Clara was always impressed by the selection of clothing available in the ship's wardrobe. The items she found in there consisted of such created by the TARDIS herself or those left behind by the Doctor's previous companions. Either way, they excelled in their knowledge of well-fashioned taste when it came to providing disguises to accompany him on his travels. Whether it be the year nineteen hundred or forty thousand, the old gal certainly knew how to treat a girl. Though this time she may have outdone herself a bit.
Having searched for quite some time through the ever-changing, ever relocating closet, her heart jumped when she saw the dress. Champagne in colour, the floor-length fabric was entirely embroidered with tiny sparkling silver patterned jewels from the modestly draped straps over her shoulders to the tips of her clear heeled shoes. Gazing at her finished form in the mirror, the dress seemed to embrace her with an ethereal glow. A part of her shook the thought that a particular dress of this nature might be too fashionable for a girl such as her. She exited the wardrobe and headed for the control room where the Doctor told her to meet him. Hesitating for only a moment to regain her confidence, she lifted the skirt above her shoes and climbed the metal staircase towards the heart of the TARDIS.
"Finally!" the Doctor exclaimed, hearing her soft footsteps approach from behind. "You've been down there nearly an hour!" He spun around to face her. "What on Earth took you so-?" And then he saw her, truly saw her. Her presence in the room suddenly cleared him of all thought and speech. He had travelled with her an uncountable number of times. From the past to the future and beyond even that. And yet, she always remained the same Clara to him, no matter what version of her he was with. Always his impossible girl. There was no one else he would rather have by his side. He cared for her more deeply than he would ever dare to admit. All the dangers he put her through, all the incidences in which he thought he'd lost her had been more unbearable each time. He fought to keep the feelings he had for her from himself and anyone they encountered together from the moment he first laid eyes upon her in his previous form. Somewhere buried deep inside his stubbornness, he felt she would never accept him in this body as she did with his last. This furrowed old man he had become could never compete with the love she still carried in her heart for his younger self. It was better this way. Emotions are dangerous. There were far too many enemies in the universe willing to take advantage of a weakness so great.
Something inside of him was freed from its forgotten place as she neared him. A feeling he thought he would never have for anyone else. He couldn't tear himself away from her magnificent grace. She could light up every star in the sky or power an entire world with just the look in her eyes at that moment. He felt the electricity in the air emanating through his palms. The deafening silence in the room could only be tamed by the delicate sound of her shoes tapping along the metal flooring. He watched her approach until she was but an arm's length away. "You look, uh..." were the only words he could manage.
"Is it too much?"
"No, um-"
"It's too much, isn't it," she responded nervously.
"No, no! Well, I mean, it's not bad. For a girl who can't even tie a tie correctly. But I suppose the dress will have to do," he humoured her, attempting to maintain a hold over his emotions.
"Thanks." She knew that was the closest to a compliment as she was going to get. She noticed he'd taken the time to groom himself in her absence. A characteristic he hadn't seemed to have adopted very often in this body, if at all. And yet, something about the way he looked in his tuxedo warmed her from within as if standing beside an open flame during the dead of winter. All the anger she felt earlier in the day and the past several weeks had melted away, leaving no trace of its former existence. The warm feeling inside of her grew more intense as she stepped closer, their shoes nearly touching. "I could say the same about you," she pointed out, reaching up to straighten his tie.
He watched her every move. His hearts raced at the sensation of her fingers grazing along the outside of his collared shirt. He gazed down at the top of her head as she perfected his slightly skewed necktie. The closer she was, the more he felt the electricity making its way through his body. There was something different about her, something he hadn't noticed before. Not strange, per se. A rather enjoyable feeling, actually. A warmth about her. He felt the tiny hairs on his arms rise beneath the sleeves of his jacket. A very faint, almost entirely unnoticeable connection to his telepathic abilities could be detected. Is she somehow reading my mind?
"Well!" He nervously pulled away from her grasp and hurried to the console. He feared he may have endured her closeness for too long. If she had been reading his mind, there was no doubt he might have let some thoughts slip by he shouldn't have. Trying to distract himself, he made a few adjustments to the computer. "Shall we?" he asked, extending a hand towards her. He could sense her reluctance, possibly having to do with the day's previous conflict between them. The look of uncertainty in her eyes. He knew he had tampered with her trust. There was only one way to make it right. "Clara Oswald, I would be deeply honoured if you would accompany me as... my date," he requested, offering a bent arm for her to accept if it pleased her. Clara smiled. The same smile that drove him into the deepest parts of his sanity. Accepting his offer, she interlocked her arm in his and prepared to be transported to the next adventure. Matching her smile with his own, he pulled down on the lever and sent the time machine to her instructed coordinates.
********************
Prima Nova
The TARDIS materialised into the medium-sized vacant room. The door opened as the Doctor poked his head out from within to examine their surroundings. Once it was decidedly safe, he exited the box as Clara followed closely behind.
"Well, this is exciting!" She took hold of his arm with her own. The anticipation of what was out there sent a sense of thrill throughout her body. Each time they encountered the unknown together, there was always a feeling of excitement mixed with a small amount of fear of what they might come across. But this time felt different. Being with him made her feel like a part of his life again. "It's as if we're solving our own mystery! Just the lot of us. Like Sherlock Holmes!"
"Yes, well, if only Sir Conan Doyle had known the true identity of whom he really based his main character on. I'd bet he would've looked a little more green, and had scales, and was actually a woman," he replied, recalling his past adventures with Vastra, Jenny, and Strax. Back when he felt the universe didn't need him to be the Doctor anymore. Back when he had given up all hope. "Besides, their mysteries were nothing but child's play compared to what I've seen in my lifetime. Imagine the pair of them encountering an army of Cybermen back in their day. What a great story that would have been to tell the kiddies."
They approached the extraordinarily large double doors to the room in which they were standing. They were over a storey in height and several arm lengths wide. A questioning look appeared on his face as he took out his sonic-screwdriver and attempted to scan the door. Other than being made of wood, which the screwdriver lacked in its abilities, there was nothing he would usually be concerned about. Except these doors appeared brand new as if they had just been installed, unlike the other walls in the room or the ancient relics hosted inside of it.
"Doctor, what is it?" Her grip on him tightened with concern.
"This door. It's unusually large for a room this size. Don't you think?"
"Maybe they're really tall people," she teased.
Frowning at her humour, he placed his ear to the wood and listened for any sounds. Glancing towards her, he opened the door. The light from the other side filled the space around them. In the next room, they could see hundreds of well-dressed, normal-sized people chatting and mingling amongst each other while oblivious to their entrance. Shutting the door behind them, he led her into the crowd to blend in as if they had been there all along. "Now remember," he warned, continuing to lead her through the mixed mass of aliens. "We're here to find out what happened to us, not to dillydally. No distractions. Look for anything you might remember."
Clara frowned. All these people enjoying themselves and she was stuck with the Time Lord, Slayer of Fun. Doing as he asked, her eyes scanned the room for anything that would jog her memory. She didn't recognise any of the other guests or the room they were in. Nothing out of the ordinary. Besides being surrounded by aliens, of course. However, she supposed that to them, it was she who was the alien. She noticed a strange object hanging from the ceiling, high above the guests' heads. An orb-like structure encased in shaded glass. "What's that?" she asked, pointing upwards.
"Brain scanner," he responded, having already noticed it the second they entered the lobby. "It detects ill-intent."
"What would they need a brain scanner for at a party?"
"I'm not sure yet."
She felt him pulling her towards the next room where they were greeted by a well-dressed man of a species she was not familiar with. He stood eagerly behind a host's station. A badge clung below his lapel was inscribed with the words Xarbanka, Maître D'.
"Ah! Mr and Mrs Smith!" he addressed them, extending a scaled hand towards the Doctor. "So good to see you again! Mrs Smith, you look absolutely stunning this evening!" He returned his attention to the Doctor. "Better keep a good eye on her tonight, sir!" he boasted with a friendly smile.
"Will do," he replied, trying to keep the thought of having no memory of this man at rest.
"Oh, I almost forgot!" the man added, retrieving a lightweight box from inside the station. "This arrived earlier today with strict instructions to deliver to you personally upon your arrival."
"For me?" The Doctor raised a questioning brow. "Who sent it?"
"They didn't say. It was accompanied by this." The man pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to him.
Taking the note, he opened it to observe its message. For Mr Smith, from a friend. Glancing towards the Maître D', he placed the note inside his pocket and released the clip holding the small box shut before hesitantly opening the lid. Inside were two identical pairs of what appeared to be ordinary reading glasses. Upon examination, he found nothing peculiar about them. Removing them from their case, he promptly placed them into his jacket pocket and nodded his gratitude towards the man. Turning to Clara, he noticed she was experiencing the same confusion as he. "Well, shall we head for the refreshments, dear?" A smile formed as he played along with his new role. They parted ways with the man and headed towards the entrance of the next room where the sound of live music was heard playing.
"That was strange," she whispered. "Were you expecting a package here?"
"No. Which means whoever sent it must have known we were going to be here at this exact moment."
"So, Mr Smith, eh?" She tried to hold back her laughter. "They get a lot of caretakers to come to these things, do they?"
"And, apparently, their wives," he teased.
"Hmm, Mrs Clara Smith. Doesn't sound all that bad. Better than Mrs The Doctor. Doesn't have quite the same ring to it." She let out a small laugh.
"My, aren't we chipper this evening," he noted, addressing her sudden adjustment in mood from earlier. The more they immersed themselves into their surroundings, the brighter she had become. He felt the happiness resounding inside of her now seeping into him. "To what do I owe this new change? Surely you haven't forgiven me for everything already," he prodded, remaining hopeful the answer would be, 'Yes'.
"I dunno," she answered, as if she hadn't even remembered being so cross with him. As if it happened ages ago. Whatever feelings she felt before had been replaced by something else. Something warmer. Something she wasn't so sure she had control of. Whatever it was, she liked it. She liked the way she felt around him now more than ever. The thoughts and feelings she clung to of his last form were slowly being replaced by his new one. "I suppose it really doesn't matter. You're here now," she added. As they entered the next room, her grip on him tightened. "Doctor!" she nearly gasped his name. "I've been here before. I remember this room from my dream." She looked around the structure to observe the walls and flooring. It was the same as the nightmare she experienced right before the spectre attacked her. It sent shivers down her spine seeing this place again. Her eyes scanned the room for the ghosts she had seen before, only to find it was vacant of them. Even the people differed from those in her vision.
"Do you recognise anyone?" he asked, taking in all the details they might have been missing.
"No, you?"
"Nothing." He strained to discover a clue, anything that might jog his memory of having been there before. He noticed a second scanner atop the ceiling and assumed there was one in each room.
As Clara examined the unfamiliar faces, she couldn't help but wonder it if was possible they had been wrong. That there wasn't anything there to find. Had they come all this way for nothing? She continued to observe the guests paired with their partners and dancing to the rhythm of the music. So carefree, so unaware of anything out of the ordinary. Just simply dancing and enjoying the company of one another. "Would you care to dance?" she asked, turning to him
"Good thinking! Blend in, gather details. Surely one of these people holds the key to our memory!"
Shaking her head, she smiled and determined he would always be the same old Doctor to her, no matter how hard she tried to tame him. A part of her loved that about him and wouldn't change it for anything.
He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. Facing her, he realised how long it had been since he had done this, even if only to gather data. Trying to recall exactly where he was supposed to put his hands and who was supposed to lead, he went with his instincts instead. Under any other circumstances, he would have felt the flutter of his hearts beating. But this time, something about her was different. She placed her hand in his, the other wrapped around his back to which he mirrored. As he held her, he felt an overwhelming sense of emotion as he detected the vast amount of electricity emanating from her delicate fingers entwined in his own. He tried to hide his concern and concentrate on his objective, finding those responsible for all of this. Yet he couldn't keep his mind focused on anything else. What was different about her? What was he missing? Stay focused, Doctor. Don't lose yourself in her eyes. You are here for a reason. His mind teetered between studying the room and her gaze. He felt her pulse beating deeply in his palm, though it was strangely foreign. Far too fast to be her own. It's nothing, she's just excited. You mustn't get distracted.
He felt his muscles tense as her body drew close. Her head rested on his shoulder. The hand he claimed around her back found its way to her waist, while the other clasped hers firmly. The same warmth he felt in the TARDIS slowly rose within him. The electricity in her hand deepened as if connecting to every fibre in his body. What is she doing to me, he wondered? Trying his hardest to stay on task, he attempted to distract his senses with observation. He counted the tiles on the floor, the number of beverages being passed around, anything even remotely relevant to their reason for being there. He noticed a few of the guests had their attention turned towards them. Did he know them? Did they know him? Could they be involved, or was he just feeling paranoid? Before he lost himself in her arms, he attempted to de-escalate the intensity of their embrace. "I feel we are being watched," he finally spoke, breaking the silence of the moment.
"By who?" she asked, slowly lifting her head off his shoulder.
"Usurians, behind you."
"What's a Usurian?" She started to look in their direction.
"Don't turn around!" he ordered quietly, closely monitoring the other guests as he waited for the right moment. Seizing the opportunity, he spun her around to the rhythm of the music. His dominant hand retained its grasp on hers as her back pressed up against him. His other hand slid across her front to hold her midsection firmly, pulling her even closer. He ignored the gasp that escaped her lips. "There, just in front of you," he whispered into her ear. "Do you recognise them?"
Clara, trying to swallow the surprise overtaking her from his sudden intimacy, glanced in the direction of which he was speaking. "No, I don't think so." She hardly looked at the suspected guests, being too distracted by his closeness. Her free hand found its way to his and placed it gently atop his own. Her breath was heavy as he applied pressure to her abdomen.
The Doctor, not ready to eliminate the Usurians as possible suspects, scanned the room looking for more clues. Suddenly, a powerful surge swept through him originating from the hand resting securely upon Clara's body. A telepathic connection he hadn't felt in a very long time. It was so unbelievably strong, it pulled him out of reality entirely.
He opened his eyes to find himself relocated from where he last stood as if he had been teleported. Darkness had formed all around him. Am I dreaming? Far off in the distance, he saw a small light. Approaching slowly, he shielded his eyes from its emanating glow. As he drew closer, more finite details of its existence occupied the void surrounding him. Light particles circulated from its primary source. The closer he stepped, the more he could hear it trying to speak to him. He heard its heart beating faintly, then louder until it beat like a drum deep in his soul. Yet there was something different about it. Something only he could feel. There were two. Two distinct heartbeats originating from the same source. No, it can't be! How is this possible?! He felt drawn to its life force, unable to stop himself from stepping closer until he could nearly reach it. The light burned his eyes, yet he could not look away. His hand reached out, ready to succumb to its will, until his fingers made contact with it. Then there was a flash of light.
The Doctor's eyes flew open and scanned his surroundings thoroughly. He was back in the ballroom. His hand was still clenched around Clara's as the other held her against him from behind. Panic came over him. He quickly released her and stepped away as the music came to an end. She turned to face him, her eyes full of worry and concern. He couldn't shake the vision in his head of what he saw, of what he feared was happening inside of her. He tried to conceive the possibility. His mind raced, his hearts beat rapidly in his chest. No, this isn't possible! Yet everything he knew and felt was pointing to only one answer. His Clara was with child.
"Doctor?" She stepped closer, only to watch him step farther away. His eyes were wide with fright. "Doctor, what is it? What's wrong?"
His mind burst and flooded with a thousand thoughts as if it were a shattering dam. So many questions, so little answers. It all made sense and didn't at the same time. The electricity and warmth he felt just being around her, a warmth he thought to be the deep feelings he carried for his companion, was, in reality, the tangible emotions of the lifeform growing inside of her. Emotions they now shared. If Clara was upset, the child would imitate her distress. When she became elated, so would the child. And if she were to experience pain or suffering...
"I-I'm not sure." He kept his distance. The words he wanted to say were lost under miles of thought. She came closer, the look of fear on her face as she did when they were in real danger. He couldn't move. Not because of the couples dancing all around him, trapping him where he was, but because his legs would not allow him to. As she stood in front of him, her hand reached for his. "Don't." He stopped her firmly. He couldn't bear their touch again. Not now. Not when his mind needed to repair itself of its malfunction. They stood in unbearable silence, the music having long since ended as the musicians adjusted their pages for the next set. "I think I've had quite enough dancing for one evening," he told her, trying to keep the worry off his face.
Clara was confused and mildly hurt. Had she done something wrong? Why is he so flustered, she wondered? The music sounded again, yet neither of them yielded their positions on the floor. She hardly noticed the young man approaching her side.
"Excuse me, Miss?" the man addressed her.
She turned to him, nearly forgetting the Doctor's strange behaviour. She was taken aback by his youthful features. Not young enough to be a boy, but certainly not too old either. He appeared human, but so did many others who either were or simply used a type of cloaking device to hide their true race from potential enemies.
"I was just wondering," he continued shyly, "if you would do me the honour of sharing this dance with me. If it pleases you." He looked towards the Doctor. "Of course, that is if you do not mind, sir?"
"Well, actually," he started, trying not to show his infuriated demeanour over the sudden interruption between them. "We were just about to-"
"I'd love to." She took the arm of the young man.
"Clara, we really should be going," he insisted, attempting to lure her back to him.
"I'll only be a minute! I'm sure you can 'handle things in my stead'," she replied, turning his words against him.
Impossible woman! The Doctor attempted to remain unaltered by her unexpected leave of him. He removed himself from the crowd and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in disapproval as he watched them from a distance. He could see the young man take her into his arms, pulling her close to his chest. She appeared to be taken with him, laughing and smiling in his direction. He felt himself becoming jealous, but tried to ignore it. Of course she would feel an attraction. Just look at him! He's everything I'm not; young and handsome. While compared to him, I'm nothing but a frustrated, emotionless old man.
He attempted to distract himself by continuing to observe the room around them. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe they were too late. Or maybe there was nothing there for them to find. But why the brain scanners? What could be so crucial there to require them? Even more importantly, who had sent him the glasses? Who had known he was going to be there on this exact night? His eyes drew back to his companion. The young man's hand found its way to her waist. Her head rested just slight of his lapel. "Will this song never end?!" he mumbled to himself.
As he continued to watch them, he couldn't help but think of the child developing inside of her. Was she aware of its presence? Could she feel it within her, or was it simply too early to detect? The dreaded thought of how it came to be was secondary to his greatest concern; that the child was undoubtedly of Gallifreyan descent. The list of potential fathers was too short to deny being responsible for any part of it. But how had this happened? There must be an explanation, he thought. The song finally ended and the young pair made their way towards the refreshments.
"May I offer you something? Some champagne, perhaps?" asked the young man.
"That would be lovely, thank you." She watched as he headed towards the bar to attract the attention of the bartender.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" the Doctor's voice inquired from behind her. Rolling her eyes, she turned to face him. "My, my. What a lovely couple you two are!" he added.
"Doctor," she replied, annoyed by his presence.
"How old is he? Twelve? Thirteen? Ages, not my area."
Ignoring him, she changed the subject. "Did you find anything?"
"Oh, but I thought we were here to dance and party!" Behind her, the young man returned with two filled glasses in his hands. "And drink!"
"Champagne, for the lady," the man offered, handing her a glass.
"Thank you." Accepting it, she raised it to toast the gentleman.
"That other one must be for me then?" the Doctor asked the boy, his temper getting the better of him.
"Doctor!" she hushed him, lightly smacking his arm. "Behave."
He watched as she brought the glass to her lips. A sudden unexplainable protectiveness came over him as he quickly removed the drink before she could take a sip. "No, I don't think so. We wouldn't want you to get all sloshy." He handed the drink back to the young man. "Don't let her appearance fool you. She's a terrible drunk. Absolutely the worst! Now, if you'll excuse us." He grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the confused man.
"That was incredibly rude," she scolded.
"Oh, I'm sure he'll forget all about you. Plenty of other sultry girls here to choose from." He felt her rip her arm from his grasp. Surprised, he turned around to see her face. He could only describe the look of shock and hurt in her eyes.
"Is that what you think of me then?" she asked as tears formed at the brim of her eyes.
"No, of course not." He realised he let his jealousy take control of him. "Clara, I need to speak with you," he implored, extending an apologetic hand towards her. After a moment, she wiped the tears from her eyes and took his hand. He took her to a less crowded area of the room and made sure there was no one listening in. He looked into her eyes, still damp from tears. He didn't know what to say or how to begin. He brushed the loosened hairs from her face and wiped the remaining tear still clinging to her cheek. "Clara, I-" He stopped himself and ran his fingers through his hair. Why is this so difficult? Just tell her! He sighed heavily and regained his thoughts. "Clara, I need to tell you something." She did not reply, only gazed into his eyes, awaiting his next words, which only made it harder for him to speak. At last, he found the courage to tell her the truth. "This may be difficult for you to understand right now, but you... you're-"
"Welcome guests to the Prima Nova Biannual Charity Auction Ball!" a woman suddenly shouted from the top of the stairs. The guests cheered and clapped at her entrance.
The Doctor was frozen in thought by the interruption. He knew that voice. It sent an icy chill of unavoidable fear down his spine. There was only one person he could name who had power over him such as that. He glanced towards the sound of her voice, hoping he was very wrong about the thoughts invading his mind.
"I'll be your host this evening," she continued, descending the stairs. "But you may call me... the Mistress."