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Chapter 4

Malcolm Tucker returned to his house when it was already after 10 pm and Clara hadn't really known what to do with her time, so she had decided to make dinner. Maybe it was also meant as a sort of apology in case he had noticed the post-it note, something to soften his anger. However when Clara saw him step into the kitchen he was smiling at her.

"Hi," Clara greeted him carefully.

"Hi," he said back before he dropped his briefcase and jacket on the kitchen chair. The post-it appeared to be gone.

Malcolm approached the oven Clara was standing at and took the spoon out of her hand to stir and smell the soup. "Not bad," he said, tasting a small spoonful, "Could do with some lovage."

Clara took a step back and regarded him warily for a moment. She had been so certain Malcolm would come home angry, yelling at her because of the note on his back and yet there was nothing whatsoever indicating that he knew. In fact, he was actually nice for once.

"I've got a little assignment for you," Malcolm said casually as he retrieved two plates from the cupboard and set them down on the table.

"Oh?" Clara cocked her eyebrows at him, trying to sound excited when in fact she still felt uncertain about where this was going. Why was he being nice? Why he had changed his mind about giving her something to do?

When Malcolm had taken the soup off the hob and set the pot down on the table, he indicated towards Clara to take a seat, which she did. He said nothing while he filled their plates and Clara was still waiting for an answer after they had begun eating. And then finally he started to come out with it.

"Nicola Murray has fucked up yet again, so I'm making her give a speech tomorrow to announce a new policy," Malcolm explained, his mouth full.

"Yeah, I read the article today. It sounded like she was in favour of beating kids," Clara suppressed a laugh, knowing that it would probably not be appreciated right now, "What kind of policy are we talking about?"

Malcolm smiled at her, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. Somehow Clara though he looked downright smug. "That is where you come in, sweetheart," he told her.

"Me?" she asked, not really knowing what exactly he was meaning by that.

"Yes, you. You will come up with a decent policy and write a speech Nicola fucking Murray can hold tomorrow morning."

"What?!" Clara almost shouted in disbelief. Even if she had done that before, which she hadn't, there was simply no way she could do all of that by herself, especially not in just one evening.

"Knock yourself out, go crazy," Malcolm told her, "But I want it finished by morning and it better be good or you can fucking kiss your internship here goodbye."

"That's not possible! I've never done that before!" Clara tried to argue but Malcolm suddenly rose from his chair, glaring down at her.

"It's either that or packing your bags, sweetheart," he said casually, "Anyway, thanks for dinner. We can work on your cooking skills later."

Clara had no idea what to say when he just turned around and headed up the stairs, leaving her alone with her new assignment that she thought she would never be able to finish without working a night shift. Clara had a very long night ahead of her, but she was still determined to prove herself to him even though he was a complete arse.

Malcolm hated the fact that this intern was staying at his home, invading his privacy. The mere presence at his house irritated him and when he woke up the next morning he couldn't wait to finally kick her out after she surely hadn't finished the assignment he had given her. Malcolm groaned and fell back into the pillows, uttering a series of curse words at a low volume. He had woken up hard and he couldn't possibly wank off in peace knowing that Clara was just next door. It was as if he was trapped in his own house with no opportunity to move around as he pleased. Fucking hell!

When he heard the shower running Malcolm knew that Clara was up as well and every thought he had had about paying some special attention to his morning wood dissolved into thin air. He wouldn't be caught jerking off by his bloody intern. Three months. Three long, long months. Malcolm had to get rid of her.

He almost bumped into Clara when she walked out of the bathroom and he was just making his way downstairs.

"Hey, watch where you're going," Malcolm barked at her before he took a good look at Clara, "Wow, you look like shit after a day out in the sunshine."

"Thanks," Clara glared at him through tired eyes, "If you don't mind, I'd like to go to sleep now. The speech is downstairs on the kitchen table."

"Hang on," Malcolm reached for her arm before she could go anywhere, "You've finished it?"

"Of course I did," she drawled her words and Malcolm thought Clara's eyes would fall shut any second now. Nevertheless he needed to know what she had written.

"Come downstairs," he told her, "I wanna read that."

Apparently she was too tired even to protest as she followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen where Malcolm already saw the speech neatly printed out, lying on the kitchen table. He picked it up and started reading. . . and instantly regretted the nasty trick he had played on her. At least he regretted it a little.

Clara Oswald was nothing if not fucking talented. Not only had she come up with a good and profound policy on after-school child care that he would most definitely pass on to Nicola, but she had also written an interesting and lively speech about it. Too bad everything he had told her last night had been a lie.

"That's. . . that's really good," Malcolm couldn't help but admit it. Those wankers at DoSAC could actually learn a thing or two from Clara.

"Really?" he heard the surprise in her voice, "You think so? Mrs Murray will present it like that?"

"Ah, about that," Malcolm granted her an apologetic smile, "I'm afraid there is no speech and there is no policy. I was messing with you."

Clara's face turned into a frown. "What?"

Malcolm gave her a shrug.

"Why?" Clara asked him in disbelief, "I worked on this all night! I thought it was important!"

Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Malcolm drew out the little post-it note that Clara had written and held it in her direction.

"Oh," she uttered, lowering her gaze to her feet, "Sorry."

"You can apologize later. Now we're going to DoSAC to tell them about your pretty, little policy. I think they'll be very interested," he waved at her to follow him to the door but Clara didn't move. She seemed fucking frozen to the spot.

"What are you waiting for? Get a fucking move on!"

"Mr Tucker-"

"Call me Malcolm."

Clara sighed, shaking her head slightly. "I worked on this all night. I didn't even get three hours of sleep," she argued.

"Welcome to politics, now come on! You don't want to be late to your first day at the office, do you?" Malcolm urged her.

Clara protested no further. Instead he watched as she reached for her bag and jacket and followed him outside. Maybe she would make a decent intern after all.