Chapter Two

The next morning, rather than focussing on her book as usual, Clara's eyes were darting around the platform, looking for a grey-haired book lover with intense eyes. She felt her heart fill with disappointment when she couldn't spot him. As she shuffled in to the train and slid into a seat, she hoped one of the empty seats around her would be taken by the mysterious stranger she'd met yesterday. Clara had spent all of the previous day thinking about this man and all the untold stories behind his eyes and his half-smile.

As the empty seats filled up and the man was nowhere to be seen, Clara's mood instantly shifted. She had been so excited to see him again, maybe talk a little more. But maybe he was just a fleeting moment in her life; ships passing in the night, paths aligning oh so briefly before carrying on their course. Clara sighed and tried to bury her thoughts with Charles Dickens until she reached London.

Once she reached the capital, the weather had turned as sour as her mood. Outside the station the heavens had opened and commuters flocked for shelter, or rushed to get their umbrellas up. Clara tried to route around in her bag for her umbrella, but found nothing. Great. She was going to get soaked. She was just about geared up to brave the cold rain, a tall figure slid up beside her and held a large black umbrella over her. Clara looked up in surprise and was greeted by the man who had been occupying her thoughts all morning. He had a thick grey coat on and a black scarf wrapped loosely around his neck and Clara could almost feel the warmth radiating from his body next to her. He smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling a little and Clara couldn't help but smile in return.

"Hello," she said, finally finding her voice.

"Hello," he replied. Clara had never realised just how much she loved the Scottish accent. "Which way are you walking?"

"Oh, I'm turning right, not too far, just near Regents Park,"

"I'll walk with you, keep you dry," he said, nodding his head towards the dark skies and heavy London rain.

"You don't have to do that," she said, "Aren't you going in the opposite direction?"

He looked down at her again, eyes sinking into hers and another smile tugging at his mouth. "I can take the long way around."

As they walked out into the wet, Clara could only just about hear the rain drumming above her head over the heartbeat in her chest. Their arms and hips brushed as they both tried to shelter from the rain, but he didn't seem to mind so much. To Clara's surprise, he was the first one to break the silence.

"I thought I might have missed you this morning," he said, leaning down slightly so she could hear him over the rain. "I was running a bit behind schedule, almost missed the train entirely."

"Well, I was keeping a special eye out for a certain Jane Austen novel this morning in coach C," said Clara with a small smile. Understatement maybe.

"You've read it before?" he asked.

"Of course," said Clara "Along with every other woman on the planet. I think it's sort of a rite of passage."

He breathed a soft laugh that Clara thought was slightly adorable.

"So does your taste in literature stray any further than Austen and Charlie Dickens?" he asked and Clara could tell he was genuinely interested.

"I love the classics, I love 20s literature and poetry and romance," she said, "but give me a good mystery novel and I'm anybody's."

She looked up at him with a smile on her lips and found him looking back at her, intrigued, like he was trying to figure her out. Clara felt a blush creep up her neck, so turned to look back at the pavement.

"What about you?" she asked "What takes your fancy?"

He quirked one of those expressive eyebrows at her, and his silence made Clara look up again, and then she realised her poor wording.

"Oh, I...I mean, I mean books, what books do you like?"

"I know what you meant," he said with a smile and Clara thought she felt him shift a little closer as they squeezed past other commuters rushing through the rain.

"I'll read pretty much anything," he said "but I love the classics the most, and mystery too. I like to try and figure out whodunnit before the people in the book."

Clara laughed and he looked down at her.

"What?"

"Oh nothing," she said "I just can't remember the last time I discussed books with someone at 8'o'clock in the morning." She smiled warmly. "It's lovely."

"Yeah, me neither."

As they reached Clara's block of offices, they took shelter under the doorway and Clara turned to stand in front of him, looking at his face properly for the first time that day. He really was very handsome. Deep set eyes, a slight shadow of stubble on his chin, and dimples at the corner of his mouth. His grey hair was slightly damp, curling against the side of his face and Clara wanted to run her fingers through it.

"Thank you for walking with me..." she said and then stopped, breathing a soft embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry, I don't even know your name?"

He smiled and extended his free hand. "Doctor."

Clara wrapped her fingers around his hand, feeling warm skin and bony fingers and a spark of electricity. Then her brow knitted together.

"Doctor? Doctor who?"

He smiled as if he'd heard that response a thousand times before.

"Just the Doctor,"

Clara thought about it. "Doctor," she said, trying it out. "I like it."

The Doctor grinned, eyes connecting with hers as if he was looking right into her. If she felt right, his thumb grazed over her knuckles ever so softly.

"Clara," she said, "Clara Oswald."

"Clara Oswald," he said slowly, and Clara almost shivered when her name rolled off his Scottish tongue. "I like it."

Clara felt her face flush and regrettably let go of his warm hand. She wished she could stay out in the rain with him all day.

"So Clara Oswald, will I see you again tomorrow morning?" he asked, looking a bit shy again and shuffling on his feet.

She smiled. "Yes, I imagine you will. Thank you again, Doctor." She was just about to disappear into the building, when his voice stopped her again.

"Wait," he called, and Clara turned to look at him again. He looked a bit nervous, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Look, I'm not very good at this, but...I-I was just wondering if I could maybe have your phone number? I just enjoyed our conversation, and I don't really talk to too many people so it was nice, and you're really very pretty and-"

Clara stopped his rambling with a hand on his arm. Her heart was thrumming in her chest but she found his nervousness adorable, like a teenager asking a girl to dance. Maybe under those fierce eyebrows and intense stare was a soft and sensitive soul. She rather believed there was.

"You can have my number as long as I can have yours," she said, and she almost saw the relief in his eyes and his smile was enough to cancel out the cold dark weather.

They swapped phones, punched in their numbers, and then said goodbye. Clara turned back as she entered her building and watched the grey coat and black umbrella blend into the crowds again. She grinned and looked down at the new number in her phone under 'Doctor' and for once she couldn't wait to be on that rush hour train tomorrow morning.

More soon! Please review :)