#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too
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Clara Oswald and the Last of the Dragon Lords - Part 2
This took me a stupidly-long time to finish and I’m glad it didn’t take too long.
Chapter 1 - FFN - AO3
Traders come to Berk and Clara stumbles across a surprise. [3747 words; a HTTYD!Whouffaldi AU]
The following day was an off day for classes, which allowed Clara time to head down into the harbor. It was always off days when traders were in port, because few could keep their minds from the tales that were told and the wares that were sold. Considering the amount of students who were at the docks anyhow, it was as though class had merely gone outdoors for a session.
“Got any new books?” Clara asked the one sailor, last in the line of those she needed to see. He waited until some kids raced by before nodding.
“Not ones for the weans to know about,” he admitted. “Bit violent and graphic this round.”
“I, however, am not a child,” she reminded him. He scowled and showed her the contents of his traveling chest, acquiescing to the known-educator only semi-willingly. She began browsing the contents when the trader began talking with another villager.
“Keep on the lookout,” the trader told the villager. “We hear rumors that there might be some unsavory characters wandering about these waters.”
“Anyone foolish enough to try anything in Berk realizes very quickly why we have been able to survive generations of dragon attacks,” the villager boasted. It was true—very few came to Berk in an attempt to do anything less honorable than trade or visiting, and the ones who did attempt elsewise were quickly taught their lesson.
“…but would the ferocity of Berk be enough to keep the Last of the Dragon Lords at bay?”
The fact Clara didn’t drop the book in her hands was quite the accomplishment, if she did say so herself.
“Dragon Lords?” the villager scoffed. “Those madmen died out ages ago! Before our grandfathers’ grandfathers were born! Rumors of them resurface every now and then with no Lord in sight! Do you really think we’re that foolish, when we’re waiting on a dragon raid of all things?”
“I’d still be careful if I were you,” the trader said. “A rumor might be a rumor, but when one’s guard is down, then the risk for trouble is that much greatened.” He saw that Clara was placing the book she was holding in her bag. “Four pieces, Miss.”
Clara paid and left the docks, careful to not begin grinning madly. Ha! There was rumor going around of a Dragon Lord—it had to of been the Doctor. She returned home and went to pack a lunch, careful to not make it look as though she was taking extra. Dodging more people on the way out to Berk again, she made sure she was not followed before heading back towards the lake. When she arrived, she found evidence of a campfire, but no one to claim it.
Not wanting to simply give up, Clara wandered about the surrounding trees until she got an idea. Hiding herself amongst the underbrush, she waited and watched over the makeshift campsite, hoping that her guess was not the wrong one.
Sure enough, eventually the Doctor and the dragon emerged from further down the tree line, attempting to see if there was anyone there. He had her bag slung across his shoulder as he sat down next to the fire remnants, petting the dragon as it lay down next to him and nuzzled his leg. She prepared to jump out—best catch him by surprise.
“If you’re going to spook me, then do it properly,” he said dully. Clara huffed as she stomped out of the underbrush, irritated at him.
“I knew you were a Dragon Lord,” she frowned.
“That again… what tipped you off? The dragon?”
“A lot more than that, but there’s traders in port right now and they say to watch out for you.” She watched as his face darkened almost ominously. “They’re looking for you, aren’t they?”
“They’re not looking, and it’s not me they’re referring to,” he replied. Instead of continuing, he took her bag from his shoulder and held it out towards her as she sat down. “Thank you, by the way. I figured this was you, wasn’t it?”
“People in Berk don’t go cold or hungry,” she said, taking the bag back. She held out her lunch pack and watched his eyes flick between her own and the food. “Go ahead; eat.”
He nodded and accepted the food, eating quickly. For being such a skinny man, he could really demolish a meal with ease. He looked guilty as he handed back the pack—embarrassed that he even accepted it.
“I don’t know what dragons eat, or else I’d bring some for you too,” Clara told the dragon. It emitted a low growl—less defensive and more apathetic—and didn’t move.
“She eats lots of fish,” the Doctor replied. “She was able to catch some this morning.”
“She was? I thought she was injured…”
“Her wings are; the rest is just sore,” he explained. “Well… her wings, and her chameleon reflex.”
“Is that the thing she does when she’s trying to blend in?” she asked. He nodded.
“The mounts of the Dragon Lords were bred for speed, endurance, strength, and the curious ability to blend into their surroundings with ease. They were the pinnacle of centuries of work and a symbol of dominance over not only the dragons, but the surrounding communities of humans as well. There aren’t many like her left.”
“Is that because there’s not many like you left?”
“You might’ve given me some food to stop me from starving, but I’m not giving in that easy,” he warned with a grin. “Idris is a special dragon though—that much is for certain.”
“I grew up with the legends… though I didn’t think that there were any of her left… that they all died out with the Dragon Lords.”
“…and as you can see, neither of us are dead, despite what that fall attempted to do to us.”
“Not sure if I should be upset or not,” she quipped. She looked at the dragon and frowned. “How are Idris’s wings broken?”
“There are thin bones in them and they snapped against the trees,” the Doctor explained. He silently urged Idris to show off her nearest wing, which was taped up so it was folded together and straight. “They heal easily enough, but it takes a bit of time.”
“Is that why you’re ‘the Doctor’?”
“I’m just a bloke who tries to be a good man,” he said. “We choose titles to go by, ones that are promises, ideally casting away the names given to us at birth. The gods are to decide whether or not I lived up to it, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried.”
“What was it…?”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Your name… the promise…”
“Doctors save people,” he said morosely. He turned his gaze towards the west and stared. “Don’t you have to get back soon?”
“Shit—!” she hissed, mind completely snapping from the conversation. She gathered up her things and began to run, knowing how much more difficult the trek back home would be in the dark. Slowing down to catch her breath once she saw the village outskirts, she began to let her thoughts race as she calmly walked.
First off, she was keeping an extremely big secret out in the forest. The law was steadfast: no dragon was to live free on Berk, with any and all specimens being relegated to training for when their village was attacked. There were likely captive dragons who were being fought at that very moment in night training. So many of her peers and students had gone on to fighting in dragon training, yet Clara… few blamed her for avoiding the ring after her mother died.
Secondly, she knew it was only a matter of time before someone would become a bit too curious for her own good. No matter how careful she was, she knew that there was risk with each time she went into the forest, and it was thrilling, sure, but also concerning.
Thirdly, and most important, Clara wondered what it was going to be like when the dragons attacked next. Was the next attack going to be led by the Last of the Dragon Lords? What was the Doctor’s role going to be in all of it, if there was one at all? He did not seem like the sort to side with death and destruction… though she knew too many villagers who were entirely different people depending on if they were in their homes or in the heat of battle to write him off completely. She was just entering the village square when she came to the conclusion that she was at least going to keep an eye on the Doctor and Idris, to make sure their intent was at least nominally good.
“Clara! There you are!”
Looking for the source of the voice, Clara stopped and glanced around the square. There, having started to jog up to her from across the way was Danny. He approached her with an uneasy look about him; something wasn’t as it should be, and it concerned her.
“Danny…? You look like something’s wrong.”
“I don’t know; your dad was asking me where you were, and he seemed a little off to me. Is everything alright between you and him?”
“Oh, I think he’s just been a bit too tired lately from those night watches he’s been taking,” she tutted. “I told him he needed to cut back on them. Maybe he just needs to tell me he’s actually going to do just that…”
“I hope that’s all it is. Goodnight, Danny.”
“Goodnight, Clara.”
The two parted and Clara went immediately back to her house, where her father was already stoking the fire for the evening. She approached him cautiously, unsure of how the impending conversation was going to go.
“Dad…?”
“Clara… we have to talk…”
She looked at her father and the sad expression on his face. He seemed so old in the firelight, so tired, and it struck her as odd in a way.
“What’s the matter, Dad?” She sat down across from him, trying to look him in the eyes.
“I’ve been talking to the traders down in port today, and I’ve been thinking… I’m leaving Berk when they set off tomorrow.”
The admission caught Clara more off-guard than Danny had—her father…? Leaving Berk…?! Her eyes grew wide as she took in the information, completely stunned. He was the last person she expected to leave… and after all these years…
“They need someone who knows the Blackpool area well, as well as the rest of the Lancaster Archipelago—I was offered a job sailing with them.”
“…but… you made Berk your home… you and Mum raised me here…”
“…and your Mum’s no longer with us,” he said. He looked down at his hands, sadness and grief washing over him. “You get this house, of course, but I don’t know how much longer I can stay here, constantly living in the shadow of her memory.”
“Dad… you never talked to me about this,” she frowned. “I knew you’ve always been upset about Mum… but never like this…”
“I should have talked to you about a lot of things… I’m sorry…” Dave began to sniffle, feeling so many emotions at once. “You’re an adult though, and I think now you’re able to find your own way without me.”
“Dad, you’re an idiot,” Clara said, tears beginning to flow from her own eyes. There was no malice in her voice, no anger, no ire… only sadness. “This isn’t goodbye forever, is it? Please tell me it’s not goodbye forever.”
“No, sweetie, it’s not goodbye forever,” he promised. He stood and they hugged one another close. “I need some time away from here. You understand, don’t you? I didn’t leave because I knew you needed to be here, and now that you can stay on your own…”
“No, I get it Dad,” she assured. “Thanks.”
“Hey, maybe when I come back, there will be some wee surprises running around,” he theorized. Clara could see by the look on her father’s face that he was definitely teasing her, but that he hoped it would not stop there. “I get the feeling there’s more than one eligible man on this island waiting for me to get out of here.”
“Dad… you’re the worst…”
“I see how some of the single men look at you… some of the single women too… in fact, I saw Danny just earlier and…”
“That’s enough,” she said firmly, ending the topic. “Should we make dinner together? For the last time in a while?”
“I do think let’s.”
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
The following morning, Dave Oswald left Berk after almost twenty-five years of living on the island. Many friends and well-wishers were at the docks to see him off, with a notable absence of one. Clara did not see her father to the ship that would take him away, instead going about her morning as usual. Both decided it was best that way, and there had been a promise made to visit as soon as possible. Berk returned to business as normal after the traders faded off on the horizon… at least as normal as possible.
“Miss?” A tiny hand in the back of the class shot up, pulling Clara from the lesson plan.
“Yes, Maebh?”
“Mum and Dad have been talking about Dragon Lords lately. Who are they?”
Clara put her primer down and leaned against her desk. “I guess the rumor’s out. Who in here knows about Dragon Lords?” No one raised their hands. “Really? No one played at that when they were little?”
“We played dragon slayers when we were little,” one of the other students claimed. Clara shrugged.
“Dragon Lords were a group of people long ago who had control over dragons,” she explained. “They were powerful enough to keep peace amongst the nearby islands and hold the wild dragons at-bay. It was because of them we were able to first really build communities on the many islands we have now, Berk being one of them.”
“What happened to them?” Meabh wondered.
“Some say they grew haughty—too overconfident—and died at the hands of their own dragons,” she explained. “Others claim there were not enough of them and they dwindled in numbers until there were not enough of them to control the dragons as firmly as they used to.” A different hand went up. “Yes…?”
“Could they be hiding? I heard they were hiding.”
“That could be, but unless one of us meets a Dragon Lord in person, we won’t know that for certain, shall we?”
The class all murmured in agreement—none of them wanted to meet a Dragon Lord, not if they were the ones who used to be able to control dragons. Most knew of dragon attacks as times for them to run to the shelters, but some hadn’t been so lucky, having already seen first-hand what sort of damage the creatures were capable of creating before having the chance to hide first.
“My parents said that the traders warned that the Last of the Dragon Lords was wandering around, ready to destroy everyone who gets in his path,” another student said. “Is that true?”
“I don’t know, Courtney,” Clara said. “I didn’t hear much from the traders myself, nor do I know how true their stories are.”
“What would you do, Miss, if you ever came across a Dragon Lord?”
Clara knew what sort of a question it was; despite it being honest and genuine, the classroom all knew what had happened to her mother, back when they were literal babies at best. She nodded contemplatively, not wanting to give away that she knew where the Dragon Lord was, for he was her secret.
“I’m not entirely certain,” she replied. “A Dragon Lord is just a person—a person that legends hold could control a dragon to some degree—and I’m certain I wouldn’t exactly be convinced for his lordliness.” The students all giggled at that. “I might have some misgivings about the dragon itself, but ask your parents about the legends when you get home; their mounts were supposed to be some of the most dangerous of the dragon breeds.”
“Which one was that?” asked the owner of another small hand that shot up towards the middle of the room.
“Not one in our files, because no one has recorded them since the library was burned some generations ago,” she said. “It was supposed to be one of great speed and skill, able to vanish into thin air before reappearing elsewhere, rider and all.” More than a few concerned gasps went through the room. “Don’t worry—there’s only been the odd sighting of a Dragon Lord here and there for the past few hundred years. They likely don’t even exist anymore… like Courtney’s will to resist carving the hell out of her desk.”
The aforementioned student shrugged nonchalantly as the rest of the class laughed, the tension alleviated for the time being. Few adults were able to get them to relax quite like Miss Oswald, and for that, they were glad she was their teacher. As the day progressed, there was little incident that would have suggested to the school students that their teacher was completely and utterly preoccupied with a pair of unknown visitors camping out in the forest.
After dodging more questions from her coworkers about her father and promising to have a lengthy chat about it all later, Clara was able to excuse herself for a walk in the woods in order to “help clear her head”. She was about to need plenty of walks, she assured gently, to make certain she had her feet on the ground, and her coworkers reluctantly accepted that. Once able to slip into the woods and assure her privacy, she went to check on the secret she was thrillingly keeping from the entire island. When would she let them know they were there? She wasn’t entirely sure, but she definitely knew that the news had to be broken to the village slowly.
As the Doctor and his dragon came into view, the conversation she had with her students crossed her mind: what was she doing? It wasn’t as though she was particularly comfortable around the dragon, but it was also worth noting that she felt the need to come here, day after day if need be, and it was a nearly odd sort of sensation. She sat down by the lakeshore near dragon and rider and sighed.
“I brought some dinner,” she said. “It’s not a lot, but it’s at least enough to not go hungry or fight your own dragon for fish.” She saw his nearly confused expression and scrunched her nose. “What?”
“You seem different today,” he noticed. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“I’m not different.”
“Your face is different, like it’s malfunctioning.” He motioned towards his own face, as though that would help. “It’s like it’s trying to be both happy and sad at once. Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”
“I’m not contradictory,” she claimed.
“Then why is your face doing that?”
“Then I guess I’m just a bit melancholy, is all,” she decided. He raised an eyebrow at that and she relented. “My dad left Berk today.”
“Oh…”
“We’ve lived here since as long as I can remember, almost, and it’s just sort of weird,” she admitted. “I’m going to go home tonight and he won't be there. I’ll wake up for work in the morning and he won’t already be asleep after night’s watch.”
“What does your mum think?”
“She died over ten years ago now… fighting dragons.”
The Doctor grew quiet at that, knowing how big a thing that was to admit. He glanced at Idris, who rolled her eyes, and sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be—it was an accident. She slipped and fell off one of the platforms in the rain. You didn’t do it… not personally. It’s just… I didn’t think it was my dad I had to worry about moving away…”
“Were you more worried about yourself?”
“No… Danny.” She looked at the Doctor, who was picking at some grass next to where they sat. “Sorry; I’m just venting, aren’t I?”
“It’s alright,” he assured. “It’s refreshing to hear someone else’s problems for a change. This Danny lad… he’s important to you, isn’t he?”
“He is—we both weren’t born on Berk, so even though this is our home, we’re still a bit different, though not from each other.” He nodded at that. “He was just talking about wanting to move too…”
“…and now he won’t…?”
“Yeah, just, I don’t know anymore…” She glanced over at him and saw that he was observing her rather carefully. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’ve not had a real conversation with another human like this in a long time. It’s… it’s different than talking with Idris.”
“I imagine so.” She watched the dragon almost huff in what she imagined was indignation. It was such an expressive creature that she almost wondered if it was more human than she wanted to think about. “Why are you so insulted? It’s not like you can talk back and hold your end of a conversation.” It grunted and turned away from her; figures. Clara stood up and stretched, knowing she was going to need to get home early that night if she was going to avoid suspicion. The Doctor watched her cautiously as he idly began to pet Idris.
“Why are you being so kind to me?” he wondered. “You have every right to hate us, and yet…”
“I have a duty of care,” she replied. “We have a duty, we here on Berk, to care for each other. If we don’t, then the whole village will be destroyed.”
“…but I have a dragon. Wouldn’t you think I’m allied with them?”
“You’re not allied with those dragons… that is plain enough to see,” she shrugged. “You’re a Dragon Lord, yeah, but you are…” She trailed off, not entirely sure how to continue.
“…a strangely compelling masculine figure…?” She looked at him flatly and he shrugged.
“Someone trying to be a good man; that counts for something, doesn’t it?”
He mused on that momentarily. “How would you know that?”
“Let’s just say it’s a woman’s intuition,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doctor.”
She walked away, leaving the man and dragon to themselves.
#Whouffaldi#Clara Oswald#Twelfth Doctor#Twelve x Clara#Whouffle#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too#Danny Pink#Doctor Who#How to Train Your Dragon#fan fiction#just trust me pls I'm building#it's PCap's birthday so happy birthday to him
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Prompt: It’s a birthday! (Could or could not be mine but who’s askin) Magical AU with one of the kids birthdays? With the usual trimmings of cake and presents and magic shenanigans?
IT’S A MAGICAL AU BIRTHDAY!
2401 words; takes place on June 2nd, 2024; whatMagical AU is this prompt referring to? Why, The Other Director of Communications, of course, where Clara Oswaldand Malcolm Tucker are in a very fanon-laden version of the Harry Potter universe;there’s no cake mentioned but you can be fairly certain that there’s cake atsome point
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
It was a fine day in late Spring, right near the beginningof summer, when Sorcha Oswald woke up and knew that, yes, this was the day sheturned eleven. Witches from magical families, she knew, got their Hogwarts Owl promptlyon their eleventh birthday, which was arguably the thing she was lookingforward to the most. She sprang from bed and rushed over to her window, openingit so hard the glass almost broke. Wincing, the girl checked it before pokingher head out and looking around.
No owl.
“Huh…” She shrugged and decided that, yes, it was a bitearly for an owl. No Muggle Post came on Sundays, but that was because it wasbrought by people and not birds, the latter of which didn’t care for such sillyhuman inventions as days of the week… let alone weekends. It didn’t matter though—she knew she was getting her owltoday and that was that.
After getting ready—her new tartan skirt and white blouse,with a set of black leggings and a tie—Sorcha went downstairs to find that herparents were both in the kitchen putting together breakfast.
“Happy birthday, my big girl,” Mum said, holding the sidesof Sorcha face between her palms as she kissed her forehead. She then looked ather daughter’s outfit. “Isn’t that tie a bit loose?”
“No, Mum—it’s perfect.”
“I know you’re still practicing, so tie it correctly,” Mumscolded gently. Sorcha looked at Dad, who was busy whisking waffle batter.
“Don’t look at me; Mam’s the one who knows Hogwartsstandards for ties,” he said. Sorcha pouted and undid her tie, going overtowards one of the metal mixing bowls that obligingly let her use it as amirror. She finished it and faced her parents.
“Better?”
“Much,” Mum said. It was then that Catriona came in—at seven-and-a-half,she was still able to sometimes get away with carrying her plush Shaun theSheep around the house. Climbing up into her seat, she set it on the table nextto her placemat, the worn-out creature acting as a wide-eyed sentinel,surveying the kitchen with an unblinking stare.
“Happy birthday,” Catriona said. “Did your owl come yet?”
“Not yet, but it will,” Sorcha said resolutely. She also satdown at the kitchen table and watched their parents as they continued makingbreakfast. “Um… Mum…?”
“Yes, sweetie?” She didn’t even turn around.
“When did you get your letter?”
“On my birthday, before I went off to school; Granddad andGran sent me to the Muggle school down the road from their house until I wentto Hogwarts, similar to how we homeschool you and your sister. Why?”
“Oh, just wondering.” Two cups floated off their shelf andover to the refrigerator, where the milk jug filled them both before allowingthem to sit down by the girls’ placemats. “What about Tash?”
“She was here to visit when she got her letter, which was asurprise to Uncle Gordon and Aunt Mary, let me tell you,” Dad laughed. Hepoured batter into the waffle iron and shut it, allowing the treat to cook. “Weall thought she was Muggle like her parents and me, but we learned a lot thatday. You were only two, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”
“Okay,” Sorcha said. She took a sip of milk and frowned—if Mum’scame before school, then where was her owl?
Losing herself in her thoughts, Sorcha lost track of whatwas going on until Dad put a double-decker waffle with strawberries, Nutella,chocolate sauce, and whipped cream in front of her.
“One Fucking Fantastic Muggle Waffle for the Birthday Girl,”Dad beamed. He then saw how concerned and distracted she was, which made himfrown as well. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Is it about your owl? It’ll come…”
“…are you sure…?”
“Sorchie, you and your sister have both given me more than severalnear-heart attacks each with the amount of magic you’ve emitted since you werebabies; trust me, I might be aMuggle, but I know for a fact you’re getting your fucking Hogwarts lettersooner or later.”
“Really…?”
“…or throw me back in the middle of fucking Whitehallwithout even your Uncle Jamie as backup,” he assured her. He kissed the top ofher head and gently patted her back. “Don’t worry about it, alright? Today’s your day—remember that.” He then glancedover towards his youngest daughter and scowled in exasperation before headingback to the waffle iron. “Cat, what the fuck did I tell you about carrying thatthing around the house?”
“No one’s over visiting,” she claimed.
“Malcolm, don’t cuss at the girls,” Mum cut in sharply. “They’regoing to think you’re serious one day.”
“Mum, it’s just how Dad talks,” Sorcha replied, her mouthfull of Fucking Fantastic Muggle Waffle. “We know he’s not being mean. Relax.”
“Do not test me, not today, young lady,” Mum hissed. “I will cancel your birthday party if Ihave to.”
“But Granddad’s coming! And Tash!”
“…and they can very easily not come. Now eat your breakfast.”
Sorcha took a large bit of waffle and shoved it all in hermouth, chewing grumpily.
Sod it.
“Sorcha, don’t even think-swear.”
Flip it.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
As the day wore on, Sorcha became increasingly worried abouther Hogwarts letter. She opened all the windows of the house, made sure thatshe checked the sills whenever she passed them, and even took her mother’sBluebottle to the roof for a bit and tried to keep watch there. After all themorning and half an afternoon of staring at the horizon, she determined thatthere were too many tall trees surrounding the house to make being out thereeven the slightest bit useful, so she rode back down to the garden and laid inthe grass, spread-eagle and face towards the grey sky.
“This blows,” she grumbled. Soon after, she could see herfather standing over her, towering as he stood with his toes by her ears. “What,Dad?”
“You’re not going to get anywhere by sulking like a wee shite,”he said. “Are either of my daughters wee shites?”
“No…”
“Alright then—get over yourself. Put the broom away and comeinside before you get grass stains all over your clothes. They’re a fuckingpain to get out, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Sorcha stood and snapped her fingers,commanding the broom to make its way towards the shed. She then turned to lookat her father, surprised by the fact he looked red-eyed and a bit wobbly in thelip. “Are you alright?”
“Letter or no, m’bairn’s growing up,” he stated. “Fuck, you’realmost in secondary—it feels like we only brought you back from St. Mungo’slast year…”
“Stop crying, Dad. It’s weird.”
“I’m gonna cry if I fucking want to cry,” he laughed. Thesound of a car caught his ears and he turned around, seeing Granddad pull intothe drive and get out of his car. “Would you look who finally was able tofigure out what turn to take and get here on-time?”
“Good to see you too,” Granddad laughed. Sorcha ran up andgave him a tight hug. “How’s my darling eldest granddaughter today?”
“Granddad, tell me the truth: when did Mum get her Hogwartsletter?”
“Oh, haven’t gotten it, eh?”
“Granddad…!”
“Be patient; birds don’t teleport and the enforced aestheticmeans they can’t modernize to email,” Granddad said. He patted her shoulder—Christ,she was getting tall—and gently pushed her towards the house. “Get insidebefore the rain catches up; I’ve got to get your present from the car.”
“Alright.”
The tween went inside and saw her mother and sister puttingthe finishing touches on the sitting room’s decorations. Streamers and balloonsin Hogwarts House colors were scattered about the place, along with a sign thatread “Happy 11th Birthday Sorcha” in twinkling letters. Her eyeswent wide at the sight, it looking better than she had ever thought possible.
“Wow… it looks great, Mum.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she replied. “Was that Granddad Iheard pull up?”
“Yeah.”
“Mum! Sorcha! I helped too!” Catriona piped up. She bouncedup and down in an effort to get some attention. She was cut off, however, byGranddad coming into the house while holding a brightly-wrapped box, Dad closebehind him.
“Ah, there we are,” he said, seeing the rest of his family.Catriona ran into him with a hug, nearly knocking him over. “Hey, hey, hey; don’tbreak me before your eleventhbirthday now.”
“I won’t break you, Granddad!” Catriona giggled. “Where’sGran?”
“Gran… had a thing; she sends her love, though,” he lied. Whowas he to tell his precious grandchild that his wife simply didn’t like them?No; it could definitely wait until they were both older. “Where’s your cousin?Don’t tell me I beat her here…”
“Natasha is very busy, I hope you know,” Dad said. “She’soff doing… uh…” He looked at Mum for help.
“…Herbology research…”
“Yes, Herbologyresearch, which is a very big deal for being so young.”
“I was a lad in the Seventies—you can tell me the truth.”
“Natasha is an intern in a Herbology study that is lookinginto the effects of corn syrup in Mandrakes’ diets in comparison to one wherethe sweetener is comprised mainly of sugar beets,” Mum deadpanned. Granddadlooked puzzled, which only made her exhale in frustration. “No, there’s no ‘street name’ in anything I just said.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.” Mum watchedas Catriona whimpered and pressed her forehead against Granddad’s hip, knowingit was a sign. “Speak the Dementor’s name and she shall come; three, two, one…”
Green flames roared up in the fireplace and Natasha emerged,another brightly-wrapped parcel underneath her arm. She grinned when she sawher baby cousins—it was now time to party.
“Sorcha! Happy birthday!” She hugged the tween and handedher the present. “Be careful with this—you don’t want to drop it.”
“Okay.” Sorcha looked over at her parents, blue eyes goingwide in hopefulness. “Can I…?”
“Go ahead,” Mum said.
Sorcha squeaked in excitement and placed the present down onthe coffee table before opening it up. She tore at the paper and lifted the lidof the box. After peeking inside, she dropped the lid and jumped back inhorror.
“You got me a dead cat?!”
“It’s not dead, just sleeping for optimal travel,” Natashasmirked. She pulled out her wand and waved it over the animal, waking it upgently in the process. “Spell on the kitten to make it sleep and a spell on thebox and paper to make it breathable so it didn’t suffocate. I’m not cruel.”
“Could have fooled me,” Granddad muttered. Mum elbowed himas they all watched Sorcha pick up the small British shorthair kitten frominside the box. Its fur was a golden color and its eyes a brilliant green. Insteadof being excited and happy as they had all thought she would be when theydiscussed the present, the adults instead saw that she was underreacting to thepoint of worrying them. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah, but…”
“…but what, Sorcha?” Natasha asked. She sat down next to hercousin and put an arm around her shoulders so as to hug her. “I thought youwanted a cat to take to Hogwarts; Cosmic Creepers here is one of the best theyhad.”
“It’s a bit too soon, don’t you think?” she wondered. Tearsbegan to well in her eyes—some for the enormity of the present she was justgiven and some for what she knew she still lacked. “I mean… I don’t even havemy letter…”
“Sorcha Elena Oswald,enough about the letter,” Mum scolded. “You have not had a single doubt aboutgoing to Hogwarts before today; why are you being like this?”
“I never thought about it until today, Mum!” Sorcha firedback, tears beginning to leak down her face. “What if they don’t want methere?! I’d have to go away-away to school! I won’t want to go to France orAmerica or anywhere else!” She held the kitten close, with it mewling inconfusion. “I’m scared!”
“Sorch, I got my letter well after my birthday—don’t worryabout it,” Natasha assured. She held her cousin while she cried, feeling asthough she could at least do that for her.
“Owl!” Catriona gasped.
“Yeah, I know, I need my owl,” Sorcha grumbled. “Don’t rubit in.”
“No, owl!”Catriona pointed and the adults looked to see a rather small, fluffy owlperched atop the china hutch preening itself. Dad cussed under his breath andwent to chase it away.
“Get off me mam’s antique shit and sit on the goddamned postyou fucking titmouse-murderer,” he hissed. The bird flapped its way down to theperch the family owl used and fluffed its feathers. There was a letter attachedto one of its legs, but when he tried to take it, the creature nipped at hishand. “Ow, fuck! Don’t do that!”
“You have to be nice, Dad,” Catriona said. She walked up toit and stared it down, eventually getting close enough to read. “Sorcha! It’sfor you!”
“It is…?” The tween went and, while still holding thekitten, took the letter from the owl. It gurgled in satisfaction and hunkereddown for a rest before heading back. “It… it is for me.”
“Let me see,” Natasha said. Her cousin showed her theenvelope and she smirked. “Well now, you’re the only ‘Sorcha Oswald, Room in the South-East Corner, Raven’s Rook, Forest ofBowland, Lancashire, England’, aren’t you?”
“I guess so.” She let Natasha hold the kitten as she openedthe letter and browsed over the contents. Laughing, she allowed herself to cry,relief washing over her. “It’s my letter. I got accepted to Hogwarts.”
“See?” Dad said. “I toldyou it would come.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Yeah, but nothing; if that school lets the twat-bubbles andtit-zits that I know it has and didn’t accept my daughter, then it has more than another fucking think coming.”
“Um, are we going to ignore probably the weirdest thig aboutthis?” Granddad wondered. Dad looked at him, eyebrow cocked and ready forsassing.
“What?”
“…is that cat really named ‘Cosmic Creepers’ or did I mishear that?”
#thenotoriouscow#HP!AU#magic!au#Sorcha Oswald#Catriona Oswald#Clara Oswald#Malcolm Tucker#Tash Tucker#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too#Doctor Who#The Thick of It#fan fiction#replies
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The Scottish Werewolf of Hackney - Part III
I just realized that I’ve used “The ___ of ___” as a title template on at least four or five fics at this point now and somehow I’m not sorry.
Part I - Part II- FFN - AO3
Clara makes a mistake, Basil continues to eat, and an anniversary looms upon the flat. [3956 words; Whouffaldi werewolf AU]
Clara stared at her mobile, wondering what was taking so long. She had sent an email to what was supposed to be Basil’s office first thing in the morning—nearly the moment she had walked into work—hoping she’d get an answer from someone. All she wanted was a confirmation that she had the correct man in her possession, that there was nothing to worry about, and that she wasn’t to worry about the fact she left for work while he was disassembling her toaster oven. Instead, it was her advanced class, towards the end of the day, and she hadn’t heard a single thing of any consequence.
At least, she knew, that she would be able to go home and not have to worry about dinner. Not about to let an unknown talent cook for her, she had thrown all the hotpot ingredients into a slow-cooker before leaving the flat that morning. Thanks to the confusion that was the past week, she was glad to be able to have something she could rely on, and it sure as heck wasn’t going to involve doing more work for herself after a long day of repeating the same answers to the same questions (which was plenty more tiring than it seemed).
The final bell sounded and the children were released—still nothing.
Clara mounted her motorbike and set off for home—no buzzing in her pocket.
Walking from the underground carpark to her flat block didn’t even yield anything of note… not even one of her older, nosier neighbors attempting to figure out who it was she had in her flat with her. It normally wouldn’t’ve bothered her, but given the situation, Clara was both relieved and terrified. She was nearly about to put the key in the door when she heard a voice inside her flat… a very unfamiliar voice that was definitely not Basil.
“I’ll murder him,” she hissed. Clara stormed into her flat and immediately saw who the offender was: a man with all the appearance of a boiled egg in a woolen waistcoat scolding Basil with a voice shriller than her stepmum’s. It was a bit surreal seeing the stranger in her sitting room, stunning her into speechlessness for a moment.
“You are going to get yourself killed one of these days with this tomfoolery,” the boiled egg warned. Basil seemed to not be paying him much attention, instead watching telly while munching on some crisps. “What will happen when you’re so injured that you die?”
“Nardole, don’t think that way…”
“The university pays me to think that way!” If the egg—or Nardole, Clara supposed—was able to tear at hair, he would have. “Every time you get a proper holiday you go and strip down to your nothings and gallivant across the England, getting into scrapes that are a bit more than just that. What caused those scratches, hmm? Those gashes on your side?”
“He was protecting me,” Clara said, finally recovering herself as she put her bag down. “I thought he was a dog at the time, so excuse me if I didn’t rush him straight to a hospital.” Nardole jumped fussily at the sound of her voice, staring at her as though she was an alien from outer space.
“Doctor? Who’s this?”
“My name is Clara Oswald; I own this flat,” she replied. If the egg was in her presence, he was going to direct questions about her to her. “The question is: who are you and why are you here?”
“Severo Nardolé,” the egg said with a curt nod.
“Nar-do-lay? Basil just said…”
“You must forgive him; Nardole doesn’t know a thing about anything, other than how to get on my nerves,” Basil interrupted. “He’s just a bald, impotent satyr anyhow…”
“Faun,” Nardole corrected. “You know perfectly well I am a faun.”
“…and you know perfectly well that I don’t have any time for your rules right now, not while I’m on holiday.”
Nardole scowled and tottered off towards the kitchen, muttering as he went. Soon as he was out of earshot, Clara tapped the side of Basil’s head with her palm and hissed at him, turning off the television in the process.
“What are you doing letting someone into my flat without me knowing?!”
“It’s just Nardole… it’s not like he’s capable of anything of merit, poor or otherwise.”
“That doesn’t mean you just let him in here uninvited!”
“…but he was invited!”
“By whom?!”
“You!” He scoffed as she stared at him, her eyes going wide. “Don’t do that; inflate your eyes when you’re not to blame for this. You were the one who told him where I was!”
“…so attempting to notify your office of your general whereabouts and physical condition brought him here?”
“Yeah, thanks; now he’ll never leave,” Basil griped. Clara was just about to scold him again when Nardole poked his head out of the kitchen, holding a half-assembled kettle.
“If this is the state of this place, then I should have been called sooner,” he said before disappearing again. Clara glared at Basil, who simply held up his hands in defense.
“It was an old one I found in the cupboard, honest,” he claimed.
“You owe me a new kettle,” she frowned. It was then that Clara noticed something: the smell that she had expected to be all throughout her home, wasn’t. “Basil? What happened to the hotpot?”
The werewolf stopped munching mid-crunch and his face went paler than ever. He muttered something under his breath as he put down the chips and scrambled to stand and rush towards the kitchen. When he and Clara both went into the kitchen, they found that the slow-cooker was unplugged and empty, all while Nardole was rummaging about in his effort to make tea.
“Nardole, how long have you been here?” Clara asked.
“A few hours,” he replied.
“…and what have you done to my dinner in the meantime?” She pointed towards the slow-cooker, at which he gave a cursory glance.
“It was goat—you can’t expect me to eat goat. Why do you even eat goat, anyway?”
“I eat it because I like it, and I like it because I tried some from a cart vendor a couple years ago, and I was going to make it for tonight because I had no plan on having a faun over for dinner!”
“Ignorance does not excuse rudeness.”
Without another word, Clara lunged forward, grabbed Nardole by his shirt collar, and yanked hard enough for his top button to pop off. She pulled him through the flat to the door, half-throwing him out into the corridor.
“If I ever see your face again, you better pray that I see you are on your best behavior, or else it will be your hindquarters in that slow-cooker!” she snapped. She then slammed the door shut, nearly stomping her way towards Basil. “Never, ever let someone into this flat who is neither my father nor the police if I am not home, is that understood?!”
“Perfectly—I didn’t even want to let him in, but before I knew it, he was in here and being… well… Nardole.”
“Then make a better effort next time,” Clara said. She then stopped at the sound of her stomach squelching in agony. “Crap… I don’t have dinner. That man bloody ruined my dinner…”
“Go sit down, Clara,” Basil said. When she gave him a confused look, he sighed and scratched his head through his fluffy greying hair. “Go sit down or take a nap or have a soak or whatever it is that you do to relax; I’ll take care of dinner tonight.”
“You will…?”
“Yes—the one good thing about Nardole is that he brought a bunch of my things with him when he came, so now I’m slightly less dependent on you for everything,” he explained. Clara looked in the direction Basil was pointing in and saw a carryall sitting behind the couch. “You’ve done such a great job taking care of me that now I want to take care of you for a bit.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” she asked. “It hasn’t been that long since you were hurt.”
“Go, go,” he insisted, gently pushing her towards her bedroom.
Once Clara was in he closed the door so that she was alone and free to do as she wished. It was a bit confusing, that much was for certain, but she took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and decided that yes, it was better if she took a nap. She was tired from the kids’ exams earlier in the day, making her too weary for a book or a bath. It felt as though no sooner had she laid atop her comforter, her mobile rang, pulling her from sleep.
“Hello…?”
“Hey.” It was her dad. “How are things? I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
“Yeah, but I needed to get up anyhow to eat something and start marking,” she said. Clara sat up and glanced towards the clock on her dresser: it had been over two hours since she went to bed.
“Exams?”
“Yeah; they still beat my arse. It’s not fair to be exhausted by exams as a teacher… not before you start marking them.”
“It’s not, but that doesn’t mean you should let that get you down.” There was a slight pause, in which Dave cleared his throat. “I was just calling to see if you wanted me to come down tomorrow—my boss said that he can write it off as a work trip if you need someone to stay with you for a bit.”
“Thank Mr. Marrow for me, but I’ll be fine,” she replied. “I have… a friend staying over for a bit. A work friend.”
“It’s not Adrian, is it? Please tell me it’s Adrian.”
“No, it’s not Adrian—you’re worse than my students, Dad.”
“I was just wondering! It’s not like either of us are getting any younger, and I do want to make sure you’re happy. Oh, did you give any more thought into getting a pet? I heard that the Jensens the street over have kittens and are only charging for the costs of shots and getting the things fixed…”
Uh-huh, yeah, a subject change was not going to work this time. Clara filed her father’s insistence on her settling down with someone before the age of forty away for another day and humored him for the time being.
“Funny you should mention that; I was actually more thinking about a dog—one that does well in flats and doesn’t need much attention.”
“I was under the impression that you were more of a cat person.”
“I don’t want something that can climb on shelves higher than me when it misbehaves.”
“You do have a point there.” Clara could almost hear her dad nodding on the other end, which made her chuckle. “Are there dogs that aren’t that much work? The one Mum and I had before you were born was a handful…”
“I’m considering an older one from a shelter, one that doesn’t have many years left,” she said. Clara glanced towards her bedroom door and hoped that Basil didn’t come barging in. “That way it can get out of the shelter and I don’t have as long of a commitment if I end up not liking it.”
“That’s smart of you. If you like it, do you think you’d get a puppy?”
“Maybe, if there’s any available drop-outs from the service-dog company that Coal Hill works with. I wouldn’t have the time to train a puppy myself, but one of the secretaries got a German shepherd from there a couple years ago and you wouldn’t believe how calm it is for one that didn’t make it all the way through.”
“Alright, Clara, I’m sorry but I’m getting The Stare—we’re overdue to meet up with people,” Dave said dully. Clara could imagine Linda standing there, arms folded and scowl souring her already unpleasant face, as she had seen so many times before, and it was enough to want to keep her father on the line for longer. “Mind if I call you back on Saturday?”
“Sunday—I’ll be a bloody wreck on Saturday and it’s better off you not listen to that.”
“That’s fair.”
The two bid one another goodbye and Clara ended the call, putting the mobile back down on the bed. She changed into fluffy pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt, getting as comfortable as possible before shuffling out of her bedroom. There was a simply sinful smell coming from her kitchen; as she followed it, muffled music could be heard as well. She looked through the doorway and saw Basil standing at the stovetop, humming along to the rock song he had playing off a mobile. Now dressed in pajama bottoms and a few layers of t-shirts and a hooded sweatshirt, he seemed to expertly watch over this pan and that, catching the fact he was no longer along out of the corner of his eye.
“Take a seat, Clara,” he said. “You’re just in time.”
“What did you make…?” She looked at the stove and knew it wasn’t simply takeaway put into pans to make it seem as though he properly cooked—there was veg and potatoes and gravy, though no hint of anything else.
“I’ve got a couple pies in the oven.”
“Pies…? Since when did I have the stuff to make pies?”
“Since I went through your freezer and deemed it so,” he replied. “You’re ruining it—come on and sit down.”
“Fine,” she half-laughed. Clara sat and waited, watching Basil as he moved about her kitchen with disturbing ease. Before long, she had a tasty-looking pie sitting in front of her, with some mash and steamed veg on the side, and top of said pie drowning in gravy. A glass of wine for each of them and Basil sat down as well, beaming proudly at his handiwork.
“It’s been a while since I had the opportunity to cook for someone new, let alone other than myself,” he admitted. “Go on; there’s plenty of carbs there and you look like you’re in need of them.”
“Why would I be in need of carbs?”
“Three exams, coming home to find Nardole in your flat of all things, and I heard the ringtone you set aside for your dad before you came in here. I’m sure it ended thanks to someone named ‘Linda’, as it did the couple times you had him on speaker when I was a dog, and I am under the impression that although he cares more than most fathers, you are definitely glad she is not your mother.”
“Thanks for reminding me that you were spying on me for nearly a week under false pretenses,” she said. Clara took a bite of pie and her eyebrows rose at how good it tasted. “Wow… you’re not bad at all.”
“No problem—and don’t worry, I would have escaped already if you were the type to wander around the flat without clothes. Why do you think I never went in your room? Or followed you into the bathroom? Plenty of other animals do that to their owners; you didn’t wonder about me?”
“I honestly thought you were too old and lazy.”
“Hey! Fifty-six is not that old!”
“Almost as old as my dad, grey hair, and tell me the last time a dog lived to be that long in human years.”
Basil simply stuffed more food in his mouth in order to not answer. With his lack of jabbering, Clara was able to eat her dinner in peace, nearly glad that a faun had taken over her dinner long enough to ruin her original plans.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
It was finally Saturday.
No work, no visitors, no nothing. Clara already planned on staying indoors and not leaving the place the entire day. It wasn’t the most constructive way to spend The Anniversary, yeah, but she knew that she needed at least one commemoration to be spent in such a way, so it might as well be the first of them. The only thing on the agenda was plenty of telly and slowly consuming the two pizzas that Clara had delivered for lunch. With Basil sitting on one end of the couch and Clara curled up on the other, they passed a decent chunk of time in relative silence—only breaking it by a laugh here or a snark-filled comment there—avoiding the reason why the day had been so low-key to start.
It was late in the evening by the time Clara went to the bathroom, having not committed to much movement or fluid intake since her breakfast that morning. When she returned to the couch, she saw her mobile on the table blinking with a new message. A quick look—her dad.
‘I was looking through pictures to archive and found this. You both look so great.’
Clara swiped through and went to her messaging system to look at what the picture was. She tried to brace herself, knowing it was likely a picture of her and Danny, yet still broke into tears as she saw it. There was the two of them, surrounded by students during the school fête, everyone a giant mess of mud and grass-stains from the obstacle course they coordinated. She put the hand not holding her mobile over her mouth and let hot tears run down her cheek. That day had been well before he had proposed, yet she still remembered it was the first day he ever told her that he loved her. Danny had not been a man that threw such a phrase around idly; when he whispered it in her ear while picking stray blades of grass and clumps of dirt out of her hair, he meant it.
“What happened to you?” Basil wondered. Clara glanced over and saw that he was standing nearby with a tub of cottage cheese and a spoon in-hand. He sat down next to her and put his things on the table so that he could pay the image on the phone his full attention. “I haven’t seen you look like this before.”
“I’m usually not covered in mud.”
“No, I mean, not like this.” He motioned towards the picture, then at her. “Even when you smile now you’re sad—the Clara in this photo is far from it.”
“That was a very big day for Danny and me, believe it or not,” she replied shakily. She wiped the tears on her face off with her arm, glad that she wasn’t wearing any makeup that day. “He told me he was in love with me.”
It took a couple moments, but Basil let out a small chuckle and shook his head. “You don’t seem that old-fashioned—it’s fine to be that way, but it simply doesn’t seem very you.”
“He was, and I was fine with it, but…” She began to trail off, which made her bob her head in uncertainty. “It’s just not fair now that he’s gone… it’s too boring, which is a terrible thing to say about someone’s death, but I kind of figured that if he didn’t die an old man that he would doing something insanely brave or adventurous… he didn’t deserve what he got.”
“I’ve lost someone too, you know,” he said. He held her hand, his fingers completely enveloping her own, and squeezed gently. “Tell me about it.”
Clara hesitated, memories churning in her stomach. “He was hit by traffic. Survives three bloody tours and he goes as the casualty of an idiot being behind the wheel after a bad trip.” She picked at her fingers, staring at the nothingness in front of her as she did so. “We were work mates first, going out in the main group of teachers around our age, but after a while… something clicked and we began doing things just the two of us, and before either of us knew it, he was on one knee and I was saying yes and then…” She couldn’t continue, instead closing her eyes and leaning back into the couch.
“That sounds almost like River,” Basil said. Clara looked at him only to see that he too was lost in a reverie. “My, erm, late wife was an archaeology professor with St. Luke’s. She went on the craziest trips—I was even there for some of them—and she died due to an electrical fault in the school library. It was arcing out during a storm and she was hit while evacuating students… to go from observing and collecting data at sites in dangerous, out-of-the-way places to a library… it came as a surprise to say the least.”
“You were married?”
“Yeah; she’s been gone for more than a few years now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss her,” he stated. “Even if you’re lucky enough to find someone new, you won’t stop missing Danny, and that’s normal. The only thing now is that you’re living for two, so make the best of it. That’s how I see it anyhow.”
Taking the information all in, it really hit Clara that Basil wasn’t simply some strange being without a life of his own. The airs he put on, he was a werewolf for crying out loud, was nothing more than an extra layer to him as a person. She shifted on the cushion before speaking again.
“Was River a werewolf as well?”
“She was, yes. She was made a werewolf as a child from a bite.” He attempted to drop the topic, yet Clara silently urged him on. “My family is just cursed—some of us inherit it, some don’t, though I did.”
“Do you have any other family?”
“Not really… the closest person I’ve got to family is Bill, my graduate assistant, and it’s more that she needs an adult in her life that cares than anything. I’m like a weird grandfather or odd uncle to her and she’s just another student in the long chain of them. It’s not like she isn’t important to me, but…”
“…she’s still a student,” she finished. “I think we understand one another on that front better than we previously thought.” She leaned over, resting her head on his arm, and exhaled heavily. “Is Bill human?”
“Yes and no—she was a baby when she was snatched by the elves and replaced with a changeling. When her human mother died, she was switched back, but that short time she spent with the elves changed her.”
“Does this mean that St. Luke’s is the magic university? Like the uni version of Hogwarts?”
“Not really; we preternatural folks tend to naturally gravitate towards one another. Bill would be well within in her rights to leave me and the rest of the supernatural world behind to attempt to find her own way amongst the humans that barely understand the wonders she’s seen, yet she’s too attracted to water nymphs to bring herself to do so.”
“…at least she’s consistent…?”
“She’s something alright. Bill’s a good kid and I want her to do well. Putting all my effort into students like her… it makes things easier, in a way.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Clara smiled to herself as Basil let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders. The half hug he gave her was comforting, and she breathed slowly as she leaned into it, calming into a restful sleep.
When she woke up she was in her bed, tucked away with no sign of Basil having even entering her room. She laid back down and easily went back to sleep.
#Whouffaldi#Whouffle#Clara Oswald#Twelfth Doctor#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too#ending may be subject to change in a couple hours but not in any significant way#Doctor Who#fan fiction#werewolf au#this is the direction I am regretting bc fck Nardole#I lead an anti Nardole appreciation life#may contain traces of#Pinkwald#and#Twelve x River#because reasons#(aka: I'm so angry that Pinkwald Souffez Whouffaldi and Twelve/River all got endings that shit on someone and that's not cool yo)#(I could write an editorial about these ships)#(and how they're really great but can easily shit on others)#(because that's what contrasting ships DO but whatever)
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Clara and the Cup o’ Cussuccino - Part II
Blame @thenotoriouscow for this one, mainly, but also the fact that almost everyone seems to want a sequel to the original (which was already long to begin with), and me finally getting off my butt.
Part I on tumblr | FFN | AO3
Malcolm and Clara need to talk, yet for one being Former Director of Communications of the Prime Minister and the other being a literature teacher, they are terrible at finding the time to put aside. Between his business, her job, and the secondary schoolers in the flat, will they ever get there? [Malcolm/Clara coffeeshop AU; 8506 words; contains more gratuitous sex, self-reflective relationship drama, various holidays, and familial things interspersed]
Malcolm Tucker knew that he was doing much better than he should have been, when all was said and done. He was raising his nieces and nephew, with a wonderful woman at his side; his business was thriving and no one gave a fucking shit about the past and blunders in his former life. As he sat up tabulating the week’s earnings and overhead on the chilled October evening, he felt a pair of hands rest on his shoulder and a kiss press into his hair.
“Hey Malcolm, come on to bed,” Clara said quietly. She waited as he took off his specs and palmed his eyes, leaning onto the desk with his elbows on either side of the laptop. “Do you realize how late it is?”
“I’m almost done,” he claimed. “Just go—I’ll be there in a tic.”
“Last time you said that I was asleep before you came to bed.”
“Not exactly my best moment, I’ll give you that.” Malcolm leaned back in his chair and tilted his head back so that he was looking up at Clara. “You’re nice from this angle.”
“Just nice?”
“Fucking wonderful, pet; you need to be the taller one more often, not just in bed.”
“That’s better.” She kissed the tip of his nose and chuckled lowly; the nips were long down for the night and she didn’t want to give any of them reason to wake up. “So, you think we’ll be able to get that boba tea machine the girls want by Christmas?”
“If we get a couple fan-fucking-tastic weeks, yeah,” he said. Going back to the spreadsheet, he began to put in the final numbers in. “I still think it would be a better idea to keep the money aside and wait until springtime to get it; cold tea is more of a summer than winter thing and I think it’ll catch on better then. Besides, I’m still faffing on that shutdown between Christmas and Hogmanay, just because so much of the fucking customer base leaves ‘round then for whatever shire kicked ‘em out to begin with.”
“Then make sure your argument is airtight before explaining yourself,” she replied. Clara leaned into Malcolm, running her hands down his chest as she kept him captive in his chair. He finished his work, hit save, and closed the computer, allowing her to turn his chair around and pull him from it.
Following obediently, Malcolm felt his cock begin to twitch as he was led into his own bedroom. He was glad, when the door shut behind them, that the kids’ rooms were on the other side of the flat, as the noise he made when Clara grabbed him was positively indecent. Picking her up, he carried her over to the bed and ground his hips into hers as he pressed her into the mattress. She moaned quietly in reply and began to undress him, urging him forward. His shirt came off with ease, as did his belt, and she tried to keep her composure as he dove in to start nipping at her neck while his hands went under her skirt.
“You start your new medicine yet?” he growled in her ear. She had stopped her birth control medication two months before by recommendation of her GP so that she could start a new one. It had meant plenty of condoms within the weeks that followed, though it also meant that he was getting anxious to know when they could safely put them aside again.
“No,” she breathed. She squirmed as his fingers teased her, making her back arch. “About that…”
“Later pet, please; if I stop now, there’s no waking m’fucking prick back up.” He inhaled her scent—it made his blood hot and his cock pulse as he reached for the side-table and the box of condoms within.
“Remember, yeah?” With hands everywhere, neither of them were very conscious of what else was going on aside from their hastened foreplay. “Sooner rather than later.”
“Certainly.”
Except, unfortunately, they did not talk about anything after they were done with their vigorous fuck and the condom lazily discarded in the bin kept close specifically for snot-rags and the used rubbers. Both were asleep faster than they would have liked, and when Clara woke up, Malcolm was already dressed and down in the kitchen prepping for the day. Her stomach roiled and she made it to the bathroom just in time to vomit in the toilet—the time to talk was ruined until at least that evening.
Fuck.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
“Why weren’t you in class today, Aunt Clara?”
The woman glanced down at Matthan as they walked along the pavement towards the Cup o’ Cussuccino. Iscah and Sarala were a bit further ahead, leaving the lad with his uncle’s girlfriend. “I was in your class this morning, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah, but Tafa said you weren’t in for his class. Did you spend too much time at home after lunch?”
“I didn’t go home; just ran a little late, is all,” she replied. “I had an appointment I couldn’t move.” The tween scrunched his nose and furrowed his brow in thought—he looked more Malcolm’s son than nephew in that moment, so much so that it made Clara’s heart skip a beat. “Nothing’s wrong, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“That’s good,” the boy nodded.
By now the storefront of their home was in sight, making it so that Matthan quickened his pace to be with his sister and cousin as they walked in. Clara followed close behind, seeing that there were a couple customers lingering about the shop. She placed her bags in a cupboard and took out her apron, putting it on before washing her hands.
“Um, Aunt Clara…?” She glanced over and saw Iscah putting on her own apron, giving her a funny look. “Are you alright to work in the shop now?” It took a moment for Clara to realize what she meant, having been thrown off by the title of “aunt”, which was a very recent addition to the teen’s vocabulary… as in since she had overheard a conversation with Mr. Coburn the previous week.
“Scold me when it’s nearly summer,” she replied lowly. She stepped aside as she dried her hands and allowed Iscah to wash up. The girl was good at keeping a secret, that much was for certain. “I still need to come clean about it though.”
“You didn’t?!” Iscah gasped. She quickly looked at her uncle, who was cussing out the cat for nearly escaping out the front door, and back to Clara. “What are you waiting for?!”
“None of your business,” Clara said firmly. She wanted to continue, yet stopped when she saw Malcolm carrying their tortoiseshell-and-white Scottish Fold back to the counter.
“Carrie, lock Fuckoff in the flat as punishment for trying to make a run for it,” he scowled, passing the cat to his elder niece. Iscah complied and hauled the cat away, past the younger two who were already sprawling their homework out over a table in the back corner. Malcolm then made a pass at Clara, placing a kiss behind her ear. “How was work?”
“Bearable,” she replied.
“The lady-parts-doctor appointment? That was today, yeah?”
“Yeah; everything’s working.”
“Excellent. I look forward to getting back to business as usual.” The bell rang as a couple came into the shop, just in time for Iscah to return to the floor.
“Fuck the fuck in or fuck the fuck off!” the teen beamed, knowing that there was no way she could have gotten away with such language under normal circumstances. The customers stared at Iscah, then at Malcolm and Clara, and back.
“You got a fucking problem with m’ niece following company protocol?” Malcolm asked. As he began to banter with the newcomers, Clara sank back towards the inner counter, beginning to wipe up the spills and crumbs that had probably only just occurred, keeping to herself.
When in the world was she going to tell him?
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Despite Sarala’s birthday being on a weekday, Malcolm had wanted to make sure that his niece had the best birthday manageable. Though he wasn’t allowed to take her out of school for the day (Clara’s orders), he made sure that there was a birthday cake waiting for when she came back to the Cup o’ Cussuccino for the day, all decorated in sugar spiders and blood-red confectioner’s gel.
“There’s the birthday ghoul,” he grinned as the pint-sized contingent returned. There had been a fancy-dress party at Coal Hill, which meant that Clara had chaperoned a zombie, Hawkeye, and Paddington Bear to and from school. “Go into the back and wash up—that cack all over your face is gonna suffocate your skin.”
“Okay,” Sarala said. She went into the kitchen to find something to wipe the smudges of talcum powder off her undead face, except instead of water in the sink, he heard her squeal in delight. “Is this my cake?!”
“Only for after dinner,” Clara said while she made sure the other two were sitting down with their homework. Once Sarala was powder-free, she hugged her uncle and went straight to her own work. There was no one else in the shop, for the after-school rush had not yet decided to show itself.
“You really need to wear those boots more often,” Malcolm told Clara as she came around the counter to make herself some tea. She was going straight for the hibiscus and rosehip blend, something he noticed she was doing much more often as of late.
“You took off your cape,” she mentioned. Yes, her witch’s costume called for black knee-high boots, but she had also left that morning to Malcolm swooshing around the Cup o’ Cussuccino dressed in his vampiric best. He wore the costume well enough to make Christopher Lee himself proud and hard, which coincidentally was enough to make Clara quake in her boots.
No Clara—those feelings were what put you in this deadlock of a mess.
“I took some shit out of the oven not too long ago; capes don’t like ovens,” he shrugged. The bells on the door made noise, calling for their attention. A South Asian woman in scrubs and holding a wrapped package was at the door, glancing around looking for someone.
“Aunt Nisha!” Sarala gasped once she saw her. She ran over to the woman and nearly tackled her in a hug. “I’m so glad you came!”
“I’m glad to see you too,” Nisha smirked. “Just because everyone else wants to be silly doesn’t mean we all have to be.” She tossed Malcolm a knowing wink and he gave a nod in reply. “Give me a mo’ with your uncle, will you?”
“Okay!” Sarala retreated back to her homework, allowing the adults to talk.
“Thanks for coming,” Malcolm said as he and Clara came around the counter to meet her. “She’s been doing well, but you know how she misses people. By the way, this is Clara, my girlfriend.”
“I’ve heard,” Nisha said. She shook Clara’s hand, a cordial attitude coming easily. “None of the other Chaudrys come around, I’m afraid. No one liked it when Nilima and David were together—even I thought he was too old for her—and it was worse when Sara was born. It’s stupid to keep a grudge against a child, but here we are.”
“It means the world that you’re here, if her talking about you coming hasn’t been clue enough,” Clara said. If she was under threat of having someone from Sarala’s mum’s family stop by at random, she wouldn’t have minded if it was Nisha, as she was nice enough as far as newly-introduced people go. “Will you stay for dinner? Sara requested her favorite: butter chicken over mashed potatoes.”
“I can’t—night shift—but is it alright if I distract the kids from their work for a bit before I have to leave? I imagine they can handle the interruption.”
“I’m one of their teachers, so I know how to keep them on-track whether they want to or not,” Clara smiled. Nisha then went over to her niece and sat down, placing the gift on the table and inquiring as to what the three youngsters were doing. Once the kids were properly distracted, Malcolm leaned down and murmured lowly into Clara’s ear.
“Want to leave the place to Carrie for fifteen minutes?” he asked. “It’ll be good practice for her.”
“No,” she said, blushing furiously. “What if she needs us after ten? I am not going to let you break child labor laws for a shag!”
“They’re only theoretical for family businesses and you know it,” he replied. He then gave her a smug grin, making use of the false teeth he had gotten just for the occasion. “We’ve got another half an hour before the rush can even think of beginning—the timing’s perfect.”
It was a good thing, Clara reminded herself as she quickly followed Malcolm up the stairs, that not only was he correct, but that she knew that Nisha was responsible enough to not let anyone harass the children while they were gone. Twenty minutes and a rushed cleanup effort later and they were both proven right, just in time for their guest to leave for her shift at work: not a single customer had come in and they could put the kids in the hands of someone that was not either of them.
Perfect.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, Clara allowed the scent of Malcolm’s cologne to fill her nose and calm her stomach. It was nearly 3:30 in the morning and she was attempting to not vomit everywhere, taking Malcolm’s towel to her face in hopes that the relaxing smell he wore would still be there from the day before. It was, thank God, and she tried to be as quiet as possible, certain that any small noise could wake the man in the bed a few feet away.
This wasn’t fair—she knew at least that to be true as she sat on the toilet. She was now eight weeks pregnant, nearly nine, and she couldn’t find the nerve to tell Malcolm about the mishap. Her GP was nagging her about getting an ultrasound done to make sure everything was looking fine, yet the very thought of it froze the blood in her veins. While she couldn’t deny she was pregnant, nor could she deny she was more than a tiny bit—dare she say it—thrilled at the idea, there was still so much that stood between her and being wholly happy about what was happening.
Malcolm released a snort from his spot on the bed, making Clara jump. He was the biggest conundrum of them all when she thought about it. While she was convinced he did well with Iscah, Sarala, and Matthan when they were smaller, she also knew there was a distinct difference between minding someone else’s babies and having babies of one’s own. He would be fifty-five in April (which was two months before she roughly estimated she’d be due), and was running a fledgling business while he was at it. Would he have it in him to run the coffee shop while experiencing the taste of new fatherhood? Was it even something he wanted to experience at this point in his life? He took to housing the children on the other side of the flat fine enough, yet they did not cry through the night… or need nappy changes… or require near-constant attention… it was enough to make her scream.
There were many things that Clara Oswald could figure out without an issue, yet telling the father of her child that he was soon to be just that was getting the best of her.
Before long, there was movement on the bed and Malcolm shuffled into the bathroom. Clara moved so that he could relieve himself properly, looking guiltily at his bare back and pants-clad rear in what she nearly felt was shame. He turned to look at her when he was done, his hair still rumpled and eyes glassy from sleep.
“You alright?” he asked. She nodded in reply. “What’s with m’ towel?”
“You spilled that bit of cologne yesterday, and something about dinner isn’t sitting right. I should be alright now; you helped more than you know.” She touched his thigh and snaked her fingers around to his rear, watching the fabric of his pants shift as his cock hardened.
“Maybe it was too much ghee; the kids were shitting their pants at how much ghee I was using,” he muttered. Malcolm then lifted Clara into his arms and carried her back to bed, settling himself so that he could mount her easily despite his sleepy lack of coordination. It took him a bit to get going, but once he did, he took care of his lady’s needs just as much as his own before collapsing back into bed with his arm draped across her chest in sleep.
What felt like a few minutes of sleep later and Clara was awoken by the movement of Malcolm getting out of bed for the day. She got up as well, realizing it was a bit later than she had wanted to be awake anyhow—she was taking Matthan and Sarala on an overnight class trip while Iscah was going to spend the night at a friend’s place and she needed to make certain that no one was missing anything. She exited her bedroom to find that the kids’ things were scattered everywhere as they tried to get organized in theor early-morning haze of half-alertness.
As Clara corralled her charges and their things, she noticed one conspicuous absence: Malcolm. He had already gone down to the kitchen downstairs, leaving her to the kids. While they did normally switch off who got the kids ready in the morning, that was true, the fact that he had vanished when the job was extra-tedious had not been lost on her. By the time she could walk away long enough to go downstairs and steal some tea, it was nearly time for them to leave.
“Have fun.” Clara glanced up from the hot water spigot and saw that Malcolm was looking directly at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said quietly. She continued to put together her drink, only to have Malcolm come up behind her, holding her upper arms and leaning towards her ear.
“Are you sure you want to be a chaperone?” he murmured. “You don’t look ready to do anything with the way you’re wobbling about.”
“I’m fine,” she stated. “Backing out now would result in cancelling the trip—I’m not about to disappoint my students.”
“Miss me as much as I’m already missing you,” he requested, leaving a kiss on her neck before getting back to customers. Clara quickly finished off her tea (wow, she missed caffeine), and herded her makeshift brood out the door towards school, not giving Malcolm another word or glance as he kept busy.
Things were falling apart; she could feel it.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
The rest of the day had gone pretty much as normal for Malcolm. The customers weren’t as bad as they could have been, which was good, and Fuckoff had only vomited on the rug in the flat, which he was disturbingly used to dealing with. He had a leftover sandwich from the shop for his dinner and fell asleep with the cat on his feet. It felt odd to wake up the following morning to an empty flat, but at least he knew it was for one night only; he’d had his nieces and nephew around for so long that it seemed out of place for them to be gone, and as for Clara… it felt flat-out wrong to not wake up in her arms and kiss her good morning.
He had been warned by multiple parties that settling into a life with others in his place would make him grow comfortable, accustomed, content in a way. There was never the threat of that in his old career, where he would go nearly weeks on-end staying at the office, and he never really thought about such a threat until his home was suddenly above his workplace and he was three-quarters to being a washed-up hack with barely anything to his name.
Yeah, he liked the way things were now, at least that was for sure. A bit of familial chaos was good—refreshing, even—and what was even better was knowing it would return that night.
Going into automatic, Malcolm got ready for the day and went downstairs into the kitchen to start the day’s prep. Near everything had been baked and in different stages of cooling, with bread even gone through the slicer, when the music he’d had on his phone softened by the sound of his ringtone.
Picking up the mobile, Malcolm saw the number and cringed inwardly. His parents. Figuring he could at least hang up if the call got too irritating, he put his music on hold and answered it, putting the call through to his earpiece so that he could still work and hear clearly.
“Yeah?” he muttered. “Why’re you calling this early?”
“I’d like to talk to you, son, but it seems like you’re always busy.” Great… his da. “Is anyone else up and helping?”
“Just me ’n the cat,” Malcolm replied. “Carrie’s at a friend’s overnight and Clara’s chaperoning a sleep-in class trip for the younger two.”
“Good—we need to talk about Clara.”
“Fuck, Da, I’m not awake enough for this shit.” He grabbed the tubs of yesterday’s delivery of deli meat from the fridge and began to slap together sandwiches. “What about Clara?”
“I need to know precisely what your intentions are when it comes to her,” the Reverend Tucker said. “You know that I get plenty of questions about you from parishioners and I only want to be truthful when I answer.”
“Then what the fuck do you want me to say?” Malcolm scowled. “We’re living together, sharing a cat, and she keeps me sane despite the nips and customers driving me up a fucking wall. I wish I’d had someone like her before, but I had Kelly instead, so you can see where that got me. There’s fucking plenty I want to do—trust me on that—but we’re good where we are for now and I’m not pushing anything just to cock it all up.”
“She deserves better than that—anyone does.”
“Okay, yeah, are we done?”
“I saw how you look at her, Malcolm,” his father said. “You never looked at Kelly like that, nor anyone else you’ve brought around, and none of them looked at you the same way she did… especially not after such a short amount of time. Are the two of you going to live like children or is there ever going to be any sort of commitment?”
“We are not children! For fuck’s sake, Da! I’m fifty-four!”
“Then start acting like it; you are only getting older, as is she. Do you want to be a long-term fling or are you going to be something more?”
“I know you don’t have much experience in this, but you don’t exactly move in with a fling,” Malcolm hissed. He stopped making sandwiches and glared at his mobile. “People don’t just do what you and Mam did anymore, marrying young and having kids young and then staying together into the ancient days; thought you realized that when David didn’t marry the Hindi banshee and Elsie had Matt at forty.”
“At this point there’s little magic or wonder or spirituality in marriage since you’re already living together. Speaking as your father, not a Man of God, I don’t care if it’s just a piece of paper from the registrar saying it’s a purely legal union with no ceremony to it—are you going to provide the lass with a sense of security or not?”
“What, we can’t feel secure without a marriage?”
“Ach… now what was that phrase Mrs. Patterson’s granddaughter used the other day? ‘If you like then you should have put a ring on it’?”
Fucking floored at the fact his seventy-seven-year-old, minister father quoted Beyoncé, of all people, Malcolm turned off his earpiece and put the mobile up to his ear. “Why the fuck are you pushing me towards this? You know better than most people that pushing only makes me want to do something even less.”
“I have known you for your entire life, Malcolm…”
“…you’re m’ da…”
“…and I know what sort of conditions you thrive under best. You need Clara by your side, and the only way she’ll stay is if she knows that you are not going to pass her up one day for an even younger woman.”
“She knows I wouldn’t do that!”
“Does she, Malcolm? She has never doubted? Would you blame her if she did?”
Malcolm froze, the morning before flashing before his mind. The look Clara gave him, the indecision she seemed to wear all over her body… it wasn’t about whether or not she wanted to rethink chaperoning so that they could have a night alone. Fucking fuck—she was worried about them.
“Malcolm? Son? Are you still there?”
“I’ve got a shop to open; ta.”
Malcolm ended the call and set the mobile down. His hands were shaky as he tried to go back to the sandwiches, yet couldn’t for the fucking life of him. Fuck him with his pants at his ankles and arse ground raw—Reverend Tucker was right, again. He tried to think about what he could do, what would make it right, only to think about more things he cocked the fuck up.
Shit… what did Clara think? He perched himself on a stool for a moment to collect himself, trying to make sense of everything. What could she have doubted in him? Where did he slip up? He did his best to make sure that she was never in want or need of anything, and she was definitely the sort of person who would speak up if things were not going how she thought they should… unless…
No, it couldn’t’ve been. A weight sank in Malcolm’s chest as he thought about what he considered one of the worst conclusions he could manage: she was afraid of him somehow. She was afraid of him, or how he would react, or some other shitty thing that was making him the bad guy in the situation. The main problem was that he didn’t know what it was, and that if he asked Clara what was the matter, she could very well lie to him in order to keep the quo at status.
A knock at the back door ripped his attention away, reminding him that he was still crunched for time before the Cup o’ Cussuccino opened. He signed for the produce order and let it get put in the walk-in fridge, getting back to work when the delivery service left. He ended up with only seconds to spare as the first customer walked in, and he made up his mind by the time he had the head tit from the IT firm down the street pick up his near-daily macchiato an hour later.
Thank fuck, he thought, that someone could order anything on the internet these days.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
It had all kicked off with a surprise.
David had returned from a work-trip without warning—the assignment he was supposed to be on all through to the week before Easter had fallen through early and he was not going to be given a new overseas order until after the end-of-year holidays. He showed up at the Cup o’ Cussuccino completely unannounced, which only made his daughter cry in joy as they hugged in the middle of the Saturday evening rush. It wasn’t long before the Tucker Brothers were both behind the counter—the younger at the till and the elder filling orders—and the shop was quickly cleared out in order for the family to catch up over celebratory takeaway.
“I was talking to Elsie while I was packing and she has part of next week off work,” David explained over his noodles. “Malcolm, Clara, do you think it would be alright for me to take the kids up to Glasgow? That way Elsie and Bruce can come back home and we can pretend like we’re not all depressed about being split up constantly.”
“As long as they go in on Monday to get their work from the other teachers, I don’t see why not,” Clara shrugged. She smiled as she watched the kids’ faces light up in joy; even though they now called the flat above the Cup o’ Cussuccino home, there was little that could replace being with their parents again, in their old neighborhoods and amongst their old friends.
Besides, Clara thought, it would give her and Malcolm an opportunity to talk openly and honestly, which wasn’t exactly something they could do often with wandering ears about the flat. He also agreed to let the kids go without a problem, which only served to excite the children even more as they continued throughout the weekend. They could barely contain themselves as they went to school on Monday, nor were they calm as they were shoved towards a sleeper car late that night. For the first time since late August, both Malcolm and Clara were able to go to bed that night without any sort of threat of being walked in on, disturbed, interrupted, or otherwise annoyed, by anyone other than Fuckoff (who merely mewled sadly as she batted at Matthan’s door, wanting her buddy back from wherever it was he went). They slept almost too soundly, leading to pure idleness on every front as they recouped from housing the kids.
Idleness was such a draw, in fact, that it took two days before they were able to get to anything without being dead-tired first. They had gone about their days as usual, with Clara jumping in behind the register to help Malcolm after she had gotten home from work. It was nearing the end of an average sort of night when Malcolm decided to put the plan he had been stewing up since he dropped his family off at the station into action.
“Hey Clara, can you close up?” he asked. “There’s some things I need to do in the flat before dinner.”
“Yeah, sure.”
The smile she gave him pained him, for he knew it was only hollow in the end. He went upstairs and shed his work clothes—putting on clean slacks, a shirt, and a decent jumper in their stead—and rummaged through his drawer in order to find and pocket the ring box he had been diligently hiding since it came by post on Friday. Once he was ready, he went into the kitchen and began cooking dinner.
Garlic, seafood, and wine filled the air as he pulled from memory a recipe that he used to make often when work was beyond shite and he needed to cool the fuck down. From the moment he was tall enough to see over the countertop, cooking had been enjoyable, even therapeutic at times, and now he was aware as to why: cooking was controlling. No matter what happened, a mishap could almost always be fixed and the outcome was truly in his hands. It was a far cry from his Whitehall days, when he would try to cook up the Party politics—so to speak—and everyone else would butt in and fuck it all to Bangor and back. Those times were behind him, though… now the only things he wanted to control was the state of his dish and the banality of customers that walked in the shop door.
“Oh, that smells great,” Clara said as she walked into the flat. Malcolm glanced towards the door and saw her standing near the edge of the kitchen, taken aback at his handiwork. “I didn’t know you were coming up here to cook…” She took a step forward, only for him to put down his spoon and usher her towards the table.
“Sit down, sit down—I didn’t start cooking only for you to finish it,” he said. “What kind of a sorry cunt would I be if I let that happen?”
“Malcolm, I…”
“The nips are gone; let’s enjoy this,” he insisted. “We’re not Aunt and Uncle today, just Clara and Malcolm, and we need to take advantage of that while we can. I’m almost done.”
Clara nodded in agreement and stayed quiet as Malcolm silently finished off the last touches of his pasta dish. He put a heap of food on two plates and brought them over to the table. As he put the plates on the table and sat down, he noticed something that hadn’t been there before: a few Polaroid-looking pieces of paper whose blankness denoted that they had been placed face-down.
“What are these?” He raised an eyebrow and looked at Clara, for she was the only one who could have put them there.
“Had those taken last week; I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to tell you, but my mind’s firmly made-up.” She fidgeted in her seat, broadcasting loud and clear to Malcolm how difficult this was for her, and motioned towards the paper. “You’re the last piece; it can work with or without you. The choice is yours.”
Intrigued by her words, Malcolm picked up the papers and looked at them. It looked like scratchy, black-and-white images of two oddly-shaped beans with a line separating them, but having been passed enough of similar images (usually involving one “bean”) in his lifetime, he knew precisely what was going on. These were not beans… far from it…
“Are you…?”
“Yes. Ten weeks.”
…these were his children.
Malcolm pushed aside his plate and placed the ultrasound photos down on the table. On the closer ones he could see the outlines of faces, hands, toes; signs that they were slowly becoming more and more human as they grew. He put his hand over his mouth as he stared at them, beginning to shake in nerves. Had someone asked him at fifty that he ever expected to be a father, he would have told them no and offered some of that tasty cunt-cake that the PM’s secretary had sent him. (It was the secretary, not the PM, as he suspected that the man himself was likely too dense to remember his own children’s birthdays, let alone his staff’s.) Now it was staring him in the face—it was happening—and Clara had already said that her mind was made up, which could have only meant that she was ready to leave him if that’s what it took. For once, he was at a loss for words.
“Say something, Malcolm,” Clara ordered. “I don’t like you when you’re quiet like this.”
He swallowed and took his hand from his face, placing both hands palm-down on the table. “How did this happen?”
“When I went off my medication to prepare for the new one, we likely hadn’t switched to condoms quick enough to prevent this, and we tend to shag a lot, and…” Clara bit her bottom lip—she didn’t want to continue. She was merely hoping that there was enough of their relationship left after this to make it so that her children knew their cousins; they wouldn’t have a spare set to gravitate towards like Sarala had. Malcolm stood and she closed her eyes; she didn’t want to watch him walk away… she couldn’t.
“Clara…?”
His voice instead sounded much closer, the unexpectedness of it making her jump. When she opened her eyes again, she saw him knelt down next to her, leaning in for a kiss. He was warm and inviting as he pressed their lips together, which only made her cry harder. Fuck her shite hormones—she was soon sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder, only feeling comforted by the fact his arm was around her. She felt weak, hapless, and so unlike herself from a mere few months ago. How was she so quickly spiraling out of control? The fact Malcolm had only come closer was a temporary balm, that much she knew, but that was not an answer. There was still time for him to back away.
Just then, Malcolm took the handkerchief from his pocket and used it to tab at her tears, leaving makeup-stains on the pure white fabric. “Don’t be like that,” he murmured gently. “You’re a fucking wreck; the Clara I love isn’t a wreck, pregnant or not.”
“I can’t help it—I’ve spent the past couple of months terrified of what was going to happen when I told you… what I would need to do if you weren’t up to the change that is coming…”
“Then take this,” he said. He put the ring box in her hand and closed her fingers around it. “Just let me know what you want to do.”
Clara opened the box and saw the ring, gasping at the sight of it. A brilliantly-golden topaz flanked by two smaller diamonds, she was speechless as she took it from the box and slid it effortlessly over her finger, trying to choke out the words.
“Did you…?”
“Yes; since Friday. I know it is tomorrow, but, happy birthday.”
She kissed him in order to shut him up—only them.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
When David brought the kids back a couple days later, he was not surprised at all to discover that his brother now had a fiancée, something he hadn’t thought possible until only that August. He smiled, congratulated the couple, and reminded them that they were now obliged to attend Christmas that year. Malcolm cussed at the very idea, yet Clara jumped at the opportunity—of course they were coming to Christmas. They all were.
A couple more weeks ensued of phone calls, planning, and making sure that the shop was well-guarded by Fuckoff (and that Fuckoff was to be well-fed by Jamie, who was not going to Scotland for anyfuckingthing thank you fucking much; bring us back a wee haggis to slaughter, mate), until Malcolm and Clara went their separate ways in the train station, he taking the kids directly to Glasgow and her stopping at Blackpool to pick up her father before heading their way. Malcolm’s parents had insisted that Clara’s father and stepmother come as a sort of precursor to the impending wedding, with no one in the know letting out the other impending event that the couple was about to unleash upon the family. Luckily for everyone involved, Linda already had an engagement that she could not break over the Christmas holiday, and with her father and grandmother in-tow instead, Clara set out for Glasgow with a renewed sense of vigor that could only come from a lack of Linda.
Malcolm had met them in the station upon their arrival, getting an approving glance from Gran and a nod from Dave. After putting everyone in his brother’s car, Malcolm took his future in-laws to the rectory at St. Thaney’s where everyone was being housed. Having been a former boarding house for young, single ministers awaiting their assignments, St. Thaney’s had inadvertently become the perfect place to house family gatherings, the Reverend and Mrs. Tucker had decided, and they were elated to have their eldest boy back along with newcomers. Twelve was a pleasant, gentle number to have in the house during the holidays and she was glad that they were all finally there.
Christmas quickly came and the mechanizations of a Tucker Family Christmas were underway. Everyone but Malcolm went to the holiday service, leaving him to begin the first rounds of dinner prep while away from the parts of his upbringing that no longer made him comfortable. The rectory was full of sumptuous smells by the time the others returned and Granny Joan pulled Carrie into the kitchen with her in order to kick Uncle Malcolm out—he had done his penance for missing his father’s sermon, and it was time that the teen started helping prepare Christmas dinner (with promise that her brother and cousin would join them in two years’ time).
By the time everyone sat down at the table and Grace was said, nothing had been burned even the slightest bit, which according to the ones teaching her to bake down in London, was just short of a Christmas miracle. Iscah pouted while she put food on her plate—adults were not funny.
“For our newcomers,” Reverend Tucker said as he put some turkey on his plate, “we have a tradition where we go around the table and try to say three things that was good about the previous year, as well as three things we hope to have within the coming year. It is to help us reflect on the good in our lives, despite any bad that might’ve happened.”
“Is this a Kirk thing?” Gran wondered.
“No, just a Tucker thing,” Joan replied. The two old women gave one another a nod—they were becoming disturbingly fast friends, as Malcolm and Clara noted, and would need to be watched.
“Oooh! I’ll go first!” Matthan said, jerking his hand high up. His grandfather gave him permission and he put down his hand. “I’m glad I got to stay with Uncle Malcolm and Aunt Clara when Mam and Dad moved, I’m glad we have a cat now, and I’m glad for all the new friends I made in Shoreditch!”
“…and what are you looking forward to?” Bruce asked, patting his son’s shoulder. The lad did not ponder long over his dinner, knowing precisely what he wanted to say.
“Uh, when Aunt Clara becomes my official aunt, when I get to spend time with you and Mam over summer holiday, and when the robotics club starts after Christmas! Now you try, Aunt Clara!”
“Oh, I couldn’t…”
“Whoever goes picks the next one, Aunt Clara,” Sarala said. “Rules are rules.”
“Now Sarala, it’s not steadfast…” Reverend Tucker started, but Clara held up her hand to gently stop him.
“No, it’s alright,” she said. She held Malcolm’s hand underneath the tablecloth and took a deep, nerve-steadying breath. “I am grateful to have taken a walk one day in March, because otherwise I doubt I would have met Malcolm, and by extension everyone else in the Tucker Family. I am grateful for the life I lead, even if it is hectic, and I am grateful that I teach students that love to learn, not just the three at the end of the table.” She gave Iscah, Sarala, and Matthan a wink as they giggled. “As far as the coming year is concerned, I am looking forward to marriage, to motherhood, and to when the kids start up in robotics club and I get the flat to myself for a bit for once.”
Everyone stopped eating and taking food to stare at Clara, wondering if they had all caught her correctly.
“Motherhood…?” Dave repeated. “Are you going to try to have children right away, then?”
“We will have two of them by June, Dad,” Clara replied. “I was actually hoping that Reverend Tucker could take care of the ceremony while we were up and everyone’s here—just to get it out of the way—so we can concentrate on preparing the guest room to become the nursery. A baby takes a lot of preparing, twins even more so.” She took a sip of her water as Malcolm hissed something in her ear about “not Da,” or something along those lines; honestly, she wasn’t listening.
“You’re…” Elsie swallowed hard as she processed the information, “…you’re pregnant? Now…?”
“Why else would I turn down a red wine older than my teaching career?” Clara replied, motioning towards the drink at the other woman’s place setting. “You’ve been saving that for a special occasion, clearly, and I would otherwise be a fool to pass that up.”
With the initial shock wearing off, the table erupted into a cacophony of questions and congratulations. There was so much that everyone needed to know (Do you know what gender they are? Not until they’re born. Did anyone else know? Only Carrie, who has been marvelous at covering for us. Have you picked out names? Not yet), and there did not seem like nearly enough time to cover everything before the food got cold.
Clara and Malcolm both knew that if they were to break it to their families, that now was the time to do it, and they wouldn’t’ve changed it for anything. They kept their fingers entwined as they fielded questions and got incredulous stares from their fathers; it was certainly the best Christmas either of them had in a long time.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
The end of the week drew near and St. Thaney’s was shut for the afternoon to visitors, as there was a private ceremony and they were not to be disturbed. In actuality, it was the only way that Malcolm would agree to having the wedding right then and there, as he did not want the multitude of the parish’s twats and tits from his childhood butting in and creating a scene when there really was none to be had. He enjoyed not being in the forefront—why else would he had gone for Communications and not Premiership—and grumbled under his breath that they even had the organist there in the loft, for once she was released from her duties for the day, he knew it was only going to be a matter of time before the entire parish population knew, including his fellow wayside members.
She had to be there, his father insisted as they got ready, because a wedding involved music and singing, and singing to music at church was like praying twice, and every couple needs all the prayers their loved ones can manage. Malcolm simply straightened his tie and scowled into the mirror; he was glad that there was normally a few hundred miles between him and his father, because it was bad enough that a week of being back in Glasgow made him want to blow his top… he didn’t dare want to think of what it would be if they could be in contact even more.
It all seemed to fade away, he noticed, once the ceremony was underway. Malcolm could not take his eyes off Clara, completely enamored by the sight of his bride. Her round face was becoming even rounder and her curves more pronounced now that she had put on a noticeable amount of pregnancy-weight. Fuck… his horny arse had done this to her, and he was nearly hard at the thought that she not only accepted it, but was just as thrilled about being there as him. The realization allowed him to ignore his father’s pronouncements and ballyhoo, which he put up with the same way that Clara put up with him not going to church on Christmas: because they were in love. Not only that, but they were in love because they respected one another, down to their very faults—he a shouty sinner and she a bossy control freak—and there would be little to stop them in the years to come.
They exchanged their vows and kissed; to Hell with whomever attempted to get in their way.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Samantha and Domhnall would not. Stop. Screaming.
Already achy from having a shitetastic day in the shop, Malcolm creaked his joints awake as he sat up to look towards the cot in the corner of the room. Nothing smelled off, so he knew it wasn’t the nappies, meaning he gently put the back of his hand against Clara’s breast—it was slightly wet, alerting him to the fact it was feeding time. He let his wife sleep as he shuffled out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen, fetching premade bottles to warm up in the microwave oven. The bottles were just barely warm when he heard a door open on the other end of the flat. Fuckoff scuttled into the kitchen and slammed her body against his ankles—Matthan.
“Uncle Malcolm, why are Sammy and Nally so loud?” the lad pouted. “I start school next week—will they always be this loud?”
“Just a couple more months, then it’ll be better, your mam promised,” Malcolm said. Too exhausted to even cuss, he held out a bottle towards the twelve-year-old in offering. “Which one do you want?”
“I’ll take Nally.”
“Then let’s get a move on.”
The two then snuck back into Malcolm and Clara’s room, plucked the babies from their cot, and brought them back out into the sitting room to feed. Both infants sucked down their milk with vigor, not caring that their benefactors were not awake as they were.
“Uncle Malcolm?”
“Yeah?”
“Sammy and Nally won’t fully move into the nursery until they sleep through the night, right?”
“Yeah; I wouldn’t do that to you kids unless there was no choice,” Malcolm assured. “They’re almost three months now, and your mam said that if she put you on foods at three months and you slept through the night, then that’s what we’re doing with these two.”
“Babies sure are hard,” Matthan nodded sleepily. He burped his cousin and continued feeding him. “Is that why Aunt Clara doesn’t want to go back to work yet?”
“It’s either that or her gran stays here until these two are off to playgroup, and I don’t think you want Granny Oswald chatting up customers and wandering around the flat and getting in your things.”
“Nuh-uh; it’s bad enough Fuckoff gets in my stuff.”
“If that’s a problem, just wait until these two start crawling.” Malcolm chuckled as he watched Matthan cringe in disgust. “Don’t worry, Matt—they’ll mean the world to you, and you to them.”
“Yeah, but they still are loud and smelly and spit up over me.”
“…then just think about what it’ll be like if you or Carrie or Sara ever have kids, and then Sammy and Nally will be the ones to suffer.”
“That’s true,” Matthan nodded. His cousin was now full and falling asleep in his arms. Malcolm quickly finished feeding his daughter, put her back in the cot, and rescued his son from the sleepy clutches of his nephew. With both babies asleep, a blanket thrown over Matthan and Fuckoff, and the flat back in order, Malcolm retreated to his bed once more. He snuggled up behind Clara, one arm over her waist and his chin atop her head.
“Thank you,” she murmured, still asleep herself.
“Thank you,” he replied. All was hectic, yes, and he could do with a full night’s rest, but it was good—better than good, even—and he was content with his life for once.
#Clara Oswald#Malcolm Tucker#satsouffle#Malcolm x Clara#I still know nothing about coffee#other than that it smells lovely but tastes gross#Doctor Who#The Thick of It#fan fiction#coffee shop AU#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too#now to wait a year for the next installment *smacked*#also contains Malc's dad being a low-impact version of a CoS/Kirk minister so sorry if that don't jibe with you#oh and pls enjoy this bc I am going to be employed her pretty soon and we all know how that cuts into my writing time
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Hi N! Thanks for opening your prompt fills day! About TTTWLB please: I would like to read how Granddave moved to John and Clara's house. I guess that it was after their nest emptied (in chapter 12 of TTTWLB prompt fills). Do you what? After I read this chapter I searched for rosehip tea myself! Thanks you!
Since this is a best-case-scenario version when it comes towhat Dave Oswald does with his life as a widow, he only dated Linda for a whilewhen Clara was a young adult and didn’t marry her, and I do believe that Clara,especially Clara Smith, would be leagues more willing to do things like moveher dad into her house if the Linda Factor was null.
687 and 1127 words, for a total of 1814; takes place in 1972;Clara is 53, Dave is 77, and John is 80; this reminds me of how the Doctor issort of like a multi-disciplinarian scientist/tinkerer/handyman in Doctor Whoproper and that can translate to being a do-it-yourselfer in the homeimprovement category for human!Doctor AUs
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
February
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Clara was positively livid as she got off the train andhailed a taxi that could take her straight to where she needed to go withoutworrying about navigating a bus schedule she hadn’t needed looking at in years.There were plenty of things that were angering her at this point, yet none ofthem were nearly to the degree of why she was currently in Blackpool, makingher way through the city of her youth, exiting the taxi in front of thehospital and storming her way up to the front desk. She found where her fatherwas located and immediately went there, finding that Dave was sleeping. Therewere stitches on his forehead where he had cracked his head open on the countertop,which made things look all the more grisly. Sitting down in the chair next tohis bed, she waited for him to wake up, a scowl on her face.
“Clara…?” he marveled as he floated back into consciousness.“You didn’t come all the way here from London, did you?”
“You lied to me,” she frowned. The words made him flinch.“You said you were taking your medication, that you were keeping up on things,that I shouldn’t worry, and that was only twomonths ago. How long have you not been doing what you’re supposed to?”
“Clara…”
“Don’t you ‘Clara’me, not after laying on the kitchen floor for two days.”
Dave sighed heavily in defeat. “I haven’t taken it atall—I’ve been doing well without it… for the most part.”
“Heart medicine is nothing to ignore,” she scolded. “You hada heart attack, as in you almost died,and less than a month before Wynn’s wedding. I thought you said you wanted tosee that, let alone when she and Davey graduate at term’s end.”
“I do, but…”
“But what?! Dad, you’re turning seventy-eight this year andaren’t in the best of shape for your age… you need to take care of yourself nowmore than ever if you want to make it to these things! We were lucky that itwas just a heart attack and that thepostman found you!”
“I’m fine though…”
“No, you’re not; it’s ridiculous that we are even having thisconversation.”
“It’s my life, Clara…”
“…and I am not losing both my parents before I’m ready!”
Silence fell upon the room, with no noise between them asidefrom the steady beep of the heart monitor. Father and daughter avoided oneanother’s gaze as the beeping slightly sped up, then calmed again.
“Clara,” Dave saidwearily. He reached out and took his daughter’s hand in his, attempting to keephis composure. “I know it was hard when your mum died, but Ellie was more thanjust your mum to me.”
“Yeah, I know—you nearly walked into the street in front ofa car, which you weren’t used to watching out for at the time, and she savedyou.”
“…and I couldn’t save her when she needed me most. I justwant to see her again…”
“Dad, Mum died of tuberculosis,not anything you could have helped,” Clara replied quietly. “We’re just luckythat we didn’t catch it… I’m lucky that youdidn’t catch it and follow her. Fifteen and alone? I wouldn’t be where I amright now, that’s for certain.”
“You’re not fifteen anymore… your daughter isn’t even fifteen anymore…”
“No, but I am old enough to know that what you’re doing isreckless, not to mention even more selfish than me wanting to keep you alive.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he sighed.
“Sarah Jane passed last year and John has considered himselfon ‘borrowed time’ for over two—not onlywould he lose it, but the kids wouldas well,” she scolded. She squeezed his hands a little tighter, careful not toput pressure on the IV. “Just know you have other options, okay? For nowthough, you need to take your medicine, you stubborn old fool.”
“Yeah, watch out—I hear that sort of thing doesn’t skip ageneration.”
At least that was something they could both laugh at.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
July
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
It had been an intense few months as Claraand her father figured out what they were going to do. The two had argued backand forth, neither budging on their stance. Dave did not want to move out ofhis house and into an old folks’ home, nor did he want someone barging in everyday in order to tell him what to do. Meanwhile, Clara was firm on the fact thathe needed someone watching over him, telling him what to do because she nowlived in London and a move would have been disastrous for her. It went ‘roundand ‘round and ‘round over a couple different phone calls, and even during histime in town for Wynn’s wedding, until John had picked up the kitchen phonewhile Clara was in the sitting room, bringing the argument to a dead halt.
“Move in with us—we’ve got the room—and thenwe can gang up on her and she’ll have two old men to boss around.”
That sealed the deal.
A couple hours each day, John conscriptedDavey into helping him with the formal sitting room’s transformation intoDave’s new living quarters. The young man helped his father haul old furnituredown the stairs into the basement, got up on ladders to reach stubbornwallpaper bits, and even had to learn how to install a new light fixture whilestanding precariously on the top of a ladder. He nearly failed his finalportfolio because of the home improvement projects, but every time he expressedworry over his grades, his father scoffed at the idea.
“Your stuffy professors in their ivorytowers probably don’t even know what good art is anyhow—not to mention you’regoing to be working for me, and I say you’re more than talented enough.”
With that, they continued on, with Daveybarely scraping together a portfolio worthy of his newfound degree and Johnreveling in fact that his son was now his ultimate assistant. While Dave wasscheduled to begin moving his things in when he arrived to watch hisgrandchildren graduate university, it wasn’t until late into July before heactually began the process. Davey picked the figurative short straw and endedup being the one to head to the train station the afternoon his grandfathercame in, greeting the man on the platform.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, takingthe suitcases from his grandfather. “The ride wasn’t too terrible, was it?”
“Dreadful, but I’m sure you know that bynow,” Dave nodded. He grabbed onto Davey’s arm so as to not lose him andallowed his grandson to lead the way through the crowded station and into thecarpark. “I still think this is ridiculous—I shouldn’t have to be here.”
“You know you do, Granddad,” Daveyreplied. They reached his father’s junker old car and he put the suitcases inthe boot before they both got into in the car. “I thought you wanted to dothis.”
“I did, but now I don’t know anymore.”
“Come on—I did not have Dad order mearound for three months for you to get cold feet. You’re being silly.” Daveystarted up the cart and drove out of the carpark, headed towards Grynden.
“We’ll see how you like it when you haveto abandon the house you lived in for decades, only to be shoved in with familythat has their own lives to live,” Dave grumbled. “Wynn’s kid might give you nochoice; it could even be a court order.”
“Hey, I’m not that pessimistic,” Daveylaughed. “It could be my own kid that orders me to move in with them one day.Just because Wynn can’t keep her hands off Orson while I don’t even have agirlfriend doesn’t mean that I’m never going to have a family of my own.”
“It’s still going to be interesting thatvisiting Gran and Granddad will also include Granddave and Uncle Davey,” theolder man snarked. He glanced over at his namesake and saw the frown on hisface. “Oh, come on… I remembered what you said after graduation: build up fundsfirst, then head off on your own.Could be a while before that becomes a reality—you could be an uncle two orthree times over, bless Orson.”
“Yeah,” Davey muttered lowly.
“Going by your father’s timeline, youhave until, what, 1996? Is that math right?”
“It is, because I’ve done it before, andI don’t like thinking that if I do attempt something like Mum and Dad did, thenI’d have three years before I start searching the cradles.”
“Maybe Wynn’s kid can introduce you to aclassmate? You never know.”
“I’m going to need you to shut up now,Granddad, or you’ll be attempting to navigate an unfamiliar bus system in a fewminutes,” Davey deadpanned. Most of the remaining ride was quiet and they turneddown Grynden without much fuss. “Here we are: home.”
“Home is still in Blackpool for me—it’lltake a while.”
“Hey, beats living with a bunch of oldcodgers.”
“No—that’ll be you in two minutes,” Davechuckled as his grandson pulled into the driveway. John and Clara must havebeen watching for them, because they both came out to greet him immediately.
“Glad you made it safe, Dad,” Clara said.She gave him a hug that she had a difficult time ending, breaking it to helphim into the house. “Here; let’s get you settled in.”
“I’m old, not an invalid,” her father scowled.
“Some people think that’s one in thesame.”
“Don’t remind m—”
Dave stopped and stared at the set ofdouble doors that were blocking off what he had known as the formal dining roomfrom the rest of the house. He opened one of the doors cautiously, peeking intohis new room. There was a bed, a chair, a chest of drawers, and even thewardrobe that he had shipped over two weeks prior. Fresh paint replacedwallpaper and there was a new rug sitting on the floor.
“Do you like it?” Clara asked.
“Roomier than I expected,” he replied.
“What were you expecting?” John wonderedas he and Davey brought in the suitcases.
“Not sure, but it’s better than beingalone in that old house,” Dave shrugged. He went over to the bed and unzipped asuitcase that had been placed atop it. “When are we going back next?”
“Late next month—want you to get somerest first before heading all that way again,” Clara said. She allowed a kissfrom her husband before going to her father’s side. “We’ll figure out the restof the stuff at the house, don’t worry.”
“Okay,”he nodded, lying only just a little.
#suindara#Whouffaldi#The Time That We Love Best#Clara Oswald#Twelfth Doctor#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too#Davey Smith#Doctor Who#fan fiction#replies#again:#and I have more Whouffaldi Week 2k17 coming but this happened to poop out complete first
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Hi Dear N! A prompt for TTTWLB, please: in chapter 29 Clara tells John that if we wasn't behave he wouldn't se her completing 60 years and sagging. Well we all know that he saw her being 60 years old and sagging! He wold be... 88 years old and with many grandkids... So... perhaps a chapter with a big birthday party when they reminisce that day...
I had to reread said chapter to figure some things out, butthis is very good yes.
1213 words; takes place on Clara’s 60th birthday,February 11, 1979, which is not November 21st because I establishedher TTTWLB-verse birthday before we got the canon confirmation; Teddy is notborn yet, leaving only Penny, Rita, and Liz as the grandkids; John would alsobe 87 years old, because of how birthdays work and blah blah; was just going tomake this the first part, but decided that there needed to be more becausereasons
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
It was early on a Sunday morning, just before the brink ofdawn, when Clara felt her husband’s scratchy beard ghost along her skin whilehe planted kisses along her neck. She wriggled in his grasp, turning around sothat she could at least face him, discovering that it did not stop hisaffections.
“John, behave,”she insisted. “It’s not even light out yet.”
“It’s the gloamin’,” he replied into her neck. “Still yourbirthday, and one I never thought I’d see either.”
“…and I’ve been hearing that for nine birthdays already,”she said. Clara kissed the tip of his nose and giggled. “Let’s get up beforeDad does—enjoy the quiet.”
“I’ll agree to that.”
The two of them got out of bed and went down the stairs,John more shuffling than walking, and crept past Dave’s room to get to thekitchen. They closed the door before putting together tea and a light breakfastof toast with jam and marmalade. Sitting next to one another, the couple heldhands while they ate.
“You know, I’ve been giving more thought into taking the earlyretirement package the school offered,” Clara mentioned. “We can find the timefor more quiet breakfasts like this.”
“I thought you weren’t leaving as long as Danny wasn’t,”John frowned. “No one wants you to leave, do they?”
“No; it’s just I’ve been reexamining my priorities. Penny issix and Liz and Rita are three—they’re growing up faster than Davey and Wynndid.” She took a sip of tea and sighed softly. “Then there’s Dad, who’s gettingto be too much a handful for just you during the day…”
“Dave’s not a problem—”
“You’re older thanhim, John,” she reminded him. “It doesn’t matter when it comes to us—you’ve known that almost forty years now—butI don’t want you getting accidentally on the wrong end of things just becauseyou were the only other one in the house.”
“…and if things are really that bad, I can call Nydia…”
“…who still lives fifteen minutes away, and wants to have another baby, in case you’ve forgotten theconversation from your birthdayalready. Those are not good things to throw into the mix of an emergency.”
“Can we not fight on your birthday?”
“We are not fighting, we are discussing, and I am ending thediscussion by saying that I am more than likely going to take that package so Ican spend more time with you and Dad and our granddaughters. You’re not soinsecure you don’t want to be married to a pensioner, are you?”
“No,” he replied. John quietly chewed on some toast, reminiscing.“You remember when we were living in your office?”
“Too vividly,” Clara half-scoffed. “Why?”
“Remember when I got into that fight at the pub while wewere there? The one where Collette brought me back?”
“I thought you swore up and down the next day you didn’tremember much of it.”
“Well, I do remember this much: I told you that if I made itto your sixtieth, that I would be more in love with you than I saw then, andthat wasn’t a lie.” He squeezed her hand in his and gave her a smile, eyesglassy and grey. “Don’t take that pension package unless you really, truly want to, because we will make dowhether you stay at work or don’t. I know how much you love teaching, and ifyou still had more classroom years in you but gave them up to take care of whatI still can…”
“You silly old man,” Clara chuckled. She stood and sat downin his lap, draping her arms around his neck and kissing him gently. “My silly old man—I’ve never been or feltforced to do anything when it comes to this place, so why would I start now?”
“Good,” he murmured. He put his hands on her waist and startedkissing her back, slow and deliberate, ignoring everything else until the soundof someone specifically not their housemate interrupted them.
“Christ you two, give it a rest,” Davey grimaced. Liz wasstanding next to him, giggling into her hands, while Nydia had just appeared inthe kitchen.
“Granddad must have slept in again,” she said, backing outas soon as she saw the scene.
“Did you just break into my house?” John asked his son.
“Dad, I have a key—and besides, Granddad was supposed to letus in so we could decorate before you two got up. Instead we get this…”
“You are thirty years old, David,” Clara scolded. “I shouldhope you’d be comfortable with how your father and I are around one another bynow.”
“Yes, and my daughter is three;behave yourselves.”
“We are adults,” John said. He pressed his nose into Clara’shair, just to see his son squirm. “Besides, it’ll be good for Liz to see thather grandparents still love each other.”
“Dirty old man,” Davey grumbled as he left the room to seewhere his wife went. Liz stayed, however, bouncing up to her grandparents agiggly ball of energy.
“Happy birthday, Gran!” she beamed, holding her arms up andwide. Clara picked the girl up and gave her a hug and a kiss, which she bothreturned and gave to John as well.
“Did you eat breakfast yet, sweetling?” he wondered.
“Daddy said we were gonna make you breakfast!”
“I think that maybe, if you and Gran get off my lap, I cansee what we’ve got in the fridge to make.”
“Okay!” Liz replied. She slid off Clara’s lap and took herhand as she stood. “Can we have tea?”
“I think there’s still some in the pot,” Clara nodded. She broughtLiz over to a chair before getting her a small mug. No sooner had she pouredthe last drops from the pot into her granddaughter’s mug did Davey and Nydiareappear, ushering a sleepy-looking Dave into the room.
“They’re acting like I had a heart attack and fell, notoverslept,” Dave grumbled sourly.
“Can’t be too careful with these things,” John said, gladhis back was turned in order to hide his smirk.
“You’re the oldest one in the house—don’t give me that crap.”Liz giggled at that, knowing precisely what word her great-grandfather usedthat would get her a mouth full of soap. “Hey, where’s Wynn and Orson? Weren’tthey supposed to be here too?”
“Not until the afternoon, now don’t change the subje—Dad! Stop it; I was going to do that!”
“You scrape Granddave off the floor, you lose your precious spotin front of the stove,” John snarked. He continued mixing pancake batter asClara stood next to him refilling the kettle in the sink. “Isn’t that right,dear?”
“Precisely,” she agreed. She went on the other side of himand put the kettle on the stove. “We are adults,this is our house, and you are our guest, which means that we can makebreakfast or make out wherever and whenever we please and you get to deal withit.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t do something for you every once in awhile that doesn’t involve Christmas dishes,” Davey frowned.
“Try shooting for sixty-five, sweetie,” Clarasmirked.
#suindara#Whouffaldi#Clara Oswald#Twelfth Doctor#The Time That We Love Best#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too#Davey Smith#Nydia O'Trakken#Liz Smith#Doctor Who#fan fiction#replies#Saturday Night Prompts#you can tell where the second part picks up don't worry
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Hm. Back to the Selkie AU, mayhaps? Lil Terra meets her baby brother?
Selkie AU~
1436 words; takes place three days after the end of thisprompt; new to the Celtic wereseal goodness? The entire story can be found inthis tag, or at this AO3 dingus (will begin crossposting the prompts soon), andfor some background in selkies, a cursory glance on wiki is always advised
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Terra snapped awake, making to go grab her stuffed sheeponly to find it wasn’t there. A moment of panic washed over her until sherealized why her toy wasn’t in the confines of her bed: it was with Mummy andDaddy on the Mainland. Shaun was a very good sheep, even if Daddy found theidea to be “preposterous to the point of absurdity”, whatever that was supposedto mean, and he was going to watch over Mummy and her new sibling when Daddyhad to sleep.
Crawling up to her knees, Terra grabbed for her clock—an oldthing that went tick-tick-tick-tickand would still count time if the power went out, Daddy promised. The tip ofher tongue stuck out as she furrowed her brow in concentration, dragging herfinger along the glass-encased face as she figured out the time. It wasfour-forty-four in the morning, which was too early to wake up Granddad, butsomehow was early enough for her towake up. She climbed out of bed and turned on the lamp, determined to make thebest of it.
It didn’t take long for her to get dressed and ready; she’dbeen practicing with Mummy and Daddy so they didn’t have to help her. Being abig sister meant that she was definitelya big girl, and big girls didn’t need help putting on their jumpers. Terra tookher stuffed animals and placed them all by the window, having them stare out ofit—the agreed-upon sign that she went outside—and bounced as she made her waydown the stairs towards the garden door. Boots on, as well as jacket and hat,and she quietly slipped out into the dark morning armed with a torch and herown sense of wonder.
Poking around in the garden, Terra didn’t find much ofanything. There were a couple bugs still skittering and sliding about, whilekittiwakes and skuas made some of their last early-morning rounds beforebeginning their migration for the winter, but nothing that was really neat was happening. She sat down on arock and wondered why it was she was up—usually whenever she woke up beforeGranddad, it was for a reason.
Mither!>
Terra squealed in delight and ran over towards the part ofthe garden wall that faced the sea. The sheep were nearby, bleating theiradoration for Sjeh Mither, which only could have meant that the fae in-questionwas there. The little girl held onto the torch with her teeth as she climbedthe ladder to poke her head over the top of the wall. Sure enough, there wasSjeh Mither, kneeling in the seafoam as she affectionately stroked thecreatures’ wool coats. She glanced up and saw Terra watching them, chucklingbefore beckoning her over.
“Come here, hybrid daughter,” she requested. Terra easedherself over the wall like Daddy taught her and scaled the other ladder to getdown to the beach. She ran up to Sjeh Mither and gave her a hug; there hadalways been something about the Sjeh Mither that made Terra feel warm and safe,and now was no different. The ocean lapped at her boots as she stepped back tosee the fae goddess, knowing that neither of them could help the fact one wasvery small and the other was very tall.
“Are you leaving for the southern seas, Sjeh Mither?” Terraasked.
“That I am, and I thought I would come by to bid everyonefarewell for now,” Mither replied gently. She bent down and carefully kissedTerra’s hat, letting magic wash over her. “It is a shame I cannot meet the hybridson before I depart—the Mainland is not often a place for me these days.”
“Hybrid son…?” Terra tilted her head to the side, her eyesgrowing wide. “Does this mean I have a brother?”
“It is,” Mither affirmed. She held her hand out, palmtowards the sky, and an image appeared for Terra to see. It was Mummy and Daddyin a tiny room together, with Daddy holding a bundle of blankets up against hischest. “You have a responsibility now, to be a good sister and friend; you arethe Earth, whilst he is the Water, and no mortal shall rival your friendship.”
“Am I the Earth because Mummy said I was named for theEarth?” Terra wondered.
“In a ways—you are the steadfast one, the one whoseconvictions will stay strong and hearty, even if your opinions change. To bethe Earth is to be a rock for others, a safe place for them to go when they arein peril.”
“…but what if I were the Water?”
“While Water can wear at the Earth, making it bow in time,it also can protect, defending the safe place as well as any warrior. Remember:there is no shame in bowing when the time is right, and that the Earth stillgives Water much that it cannot obtain itself. Even the seal needs a place torest.”
“Okay…?” Terra scrunched her nose and thought about that.Usually Sjeh Mither didn’t talk to only her alone, and when they did talk,Mummy or Daddy was around to say sort of what the fae goddess meant. It allsounded very complicated, but the girl knew she was very clever for beingthree-and-a-half and that it would make sense later. She held her hand perpendicularto her chest, just like how Mummy and Daddy taught her, and bowed. “I hope youhave fun on your holiday visiting your cousin. I wish I could holiday with mycousin all winter long too.”
“Yemoja and I do not differ from your mortal cousin and youin many ways, that is true, yet it should also be understood that it is thedifferences that make us who we are.” Sjeh Mither patted Terra on the head andgave her a kind smile. “Believing-mortal and hybrid children alike need tolearn the workings of the mortal world, so that knowledge can be used toprevent the likes of Yemoja and me from vanishing from people’s hearts.”
“I won’t forget you, ever,”Terra insisted. Sjeh Mither chuckled, amused at the small child before her.
“Then go be the Earth, hybrid daughter, and welcome theWater with open arms.”
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
An hour and a half later, Dave Oswald woke up languidly,stretching the sleep from his limbs. He was always so cold when he came to visit his daughter, and that morning was noexception. Glancing at his mobile, he saw there was a text left by Ian ages agoat that point, having gone past him thanks to putting the timed silencer on.
‘douglas evan morlo,born @ 4:44 this morning’ Attached was a photo of a rather irritated-lookingbaby who seemed ready to be on the verge of an ear-piercing wail. He smirked atthe notion, considering every newborn he’d ever met was such a creature.
“Terra? You awake yet? I think you might want to see this…”He got out of bed and shuffled over to his granddaughter’s bedroom, not stillfully awake. When he saw the toys staring out the window, he grumbled andattempted to not tumble down the stairs. Letting a child her age roam so freelydown in Blackpool would have been grounds to lock up Ian and Clara both, buthere on the quiet little island, it was not much a problem.
After slipping on a coat and shoes, Dave took a torch andwent outside into the garden. When he couldn’t see Terra in any of the usualplaces, he climbed two steps up the ladder along the seawall and poked his headover. There the girl was, riding one of the near-wild sheep in the seafoam,while otters scurried about and all sorts of birds were flying. He cleared histhroat, catching her attention.
“Granddad! You’re awake!” Terra squealed. “I’m hungry!”
“If you come back inside with me, I can show you a photo ofthe baby while you eat,” he offered.
“I want to see my baby brother!” she gasped. Terra nearlyfell off the sheep, running over and up the ladder soon as her feet hit thesand. She hopped into Dave’s arms, who carried her inside in relief.
“How did you know you had a brother?” he asked. He put hisgranddaughter down on the kitchen floor and watched as she began to growinward. “Terra? Did you just guess?”
“I just knew,” she said. It wasn’t a lie, evenif it wasn’t the truth. “What’s for breakfast?”
#dominustempori#Whouffaldi selkie AU#Terra Morlo#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too#Saturday Night Prompts#Whouffaldi#Doctor Who#fan fiction#replies#man I adore this AU
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Hm. Either more Time Twin shenanigans involving a "driving lesson with Dad," or more Uncle Davey with one or both of his nieces, spoiling them rotten like his father before him =)
Well, considering the Time Twins learned how to drive AuntieIdris from Auntie Idris herself, I’m going to have to go with Davey theIndulgent Uncle.
1719 words; only has Penny, not Rita, because it’s partiallyan origin story for one of Penny’s favorite things(!); takes place late Summer1973, so Penny is about eight or nine months old;
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Ever since Penny figured out how to crawl, it was likeclockwork. One, or both, of her parents would drop her off at quarter to sevenin the morning, handing her off to Gran with many words of thanks. By seven shewas sitting in Granddad’s lap at the kitchen table, happily being spoon-fedapplesauce as the man fawned over her, lavishing the girl in affection. Byquarter after seven, however, theintrepid explorer was able to wiggle out of Granddad’s grasp undetected, as bythat time Granddave had entered the kitchen and the two men started to bicker,allowing Penny to wander around the house unfettered.
Scaling the staircase was always a tasking ordeal, but onceshe was up the carpeted monolith, she scooted over to Uncle Davey’s room. Thedoor was always left open a crack, from when Gran attempted to wake him upbefore what should have been a legal time, meaning she could head-butt her waythrough. Jimmy the Bun-Bun was still sleeping in his cage, so she scaled theblankets and burrowed her way under the blankets and her uncle’s arm. He’d beawake enough to realize she was there, relaxing his grip on Randall so that hisniece could snuggle the stuffed owl as well. They would stay like that for atleast an hour, when Gran came barging in, spiriting both baby and stuffedanimal away, leaving her son a smack on the back of the head, as he had to wakeup.
One particular day, however, as Uncle Davey shuffled intothe kitchen in only his trouser and vest, a phone call interrupted Gran’snormal routine, causing her to shove Penny in Granddave’s arms while she rushedto answer it.
“Aww, look here,” Granddave cooed, tickling Penny to makeher giggle. “Uncle Davey has finally decided to join the world of the living.”
“Very funny, Granddad,” Uncle Davey muttered. With his eyesopen barely a crack, he navigated the kitchen to fix himself up some toast andmarmalade, along with snatching the very last of the tea from the morning pot.It was nearly cold, but it was strong, and that’s what he needed most of all.He sat down at the table, munching his toast while being stared at by hisniece. “And what do you think you’re looking at, Penny Laney?”
“Her ridiculously sleepy, tousle-haired uncle,” Granddaveteased. Penny babbled importantly, flailing around both her arms and Randall,the toy threatening to fly out of her hands and across the room. “Yes, my littledarling—Uncle Davey is a very silly man.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Uncle Davey frowned. Hewent to take a sip of his tea, but nearly choked on it when Gran hung up thephone and screamed at the top of her lungs.
“JOHN SMITH, WHAT ON EARTHDID YOU DO THIS TIME?!” she shouted. Penny trembled at the sound of Gransounding so very cross, while Granddave passed Uncle Davey a napkin to coughinto. Granddad was upstairs, so his voice was fainter than Gran’s.
“I didn’t do a thing!”
“Yes you did! What did you put in that blasted book ofyours?!”
“I told you! Vicky and Timmy visit his Siberian cousin! Theyhave to get special visas and everything; it’s harmless!”
“Finish getting dressed and get down here this instant!”Gran then stormed into the kitchen, pacing to calm herself down.
“What’s the matter, Mum?” Uncle Davey wondered.
“Nothing,” shehissed. “It’s just that your father’s latest book has caught the attention of acouple MPs or something like that, and now I have to bring him down to bequestioned about his loyalty to the Crown. I thought we got over this sort ofthing before you went to university.”
“I don’t have to come, do I?”
“No—I guess the story credits are what bothers them, so you’rein the clear.” It was then that Granddad came downstairs, dressed in a niceshirt and jacket, with his hair a big fluff of grey. “Get your shoes on—we’regoing to Scotland Yard.”
“Why are we—?”
“..because they say so! Now hurry up or they’re going tocome to us!” Gran shooed him out of the room and turned to Uncle Davey. “Canyou watch over Penny today? I don’t know how long this’ll take.”
“As long as Granddad can handle her while I finish gettingdressed, sure,” he nodded. Within a few moments, his parents were out the door,sniping at one another about the reported harmlessness of the book’s contents,making Uncle Davey shake his head. “I knew that storyline was risky when Dadand Mr. Turlough decided to go with it. At least it’s only a domestic crisis.”
“…for now,” Granddave exhaled. There was certainly no lack ofexcitement around this house… that was for certain.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
With Penny securely in his arms, Davey walked down thestreet towards the park where he used to play all the time with Wynn. He satdown once he reached the shade of a tree, one that he remembered as being muchtinier, and let Penny roll around in the grass. She would take Randall and tosshim a few feet away, crawling hurriedly to fetch him afterwards so she couldtoss him again in a shriek of giggles. The play set had older kids on holidayfrom school running around and climbing on it, making the uncle feel a certainpang of nostalgia wash over him. He took his sketchbook out of his bag andbegan to draw his surroundings.
Eventually Penny wore herself out and crawled back over tohim, going into his bag and pulling out her blanket. She wrapped up herself andRandall in it, resting comfortably against her uncle’s leg. He stroked her hairaffectionately, almost glad his father was a daft old man who occasionallyneeded scolding. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had the chance to babysit likethis, and getting some time with his niece felt like it was incrediblyimportant. He began to sketch her napping with his old toy, using his free legas the easel.
Davey thought idly while he sketched, coming up with an ideaas he went along. Off to the side, he did rough lines of an owl character,trying his best to anthropomorphize it without going too cartoony. Another owlsketch ended up below that one, and suddenly it came to him.
“Come on Penny; time to wake up,” he said, nudging hergently. The baby made defiant noises, not wanting to hear a word of it. “If youdon’t hurry, we might miss the surprise.”
Now that got hermoving. Surprises? Penny lovedsurprises. She sat patiently while her uncle put away his sketchbook and herblanket, hugging Randall tight before being lifted up into the air. Daveychuckled to himself as Penny snuggled against his shoulders, still a bitsleepy, as he walked along, bringing her to a place he had previously beenbanned from while minding her:
The toy store.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Oswynne Elena Smith Pink hated everything.
Okay, so she didn’t hate everything.She loved her family, her husband, her daughter, computers… it was simply thefact that when at work, it was like pulling teeth to get anything done. Therewere a few colleagues, men and women both, whom were alright to work with, yether required teaching assignment for the summer was filled with a bunch ofright pricks that wouldn’t listen to a word she said, not to mention the factthat a decent portion of the department’s faculty simply laughed her off. Shethought about what her Aunt Sarah Jane would have done, hoping her laterelative would haunt the bastards with vengeance and malice for suggesting shefetch them tea, and simply held her head high, saving the ranting for when shereturned home for the night. If she was completely honest, she might not makeit past her parents’ doorstep.
After letting Orson drive, being that it was a particularlystressful day for Wynn, the Pinks made it to Grynden Street without so much asa road rage incident. They went inside the house, being greeted by hergrandfather.
“Hey; how was she today?” Wynn wondered. It was difficult tonot let exasperation creep through her voice, making Dave cock an eyebrow.
“Anything wrong?”
“Let’s leave it at Aunt Sarah Jane’s fury is alive and wellin her niece,” Orson said. He glanced around, vaguely suspicious. “It’s quiettoday—where is everyone?”
“Davey has the nip today, since Clara and John went outlast-minute,” Dave explained. “They’re upstairs feeding Jimmy, if you need toget home right away.”
“I think we can stay, but I’ll go check on them,” Wynn said.She went up the stairs and knocked on the door to her brother’s room. Openingit up, she saw that Jimmy was out of his hutch alright, but was sitting to theside, nibbling on some timothy-grass and watching Davey and Penny play with apair of stuffed owls. One was Randall, but the other was brand-new and she hadnever seen before.
“Ma!” Penny squealed happily. She crawled over to her motherand held up the stuffed owl. “Icks!”
“David, where did my daughter find this?” Wynn asked,picking Penny up. Davey stood and grinned, unable to contain himself.
“That’s Alexis, and we found her at the store,” he said. “Sheloves having Randall so much that I thought she’d like an attack-owl of herown.” Penny made growling noises and waved her new toy around, making her unclelaugh. “She can’t say ‘Alexis’ very well, so we’ve settled on ‘Lix’ for thetime being.”
“Licks? As in eating ice cream?”
“No: L-I-X; I’m thinking she might end up becoming a newstorybook character alongside Randall.” He poked Penny on the nose, which madeher stick her tongue out at him, and laughed. “This brilliant little one wasjust helping me with some story ideas—can’t rely on Dad once he retires, nowcan I?”
“No, I guess not,” Wynn chuckled. She rolled her eyes andgave her daughter a kiss before handing her back to her brother. “Just watchit, okay? You’re going to spoil her rotten.”
“Our Penelope? Nothing rotten about her.”
#dominustempori#The Time That We Love Best#Penny Pink#Davey Smith#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too#Twelfth Doctor#Clara Oswald#Orson Pink (OC)#Wynn Smith#Doctor Who#fan fiction#replies#Saturday Night Prompts#if Penny was a real person she would be turning 44 this year#yikes
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Hello! May I request something like... Twelve & Clara hanging out with Dave Oswald + Twelve ends up asking Clara's dad for her hand in marriage?
1142 words; is only gonna be a one-shot because blah blah blah things; I almost made a pass on this one since when it comes to someone as independent and fierce as Clara, I doubt the whole asking-Dad-for-permission tradition would necessarily sit well with her (it doesn’t sit well with me personally and I’m less independent than Progress Island: Puerto Rico (everything so murky, much politics, very weird)); takes place in an AU where either Face the Raven never happened or we’re just before it; I MATHED FOR THE SAKE OF A JOKE
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Dave Oswald had thought it would be fun at first, telling Clara that his train was delayed when really he had just arrived in London. He had the spare key to her flat, meaning that he didn’t need her to let him in, so he imagined surprising her with his on-time appearance, or even be waiting there when she got home. It should have been fun and a laugh and all that, except he walked in on more than he bargained for.
There was his daughter sitting on her kitchen counter, tongue in the mouth of a grey-haired man as she clenched his hips with her knees. Dave dropped his carry-on bag with his mouth agape, not knowing what to say, which caught the couple’s attention.
“Dad, I…!” Clara gasped, pushing her gentleman away and rushing over to her father. “I thought you said you were running late!”
“It was a joke, so I could surprise you, but I don’t know who is more surprised now,” he replied, hugging her. He then glanced over at the stranger, who was now red in the face and standing almost sheepishly in the corner. “…and you are?”
“The Doctor; it’s nice to see you again, Dave,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Sorry, I can’t ever remember having met you before,” Dave said.
“Yeah, well, let’s say I’ve been through a bit since that Christmas.”
Pausing, Dave stared at the Doctor, then at Clara, then the Doctor again, squinting as he looked the man over.
“You’re a completely different person.”
“Same software, Dad; different hardware,” Clara said gently. “The Doctor isn’t Swedish, nor an actual Doctor, let alone a human—he’s a human-ish alien from outer space, and him and I are dating. Was gonna tell you soon, but I guess now’s a good a time as ever.”
“Alien from outer space…!” Dave snorted. “Honey, I’m not an idiot—just tell me why and how come you’re dating a man my age and I’ll get used to it.”
“She’s telling the truth,” the Doctor said. He approached Dave and pointed at his chest, over his left heart. “Listen.” Dave did, awkwardly placing his ear against the Doctor’s chest. It seemed like a normal heartbeat, so he stared at him, eyebrows (thick, like Clara’s) furrowed suspiciously. Only after the Doctor motioned for him to listen to his right heart did Dave’s eyes grow wide.
“Two hearts…”
“…as well as a couple other extra bits and bobs that have allowed me to live across thirteen different faces, including this one, for over two thousand years… well, Earth years. It’d be over three thousand three hundred Venusian years, give or take concerning the whole spat over calendars that this planet seems to have every so often…”
“…so you see Dad: this is my boyfriend, the Doctor.”
“Not your boyfriend,” the alien in-question reiterated.
“We’ve gone over this,” she fired back, completely forgetting that her father was still in the room. “What do you want to be then? Manfriend? Boytoy? Fuck-buddy?”
“Anyone who thinks that we’re something as grossly casual and full of lies as fuck-buddies really needs to step back and examine their own worldview…”
“I’m going to sit down,” Dave announced. Clara then snapped back to the situation at-hand and made sure her dad took a seat on the couch before scurrying back to the kitchen to make tea. Before long, the three were having some warm, sweet chamomile in an awkward, stuffy silence.
“I’ll be right back,” Clara said eventually. She put down her cup and powerwalked to the bathroom, where she shut herself inside and proceeded to panic.
“That’s probably going to give us at least twenty minutes,” the Doctor mumbled into his tea. He was sitting in the armchair, while Dave was on the couch.
“Fifteen if she already had worked out this scenario before,” the other man nodded. He looked over at the Doctor and tilted his head. “So… you’re from space.”
“The planet Gallifrey, in the constellation Kasterborous.”
“…isn’t that the wrong definition of a constellation?”
“That’s just the closest word you have on Earth to it—still a grouping of stars, but the connotation’s a bit different.”
“I see.”
Silence again.
“Dave… if I can call you ‘Dave’…”
“Go ahead; can’t get any weirder.”
“Dave, can I ask you something?”
“Sure; what is it?” It wasn’t like things could get much worse, in his opinion.
“I am fully aware that Clara makes her own decisions and that people telling her what to do is not high on her list of things she likes, which is part of why her and I get on so well…”
“…and…?”
“…and…” The Doctor breathed—inhale, exhale—and steadied his nerves. “…and it’s old-fashioned even by your standards, but I want to know if you’d be alright with me asking for her hand.”
“You mean, marriage? You want to propose?” Dave wondered. The way the alien blushed and averted his eyes gave him all the answer he needed. “The way I understand things, you’re a nearly-immortal, super-powerful alien who has been across all of time and space; I should almost be asking you to marry my daughter.”
“She has a brilliant mind, but I want to do things right in her way, the way humans do things in her time,” the Doctor replied. “I care about her an incredible amount, to the point where I did my best to help her get Danny back.”
Dave sat in silence, not having heard that name in a long time. Clara had been so distraught then that his mother had spent months in the flat helping her get through things. They were still in contact then?
“Even though you love her, you were willing to let her be with Danny?”
“Danny and I didn’t like one another at first, but I at least had a certain level of respect for him by the end,” the Doctor explained, his voice low. “He didn’t mind Clara spending time with me, though I can’t speak for him, and I saw that he could give her earthly things I couldn’t or would have a hard time giving. Danny’s gone, and although I can’t replace him, I’d like to try doing what I can where he would have been.” He stared at his hands, folded together in nervousness. “Mr. Pink knows I’m taking care of her, and she’s taking care of me, and I owe it to him to tend to my duty of care in the best ways possible.”
“If she’ll have you, then she’s all yours,” Dave said. “My only request is I get to see any grandchildren you two give me on a regular basis.”
The Doctor grinned at him and waited until Clara came back from the bathroom to take her by the hand and go down on one knee.
#Whouffaldi#Clara Oswald#Twelfth Doctor#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too#Saturday Night Prompts#Doctor Who#fan fiction#replies#Greyface replies#may contain traces of#Pinkwald#because reasons
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Whouffaldi prompt: Meet the Parents type of situation. Maybe with some fun chaos? :) 12 x Clara or Malcolm x Clara?
Making this Twelve and Clara because what the heck Clara’s family already met Eleven and that was a beautiful disaster.
1365 words; contains Clara’s dad, stepmom, and grandma; not truly wacky but still a bit of fun
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
The Doctor exited the TARDIS, finding that he had parked a couple inches off from where he had intended, making it so that the Chameleon-Circuited ship was partially integrated in the wall. Putting on his sonic sunglasses, he scanned the affected area—only insulation was really at-risk, and considering there was so little of it in Clara’s flat, it seemed to him that the damage was nominal.
“Clara? I seem to have parked the TARDIS in your bedroom wall. Not to worry though,” he announced, raising his voice. He walked out into the rest of the flat and froze upon reaching the sitting room.
There, staring at him, were Clara’s dad, stepmum, and gran. The worst of all was Clara herself, standing with a kettle in her hand, her eyes inflating to the largest he’d seen them get in a long time.
“Umm… would you please excuse us for a minute?” Clara asked politely. She placed the teapot down on the tray, told her family to help themselves, and forcibly shoved the Doctor in the only room in the flat with a lock: the bathroom. “What are you doing here?!”
“It’s Wednesday, so I thought I’d pop by,” he defended, motioning towards the door. “Come on, you didn’t forget Wednesdays, did you?”
“It’s Thursday, you idiot, and everyone’s over for Gran’s birthday!” she hissed.
“What are they all doing here if it’s her birthday? Doesn’t she have her own flat?”
“Yeah, but when Gran asks to come over for her birthday, you don’t just tell her to bugger off, now do you?” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, counting backwards from ten. “Alright, now we’re going to get through this… we are… Doctor? What are you doing?” She opened up her eyes to find the alien hunched over his flashcards, flipping through them with a purpose.
“I think there’s something in here for this,” he said.
“No; there’s no flashcard for this. Listen, okay, we’re going to go out there, introduce you as John Smith, and you are going to behave.”
“I thought I was John Smith last time…”
“Clara? Are you alright?” her father asked, worry evident in his voice.
“Coming!” she replied sweetly. She then narrowed her eyes and focused back on the Doctor. “I said you were Swedish and that was just the name you went by here, since your Swedish name was virtually unpronounceable—lots of dots and circles and slashes where they shouldn’t be—so now you are a real John Smith from… I don’t know… what’s a neighborhood in Glasgow?”
“Springburn?”
“Yeah, go with that. Just remember: one toe out of line and I’ll… I don’t know, but you won’t like it.” She then opened the bathroom door and took him by the hand, leading him back into the sitting room.
“So Clara, who is this?” her stepmum wondered, inspecting the Doctor. His hair was wildly unkempt and he had been wearing the same plaid trousers, grungy t-shirt, and hoodie for four days straight.
“This is Joh—”
“Bob Dylan,” the Doctor said, letting go of Clara’s hand and extending it towards her stepmum’s. She shook his hand cautiously, not sure she entirely believed him.
“I thought Bob Dylan was an American,” Dave mentioned. The Doctor shook his hand too, giving him a cocky grin.
“Beat the bloke to it by a couple months, not that it matters to anyone else.” He then turned to Clara’s gran, took off his sonic sunglasses, and bent down to kiss the back of her hand. “…and you must be the birthday girl.”
“Oooh, I like this one,” she blushed. “My granddaughter knows how to pick them.”
“He’s brilliant but not… looking his best,” Clara frowned. “I told him to change, but he apparently didn’t listen.”
“Just another notch in your long line of interesting men,” her stepmum quipped. She sipped her tea smugly, enjoying the fact that it appeared that her daughter wasn’t the one dating a hobo.
“He is very nice, Linda, now please… he was supposed to be a surprise, but the idiot bungled it,” Clara said, trying to not seethe.
“I thought you just said he’s brilliant,” Dave pointed out.
“It’s really difficult to operate on two completely opposite ends of the spectrum simultaneously, but for Clara I’ll do anything,” the Doctor said. He clapped his hands together and began to wring them. “Um… Clara?”
“Yes?”
“What do I do next?”
She excused herself and dragged him back to the bathroom, hitting the latch to lock it again. “Are you completely insane?!”
“I don’t know just… how do I talk to them without telling off the smug one and not saying the wrong thing in front of your father-one?”
“You didn’t seem to have a problem with talking to them while you broke in here stark naked at Christmas…” She paused, connecting dots that she forgot were related. “How did you get in here anyhow? I didn’t hear the TARDIS land.”
“Stealth feature; I modified it and parked it in your bedroom to show you, but I sort of parked it in the wall and…” His hands were talking nearly as much as his mouth was, completely frustrated with the situation. “Should I leave?”
“No, they’ve already seen you, so you’re staying for at least a little while longer. Now just get out there and lie long enough so I can cut the cake and we can get things over with.”
“…but the smug one…”
“I don’t know how to deal with her either, now let’s go.” Clara exited the bathroom, allowing the Doctor to follow via his own volition, and went back to her family. “Alright, I think I’ll go get that cake cut. One sec.” She then ducked into the kitchen, now alone and letting the panic show on her face.
‘What am I going to do?!’ she thought as she plucked the molten candles from the cake’s surface. She had just put it down and began pouring tea when the Doctor had barged in, making a big mess of everything. ‘Now all they’re going to do is drill me about who he is and where he comes from and what he does and I can’t even keep him from murdering Linda.’ She stopped and nodded to herself before throwing the candles away and taking the cake knife from the drawer. ‘Murdering Linda wouldn’t be all that bad… though…’
“Clara?” The woman jumped and nearly dropped the knife, turning to see her father standing next to her. “Sweetie, are you alright?”
“Yeah, thanks Dad, never better,” she lied. “Why aren’t you with everyone else?”
“…because I know my daughter and right now she isn’t telling the whole truth.” He leaned on the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just, it didn’t go as planned,” she said. Now that was true honesty. “I… I wanted to break him to you slowly.”
“Why, because he’s my age?”
She shrugged noncommittally. “A bit older…”
“He makes you happy, yeah? I think you deserve a little happiness after what happened with Danny—he was a fine young man, but I think he’d be glad you’ve moved on.”
“Probably.” Her heart hung heavy; she hadn’t gotten in her five minutes yet that day.
“Now the question is,” Dave said, pushing himself off the counter and reaching for the plates, “Are you going to become a step-gran before I become a granddad proper or is all that happening in order?”
“Dad…” she moaned, rolling her eyes. He laughed and began to help her serve out cake onto five plates. They took the plates and some forks with them, returning to the sitting room only for Clara to nearly drop the cake directly onto the floor in a fit of laughter.
There, sitting between her stepmum and gran on the couch, was the Doctor. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, with Gran nearly in his lap and Linda glaring at him with the utmost scrutiny. His hands were firmly folded as he tried to press his shoulders together as tightly as he could.
Served him right for barging in on her gran’s birthday.
#Whouffaldi#Clara Oswald#Twelfth Doctor#I lead a Dave Oswald Appreciation Life and you should too#Saturday Night Prompts#Doctor Who#replies#fan fiction#Greyface replies#hobo!Twelve meeting Clara's family might be about as tricky as starkers!Eleven#Danny was the only normal boyfriend--God bless Danny
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