Well, this is the story that goes right along with the gifset I posted on my tumblr yesterday...
It was initially going to be a one shot, but it's now grown legs so I've decided to split it up into chapters instead. I'm not sure how many parts there'll be, but I know how it all ends, and most of the stuff in the middle, so I'll get there eventually!

Don't hesitate to let me know what you think; I've never written for these two before so any feedback would be greatly appreciated :D

I hope you enjoy!

He's attempting to throw the next card from the deck into his hat a few feet away when he hears the soft, tentative knock on the door. He ignores it at first, instead content to concentrate on the distance and the weight behind his next flick of the wrist. Miles Davies' lyrical trumpet solo floats from the direction of the ancient but well-used gramophone in the corner, but the melody is suddenly drowned out by a more persistent tapping on the dressing room door.

"I'm busy," he half shouts, half whines, not bothering to turn and face his guest; it's normally the groupies that seek him out now, fans from the 'good old days' who want to meet the man of mystery they remember from their childhood. He rarely talks to them anymore - he hates seeing the disappointment on their faces when they realise he's not the man they remember.

"Doesn't look like it," comes a soft reply, the teasing tone laced with barely veiled sarcasm. The sound of it puts him off his next throw and the two of Hearts drifts aimlessly through the air, hitting the bowl of fruit in the corner and fluttering forlornly to the ground. He scowls at it before swivelling in his chair to face the person who's interrupted him.

The first thing he notices about her is her eyes, large and wide but a playful expression crossing them. His own eyes trail down her face, noting the soft smirk that plays across the mystery woman's lips. She's leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over her chest and she raises an eyebrow in question as she takes in his viewing of her.

"Can I help you?" He eventually asks, a withering expression on his face as he shifts sightly in his chair. "I said I was busy…"

"And I said it didn't look like it," she answers, but her tone isn't accusatory, merely playful; her voice matching the expression on her face. "I'm here about the assistant job; you're the mysterious Doctor right?"

Her hands do some kind of weird motion in front of her, fingers wiggling in that age old suggestion of something 'spooky' at the word mysterious.

He sighs then, because he'd told himself he'd regret placing that advert in the local paper. It had been a last ditch attempt to stave off the final warnings from the bank about repossession of the theatre; he wasn't expecting anyone to actually apply for the job.

And yet...

"Yeah, that's me," he mutters eventually, his thick accent making the words sound slightly harsher than he'd intended. "Sorry, but the position's already been filled, has been for weeks. If you could just see yourself out…" He motions dismissively towards the exit, hands flapping madly as he tries, in vain, to get rid of the unwanted visitor.

The young woman doesn't move though. Instead, annoyingly, she steps more fully into the room so that she's no longer leaning against the door.

"And that's why the show's been cancelled tonight and all next week yeah? Because your new assistant is all ready to go…"

The teasing tone is back and the Doctor finds it exceedingly irritating; clearly she's seen right through his lie - the job's been in the paper for the last few weeks; if someone had been hired he would have taken it out and have been ready for opening night.

"Oh, alright, I stretched the truth a little," he mutters, wiping weary hands across his face before glaring at her. "There's no assistant, but I don't particularly want one."

"Enjoy the sight of bills mounting up do we?" She smiles as she moves away from the door at last and waves in the general direction of the piles of envelopes that rest precariously on the nearby table. He's done a good job of ignoring them for the most part, but he frowns at them when she draws his attention to every growing stack once more.

"I might do," he replies grumpily as he glares at her from across the room. "What's it to you? And why do you want this job anyway?"

She shrugs again, the gesture casual. She ignores his first question and merely answers the second.

"I've got a place on a teaching course but I don't start until September. Need some money so I won't have to work during placements."

It sounds logical really, but she doesn't look like the type of girl who'd fit in on the stage as part of a summer job, doesn't appear to be someone who'd be comfortable in front of an audience. Instead, she looks more suited to shop work, or maybe babysitting.

"So why should I hire you?"

He's got no real idea why he's humouring her, but there's something about the way that she's acting that both riles and intrigues him. It's been a long time, since River really, that someone has had the ability to do that.

"Didn't say you had to," the young woman replies, crossing her arms again. "But judging by the state of this room you've not had any other applicants and those bills aren't going to pay themselves. It seems to me like you need to kick start your show, bring it to a larger, younger audience. And for that, well, I'm probably your best bet. That and if you don't do it I bet you'll be kicked out of this lovely place by the end of the month..."

He immediately resents her implication that he's on the verge of being thrown out. But then, he concedes to himself, the bank had said he was down to his last chance and he did need to turn a profit this summer in order to keep the theatre in business. He's not that far off being in the black, but it all depends on how well his show goes down with the tourist crowd over the next couple of months.

The Doctor figures he's been delaying the inevitable for far too long. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and thinks over his options for a moment. Barely seconds later he opens his eyes and just looks at the mystery visitor. She's staring back at him with determination, as if daring him to turn her away. Well, with an attitude like that, who could say no?

Decision made, he finally stands and walks towards her carefully, placing the deck of cards absently on the table as he moves. It isn't until he's right in front of her that he realises just how short she is. He peers down at her, and she peers up at him and there's a singular moment when the Doctor decides to just take the plunge and go for it. After all, he asks himself sarcastically, what have I got to lose; apart from my home, my job and my dignity…

"The shows are going to start again next Saturday; a matinee performance. You've got until then to prove you've got what it takes to help out around here."

The young lady flashes him the biggest smile he's ever seen and she quickly sticks her hand out as if to formalise the job offer. The Doctor takes it with resistance and ignores the tingle of electricity that sparks with that first initial touch. She shakes his hand enthusiastically until he draws it back, frowning and rubbing at his wrist as if she's permanently injured him.

"I don't even know your name," he says eventually as he turns away from her and heads back to his chair, picking up the pack of cards again as he goes, hands subconsciously shuffling them as he moves.

"Clara," the young woman states simply, smile spreading across her face once more, "my name's Clara."