Chapter 6
You Just Rest Easy
The first two weeks of Clara's new job flew by. She was finding this work so much easier than her previous appointments. Perhaps it was John's easy manner, or Bill's nearly perfect behavior. Or maybe she just enjoyed being able to pay her rent again after that first night's disaster.
Whatever it was, she fell into the rhythm of it very nicely. In no time at all, she'd memorized where everything was kept in the cramped but cozy fat; all of the nooks and crannies where Bill's toys ended up and where she hid the vegetables she didn't like to eat.
She also learned more and more about the people she was serving. Bill asked questions about everything, a curious girl, but rarely did she not already have some possible answers prepared. She had a spirit Clara had to admire for one so young. She knew when she saw things she didn't like, such as peas and boys who were mean to girls.
But she had a warmth ad a wisdom, too, which Clara admired even more. She supposed the young child had spent a lot of time at various hospitals by now, and she did have quite a sad and moving past to learn from.
The older Smith, 'the Doctor' as Bill always called him, proved to be even more interesting than Clara had first thought, which was certainly saying something. He was always full of smiles when he arrived home, sometimes bringing small gifts for Bill from the nurses. He spoke enthusiastically about such a vast array of subjects that it made Clara's head spin.
Yet, at the same time, not once did she not catch that sad look in his eye, always when he did not think anyone was watching. The slight twitch of his lips when he smiled, and the deep rooted kindness that she knew could only come from as deep rooted a loneliness.
She always wanted to ask him about these things, and he always seemed to want to talk to someone about them. But as soon as she opened her mouth or gained enough courage and met his eyes, he changed the subject entirely, launching into a game with Bill or a cool-but-gross story from the hospital.
It was well into November now, and the chill that had set on the streets was permanent. Bill and Clara were seated, as they usually were these days, by the hearth of the fireplace. They each had a shawl wrapped around their shoulders, but as hot as the fire was and as cozy as the fabric was, the air still made them shiver.
"Miss Clara?" Bill asked, hugging her bear closer. "Why does the weather get so cold this time of year?"
"Well. The weather needs to get London ready for snowmen, right? And snowmen need it very cold."
Bill only laughed.
"Is that a made-up story?"
Clara mocked disbelief.
"You think I make up my stories?"
"Not all of them."
Clara tickled Bill under the arms until they were both laughing, forgetting for a moment about the cold.
The door opened, stopping their play abruptly as Bill jumped to her feet.
"The Doctor is home!" She called, turning to the door.
Clara stood, too. But they both froze.
John staggered into the room, shutting the door behind him. He looked…horrible. He hugged his beat up medical bag close to himself in a white-knuckle grip, like a lifeline. Beneath his ruffled coat, Clara saw dried blood splattered on his shirt.
She guided Bill back to the hearth with whispered comforts, then hurried back to John.
"Are you hurt?" She asked, twiddling her thumbs.
"No, no," he breathed, setting his bag down.
She led him to a chair and helped pull his coat off of his lanky shoulders. The red on his shirt stood out more clearly now that it was all that covered him.
To keep calm, Clara busied herself hanging up his coat and getting a glass of wine from the kitchen.
"John?" She called, seeing as he was staring into space.
He jumped at her voice, and then took the glass from her hand.
Clara sat on the sofa opposite, watching him closely as she wrung her hands. His eyes were almost glazed over, looking at nothing in particular. And as he took a sip of the wine she'd given him, his fingers shook so madly the glass rattled, threatening to crash to the floor at any moment.
"Can I do anything to help?" Clara asked.
John shook his head, but threw her a grateful smile.
"It was just a tough day."
Bill entered the room timidly. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of John's blood-spattered shirt, making Clara jump to her feet.
"He's alright," she comforted. "John, er, do you need help cleaning up?"
He looked down at himself for seemingly the first time.
"No; I think I can manage. Thank you, Clara," he added.
"It's not a problem. Do you need anything else?"
John shook his head.
"No; you go home. The wind is picking up out there. You don't want to catch a chill."
Clara got her carpet bag from Bill's room and gave them each a departing smile.
"I will see you both tomorrow morning, then. Please take care, John."
He flashed a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Even Bill's usually happy face was dampered somewhat. Clara disappeared out the door before she could second guess herself for the millionth time that night.
Still, she couldn't' forget that look in John's eyes when he'd first stepped through the door. Nor the fear that gripped her heart when she saw the red lining his shirt.
In fact, she didn't think that she would ever forget.
. . . . . .
Bill woke late in the night, unsure of what could have stirred her. She was used to the sounds of ships chugging down the Thames by now. And the neighbors shouting to each other across the street. She was even accustomed to the clip-clop of horses carrying wagons down the cobblestones late into the evening, bringing more visitors and more goods to London for the weekend.
She sat up in bed, wrapping her blanket closer to herself as a cold draft blew in from the window. It was almost December now. A frost had already set on the window, white crystals against the backdrop of the black night sky. Bill smiled at the image for a moment, but then grew puzzled again.
She wasn't one to give up a mystery. And so she sat for a minute, listening closely to the wind and the trees and the rattling window panes. Nothing seemed amiss.
That is, until she heard faint mutterings coming from the other side of the flat's thin walls.
Bill found herself suddenly very awake, padding toward the door in her nightgown. It was cold, especially with her bare feet on the uncarpeted floors, but she carried on nonetheless. Something wasn't right.
She followed the noise, still very faint, to the Doctor's door. Here, she could hear better. It was his voice, but not anything she'd heard him say in the daytime. He sounded scared. Or sad. But the Doctor was never scared and very rarely sad.
Bill carefully turned the knob and tiptoed into the Doctor's room. He was asleep, though he didn't seem very peaceful. His eyebrows furrowed together as his lips whispered quiet murmurs. Every other moment, it seemed, he turned over and adjusted himself, very obviously irritated by something.
"No," he muttered, louder than his previous incoherent words.
Bill approached slowly.
"Doctor?" She said, hardly above a whisper.
"No, no. Stay with me. Stay…"
He rolled over again, facing Bill. She watched a tear track down his face.
"Doctor?" She called louder.
He didn't hear her, caught up in his misery.
"No...Idris!" He practically shouted.
Bill jumped back, feeling tears of her own.
"Idris, please!"
Bill hurried to his side and shook him by the shoulder.
"Papa!" She called, forgetting her usual name for him. "Papa, wake up. It's only a dream."
She shook his shoulder harder and suddenly his eyes flew open.
John gasped, his heart racing in his chest as he breathed heavily. He wiped his face and stared at his wet fingertips with a baffled expression.
"Papa, it's alright," Bill said, crying into his neck as she wrapped her arms around him.
He blearily returned the hug, his mind somewhere else entirely. As he sat halfway in bed, Bill cradling his neck, he slowly came back to his senses.
"Bill. Bill, I'm alright."
She leaned back and sniffled.
"You had a bad dream."
"Yes," he admitted. "Yes, I did."
He wiped the tears off of her cheeks.
"Thank you, Bill. For waking me."
"You scared me, papa."
His eyes widened at the new name, a smile twitching his lips.
"I'm sorry, Bill. You can go back to sleep now. Do you need me to tuck you in?"
She nodded silently.
He brought her back to her room, settling her under her covers again. He was about to leave when her small voice called him back.
"Papa?"
"Yes, Bill?"
She waited until he was sat on the edge of her bed to continue.
"Are you alright?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm always alright, darling." He patted her hand and stood. "Sleep well."
In the hallway, John let the forced smile drop and headed back to his room.
