-Wedding Crashers-

First Dance

In the centre of the dance floor, the Tenth Doctor and Rose Tyler swayed this way and that as Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade played, accompanying their first dance (in the background, the Ninth Doctor was a little wounded by them using what he considered to be his and Rose's 'song', but River Song dismissed him.) A little over a minute in the floor was opened up to everybody who wanted to join, and a fair few did. Rose's parents, of course, as well as Donna and Shaun, Jack and Ianto, eventually Clara and Eleven, the Ponds… but one couple opted to sit it out, despite it quickly becoming a warm and communal affair.

Adam Mitchell and Oswin lingered in the shadows, sitting at their table and watching everybody else.

"…I don't think I'd want to dance even if we could," said Adam, "Not with so many people."

"Are you ashamed of me?" Oswin asked.

"Yes, but that's not why," he joked. "I wouldn't want people staring at me."

"That's sort of the whole point of a wedding, babe." He pulled a face, clearly unhappy with the whole idea. "I thought you said you like weddings? You said it last night and this morning."

"Other people's weddings. Not one that's about me."

"What are you like on birthdays, then? If you hate things that are about you. Actually, do I know when your birthday is…?" she asked slowly, thinking. She never forgot dates, so if she didn't know his birthday it probably meant he'd never told her. She did not like that one bit.

"It's the 22nd of May."

"D'you know when mine is?"

"It's in three days. You're going to be twenty-seven."

"I am," she smiled, though him knowing how old she was was sort of the bare minimum, "Sorry I didn't know yours." She paused. "Have you got me a present?"

"Yes. It's only small, though."

"A 'small' present from my millionaire boyfriend?" she jibed as the music died down and changed into something more upbeat which Oswin, who didn't have much of a mind for 21st Century tunes, couldn't identify.

"Well, I'm trying to get rid of the money," he explained. "I don't need it or want it." Oswin didn't say anything, she was thinking. Adam had been looking away, which he often did even when it was only her he was talking to, but now looked back. "Were you going to say something?"

"I just… was wondering," she began cautiously, "What prompted this change, exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"You deciding to give away your entire fortune."

"…Okay," he leant closer to her, shuffling his chair over so he could lower his voice considerably. Nobody was paying them any notice. "It all started when I met this girl."

"Oh, please," she waved him away.

"It's the truth," he insisted, "I fell in love with this girl, and it really put into perspective how empty all that stuff is. I'm just happy it didn't take fifty years and a Christmas miracle to realise that money isn't important… and I don't want to hoard it. I want to help people. Because this girl I met… all she does is help people. And I know she doesn't see it that way, but she does." She looked away now, flustered. "Plus, I did steal the software Cyborg is built on, so it's not my money to keep."

"…You're giving me too much credit," she said eventually.

"Who says I'm talking about you? It could be some other girl." She gently hit him on the arm, pretending to be annoyed. He laughed. "Honestly, I know it sounds sappy, but you've definitely changed me. For the better."

"Mm, I didn't set out to change you, though."

"Really? Even when I was borderline stalking you? Wouldn't leave you alone?"

"Creepy as you were, Creepy Adam," she brought up a ridiculous nickname he hadn't heard anyone call him in months – though they felt like years, "Yes, even then. I still liked you. God help me, I have no idea why, but… I'd even marry you in front of a whole room of people."

"What if I don't want a room full of people? We could elope, like your sister."

"She did piss off quite a lot of people doing that, though," Oswin reminded him. "Listen, I don't mean to argue with you, teddy-bear, but I've got a lot of siblings. And I still like most of them. It would be nice to have them there if I do get married one day." Adam paused to think about this.

"…Well, supposing you're marrying me, 'one day', then I'd need a while to get used to the idea of talking about my feelings in front of a bunch of people I don't really know. Or worse, a bunch of people I do know."

"We could definitely forget about a first dance, though," Oswin added. He smiled at her.

"Thanks. That's a weight off my shoulders."

A few more people were sitting out the first wave of dancing. Sally Sparrow was still on the clock, circling the floor and taking photos – though, she'd briefly settled on one spot at one end of the room. Christina de Souza had tried to persuade James Elliott to join her, but he refused and lurked near Sally instead.

"Y'know, I've never been much into dancing," said Esther, who also didn't take to the floor. "I was shy when I was a kid."

"Implying you aren't anymore?" Sally remarked.

"Hey!" Esther wasn't happy. "I'm very well-adjusted, actually."

"Really? Is that why you have all of our toiletries arranged by colour? That's a normal thing to do?"

"It's – it looks nice!" she protested, "I don't see you trying to make the house look nice."

"Why would I bother doing that, when I could bang my head against the wall repeatedly and be just as entertained?" Esther crossed her arms huffily. Elliott, on Sally's other side, was amused. "Isn't this about the time you usually retreat to your room, anyway?"

"They didn't even cut the cake yet, I'll stick around for cake," said Esther.

"I can bring you some cake if you don't want to hang around," Sally offered, looking up from the lens of her camera. She knew Esther wasn't a huge fan of parties or crowds and would certainly be looking to escape as soon as people started to get too drunk. Sally couldn't blame her; she wasn't meant to be drinking herself and wasn't looking forward to having to photograph a rowdy party later on in the evening.

"No, I couldn't ask you to shirk your photography responsibilities," said Esther. Sally laughed.

"Honestly, it's fine. Or I'll send James up with some."

"I don't mind," he said as quickly as he could.

"I can get cake myself, chill out," said Esther, "I already had some of those offcuts Jenny saved last night anyway." Sally was about to say something especially witty but was interrupted mid-thought when the music began to stutter, and all the lights flickered overhead. This lasted for only a few seconds until all the power cut off completely, the music dying along with the lights. Everybody in the room groaned while Sally looked to Esther for an explanation. "I swear," Esther hissed, "I'm not doing anything." Promptly, power was restored, and the music picked up again right where it left off.

"That's been happening all day," Elliott said.

"Last night, too," said Sally, "Ever since Esther-"

"What, do you think I'm lying?" Esther challenged her. Sally stopped speaking. She sensed that her quips about the electricity had finally touched a nerve, and she knew Esther never lied. "Something's clearly…" she overheard something that piqued her interest. The group of kids she'd been told were 'Sarah-Jane's gang' – not that Esther had any idea who Sarah-Jane was or why her 'gang' of children was important – were chattering in much the same way she and Sally were, hurling accusations at the youngest girl in their midst that she might be responsible for the electrical glitches.

"If you want to leave-" Luke Smith said.

"It isn't me," Sky insisted, just like Esther had been doing, "But there's something going on, it's like… it's like-"

"Something's draining the power," Esther interjected, approaching. They stopped their conversation. "Sorry – I'm Esther, I don't think we've met. I've been dead for the last four years."

"Ever heard of oversharing?" said Sally, appearing at her shoulder.

"Aren't you meant to be taking photos?" Esther said.

"Taking my break, seeing what this is all about," said Sally, then she turned to the others – Elliott still latched onto her – and decided to actually be polite for once in her life, "Esther, this is Luke, Clyde, Rani, and Sky," she pointed them all out in turn, "I met them when I was taking photos earlier. And – Esther's my flatmate, she used to work for the CIA and then Torchwood."

"You said you were dead," said Rani, "What does that mean?"

"Oh, it was a whole thing, with this guy and this stuff," said Esther. They stared at her. "…That's not important, the important thing is that-"

"She's the Lightning Girl," said Sally. Esther grimaced; she hated that ridiculous name.

"What's that?" asked Luke.

"She can shoot electricity out of her hands."

"You're a Manifest?" said Luke.

"Uh, no," said Esther, "I was resurrected with malfunctioning technology and now I need a constant power source to live – which is why I think there's something wrong."

"I agree," said Sky, "I've been telling you three all day it's not me messing with the lights. There's some kind of power source, I-"

"Hey," Mickey Smith, Jake Simmonds in tow, interrupted their gathering, which was beginning to look a little suspicious. "Are you talking about the electricity?"

"Yeah, why?" said Clyde, "Do you know something?"

"Well," Jake lowered his voice and took something out of his suit pocket; it was some sort of device and it was flashing blue every few seconds, "This machine can detect Cybermen."

"How does it do that?" asked Rani.

"Picks up on the signals they send to each other, it's how they communicate," Jake explained, "It's a sort of, digital hive mind. We've studied it at our version of Torchwood. You need about four Cybermen for it to pick anything up when they transmit."

"Can you… translate it? Does it work like that?"

"I can, a little," said Mickey. Esther remembered he was a technopath, so of course, he might be able to discern the secret messages Cybermen sent, "It's not much, though. They're not really messages, they just ping off each other. But I can see how many there are."

"And how many's that?" asked Esther.

"A lot. Like, seriously, loads," he said, "We have to do something, and we can't cause a fuss."

"Are you kidding? You should evacuate, or something," said Sally, "There's too much weird stuff going on today…"

"We can handle it, we're all Manifests," said Mickey.

"I'm not," said Jake.

"Well, apart from Jake. But Esther's like having three Manifests rolled into one," Mickey continued, "We'll just sneak outside, follow the signal, sort it out, and come back by the time they cut the cake. We probably won't even miss the ABBA medley. And we definitely won't miss the Grease medley."

"So, what?" Esther questioned, "We're all gonna go? All nine of us? That's, like, a third of the wedding party."

"Oh, I won't go," said Sally, "I don't have any superpowers and I'm technically still on the clock."

"And I can't miss ABBA," said James Elliott, "They'll revoke my drag license if I willingly miss 'Dancing Queen.'"

"Your what?" asked Sally.

"…A joke," he said, "…You don't need a license."

"So that's just seven," said Mickey, "And as long as Rose and the Doctor don't find out-"

"They'll see us leave," Esther pointed out.

"So we cause a distraction," said Jake, "Something that'll keep the whole room occupied, just for a few minutes. Then we just-"

"Clara!?" somebody shrieked on the other side of the room. There was a scene playing out involving Clara and one of the waitresses, who was in the middle of bringing out fresh bottles of wine.

"Something like that," said Jake, "Come on, this our chance." Sally and Elliott waited behind while Esther, Mickey, Jake, Luke, Clyde, Rani and Sky all took to the nearby fire door to go out into the woods as quickly as possible.

Clara had been mid-conversation with Eleven on the far side of the dancefloor, the pair of them far too involved with each other to notice that the music had changed to something more upbeat – not as appropriate for slow-dancing to. They may have been having a moment, but she had been unpleasantly wrenched from it by a stranger bellowing her name. She let go of Eleven.

"I, um… yes?"

"Clara Oswald?" the waitress reiterated, approaching. She was furious, but Clara didn't know why.

"That's my name, don't, uh… sorry, do I know you?"

"Do you know me?"

Clara Ravenwood was watching from the shadows but was being very careful to stay still and avoid the light – lest she be mistaken for the version of herself currently being hounded. Oswin was behaving similarly at the back of the room.

"I've… got a bad memory for faces," said Clara awkwardly, backing away from the waitress.

"A bad memory for faces?" she repeated again. "Why's that? Because there are so many of them?"

"So many…?" She didn't understand.

"Does nobody mean anything to you?" Clara bumped into an empty table and was now cornered.

"Whatever's the matter, I'm sure it can be resolved quiet-" Eleven began, finally stepping in when his wife was being threatened. But the waitress completely blanked him.

"Stay out of this," Clara told him. She squinted at the girl's face, then appeared to have a revelation. "It's Rachel! Right?" The girl glared. "Not Rachel? Um… Rebecca?" Wrong again. "R… R-something? Rosie? Or is it not an 'R' at all?"

"You have the gall to lie in my bed and… and read me Frank O'Hara from memory, and then… and then that shit with the roses, and the latte foam?"

"I, um…" it wasn't ringing any bells. Across the room, Jenny was also watching this play out.

"Do you know her?" she asked Ravenwood quietly.

Ravenwood shrugged, "It sounds like me, though. The Frank O'Hara is one of my moves."

"Your moves?" Jenny questioned.

"I've got a past, alright? Don't shame me."

"Listen, I – I'm sure you meant a lot to me," Clara continued, "In the heat of the moment, and… wait, no, hang on – didn't we… we snuck off while watching The Notebook, right? With your flatmate? So you are Rebecca, and-"

"Rebecca was my flatmate – you snuck off and slept with my flatmate while we were watching The Notebook!? That's where you went!?"

"I – no – but – shit – don't-" The girl upended the bottle of white wine over Clara's head and let it pour out; it splashed all over her. The people watching – which was everybody in the room – gasped. Clara coughed on the wine. Eleven grabbed the bottle out of the girl's hands. "Look, I'm sorry I don't remember your name, but this isn't necessary. You could lose your job!"

"What – and you care?"

"Of course I care…" she paused and continued trying to remember the girl's name, "Does it start with a D? Can you just tell me if I'm hot or cold? I've just- I've slept with a lot of people, and-" She dropped her silver tray and slapped Clara hard around the face.

"For the record, it's Vanessa." She turned to storm out of the room.

"Vanessa! That kind of sounds like Rebecca!" Clara defended herself. Vanessa scoffed on her way out, pushing past some other staff members and the wedding guests to leave. Eleven went to the nearby buffet table, the same one Vanessa had been resupplying with alcohol, and set the bottle of wine down while picking up a handful of ice cubes from the ice bucket, wrapping them in a napkin and handing the package to Clara as quickly as he could. "I hope she doesn't get fired for that," Clara sighed.

"Why would you hope that? She just hit you, in front of everybody, Coo," he said.

"Alright, I think the show's over now," said Martha loudly as she crossed the floor to come and check on Clara, who was holding her makeshift icepack to her cheek where it stung. When a new song began to play, the attention of the group waned. The waitress had stopped haranguing Clara so there was nothing more to me. "Funny coincidence, one of your conquests showing up here. Let me see your face."

"You say coincidence, I say serendipity," said Clara, wincing.

"Well, you're an idiot," said Martha, "Did you really not remember her name?"

"No, I was pretending; I wanted her to pour wine on me and slap me in front of everybody I know, clearly," she said sarcastically. "You have very warm hands. Nice and soothing."

"I know I've taken a Hippocratic Oath to do no harm, but if you keep flirting with me I'll hit you next. And that would be bad because this is going to bruise as it is," said Martha. Clara shut up. "For the record, you deserve to get hit for womanising."

"Thanks. You're really making me feel better," she said dryly.

"Just doing my job."