A/N: So, I know I really shouldn't start another fic, but after watching Nightmare of Silver, I just find myself too inspired not to. LOL This is the first Doctor Who fic I've posted her. I've started a few others – Rose and Ten – but I'm really feeling the chemistry between Eleven and Clara, so thought I'd jot down a little story about them.

I'm not going to even attempt to unravel the mystery which is Clara. Steven Moffat will blow our minds regardless, so I'll just leave any Clara reveal to the Master and tell my little tale instead. I was intrigued by the idea of the Doctor and Clara only meeting up on Wednesdays and thought that was a good starting point. I have a little story I've planned for this tale around a thought I had about the Doctor. I know, suitably vague and confusing. *rolls eyes at self*

Anyways, I do love quirky, tortured characters and the Doctor is certainly that. I've been a fan of all of the latest incarnations of the Doctor and think MS is doing a great job with it all. I am also a huge CE and DT fan – I loved all of their interpretations. So, nothing really happens in this first chapter (yeah, I really know how to sell my stories, don't I? LOL ) but I do start up a small mystery.

If anyone is interested in finding out about this mystery, let me know and I'll continue on.

Thanks for checking out my story, and I hope you had fun with it. I know I did. :D

Wednesday's Child...

Monday's child is fair of face,

Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Wednesday's child is full of woe,

Thursday's child has far to go,

Friday's child is loving and giving,

Saturday's child works hard for a living,

But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day

Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

Chapter One

The Doctor craned his neck and looked up at Clara's open window. He grinned as an impulse to surprise her came over him. He'd always had good luck with his impulses... well, some good luck... well, the occasional bit of good luck still counted as good luck. At least that was what the Doctor told himself. Besides, he was already half-way up the rose-covered trellis on the way to Clara's window, carefully picking his way between the thorns. She'd teased him the last time they'd travelled together that he was becoming predictable. The nerve of the girl, him, predictable? Simply inconceivable. The only thing predictable about him was how unpredictable he could be. Which, technically did make him predictable, but he was at the top of the trellis now and didn't want to think about it anymore.

The Doctor popped his head through the window, a big grin on his face. "Hello, Clara, rise and shine, my girl." Clara's bed was dishevelled as though she'd just gotten out of it but there was no sign of his erstwhile companion. The Doctor could hear the sound of the shower running in the little ensuite which joined her bedroom. He raised his voice so she could hear him over the running water. "A full day of exploring time and space lies in wait for you and I've got one thing to say to you... Myxl-Temma." His grin widened, pleased with himself for coming up with a fun plan for the day. "Well, technically that's a hyphenated word, but we'll count it as one, eh? He lives on a planet only a couple of billion light years from here and he is the original Tooth Fairy. Yes, that's right," he continued on blithely, leaning his elbows on the window sill. "The Tooth Fairy of all your Earth legends. He got lost one day and crash landed on your planet. Wound up making quite a name for himself with your ancestors as it turned out. They ended up calling him the Tooth Fairy because of all of his shenanigans. Well, I say fairy, he is rather on the large side to be what you humans like to consider a fairy and those wings are more for show then actual propulsion but whatever you do, don't bring it up. He's very sensitive about his weight and the size of his wings. And when I say tooth, he's rather fond of anything calcium-rich, so Myxl does like to collect the odd bits of bone as well." The water had stopped running. "Funny story how we met actually-"

The Doctor's story was interrupted by a blood-curdling scream as a young woman with blonde hair appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a towel. She was staring at him in horror.

The Doctor blinked. "Clara, have you done something with your hair?"

"Who are you?!" yelled the young woman. "What are you doing in my window?!"

"Oh," said the Doctor in surprise, "you're not Clara." Now that the Doctor thought about it, this didn't look exactly like Clara's room. It was Clara's room, but none of her things were there. Instead posters of the Beatles adorned the wall and the dress hanging on the hook on the back of the door had a decidedly 60's vibe to it.

"No, I bloody ain't!" said the woman sharply, her face flushed in anger. "Get out of my room!"

The Doctor grimaced. "It appears there's been the tiniest bit of a mistake, maybe it was me, maybe it was you, who can say," he said quickly. "The important thing is we don't need to point fingers."

"Dad!" screeched the girl. "DAD!"

A concerned male voice answered her cry. "Hattie?"

"There's some bloke tryin' to climb through my window and kidnap me!" shouted Hattie.

The Doctor shook his head rapidly. "Oh no, no, I'm not trying to kidnap you. I came for another girl. I was going to take her. I'm here for Clara."

Hattie's eyes went wide. "What are you, some kind of serial killer? You collect innocent girls?"

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. "I feel like we're getting off on the wrong foot here, Hattie." He went to heave himself into the window and try and explain. "You don't mind if I call you Hattie, do you-ARRGGH!" The Doctor's attempts to reason with the excitable girl were cut off by the impact of a heavy, silver hairbrush between the eyes. His head snapped back and he lost his grip on the trellis, promptly falling backwards out of the window and through the creeping roses down onto the ground below. The Doctor landed on his back with a dull thud, the air rushing out of his lungs in a noisy grunt of pain. He blinked up at the early morning sky in a bit of a daze. "If I'd been human that could have done me a real mischief," he mused aloud to no one in particular. The Doctor went to sit up and pulled a face. "Still, didn't exactly tickle." Something was digging into his lower back and he twisted around to remove it. He drew out the silver hairbrush he'd inconveniently landed on which he could now see had a large letter 'H' monogrammed on its back. The Doctor stood up, hairbrush in hand as Hattie stuck her head out the window, followed very quickly by a brawny bald man. The Doctor put on his most charming smile. "Ah," he said brightly, "you must be Hattie's father. Let me introduce myself, I'm the-"

"I don't care who you are!" yelled the red-faced man. "Stay where you are. You and me have got things to talk about." With that the man's bald head disappeared from the window.

Hattie gave him a self-satisfied look. "My Dad used to be a champion boxer. He's gonna come down there and pull your arms off and beat you to death with them."

The Doctor blanched. "So, we're abandoning Queensberry Rules then?" he asked unevenly. "I don't seem to remember a lot of dismemberment in their rule book."

"That'll teach you for tryin' it on with some helpless girl, you pervert," said Hattie in triumph.

"I wasn't trying anything on," said the Doctor indignantly. "This was all just a case of mistaken timing, that's all." He could hear the front door of the house slamming. "You know, I think there is an outside chance I may have worn out my welcome here." A fuming Hattie's father was storming towards him and he really was a very big man. The Doctor held up the hairbrush. "I have your hairbrush, Hattie. I'll just leave it with your dad, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer as Hattie's father was directly in front of him now and didn't look to be in the mood for any kind of rational discussion or returning of hairbrushes for that matter. The Doctor gave him a jaunty wave. "Hello there, I was just leaving." He went to move past the man on the left but at the last moment, faked him out and went with the right, just managing to dart past the towering human and make a dash for the TARDIS.

"You can run but you can't hide, little man!" roared the man from behind him as the Doctor disappeared through the blue doors of the TARDIS.

Once inside, he leant back on the doors and blew out a long breath, shoving the inadvertently stolen hairbrush in his coat pocket. "That's where you're wrong, Hattie's Dad," said the Doctor blithely. "I can hide quite well, thank you very much." He pushed himself away from the door and strode up the walkway to the centre console. The Doctor looked around the room, glaring. "I suppose you think that was funny?" The TARDIS gave no response other than its usual gentle hum. The Doctor wasn't to be ignored though. "You knew perfectly well I was aiming for Clara's timeline," he said indignantly, "and you made me miss by half a century." The TARDIS continued to just hum. "It won't do, you know," said the Doctor sharply, "this thing you have with Clara. She's in my life and you're just going to have to accept it or else." He squeezed his eyes close, bracing for some kind of indignant retaliation from the TARDIS. Like most women of a certain age, she really didn't like being told what to do. When no immediate display of wrath was forthcoming, the Doctor opened one eye and looked around warily. He gave a little nod of approval and opened the eye, tugging on the front of his coat. "Good," he said firmly, "I'm glad we had this little chat. Now, I believe it's Wednesday somewhere out in that swirly, whirly, wibbly wobbly timey whimy thing and that means Clara is waiting for me." The Doctor caught himself. "I mean us," he corrected himself hastily. "Clara's waiting for us, because we're a team and always will be, so there is no need to be jealous." He cast a curious eye at the console. "Are you jealous?" he asked tentatively. "Is that what this thing with Clara is about, or is it something else?" The TARDIS offered no insight on the subject and not for the first time, the Doctor wished his stolen co-conspirator could talk. She'd done it once before and he'd have given a lot to hear the TARDIS's theories on Clara because as of right now, the Doctor had exactly none.

The impossible girl became more impossible every day he spent with her. The Doctor had no answers when it came to her, just more questions. It had never taken him this long to figure out a question, not when he'd really put his mind to it. Clara was an itch he couldn't scratch, a twitch in his nose that refused to become a sneeze. The Doctor rubbed his forehead distractedly, once again lost in his thoughts over one Clara Oswald. He winced as his fingers encountered what felt like a bruise on his forehead from Hattie's brush. The girl might have been overly dramatic, but she was a very good shot. The Doctor straightened up and turned back to the console, making another attempt at meeting up with Clara. It was yet another question he had about why the girl insisted on them only meeting on a Wednesday. Of course, it didn't make any kind of difference to the Doctor, any given day or moment could be a Wednesday to him but from Clara's point of view, she was waiting a whole week in between seeing him. So, when Clara walked out that door, she didn't see him for seven days and seemed fine with it. For his part, the Doctor found himself immediately setting the TARDIS for another Wednesday as soon as Clara had disappeared from his sight. At first the Doctor hadn't realised he was doing it and when he did, he told himself he could stop any time he wanted. Only, as it turned out, he couldn't. Clara was becoming a kind of compulsion to him, like a ragged piece of quick from your fingernail that you couldn't stop gnawing on, even when it became painful and you could taste blood. The Doctor had been tasting blood around Clara for awhile now, but he simply couldn't stop.

The centre column of the TARDIS lumbered up and down, sending them on their way and in no time, the Doctor was at his destination. At least, he hoped he was this time. He stuck his head out of the TARDIS and looked around warily. The street seemed suitably London, 21st century, so he stepped outside. Abandoning making an entrance this time, the Doctor walked up to the front door. He rang the doorbell and then did a hasty check of his appearance, running a hand through his hair and rearranging his clothing. Something prickled the back of his neck as he adjusted his coat while rubbing one shoe on the back of his calf to give it a quick buff up. The Doctor reached back into the collar of his coat and drew out a rather bedraggled climbing white rose. The vaguely flattened looking stem must have come from his rapid and unplanned descent down the trellis just a few minutes before. The Doctor was looking at in surprise as the front door opened. His attention was immediately on the short, dark-haired woman in front of him. "Clara!" he said in delight. "How lovely to see you again. It's been ages." That was a lie. In fact, for the Doctor, it had only been sixteen minutes and fifty-eight seconds since he'd last seen her. It would have been markedly less if he hadn't made that wrong turn and ended up in the sixties.

Clara's look was indulgent. "It's been a week," she informed him and then her attention was focused on the rose he was holding up. "Is that for me?"

The Doctor looked at the rose in his hand with surprise. "I suppose it is, yes, why not." He shoved it at her. "There you go."

Clara took it with a perplexed look on her face as the limp flower lost a couple of petals in the transaction. "Thanks, I think." She looked back at the Doctor quizzically. "What happened to it?"

"I fell on it," said the Doctor easily, "from a great height."

Clara wrinkled her nose prettily. "I'm not going to ask."

"Probably for the best."

Clara was looking him over again. "You're in a bit of a state."

"Am I?"

"You look kind of all over the place and you've got scratches on your hands." Another perusal from Clara ensued. "And is that a hairbrush in your pocket?"

"No," said the Doctor blithely, a large smile on his face, "I'm just happy to see you."

Clara stared at him, looking a little uncertain.

The Doctor started, remembering. "Oh no, wait, yes, that is a hairbrush in my pocket." He reached in and drew out the former missile and waved it about.

"Why would you have hairbrush in your coat pocket?" asked Clara hesitantly.

"Maybe the real question is why wouldn't you have a hairbrush in your pocket?" the Doctor countered easily. Now it was his turn to look Clara over. She seemed a bit more dressed up than usual. Her makeup was usually subtle, but this time it was decidedly more dramatic and the dress she was wearing was not her normal fare either. It was made of red velvet and wrapped itself around her body in a way that managed to make you feel like you were seeing a lot more than you actually were. The Doctor blinked, taking in the way Clara's skirt flared out slightly around her hips and then stopped at her knees, revealing surprisingly long legs on someone so short, with decidedly non-sensible shoes at the end of it all. "I don't think this outfit is going to be that practical where we're going today," he offered up. "There may be some climbing, in fact, there definitely will be some climbing and those shoes just won't do at all."

Clara made a regretful face. "I can't today, Doctor."

"Of course you can," said the Doctor jovially. "You've got plenty of other clothes. I'll wait while you change."

Clara bit her bottom lip. "I mean I can't go with you tonight."

The Doctor blinked. "But it's Wednesday." He frowned. "It is Wednesday, isn't it? I haven't overshot again, have I?"

"What do you mean, overshot?"


Clara rolled her eyes. "Okay. Well, it is Wednesday."

"Excellent! Never had a moment's doubt."

"However, you may not have noticed, Doctor, but it's getting dark."

The Doctor looked around and did realise for the first time the day's light was leaving them as the late afternoon rolled by. "Yes, but I don't see what that has to do with shoes."

"I was here all day," said Clara, "waiting for you."

The Doctor clapped his hands together. "And now I'm here!" he announced exuberantly. "Don't you love it when a plan comes together?"

"I'm going out."

The Doctor's head bobbed up and down. "I know, as soon as you change your shoes."

"I mean I've got other plans," said Clara in exasperation.

"What kind of other plans?"

Clara eyes skidded away from him and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Ah, you know, plans."

"No, I don't know, that's why I'm asking."

"She's got a date." The disembodied voice of Angie, Clara's eldest charge, came from somewhere behind the half-opened door.

The Doctor pushed the door the rest of the way open to seek out more information. "A date?"

Angie was sitting on the second step of the stairs, engrossed in texting on her phone. "Yeah, his name is Rhomeo Dysseys." The teenager wrinkled her nose, still typing away. "He spells his first name with an 'H' but it's silent. What's the point of having a silent letter in your name? It's just dumb and it's not like a name that sounds like Romeo isn't bad enough."

"Yes, thank you, Angie," said Clara with a vague tone of annoyance, "you've already been more than forthcoming about your opinion about Rhomeo's name."

A date, the Doctor hadn't been expecting this but he rallied quickly. "Well, that's fine, I'll have you back in time for your date." He smiled broadly and jerked his head back towards the waiting TARDIS. "Time machine, remember?"

"You just finished telling me you're having trouble with getting where you need to be with that thing," Clara pointed out. "You can barely land on a Wednesday, let alone ten minutes from now."

"It's just a momentary glitch," said the Doctor dismissively. "The TARDIS is fine now and please, don't call her a thing." He lowered his voice. "She may be listening." He shot a quick, nervous glance over his shoulder. "You know how she is."

"I do," agreed Clara, "and that's why I'm not going anywhere with you tonight. I'm sorry, you'll have to come back next week."

"What?" squawked the Doctor. "Next week?"

"I've got plans," said Clara firmly.

"But-but we had plans."

"And then you were late, so I had another offer," said Clara simply. She smiled up at him. "See you next Wednesday." With that she promptly closed the door on him, leaving a bemused Doctor to try and work out what had just happened.