Clarity - Chapter 3

Malcolm had been wrong. It was impossible for him not to come closer, now. She had definitely smiled at him. Although he had to admit he'd been behaving a bit childishly. He did indulge in staring contests with some MPs during the week (when it was required) but he always won those. When he'd realised that Clara Oswald might have felt uncomfortable, he'd dropped his eyes and cursed himself. What the fuck was he playing at? She didn't deserve this kind of treatment, she'd done nothing to piss him off, on the contrary. So why was he staring at her like a fucking predator? But he couldn't resist another look, so he let his eyes find hers once more. She raised her eyebrows and smiled slightly, as though glad he was back in the game. He smiled back. Who wouldn't?

That prick Keith was cowering in apparent fear beside her. He used this fact as an excuse to justify his intent to come closer. He made sure that Jamie was still busy bollocking Steve and didn't need to be physically restrained, then made his way towards Clara Oswald. Unsurprisingly, the group of people around her got a lot thinner very quickly, and by the time he reached her, only Keith and that blonde colleague of hers he didn't know remained.

Clara still had a somewhat mischievous look on her face and seemed utterly unconcerned that a senior advisor more than twice her age was ridiculously trying to use her as a human shield against the righteous anger of the PM's master of spin. Too late to escape now, you fat fuck, thought Malcolm, who'd decided to not let such a golden opportunity slip through his fingers. He was incapable of finding the right words to say to introduce himself to Miss Oswald, but he had hundreds of witty insults at the ready for Keith. This realisation worried him, but only for a second.

"Keith! Just the man I was looking for, how wonderful. I hear congratulations are in order."

"Con-congratulations?" stammered the Health advisor.

"I was told about your daughter. Pregnant, isn't she? That must be a nice feeling. Knowing that you'll be a grandfather soon. So... excited?"

Keith Graham swallowed mechanically but didn't seem to know what to say. However, he did step back from Clara, who hadn't pulled away from his grasp as Malcolm had expected she would once she'd heard him, and was now openly smirking in fact. Her eyes were fixed somewhere behind him, as though she was observing the events from the other side of the room.

"Blythe must be thrilled. Where is she, by the way? I would love to offer my congratulations to her as well."

"My wife couldn't come tonight." Keith finally managed to mutter.

"Oh, pity. Well, do give her my best." Malcolm looked pointedly at the smaller man who quickly understood that he was being dismissed. Keith didn't waste that opportunity and scurried away. But as soon as his back was turned, Malcolm dropped all pretences and stopped smiling. In a frighteningly cold voice he added, as an afterthought, "I heard about that interview you gave, yesterday. The Standard? Do have Miss Hadley call me. I'm sure she enjoyed all the attention you gave her tonight, but I might have a word to say to her before she decides to publish anything. Be sure to pass it along, I'm certain she's still here somewhere."

Malcolm could tell from the way Keith dropped his head even lower that he got his message loud and clear: you're fucked, pal.

"That prick!" Startled, Malcolm quickly turned his head towards Clara.

"You mean he'd already talked to the journalist?" He didn't have time to comment, she looked furious.

"So all this looking after him, making sure he doesn't spill the beans bullshit was for nothing? I could have kicked him in the balls the minute his hand slipped? I could have..."

Clara then stopped, out of breath but certainly not out of complaints. Her blonde friend's eyes were wide open in amazement. He surmised from her reaction that Miss Oswald didn't usually vent quite so vocally. But he couldn't blame her, he knew how therapeutic venting could be. Also, he'd just basically told her that the chap she had apparently been somehow forced to spend the evening with was an even bigger fucker than she'd thought. But he did find it puzzling that what she took most offence with wasn't the fact that said fucker was a pervy married old twat but that she'd been wasting her time. Her priorities were surprising. She wasn't as naive as he'd thought. A philandering senior advisor who grabbed her arse was of apparent no concern to her. But a philandering senior advisor who grabbed her arse even though there was no ulterior gain for her was a cause for fury. If Malcolm wasn't so tired, he'd probably find this realisation unsettling. In the state of things, he simply felt slightly apologetic.

"Sorry." he told her, although he wasn't exactly sure he meant it.

He wasn't sorry he bollocked Keith in front of a blameless audience. And he certainly wasn't sorry it gave him the necessary excuse to approach Miss Oswald. But he did feel a little sorry for her. Granted, the fact that she'd let Keith grab her like that in the first place was questionable at best, because she didn't appear to him as the kind of girl who'd let herself be used that way. Especially now that he was standing next to her and could hear her. However, that didn't mean she'd deserved any of it. In fact, he felt even dirtier for having ogled her, now. Fuck, she was just a kid for Christ's sake. A kid who had now swallowed the entirety of her wine in one gulp. She was still looking fixedly somewhere behind him. With a frown on her pretty face.

"I'll, huh... get you another glass, Clara?" He had completely forgotten her blonde colleague. And Clara looked as though she had, too.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Thanks, Mary."

"Red wine?"

Clara was about to ask for something else, he could tell, possibly something stronger (which he understood) but she stopped short. She could probably see, just as clearly as Malcolm, that the woman was desperately trying to get away. She looked like she'd never heard anyone swear before, and didn't know how to react. Malcolm thus put her in the "terrified" category.

Long ago, he'd come up with a simple and efficient way to categorise most people he came in contact with. Two groups: obvious contempt or absolute terror. Some could navigate in between. And some (most) went from one category to the other, as time went on. Now that he and Clara were alone though, he found himself at a loss. Which group would she fit in? She'd stopped staring into space and was now looking at him. Shit, he thought. He was the one belonging to the "terrified" category.

"I do need that drink," she told him. She wasn't defending herself and her need for alcohol, she was merely stating a fact.

"Gin and tonic?" he offered jokingly, raising the full glass he'd forgotten he was still holding.

"Yes, please." she answered, smiling. And she took the glass from his hand. And started drinking. The fucking nerve!

"I really wanted something stronger. And I'm not sure Mary's coming back with that glass of wine. So, thanks," she then said, handing the glass back to him. She'd only drunk about a quarter of it and hadn't seemed concerned about sharing the same glass as him.

"Keep it. You need it more than me." His words had apparently reminded her of the reason why she'd wanted his drink in the first place. She looked thoughtful.

"Sorry about Keith." Malcolm blurted out. He couldn't help it. He didn't want her to start staring at an invisible spot over his shoulder once again. That was twice he'd said he was sorry, now. And Christmas was still two weeks away! What the fuck was that all about?

"He's a creep, I won't be granting favours to the Health department anytime soon."

Me neither, thought Malcolm. Just as he'd been about to finally do the polite thing and introduce himself, she beat him to it.

"Malcolm Tucker, right?"

"And you're Clara Oswald." she raised her eyebrows at that and smiled a bit self-consciously. She switched her glass to her other hand and shook his. Her grip was cold because of the ice cubes but he was taken by the warmth of her brown eyes.

"Nice to meet you." she added, and looked like she meant it.

Fuck.

Clara had been wrong. Leaving the party when she had had the chance half an hour ago would have been a mistake. Yes, she might have done without the peculiar looks on her colleagues' faces, but then she wouldn't have met Malcolm Tucker. She'd never met someone so utterly mercurial: one minute he was the manipulative shouty madman she had been warned about, the next he was an apologetic soft-spoken gentleman. He hadn't commented on her loss of composure but hadn't found an excuse to get away from her either. Unlike poor Mary. God, she'd forgotten how prudish and impressionable she could be. She probably believed all the stories she had heard about Malcolm Tucker. And after witnessing what he'd done to Mr. Graham with just a few chosen words, she certainly had every reason to keep on believing them.

But Clara thought she'd gotten a glimpse of humanity behind Malcolm Tucker's impenetrable façade. She still wasn't sure how he'd meant her to interpret his "grandfather" remarks to Mr. Graham. She knew they weren't exactly directed at her. He had wanted to make the health advisor feel like the pervy old man he was which was thus making her feel like an enabler by not preventing him from touching her arse. And she was fine with that. But she couldn't stop thinking he'd had an ulterior motive. She wondered if he'd intentionally wanted her to make a distinction between himself and Mr. Graham. As though he'd been telling her: "Look, he's even older than me, he's going to be a granddad for crying out loud!"

Perhaps it was his way of apologising for having stared at her like he did just before. His way of acknowledging that he shouldn't have, but that at least he wasn't as old as that other guy. He was probably married as well, she thought. All those men were. But he hadn't behaved inappropriately. Quite the contrary. In short, she didn't know what the hell to think of Malcolm Tucker.

She admitted that taking his glass might have been a bit cheeky. She'd unconsciously wanted to rattle him a little, and see how he'd react. He'd remained calm, if a bit startled. And the drink had felt good going down. The melting ice cubes against her hand had a similar effect as his grey-blue eyes staring at her. And the quicksilver mind she could see hidden behind them felt like the kick of the gin running through her veins.

She should probably join her colleagues again, find Mary to apologise. And she was pretty sure the senior press advisor for the government of Great Britain and Northern Ireland had better things to do than talking to her. In fact, she could see Jamie MacDonald walking towards them. But she wanted him to know her name before they split. She knew she'd be reflecting on the reasons for that later on.

He didn't seem very surprised that she knew his name. But she couldn't help but smile in amazement and pride when he revealed he knew hers. What she hadn't anticipated was the way it would make her feel to hear him say it. The way he pronounced "Clara" with his rumbling Scottish accent triggered a ripple of contradictory feelings inside her. She hadn't heard her name pronounced in such a familiar way since she'd arrived in this country. She couldn't decide whether she wanted him to never utter it again or to never stop uttering it.

Fuck.