Viscera

Clara & Eleven

Dave Oswald had not been happy about his daughter running off the way she did, though being as Clara only told him she was gone over text just before they set off in their so very subtle replica DeLorean, there wasn't a lot he could do about it. Besides, she pointed out that the Doctor couldn't go on his own because she didn't trust him to drive the car.

"I can drive, Clara," he had grumbled next to her, stuck in the passenger side. He kept rolling the windows down and back up because he was bored and it was so warm; the air conditioner wasn't up to much snuff. Obviously Adam Mitchell intended this car to be kept stationary and merely admired, rather than actually driven places. Probably kept all of his rare, collectible action figures in the boxes, too. She was having a real nightmare trying to get the clutch to work properly, which her husband put down to her 'short legs and little feet.' Then she remarked that, okay, she would do her best to keep her legs away from him. And he shut up after that, because he was generally rather keen on those lower limbs.

"As soon as you show me a legitimate driving license – not your psychic paper – I'll believe you," she said.

"I drove that motorbike! You know, the anti-gravity one."

"And!? That's a bike, not a car."

"It's practically the same."

"And that's why you're not allowed to drive Adam's car. Besides, you know what he's like for not liking people borrowing his things. I heard my sister got his yacht destroyed yesterday – you remember I was telling you he bought that yacht?" she said. He ignored her, keeping his eye on the Sawyers' car in front of them.

"They're going to turn left, pay attention, would you?" he said.

"Christ, I've married a backseat driver," she complained. He was right, though. They did turn left, and she followed. Geoff had been flashing his hazard lights at them earlier, perhaps wanting them to turn around and leave the Blackpool police to do their job. The thing was, Clara didn't have much faith in the abilities of her hometown's finest to capture a big, invisible alien. If that was the culprit behind whatever crime they were pulling up to, of course.

The Sawyers stopped, so the Oswalds stopped, pulling up onto the pavement, police cars and vans throughout the street.

"Why have you been following us?" Geoff demanded as soon as the pair of them hurried to get out of the car. They were just on an ordinary street, as far as the Doctor could tell. He was keeping an eye out for any traces of alien involvement, had his tracker he'd built to help the Shadow catch the loose Augix just the other week. He should have made Clara fetch a sample of that shod skin when she left the shuttle last night, but he didn't think that far ahead. It would be too much hassle trying to get to it now, and no doubt the skin had been moved elsewhere for a forensic analysis that would glean no results.

"Looking into things, aren't we, darling?" Eleven said, holding his device in his hands. It was a clunky old thing that was modified from a Second World War radio. Clara was holding a whole packet of scotch eggs she had nicked from Fiona, and was steadily working her way through them, scars still visible on her left arm. Wade, lurking, kept looking at them. Clara paid him not notice.

"I thought you said you were having some sort of weekend off?" Geoff questioned.

"That was before people died," the Doctor said seriously, "And it sounds like you're out of your depth, if you don't mind my saying so. The wife and I are experts."

"She has a literature degree, that's hardly what I would call 'expert,'" Geoff said.

"Because it's really the best thing to be advertising that I secretly work for a clandestine branch of government concerned with extra-terrestrial affairs? Just because you've known me since I was little doesn't mean you can stop me from going in there," Clara said coolly, "I'm an independent woman."

"Go on in, Wade," Geoff said to his lanky, quiet, ogling son, "I'll deal with this." Wade did 'go on in,' but he kept his eyes trailing over Clara for a few seconds longer than Eleven was entirely comfortable with. Not that jealousy had ever been a good colour on him… though, could he be jealous? To Clara, it was like Wade was barely even there. She wasn't remotely fussed for him.

"Here's the thing, Geoffrey," the Doctor said, going up to Geoff, "I'm probably supposed to be nice to you seeing as you're buddied up with my father-in-law, but people are dead in that house because of whatever crashed in that spaceship last night."

"You don't know this is anything to do with that."

"Neither do you, and you won't be able to find out. And even if you do – what then? I'm the expert here, I'm your best bet, and Clara is my companion in everything I do, so she's coming in as well. I already showed you my credentials yesterday. Feel free to inspect them again if you don't believe me," he said.

"She shouldn't have to see what's in there," Geoff nodded at Clara.

"And why shouldn't she? I daresay she's seen worse," he said, which was true.

"What will me seeing what's in that house do? Spoil my innocence? I distinctly remember your son spoiling my innocence when we were fifteen," Clara quipped. Shameless. Was it bad that he liked that about her? Finally, Geoff let them go into the garden and towards the small terrace, which was crawling with people all dressed up in white, paper suits with rubber gloves and goggles. She took her scotch eggs on in, ignoring the people who told her she couldn't bring food into an active crime scene. The upstairs bedroom was the epicentre of whatever had happened, and that was what Wade had gravitated towards.

"You can't go in there," he said in a voice he meant to sound official, but there was a tremor in his tone that meant he lacked any legitimate command, holding his arms across the doorway to block Clara's passage.

"Excuse me?" she questioned, "Half the people in your forensics team are girls, what's the matter with you, Wade?" she asked him, "I can see a detective in there over your shoulder who's a woman." She could, they both could. They could also both see a godawful amount of blood.

"You'll never be able to un-see it," he told her seriously. She rolled her eyes.

"'Scuse us, please," Eleven just brushed past him, pushing him out of the way.

"N-no – don't – Clara!" he protested when he went ignored and Clara followed her husband. Still with her scotch eggs.

"Eurgh, grim," was all she commented, then she just took a bite out of the mini scotch egg (about the size of a golf ball, as opposed to the normal, tennis ball-sized ones) in her hand. Yep, 'grim' certainly was the word. She looked around and saw nothing too out of the ordinary in terms of bloody murder scenes, quite numb to the gore by now. Really, could anything faze her in terms of that anymore? She wasn't sure. She remembered how harrowed she had been upon seeing Skaldak's mauled victim on that Russian submarine; was it bad how it didn't really bother her these days?

It was a whole lot of blood and sinewy bits of organs and lumps of red-tinged flesh. She could see a whole foot on the edge of the bed, an eyeball on the windowsill, fingers on the floor, so on and so forth.

"Who might you be?" the aforementioned female detective asked. Geoff followed them in and ordered everyone out of the room, so it was reduced to just the five of them (Wade refused to go, said he wanted to 'make sure Clara's alright.')

"Undercoll," Eleven answered curtly, "Special ops, or something. Working under the authority of the Queen. Wait – we are working under the authority of the Queen, aren't we?"

Clara shrugged, "That's what the Spooks said. And whatshisface. Elliott. Ought I text him, do you think?"

"No, no," Eleven waved her away, going to stoop down to peer at the foot. "There's only the one foot here. How many dead? Three?"

"Don't I get either of your names? You can't just swan in here and take over our crime scene," the woman argued.

"That's Clara Oswald, my friend Dave's daughter," Geoff explained, "And her new husband. Theodore."

"It's the Doctor, actually," Eleven said.

"How do you mean?"

"The Doctor. My name. Just call me the Doctor."

"You make your wife call you that?" Geoff said, then asked Clara herself, "He makes you call him that?"

"It's his name, like he said," she answered.

"Clara can call me whatever she likes," Eleven said. Then he prodded the foot in its big toe with his finger, and when it bent back under the pressure he made a noise of disgust and jumped away from it, "God, that's still warm. No rigor mortis. Well, Coo, I think what we've got here is somebody got a little peckish."

"These people were eaten?" the woman asked him.

"Well, yes. Obviously. Where do you think the rest of them went?" the Doctor said, "What's your name?"

"Penelope," she said.

"That's a pretty name," Clara told her, and Eleven gave her a look. "What?" He raised his eyebrows. "I'm just being friendly."

"Yes, because you're always so friendly to girls, aren't you?" he challenged, and she glared at him.

"I'm offended."

"And how is Jane Austen?" he asked her smarmily, and she went a fierce shade of red.

"I told you that was an accident!"

"Isn't she that writer-woman?" Wade asked, confused. They ignored him and Clara went to put her box of scotch eggs down somewhere, next to a large blood spatter on the chest of drawers. Honestly, the whole room was covered in blood. Clara felt like she was covered in blood just being in there.

"What about Martha? Was that an accident as well?" he jibed*.

"Okay, until you have also had massive clusters of burn blisters on the inside of your mouth and on your tongue, you cannot comment on what happened between Martha and I – and you know I had to do it because of those drugs she was on," Clara argued. This made everyone else in the room very confused, and even more confused that all these stories about Eleven's wife kissing other women only caused him to laugh.

"Look, can you tell us anything about this or not? It's offensive to be making light of these deaths the way you are. They're murders. This isn't funny," Geoff said coldly to them both, and Eleven's laughter trailed away.

"The way I see it, this is all your fault anyway," Wade said directly to the Doctor.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"You saw that thing crash last night, you saw whatever did this get out, you could have stopped it," he said angrily.

"And how do you propose I ought to have done that, then?" the Doctor asked, "I don't have any weapons or nets, and I was with my wife. I should have made it come after me, then, I suppose? Let it kill Clara and I?"

"Well, I'd've been fine," Clara shrugged.

"That isn't the point. I couldn't have done a thing, if this is what it did to these people here. Besides, we didn't see it at all, it's camouflaged, nearly invisible. Good luck finding any witnesses who saw anything around here. The best you'd get is they were torn to pieces by a ghost." That shut Wade up, pointing out Clara may have been at risk. "Not like I knew it would be hostile, anyway."

"It came from space! What's the likelihood it isn't hostile?" Wade questioned, and Eleven could almost hear Clara rolling her eyes.

"Well I'm not hostile," he said, and Wade met his eyes, was taken aback.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Geoff interrupted.

"Aliens, Sawyer," the Doctor said, "They could be anywhere among us, could look like everybody else. They could even be in this room right now."

"Oh, don't scare him, Chin," Clara sighed, then paused, "But that's a good point. Could it be here right now? If it hides itself?" All five of them glanced around then, looking for movement out of the corners of their eyes. Nothing, though.

"No reason for it to stay, it's got its meal, moved on elsewhere," he said, "If it's clever enough to fly a spaceship then it's clever enough not to stay at the scene of a crime. Then again, it hasn't quite finished off everybody in here, perhaps there's a possibility it'll come back? Might want to lay a trap, Detective," he said to Geoff, glancing around at all of the body parts and mushy clumps of reddish human, gristle. It smelt quite foul, rotting there in the heat of the summer.

"Do you know what it is?" Clara asked him.

"No. Going by that skin you found, though, it has to be reptilian. And large."

"What about Silurians? Do they eat people?" she asked.

"Oh, no. Not normally. A Silurian would need to be greatly angered to do something like this, like when Vastra was disturbed by the construction of the London Underground. They don't possess any camouflage abilities, either."

"Vastra definitely eats people, though. All the time."

"What? I've never seen her eat anybody."

"I think that whatever Jenny Flint and Madame Vastra get up to in the sanctity of their own bedroom isn't anything you should be seeing, sweetheart. I'd be worried if you had," Clara said slyly, and he groaned.

"I don't understand why you have to be like this sometimes… honestly, you can be just as bad as your sister."

"Since when did you have a sister?" Wade, who most likely hadn't understood a single thing they had been talking about until that.

"Since she cloned herself, atrocious woman," Eleven said, "Has enough ego to multiply herself a thousandfold."

"To save you."

"And I'm very grateful you're so enamoured with yourself, wifey," he said, going to look through the drawers.

"Why do you let him speak to you like that?" Wade asked Clara, who faltered.

"Uh… how so?" she asked.

"He called you an 'atrocious woman' and said you're full of yourself," Wade said.

"She is atrocious!" Eleven argued, "Eats mayonnaise out of the jar with her fingers for breakfast. You know, a few days ago I caught her dipping a chocolate hobnob into the stuff. Who does that, I ask? Horrible creature."

"You can shut up right now," Clara ordered him, "Go back to rifling through those drawers, nobody cares what you think." He stuck his tongue out at her. "Like fish fingers and custard is any better. And those cookies with the anchovies in them you tried to make me eat the other day."

"Fish fingers and custard is a delicacy. And my daughter made those cookies, they're not anything to do with me. I've seen her eat radioactive, ambiguous meat paste out of a hard hat before. You're the one of us eating scotch eggs at a crime scene."

"I've stopped eating them now!" she protested.

"Leave me alone. Everything that comes out of your mouth is disgusting."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

The look on the faces of Geoff, Wade and Penelope was as though they had never witnessed anything quite so strange as the way the Doctor and Clara spoke to one another.

"…Are you sure it can't be a Silurian? If they stole that shuttle, they could have stolen other technology, to hide themselves like a chameleon." Clara got right back on topic, startling the Sawyers, who maybe expected outrage from her.

"I suppose, but Silurians aren't this huge, I've never met one with the raw physical strength enough to rip a human apart. Besides, where would they get a shuttle from? They're native to Earth," he said.

"What are native to Earth…?" Geoff asked.

"Silurians, Sawyer, keep up. Homo reptilia. Like you, only they're descended from lizards, rather than apes. Live underground at the moment, mostly in Wales. And enough of you making comments about Jenny Flint," he turned to Clara again, "I can see you're itching to make another one." She looked guilty at that. "Why do we call her Jenny Flint, anyway? She has the same name as my daughter, why not just Flint? Like we have Ravenwood?"

"Call her what you want, we don't exactly see her very often," Clara said.

"You have a daughter?" Wade implored. They were all questions, stopping him from getting a good luck in those drawers. And there was one of them caked in rather a large amount of blood in the vague shape of a non-human handprint he had his eye on.

"Yes, what of it?" Eleven said.

"How old are you?"

"Roundabout twelve-hundred years old. Jenny is only two-hundred. And I daresay that isn't any of your business – now let me look in this drawer, it's got a big claw-mark on it," he pointed out the blood spatter. Not that he could recognise the species based on a red imprint of a massive, clawed hand. A hand like that could definitely tear people limb from limb, as had been done in this house they were in. He went to open it and saw that there was a big sheet of paper folded up within, with more bloody marks on it. Clara came to get a look, escaping from Wade, who had begun to question her further about her alleged step-daughter.

"What did you find?"

"It just looks like a rough sketch of a roller coaster," he said, confused, "Can't be that important, I suppose, not if our lizard friend left it behind. Probably just searching for anything useful. Although…" he spotted something dark orange and shining in the sunlight coming through the window stuck to the page with blood and remains of human fibre, peeling it away from the paper carefully.

"Is that a scale?"

"DNA, Coo," he answered, passing her the ride diagram so that he could pull up his tracking device he had been carrying this entire time.

"This is that roller coaster you were reading about this morning in the Gazette, the Stratosphere," she said. He glanced over and spied the name of it scrawled messily at the top in pencil. He supposed this was the designer's house, or something.

"Oh, so it is," he said offhandedly.

"Everyone says that thing's cursed," Penelope, eavesdropping, said, "People keep dying on it."

"Curses don't exist. But shoddy risk assessments and poor workmanship do. I'd blame those. Does this city really need another roller coaster, anyway?"

"I've always hated them," Clara muttered.

"Ah-ha!" he exclaimed, hitting the side of the tracker triumphantly when it lit up, and then when he listened to the soft crackling noise it was emitting, like feedback, he groaned disappointedly.

"What?" she asked, putting the diagram back down on the desk he had found it in, blood smudging the drawing in places. The Doctor didn't think it looked much different from any other roller coaster. He wasn't keen on them, either – hadn't ever been much of a thrill-seeker. More of a thrill-stumbler-onto.

"This damned thing, barely works. It's not got a complete bit of DNA, it's having to reconstruct it. Might take a few hours," he sighed, then had an idea and turned to Clara who, sensing it was about time for them to leave, had drifted back towards her scotch eggs again, "Don't you have an aquarium here?" She frowned.

"…Yes…"

"Perfect! Let's do that while we wait for this."

"What? That's all? People have been murdered and you're going to go to the Sea Life Centre?" Geoff, horrified, asked.

"Well… there's nothing to do. This tracker will pick up on it soon enough, and we'll… think of something to do to catch it, in the meantime. But at the aquarium."

"Great," Clara grumbled, "Now I'm a tourist in my own city… fine, fine. Whatever you like. Makes up for me dragging you to Fiona's earlier."

"Wonderful! Have I ever told you how you are the centre of my entire universe?" he said, following her out of the room, the three police officers staring after them.

"All the time, sweetheart. All the time…"

*chapter 775

AN: Come on you guys, all pitch in to take 5TC up to 100 reviews! You know your reviews are the things which drive me to carry on this fic, remarkable if you've read the entire thing, that's real dedication, I am wholly grateful.