"I'm Clara, Clara Oswald."

"And you're The Doctor."

She grinned, because she knew she was right. Knew it deep down.

She saw the book, a nice blue book, but for some reason, she didn't ask to see it.

Almost as though she knew he'd say no, and that she would understand why.

"I hope it's not a spicy book, then."

Why did she say that?

Because this place looked like it was designed for that sort of thing? -

Reading, seemingly.

Maybe there was something in his book.

“Now I don’t want to alarm you, but I just came through a door that was right there.”

Pointing at a wall, where there now just a wall. No door in sight.

“Now there’s no door. So I’m thinking maybe it’s your place?”

Since he had been sitting. -

Her turn to look a little confused. Glancing around as though something might seem familiar.

“I don’t think so.. I think I’d have more…”

What? Victorian style.

“Less orange.”

Close enough. She let her hands rest on her hips for a moment, now she was looking, something weird jumped out. -

"Oh I bet it is."

"And if male pattern baldness isn't getting any funding, I hate to think about the state of the female reproductive studies."

".....assuming it's the female of your species who do the reproducing."

Timelords, can harness time travel, but male pattern baldness is still beyond them.

22

Her hand slid over the curve, and then she was poking a light, sending the silver ball into a swing like a pendulum.

"This pad sure is groovy..."

"Ugh, that felt so weird to say, did that sound weird to you?" Turning to the man, the oh so familiar and yet strange man, Clara grinned.

A wash of colour hit her, and she looked down.

Mini skirt. White knee-high boots. She had a hat on, she could feel that on her head. Maybe it was a scarf.

"Far out!" She exclaimed, because what else should she had said? Skipping over to a bucket seat. -

Living a life that seemed to be holding it's breath for something.

She ran to the door, not because she had any reason to do so, or even an understanding of why, but because it was there. Then pulled it open and stepped in. -

Had she been waiting?

And for how long?

How long had she been there, waiting.

Had she been anything before now? Something more than a stray thought, a half-finished ponder? A forgotten thread of a dream?

I'm Clara Oswald.

Her memories were slow, but there. A childhood. School. -