Ahhhh! Such a good first episode, I can't decide what to write about first! Here goes nothing!
Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock
Under My Protection
Oh. Oh she was safe. She really, truly was. He hadn't failed—at last. Clara Oswin Oswald.
Well, forget the Oswin. Apparently that was out. As was her memory of him. That could certainly complicate things. Really really complicated. Certainly wibbly-wobbly, not so sure about the timey-wimey yet.
"At least you look like you. Like Clara," he said aloud, turning back to the sleeping young woman. "Your hair's a bit shorter, though. And straighter." Unable to resist, he ran a hand through the smooth strands, simply because he could. Because she was real and there and alive. Not dead, mercifully.
She sighed in her sleep, her head shifting a bit, and he realized it had to be incredibly uncomfortable lying on the floor of this front hall. "Come then, Clara," he said softly, working his arms underneath her. "Up you get." He eased her up slowly, her legs draped over one arm and her head pillowed against his shoulder. Light enough, like most humans. Still, best to get her to bed.
Carefully, he went sideways up the stairs, poking his head into various rooms, trying to decide which one could belong to her. There was one that appeared to be the master bedroom and two that were decorated a bit too juvenile, one for a boy and one for a girl.
What had those two little kids' names been? Frannie and Digby?
But here, tucked away in a corner, was her room. The bed was neatly made, so he folded back the blankets and lowered her down, tucking her back in with care. He hoped she hadn't hit her head when she'd collapsed, but there wasn't much he could do if she had.
Well then, what could he do? What sort of things did humans like after they'd fallen unconscious?
A glass of water, perhaps, would be a nice start. So he hurried back down the stairs, remembering halfway down it'd be best not to thunder about like he owned the place while she slept. As he touched down on the ground floor, however, he noticed the little laptop lying abandoned after his cancellation of the download. He had better keep that with him, just in case whoever was behind this tried something again. And just to make sure they got the message that Clara was off-limits to evil downlaody-type things…
Satisfied that his point had been made a few keystrokes later, the Doctor shut the laptop and returned his attention to taking care of his slumbering human. On his quest for water, he happened to pass what sounded like a laundry room if that rattling was anything to go by. It was really quite irritating.
He placed the glass of water and the rest of the pitcher on her bedside table, standing back to admire the effect. No, too clinical. It needed something more comforting, more friendly.
Flowers! People liked flowers, particularly girls. And they wouldn't be too hard to procur as he'd noticed a bit of a garden out in the front. Making another trip down, this time out to the yard, the Doctor collected some flowers. He didn't have that great a bunch to choose from, really, seeing as the placement of the flowers in the little plot of soil granted to them was all wrong. They weren't going to grow at all that way.
Snatching a vase from the cupboard on his way back up to Clara's room, the Doctor felt rather satisfied with his efforts. Water for a potentially parched throat, pretty flowers, there really wasn't much else Clara could ask for once she woke up—
But she could be asleep for hours! And one thing that humans had to do every few hours was eat. Had the poor girl even had breakfast this morning?
Not sure what Clara might like to eat—would a soufflé be leaving too much to chance?—the Doctor went with a safe option. Biscuits. Everybody loved a good biscuit, including him. He'd bit into one before he even realized what he was doing, and firmly reminding himself that these were her biscuits, he set it back down with the rest.
He couldn't help glancing around a bit out of pure curiousity. This was her room, after all, and the best way to find things out about people was to look through their things. The bookcase was right in front of him and one particular title caught his eye: 101 Places to See. It made him smile to find it tucked among her things, especially when he opened the cover to find her name and age written on the inside, all the way down to 24.
So Clara wanted to travel, did she?
The leaf pressed on the inside, though, that was a bit harder to figure out. A quick sniff and lick informed him it wasn't any particular leaf, nothing special that he could tell. Still, why would she keep it? Something to look into, then.
But perhaps the rest of this mysterious girl should be left to figure out once she was conscious. And anyway, he'd spent enough time in here; time to check out the rest of this house and make sure it was safe.
As reluctant as he was to wait for her to wake up, the Doctor was equally loath to leave her alone for just a second. Who knew what might happen if he left her on her own. It already had, twice. Never again.
With that in mind he took to the stairs once again, content for once to occupy himself with something while he waited.
She couldn't help just watching him, staring down at him stationed outside the house with that blue box of his. He'd even set up a little table with tea and everything. How cute.
He'd also nicked her laptop. She'd have to get that back at some point.
It was funny. He was funny. This Doctor, he seemed so eager to please, to impress her, and yet could easily return her quips with barbs of his own at the drop of a hat. She didn't know why he was here, standing guard over her of all people, or why she needed guarding in the first place. But it was sweet. He was sweet.
Clara could not seem to stop grinning, a bit of a problem really. She was certain she wasn't supposed to be encouraging a stranger who claimed to know her. He was odd, more than clearly insane, and yet he hadn't done anything to harm her.
That convinced her more than anything. He'd obviously been the one to put her in bed, and had left a few things for her to wake up to. He'd admitted it plainly enough by stating he'd fixed the old washing machine and been in the garage building a whatever he'd said. Which meant he'd had to get in to the house somehow, though the door had been locked. Which meant he'd probably been able to do that the whole time.
But he'd only done it once she'd been in trouble, once whatever had happened to her happened.
He wasn't here to hurt her, then. Quite the opposite. He was…protecting her? She'd only been looking after the kids for a year, but it felt like it'd been so long since someone had bothered to watch over her. It felt nice.
Not that she couldn't take care of herself. And if this strange fellow thought he was going to sit quietly outside all night by himself while she slept the night away, he had another think coming. Even if she still felt groggy, Clara Oswald had questions and wanted answers.
And she wasn't prepared to wait for them.
Ok, so that's my take on a little snippet of the episode! Not sure how I did writing for Clara; I'm going to need to see a couple more episodes of her before I feel confident I've got her character down. But I'm super excited for the rest of season seven! Let me know your favorite part of the episode! Thanks for reading, and please review!