DAY 18,200*

"The nerve of you is astonishing! You call me up to come and get you, then you march into my home-"

"It is not your home, Jennifer," Thirteen snapped at her only daughter, who was, at present, pacing back and forth on the balcony above the central column of the future TARDIS. Thirteen's interior because, while Jenny may be in temporary possession of it while she and Clara were living on Earth and teaching together, she was still forbidden from changing any of these aesthetics. They'd had a row just a few weeks ago about how Jenny thought she could fix the chameleon circuit, and Thirteen had scoffed and told her she wasn't allowed to touch the chameleon circuit under any circumstances.

"Alright, you march into your own home which you're lending me, and accuse me of murder!" Jenny exclaimed. It was only the two of them. Clara Oswald was asleep elsewhere, Clara Ravenwood was presumably listening in on the other side of the door. She hadn't seen Adam Mitchell and Oswin so far. Jenny was in front of the railings while Thirteen stood next to the taxidermy bald eagle she had received as a gift from President Lincoln. The American flag that used to hang beside her had been moved into the house with she and Clara, as had the two large, mismatched, antique chairs that used to reside there. And a fair few of the books. It was oddly empty.

"I'm just repeating to you what was said to me by a giant and very angry tentacle monster," Thirteen said sternly, her arms crossed, not rising to Jenny's anger at this 'injustice.' The Doctor supposed Jenny must have had a bad day, and that was why she was being so moody. "A Khaolu tried to kill us! Don't you know why? It said it was trying to avenge its mother because you-"

"'Murdered her in cold blood.' Yeah, I heard you the first dozen times, mother."

"All I know is you had something to do with the death of its mother in 1948. Has it not happened to you yet?"

"Wait – 1948? You didn't say 1948 before!"

"Of course I did!"

"Did not."

"Well I'm saying it now. Why? Do you remember now?"

Jenny stopped pacing, stood still, then sighed and put her head in her hands for a brief moment while her mother watched, anxiously awaiting the answer to the questions that had been puzzling her for the last few hours. Ever since Cole Campbell had mutated in their living room and turned into a tentacle ball.

"I… might. But it was an accident!"

"Just tell me what happened," Thirteen entreated softly.

"…Okay. Fine. It all started when Clara made me that scarf-"

"The awful scarf you wear all the time? That scarf?" Thirteen questioned. Jenny looked offended on behalf of Ravenwood when Thirteen insulted the blasted scarf – but the Doctor knew she was right. It wasn't all that great of a scarf.

"Yeah. That one. And if you insulted it again, I won't tell you anything about the Khaolu at all."

"Go on, then. Tell one of your famous stories," Thirteen said, remembering that Jenny by far had a penchant to embellish when she told anything. Like when she had told Ravenwood what had happened on Day Ninety-Four, lying about the presence of a Maddy Cooper zombie, or when she had told Ravenwood the story of how she came to be so vampiric.

"We were in Hollowmire, it was a dark and stormy night-"

"Oh, come on."

"It was a dark and stormy night! And I, being the doting, chivalrous girlfriend that I, of course, am – or, was, what with us being married now – took it upon myself to carry Clara's umbrella, which she forgot that morning since the skies were cloudy but the ground was dry, all the way to her shop so as to walk her home and stop her from getting drenched…"

DAY 144

Another Girl Another Planet XVIII

Jenny

Rain lashing down against the fabric of her girlfriend's umbrella, Jenny stoically approached the door of Dylan Danvers' bookshop, the thing tiny and nearly windowless and perched on a street corner. It was an almighty storm she was battling through, but bad weather had never really bothered her, and she had lived through hurricanes before. This onslaught, while bleak, was no tropical force. She drew up to the door and debated in her mind whether she should knock or not. It was a shop, it was open to the public, and the little bell would presumably announce her (if it had a little bell; she had, truthfully, never been into Dylan's shop before), but as far as she knew the only person in there was Clara Ravenwood. She resolved that Clara could probably smell her out there, though, and decided to just enter, if only to get out of the harsh, winter sleet.

She did not need to, however, for the door was opened from the inside right as Jenny Harkness went to turn the handle, and she stepped back accordingly to be out of the way of it.

"Your umbrella, milady," she joked, smiling, doing a curtsey for added effect.

"Unbelievable," Clara commented, though she did laugh, Jenny stepping up to hold the umbrella over her head as she locked the door. Clara had Jenny's transdimensional bag over her shoulder, because Jenny presently had no specific use for her mother's parting gift so she let Clara have it to take books and large flasks of coffee and blood with her to work. "Weather's nice, at least," Clara said when she had locked the door, returning Jenny's smile.

"That's one word for it."

"No! It's great. There's no sun. I might even be able to take my glasses off," Clara said. Her sun-glasses were in danger of growing blotchy from the rain, rendering her even blinder than she normally was – which happened to be quite blind. She didn't do well with any light at all now. As the weeks drew on, the less Clara Ravenwood could see during the day. "Let me take that," Clara tried to take the umbrella from Jenny before they left to walk home together.

"Nah, it's fine," Jenny said, and Clara crossed her arms and stood rigidly still.

"You've carried it all this way – your arm must be tired," Clara said, and Jenny narrowed her eyes. It was her left arm she was using, of course, what with her right thumb still being immobile and painful, and Clara knew full-well that it wasn't tired one bit. She did two-hundred one-armed push-ups on it just yesterday and had been quite alright.

"Of course it's not tired."

"I'll carry it," Clara offered again, and Jenny sighed.

"Fine, I suppose," she relented, and let Clara take it, Clara who also took the umbrella with her left hand, so that she could hold Jenny's good hand with her right. That had been her game all along, Jenny supposed; she wanted to hold hands. She didn't complain, at any rate, as they began to move, practically invisible to anyone standing more than five metres away in that ghastly weather. "How's your day been, then?" Jenny inquired, lacing her fingers through Clara's, the rain so heavy it was like walking through an endless waterfall.

"Boring," Clara said, "Girlfriend-less." Jenny laughed. "What about you? Do anything interesting?"

"Of course not. The weather's been depressing and I've just been cold in your house." Clara glanced over at her in a strange way, and Jenny frowned, "What?" Clara didn't speak for a few seconds.

"It's just – it's funny you should mention being cold," she began.

"I'm always cold recently," Jenny said.

"I know, and you've been going on and on about how you want a new coat and stuff."

"Yeah, so?"

"So… I may have… got you a present. Not a coat, but – still," Clara confessed, "And I more kind of made it. Rather than bought it." Jenny stopped while they were mounting the hill which would eventually lead to Clara's house, its winding road shiny and soaked. Water ran down it like a stream into Hollowmire below them.

"You don't have to get me presents," Jenny said.

"Oh – but you getting me presents all the time is fine?" Clara countered, "You either have to stop with the presents altogether or accept that we're both equal."

"You being my girlfriend is enough of a present," Jenny said in a low voice, leaning in.

Clara leant towards her right back, and then proclaimed, "Trying to schmooze me won't work. Deal with it." And then she began to walk off again, and Jenny was forced to follow her, being as Clara was in possession of the umbrella. It was an enormous black umbrella and very high quality, one of the long ones that was harder to get turned inside out. Clara needed such a fancy umbrella because, again, she didn't cope well with sunlight.

"I only get you presents because I love you," Jenny said when she caught her back up.

"And I love you," Clara affirmed, and Jenny smiled. She supposed it was fair enough – she just wasn't very used to receiving gifts. Anyone who ever had tried to get her one generally proclaimed she was impossible to buy for. "Anyway. You'll like it. It's… useful, I hope." While they walked, Jenny stopped them again.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said, holding Clara still by her shoulder.

"What?" Clara asked as Jenny squinted in an exaggerated fashion and looked into her face.

"I'm just trying to deduce if vampires can blush," she said, "Because you seem to be managing it."

"Oh, be quiet," Clara scoffed, and began walking again, while Jenny chortled and squeezed her hand fondly. Now Clara was embarrassed, and Jenny was almost one-hundred percent sure she was blushing fiercely. Well, as fiercely as one whose heart only beat once per minute, and who usually had the countenance of a corpse, could blush. "Vampires can't blush."

"How would you know? It's not like you can see your own reflection."

"Ah – but actually – that jibe doesn't work anymore, because your dad got me that funny, alien mirror," Clara remarked, "So I can see my own reflection. Sometimes."

"You ought to get the mirror out when we get back, then, and see your blushing for yourself."

"I can't believe you walked all the way with this umbrella just to make fun of me."

"I don't get it," Jenny began, "There's so much water on this hill, doesn't this count as running water?"

"What? No."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated."

"You don't know, do you?"

"Well nobody explained to me the ins and outs of being a vampire because somebody bashed all the other vampires to death with a big Victorian cane, didn't she?" Clara cast an accusatory look at Jenny, who decided she deserved that for making quips about Clara's reflection – or lack thereof – and recoiled like an upset puppy.

The house emerged out of the torrential rain to meet them, Clara slipping a few times on the wet stones and thin mud and having to be kept steady by Jenny – who would never slip, because, after all, she was an acrobat. It wouldn't do her much good to be falling all over the place on the highwire, or letting her fingers slip as she tried to grab the trapeze. Clara, however, wasn't an acrobat. She was a bookworm who skulked around in the dark all day.

"Did no-one ever teach you to walk in a straight line?" Jenny said, when Clara slipped on the small pebbled path in her very own front garden, after they went through the damp wooden gate.

"That's homophobic. Why does the line have to be straight?" Clara countered.

"You're very clumsy."

"I bet you think it's cute, though."

"…Alright, I'll admit it, I do." Clara unlocked the door because Jenny made a fumble of trying to find her own key with her damaged, bandaged hand, and shook the umbrella out on the doorstep for a few seconds. She didn't do a very good job of it though, and only proceeded to make her own legs wetter. Closing the door, she leant the umbrella in the corner by the door seeing as she didn't possess an actual umbrella stand. Jenny wondered if she ought to get one. No doubt there was one on the TARDIS somewhere she could swipe.

"Urgh, I am soaked and I am freezing," Jenny complained, kicking off her boots to leave them messily strewn underneath the hallway radiator, "I wish I could just take my clothes off."

"If you want to take your clothes off, Jen, I'm not one to object," Clara shrugged, "I'll support you whatever decision you make." Jenny just raised her eyebrows, her arms tightly crossed around her.

"…I'm going to make us some tea…" she mumbled finally, going down the hall. Clara, having nothing else to do, went through the living room to meet her in the kitchen from the other door.

"Fancy seeing you here," she remarked.

"Ha, ha. Very funny."

"Thanks. I try my best." Clara put the transdimensional bag, once Thirteen's, now Jenny's, down on one of the wooden kitchen chairs, and then went to lean against the counter while Jenny faffed about with the kettle and the mugs. "Have you talked to your dad today?"

"No, he's been busy, or something. And yesterday, too," Jenny sighed, "I asked Oswin what was going on and she said it was Other You's birthday and they went off somewhere together."

"When do you think you'll be going back?"

"As soon as I can manage to pick up a cup of tea with my right hand, I reckon my thumb might be healed enough," Jenny shrugged, "But I can't yet. You're still stuck with me."

"Oh no, what a shame," Clara said sarcastically, making Jenny smile. They were interrupted by a bright flash outside, visible around the edges of the curtains. There was a moment of silence before it was followed by a crash of thunder. "Thunder and lightning – I bet Esther's loving it."

"Yeah, well, I'm not," she sighed. Being at Clara's for so long was getting to her. Of course, she adored Clara Ravenwood more than anything else in the universe, but there was only so much rural, village life she could take before the boredom really started killing her. And she supposed it had been killing her ever since she had recovered from her illness the other day. She was just lazing about the place, melancholy, her mood growing worse in time with the weather. "What's this present then?"

"Oh, right," Clara appeared to have forgotten about it, whatever it was. When prompted she turned to pick the bag up off the chair and open it, taking out a few items. Namely two flasks (a black one and a silver one, black for blood and silver for tea) and some piece of fabric. Wool, she thought. It was this that Clara held out to her, looking embarrassed for herself, and Jenny reached out to take it. "It's a scarf. Because you keep complaining about being cold and wanting a new coat and, well, I couldn't really get you a coat, so…"

"You knitted this?" Jenny questioned, "Yourself?" it had funny shapes in it in silver wool, though she couldn't make out what they were. Just a lot of blobs. Stars, possibly? "I didn't know you could knit."

"It's just something I learnt how to do after Danny died," Clara explained, "Keep my mind occupied, you know. This was after I stopped getting drunk and sleeping around but before you and I were officially knocking boots." Jenny winced at Clara's use of the phrase 'knocking boots,' but didn't pick her up on it.

"What are the shapes? Stars?"

"What? No! They're… meant to be bats. Because, you know, I'm a vampire." The silvery blotches did not look like bats, but Jenny did not care. Nobody had ever knitted her a scarf before. In fact, nobody had knitted her anything before, and she found herself dumbstruck. "I've been doing it when I'm at work, since there's not a lot else to do." Jenny still said nothing. "Jen? Do you like it?"

"Do I like it? I love it!" she flung her arms around Clara and dragged her into the tightest hug she could manage – which happened to be a very tight hug, but Clara the Vampire could easily withstand it, as long as she didn't start singing a hymn, or something. Clara was incredibly taken by surprise, though. "It's the best scarf I've ever seen in my whole life. I'm going to wear it everywhere and never, ever take it off." She released Clara and put the scarf on, as well, wrapping it loosely around her shoulders. It was a good thing it was so long. Then she hugged Clara again.

"Seems like a bit of an overreaction to a scarf…" Clara mumbled.

"It's amazing. I love it. My favourite thing in the world, apart from you," Jenny let her go for the second time in the space of thirty seconds, "You. Are. Wonderful. But you know what this scarf needs?"

"Uh, an appropriate level of excitement?" Clara, perplexed, asked.

"A coat to go with it! A nice coat, as well," Jenny continued talking about this coat she was after, which she had been talking about ever since going to Chernobyl in the wintertime. "I have a friend who owes me a favour. Or, who could be persuaded to owe me a favour. I'll just nip out."

"Whoa, hang on – what do you mean nip out? 'Nip out' where? And who owes you a coat-related favour?"

"Just, um, this girl. Owns a tailor's. Best tailor's in New Orleans. Look, I'll just be a minute, two minutes, tops, okay?" Jenny said, kissing Clara briefly before wandering off to fetch her boots from where she had left them in the hall. Then she paused. "Actually, those boots are soaking…"

"I don't understand – you're just going to rush off to New Orleans on a whim like that?" Clara followed her around as she turned to go towards the cellar door. The stairs down to the cellar were always well-lit and softly-carpeted, because Clara, though she hated light, didn't like them looking creepy. So there were red fairy-lights draped along the wall, plugged into a socket at the bottom, and on these stairs were some more pairs of shoes. Another pair of Jenny's, in fact, because it was always handy to have a spare pair of good-quality leather boots. Military-grade, of course.

"It's not on a whim, and I said I'll only be gone a moment, I'm just going to change my socks to some dry ones and put on my other boots, then go to the ship," Jenny shrugged. Of course her ship was still residing peacefully in Clara's back garden, where it always was. She went to rifle through Clara's drawers for some clean socks of hers, seeing as it was at the stage where she had her own entire drawer in the dresser, and almost everything in it was black and at least half of all that was made of pleather.

"Do you actually own a dress, or a skirt?" Clara asked, looking over Jenny's shoulder. She'd brought some clothes with her specifically to keep at Clara's when Martha had kicked her off the TARDIS a few days ago, telling her she had to rest her broken thumb.

"Yes, they're just impractical," Jenny said, casting a disapproving look at Clara, who was wearing a skirt, a short one (as always), even though it was stormy and midwinter outside.

"So – I'm not allowed to come?" Clara asked, and Jenny stopped what she was doing, a pair of clean socks in her hand.

"What? You want to come?" Jenny was perplexed, "But you hate time travel. That's why you always refused to live on the TARDIS, with Old Twelvey or with me."

"Yeah, I refused to move onto the TARDIS back when I had a lite to get back to, and responsibilities. My biggest responsibility these days is my relationship with you," Clara pointed out, "Besides. It's you. It's different to with the Doctor. Of course I don't hate time travel. And I've never been to New Orleans – can we go to Mardi Gras?"

"Absolutely not. I'm going in December, and especially if you're coming, too. Colder the better, since it's practically tropical all year round."

"So you're just going to drop by New Orleans? When?" Clara asked, crossing her arms, watching Jenny sit on the edge of the unmade bed and peel of her sopping wet socks, pulling a face at how soggy they were. She threw both socks into the laundry basket on the other side of the room, though, without looking – an old parlour trick. Clara had seen it too many times to be too impressed.

"I don't know yet. Depends on what sort of impression I want to make on her…"

"Who her?"

"My… friend. Don't be jealous. Hardly a friend, really. Don't upset her if you tag along."

"Why would I upset her?"

"She's sort of a horrible person. A sociopath, even," Jenny tried not to look at Clara, pulling on her socks.

"Why does a horrible sociopath owe you…?" Clara continued to question, but Jenny did not want to answer. It was a long story, that one of how and why she had come to be on good terms with the infamous Viola O'Hara of all people, usually remembered by history as the maniacal martyr of organised crime, after her death in a shootout in the 1970s. And there was Jenny, her right-hand, the patron saint of moonshine.

"It's… complicated. Just… maybe put on a skirt that's not quite so short? That's a bit more era-appropriate?"

"You're wearing tight jeans and a leather jacket," Clara said as Jenny stood up, brushing past her to get back to the staircase, sitting down there next so as to sort out her boots.

"That's me, though. People don't question me. I'm too cool for that. You're not, though."

"Oh, thanks. How am I not cool? The tight jeans and the leather jacket are both mine."

"It's to do with how you carry yourself. Posture, you know."

"Ah. You're saying I have to act like a butch lesbian? Like you?"

"What? I do not!"

"You were in the army…"

"I bake cupcakes!"

"Everybody likes cupcakes, Jen," Clara said knowingly, Jenny just managing to tie the laces on her other boot – always tricky with only the one thumb, "Not everybody likes military fatigues."

"Oh, okay. I'll remember that the next time I decide to bake for you on a whim." She stood back up. "You're not getting changed, then?"

"I'll be fine," Clara said.

"Suit yourself. But if people won't talk to you because you're dressed too revealingly then it's not on me," Jenny said.

"I'm not revealing anything! I have tights on as well."

"So what? You're practically inviting the masses of 1940s perverts to ogle you. My own girlfriend wants strange men to stare at her – imagine how that makes me feel." Clara stuck her tongue out at her, and Jenny took her hand, "Come on, then. We'll just refill your flask with blood and off to Louisiana we go, just the three of us."

"Three of us?"

"Yeah. You, me, and this scarf."

"Oh, lord…"

*Refer to Chapters 1019 and 1021 to refresh your memory of Clarteen's encounter with the other Khaolu, and this storyline's sister-storyline