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Chapter 31

John had woken up early, the strange house and bed rousing him from his sleep just shortly after eight even during their holiday while Clara was still sleeping peacefully right next to him, probably dreaming about something amazing, judging by the light smile on her lips. Right now he considered himself the luckiest man in the world because no one else had the privilege to wake up next to Clara Oswald.

Then, slowly, she opened her eyes and the smile on her face widened when she looked at him.

"Mornin'," she mumbled sleepily, starting to stretch.

John thought she looked adorable like this and utterly beautiful. He was so much in love with her that he almost couldn't believe it.

"I want to marry you," he said sincerely. He had no idea where the words had come from. They had just come out of his mouth like that. And they were true, so true.

Clara stopped and lifted her head a little to get a better look at him. She seemed surprised. "Is that. . . is that a proposal?" she asked, baffled.

John smiled in reply. "If you want it to be."

It took her a moment to grasp the meaning of his words in her sleepy state, but after a while she smiled back at him. "Yes."

He frowned at her. "Is that the answer to the proposal or-"

Clara giggled. "If you want it to be."

John woke with a start and for a moment he didn't know where he was or what was happening before he slowly fell back into reality. He wasn't in a cosy house in Scotland, he wasn't with Clara. He was in Missy's guest bedroom, alone, and he had dreamed about Clara.

But it hadn't felt like a dream, had it? John wasn't entirely sure, but he certainly hoped that he was remembering it. If that was how his proposal had happened, he would need to ask her about it. John turned his head and checked the clock on his bedside table. It was almost time for his date with Clara.

John groaned when he sank down on the heavy looking bench in the iron work department of the Victoria and Albert museum and Clara took a seat next to him, glad not to have to rely on her feet for a moment. They were aching inside her shoes and she dearly regretted her choice of footwear once more. One of these days she would just dress sensibly.

"This is a nice bench," he said after a while, "I like this bench."

"It's a really nice bench," she agreed, exhaling sharply. They had been walking through the museum for hours and she was fairly certain that they hadn't even covered half of it yet.

"Nice metal work, too," John went on, staring straight ahead. Clara could tell that he was exhausted and his leg was probably hurting as well after being on his feet for so long.

"Are we gonna sit here and stare at an iron work fence until closing time?"

"Would you mind?" he asked her and chuckled when he turned his head in her direction.

She shrugged. "A little maybe. But I don't mind at all for the moment. Sitting is good. Sitting I approve of," she agreed and scooted a little closer until their arms were touching. With a sigh Clara leaned her head against his shoulder. "Still a lovely idea, the V&A."

John closed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her a little closer. It was lovely, the way their meetings had been going lately, and she could feel that he was enjoying them, too. They were seeing each other, spending time together, but Clara assumed that he didn't feel pressured any longer. At least he didn't give off the impression.

"Can I asked you something?" John asked curiously after a moment of silence and staring at a metal fence.

"Sure," she replied, "Anything."

Yet he hesitated a while before he spoke. "How did I. . . propose?"

Clara smiled to herself at the mention of it. The memory of it alone caused her heart to skip a little beat. It had been so sweet and unusual, and it had come right from his heart then at that moment.

"What makes you think you proposed?" she chuckled, "Maybe I went down on one knee in a fancy restaurant."

John laughed in reply. "I'm not sure I would have allowed that."

Clara sighed happily. "I was kidding. You're right. You proposed in a really sweet way. We were on holiday then, a small house in the-"

"Scottish Highlands," John interrupted her.

She lifted her head to look at him. "You remember?"

John smiled at her in reply. "I wasn't sure if it was a memory or just a dream. I certainly wished it was real. The house seemed nice, too. We should go back there one day."

"That's a lovely idea," she agreed and rested her head back against his shoulder. John was remembering at last or at least he was beginning to and the thought about that filled Clara with hope. He had moved out, yes, but now she was sure that eventually he would come back. And in the meantime she could just as well enjoy dating him for a second time. It was certainly just as lovely as it had been the first time around.

After they had finally moved from the bench John suggested to go to a restaurant and they had a delicious meal at their favourite Italian place before he proceeded to drive her home. It had been a truly wonderful date, but when they came to a halt in front of their house and John hesitated to say goodbye, Clara got the impression that there was something else he wanted to say to her, something that he had carried around all day, waiting to get it off his chest.

"Okay, out with it," Clara told him, "I know you, remember? I know the look on your face when you're about to tell me something but don't know how to."

With a sigh John reached behind him and retrieved a small box from the back seat of his car. Clara eyed it suspiciously, but she didn't even have an inkling what it could possibly hold.

"You probably won't like what I'm about to tell you," he said carefully.

Clara frowned at him. "Tell me. Stalling won't make it better, so tell me. What's in the box?"

He took a deep breath and Clara watched him clutch the box a little more tightly. "I met with Bonnie. To talk," he began, but she instantly interrupted him.

"Why?" Clara spat, "Why would you do that? I've told you about her."

"Because I wanted to know," he argued, "I needed to know why she pretended to be you, why she's in London, why she wants to see you."

"John, you can't trust anything that comes out of this woman's mouth!" Clara almost shouted back. It was unbelievable that she was back and even more unbelievable that apparently she had already managed to wrap her husband around her little finger. The next time Clara saw Bonnie she wouldn't get away so easily.

"She's trying, Clara," John told her gently, "I don't know what kind of person she was before she went to prison and I don't doubt that she was horrible to you and your family, but whatever happened in the past, Bonnie has changed. Maybe you're right and she doesn't deserve your forgiveness, but at least she deserves that you'll listen to her. Just once. That's all Bonnie wants, Clara. Just to talk."

"Never," Clara spat, "We've offered to talk to her when Mum died. We've offered to talk before she ran away, but she just. . . she left. She just left us alone."

With a sigh John finally handed over the box and Clara took it reluctantly. If it came from Bonnie, she didn't even want to know what was inside.

"She gave me this when she came by to talk," he explained, "She said you should have it."

"Well, since you're pals now, tell her I don't want it," she said angrily and attempted to push the box back into John's hands, but he refused it. It seemed she had no other choice but to open it. "Fine."

When Clara lifted the lid, she wasn't entirely sure what she had expected to find, but she knew what she hadn't expected – and it was exactly what was inside the box.

"That's Mum's," Clara gasped and drew out the small, golden ring. She admired it in her hand for a long moment under the light of the street lamp. It had been over a decade since she had last seen it and suddenly Clara felt like there was a lump in her throat. This tiny piece of jewellery had been so precious to her mother and Clara had always just assumed that it had gotten lost somehow. She would have never imagined that Bonnie had taken it or that she would ever see it again. After a few moments Clara slipped it onto her own finger. It was the perfect fit.

Clara lowered her gaze to the box once more and found several more items that had belonged to her mother as well as some old photographs. Her head shot back up.

"Why would Bonnie give this to me? Why now? Why not keep it?" she asked.

John granted her a smile. "I think it's her way of saying sorry," he explained and reached out to hold her hand, "Please, just talk to her. Just once. If you still hate her, you can go your separate ways, but at least give her a chance."

All of a sudden Clara started to grown and John instantly stared at her in confusion. "You're a terrible husband, you know that? You should be on my side, not trying to make me do the right thing," she growled, "Thank you."

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips while John closed his arms around her in response. Even though he had lost his memory, he was still the same man she had met all those years ago and his heart was just as big and despite not even remembering all about her, Clara knew that she still held a large place inside of it.