldn't see past picking her up on Wednesday mornings. Without meaning to he had already set a course for her, his hands acting out of habit while his mind was occupied. He might as well see her. This wrong Wednesday, who knows when it would be? It could be years away for all he knew. He could, of course, triangulate the position in space time, but it was bad enough he crossed his own timeline, finding out exactly when it would come about was a very, very bad idea. And so he triple checked his control panel, and made sure that not only was he arriving on the right Wednesday, he would also get there early. Might as well not keep Clara waiting.
He landed the TARDIS in his usual spot and peaked his head out gingerly. The sky was grey (what else was new?) but there was no sign of rain and all of the readings on his sonic screwdriver suggested he'd arrived at the right time. He rang the buzzer, and a small part of him hoped no one would be home. Just as he thought that Angie opened the door, "What's wrong with you?"
"Wrong? Nothing's wrong, why would something be wrong? And don't people say 'hello' anymore? Bonjour? Konnichiwa? Ahoy-hoy?"
"Alright, it's official. You're even weirder than normal," the Doctor was about to protest when the girl turned around and called over her shoulder, "Clara, your boyfriend's here."
The Doctor went instantly red, "Angie, I am not her... " the memory of what he had seen in Clara's room flashed before his eyes, making him lose his train of thought and allowing the blush to spread to his ears, "well... shut up."
"Whatever," and losing interest, Angie walked back into the house. The Doctor followed sheepishly, turning into the kitchen out of habit. Hoping to find Clara and also praying she wasn't there. Instead he found Mr. Maitland.
"Oh, hello Doctor," Mr. Maitland was never really sure what to make of the Doctor, but it was clear his kids adored him and Mr. Maitland always trusted Clara's judgement when it came to people. "What will you and Clara be getting up to today?"
"Up too? No, no, nothing untoward or indecent, I assure you," he had gone from blushing to white as a sheet at the insinuation (that Mr. Maitland had not intended at all).
"Good to hear it," his host answered uncertainly, and then promptly took two steps out of the kitchen to call up the stairs, "Artie, let's go. You're going to be late for school," and with that he hurried off in a rush to pack the car.
A few seconds later Artie shuffled into the kitchen and grabbed a piece of toast, "Hi Doctor. I think Clara's up in her bedroom if you're looking for her."
"Right, her bedroom. The one upstairs..." he probably lingered on the last word longer than was necessary.
"Are you feeling alright? Have you caught some sort of space flu?"
"No I have not caught a space flu. Besides, Time Lords are immune. Immune to almost everything, otherwise we'd all have died of this plague or that every time we landed. And why does everybody keep asking if I'm alright?"
Artie was laughing, "I don't know, you just seem weird today, that's all."
"Yeah, like I said, even weirder than usual, if that's possible," Angie said from the doorway, "Come on Artie, you're going to make me late for school."
"Sorry," he mumbled through a full mouth of toast, "Goodbye Doctor," he called out as they left.
"Goodbye Clara's boyfriend," Angie taunted from the hall, certain she had made him blush even though she no longer could see him.
Doctor heard the front door close and moments later heard a car pulling away. Convinced that everyone was gone, the Doctor made his way to the stairs, but stayed at the bottom, looking up in the direction of Clara's room. Could he make this journey again? What was waiting for him there? Certainly not a future him, but definitely her. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he wasn't ready for this. Maybe his brilliant Time Lord brain needed just a bit more time to compartmentalize.
"What are you looking at?" Clara's whisper in the Doctor's ear made him jump (and he tried to convince himself that it was the fright and not the feel of her breath that was making his skin crawl). He quickly turned around and found Clara standing behind him, carrying a laundry basket filled with folded clothes.
"Artie said you were in your room," this came out quickly, in a single breath, as if some explanation for his behaviour was required.
"Nope, basement. Trying to get this done before we head out. Don't want you to get me back here on Saturday by mistake and have to deal with moldy wet clothes that have been sitting around for days. Let me just put these away and then I'm ready to go." She walked passed the Doctor and up the stairs. His eyes followed after her, focusing perhaps a moment too long on the swing of her cotton dress over her lovely- "Doctor, are you coming?"
"What?! I mean yes. And helping. Can I help?" She laughed at the eager way he took the stairs two at a time and practically grabbed piles of laundry out of the hamper.
"Course. Angie's room's first."
It was good to do something useful. The task, while simple, did take the Doctor's mind off of... other things, at least for a short period of time. While they put away the clothes the Doctor regaled Clara with the tale of how he was the first person to use a washboard as a musical instrument. He had wound up naked and in a laundry when the head housekeeper was making her rounds. He thought playing it might make him seem casual and not too out of place. Clara laughed wholeheartedly at the image. Pleased with himself the Doctor stared into her face, delighting in the openness and expressiveness of it. Wondering what it must have looked like on that future Wednesday when she was staring down at him. "Doctor?" her voice brought him back to the present.
"Clara?" he asked, trying to match her questioning tone.
"I think you're nearly done there."
The Doctor looked down and realized he had been unconsciously folding Mr. Maitland's blue shirt and it was now about the size of a deck of cards, "Uh, yeah. Guess I am."
She rolled her eyes, took the shirt out of his hands, and upon fixing the folding, placed it in the appropriate drawer, "That's the last of them. Time to go," and before he knew it she was racing down the stairs. She already had her jacket on and was just lacing up her boots by the time he made it down. The Doctor took this moment to take her in. She look the same as she always did, cotton dress, tights, no real skin or body part on display. Her fashion sense was completely wholesome, and yet there was something in the way her light dress draped over her delightful curves that made the Doctor want to reach out and grab her by the waist. This particularly unhelpful thought was what filled his mind as Clara looked up at him, "Doctor, are you okay?"
"Yes. Fine," he said, his voice doing that embarrassing high thing, he thought he'd lost with his last regeneration. This wasn't good at all. How was he suppose to make it through the day? Blindfold himself?
"So where are we off to?"
The Doctor stared at her, his favourite mystery, and knew just where to go.
