EAT OR BE EATEN

November thirtieth, 2013 (Clara is twenty-four, The Doctor is twenty-seven)

THE DOCTOR: Clara has invited me to a family dinner party, which is actually just a last-minute get-together thrown in haste by her twin sister. This will be the first time I will meet her father, and her stepmother. This will be the first time I've met anyone's parents. Hell, I've never even been in her flat. The whole concept was daunting and oddly intimidating. I slide this aside as I push the buzzer, to which I am greeted instantly with a very irritated sounding woman asking "Who is it?"

"Um..." I say, intelligently. "My name is John Smith."

"We don't want what you're selling," the woman replies. I swallow, hard.

"I'm Clara's boyfriend."

The door opens and I stumble into the dimly-lit elevator playing poorly recorded muzak over the speakers. I count the minutes as I feel the familiar, stomach-twisting feeling of the elevator moving before it comes to a halt. The doors slide open, albeit noisily, and I step into the hallway. I recall Clara's flat number (23L) and knock on the door four times. The door lurches open on its hinges and a man in his late-forties or early fifties stands at the welcome mat.

"Who are you?" he asks. It doesn't sound like a curious question – it sounds like a menacing one.

"You must be Mr. Oswald – Clara's father?"

He exhales deeply and repeats his words with an added force, "Who. Are. You?"

I hold out my hand in a gesture of kindness and gentlemanly behaviour as I answer his question with the frankness as if this were a job interview, "John Smith, sir."

There was some incoherent squealing that sounded almost like it could be some form of communication, and quickly I find myself being dragged into the apartment by a girl who looked a remarkable amount like Clara, though with longer hair, an absent fringe, and freckles left from years of outdoor exposure.

"So this is your coffee boy!" she says, almost teasingly, in the direction of the kitchen.

"You must be Oswin–" I attempt to fit a sentence in, though to no avail.

"Oh my god, he is so cute!" Oswin shouted, "Clara, I like your taste!"

A tall girl with peroxide blonde hair emerges from the hallway and sits at the dining table. She looks up and gives me a slightly awkward smile.

Oswin then yanks my arms so hard I'm surprised they don't fly from my arm sockets. I had no idea where she was taking me, but from the few seconds I'd known her I wasn't sure if it was good. She leads me in the direction of the front door, and for a moment I think that perhaps she's taking me back outside, however she then takes a left and pushes open the door to the kitchen.

"Kittens! I have brought you a new toy!" she smiles, "It goes by John but also answers to the name of coffee boy." Oswin announces her new monicker to the kitchen, where Clara and, assumedly, her stepmother. Clara cocks her head to the side, motioning for me to come closer. I oblige, leaning in to give her a slight peck on the lips. Oswin smiles as she exits the kitchen, however, Clara's stepmother just tuts us.

"So you're the little bastard that ruined my ultimate plan for Clara." There's laced bitterness in her voice. I grin, allowing my smile to reach my ears. She holds her ground as she tries to stare me down, but my words catch her off guard.

"I'm sorry, but last I checked, the only person who owns Clara is Clara."

She recovers quickly, her glare barely faltering before she rolls her eyes. "Yeah? And what would you know about parents? Clara said you're an orphan."

"Quite a lot actually," I begin, my voice raising a litte, "My biological parents might be dead, but my adopted parents mean the world to me."

She coughed, looking me up and down with disapproving eyes. "Probably a bunch of hippies-"

"My sister is Amelia Williams."

I can see her move her tongue over her upper teeth, perhaps trying to brush away the sour taste in her mouth upon the idea that someone she didn't pick for Clara could be someone worthy of her. She gives off an inaudible huff.

"Doctor..." Clara murmured, "...John. Calm down. She's like this with everyone." Clara has her hands on my chest, in an attempt to soothe me. Or maybe to stop me from murdering her stepmother in cold blood.

"Why'd you tell her, Clara? Why'd you tell her I'm an orphan?"

"I didn't!" now Clara was raising her voice. She very rarely got annoyed, so obviously she was just as exasperated as I was.

Her stepmother tried to speak over all of us, "If I could interject-"

"Linda, get out of my kitchen right now." Clara didn't shout–she just demanded it with such ferocity that Linda obeyed begrudgingly.

"If you didn't tell her, then how did she know?" I asked of her in a regular soft tone.

"I have no idea," Clara sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose as her forehead furrowed. "Maybe she... googled you?"

"Has she done that in the past?"

"She's insane. It's a wonder my dad's still married to her."

There's an awkward silence following the declaration. Then, Clara says: "If you want, I can kick her out."

I clenched my jaw. "No. She's your family. I'll just stay in here an help you cook the turkey."

"I'm fine..." Clara claimed, somewhat defiant with a slight pout.

"Sure you are."

CLARA: I eventually gave up on making dinner when I realised that the Doctor was slightly more culinary inclined over me. He gets dinner on the table, served, in about a third of the time I take to make a toasted sandwich. It's a minimalist meal of turkey and salad, however it certainly tastes good.

The whole table is in silence, when suddenly Dad speaks out of nowhere. "This is great, Clara. I see your cooking skills have improved."

"Actually," I say, "John made it."

"Good man." He pat the Doctor on the back as he forced a feeble smile in return.

Winnie and Dad start asking the Doctor questions. Standard protocol for all my boyfriends: where they work, where they live, family members etc. I can see how overwhelmed the Doctor is by the slight widening of his eyes and how his leg is bouncing under the table. My Doctor, always hyperactive.

"Well, ugh. My name is Jonathan Randall Smith, I live on Relative Street in London. I'm a doctor of astronomical sciences at Oxford University. I was born on the fifteenth of June, 1987–anything else?"

"You missed family," Oswin said.

He put on a smile, "My biological parents died twenty-two years ago. I lived with my grandma for a few months after that before she passed away."

Oswin tried to hide the flush in her face as she began regretting her decision to enquire about his home life.

"I was adopted when I was seven by the Pond family, who are probably the best people in the world. They have a daughter, Amelia. She's the same age as Clara, actually. She's married to this guy named Rory–Amy, I mean. Not Clara. Clara isn't married to Rory–" I could see that the Doctor was at the beginning of a ramble, when Oswin interjects.

"I dated a guy named Rory."

This is enough to pull the Doctor back on track. "-anyway, yeah, that's about it for family. Except for my brother. My biological brother, I mean. Harry. He has a wife, Lucy. And a son.

Silence.

I exhale, trying to break the awkwardness that had fallen over the table.

"You're related to so many famous people, it's not even funny!"

"Two." The Doctor corrects me as if that was the usual amount for the average person.

"That's more than I know."

Oswin frowned at our interaction, "famous people?"

"His sister is Amelia Williams-"

"The writer-?"

"And his brother is Harold Saxon."

Linda bit her lip. Dad became oddly fixated on John in that moment. Winnie's jaw practically dropped.

"You're joking!"

The Doctor sits back in his chair, become increasingly more comfortable with his surroundings. "I don't see what the big deal is. They're just people who make a fair bit of money off their job."

It was barely audible, but I faintly heard Winnie say as slight, "One good-looking family."

I rolled my eyes, and Winnie protested. "What? Have you seen Harold Saxon? Amelia Williams? They're so hot my eyes hurt just looking at them!"

Dad's eyebrows shot to the roof, though he had a slight smile fighting to curve his lips, as if Winnie's statement confirmed something for him.

Oswin covered her mouth in realisation. And suddenly I could see the gears in the Doctor's brain turn as if he'd just realised why exactly Nina had come to family dinner.

December fourteenth, 2013/May ninth, 2022 (The Doctor is thirty-six)

THE DOCTOR: I'm beating the shit out of some random drunk suburban guy who called me a kind of derogatory slur in reference to my clothing and then proceeded to try and beat me up to somehow prove my point.

I'm just about ready to smash his face in when I hear a familiar sound of Clara's voice, though with something slightly off. There's a reigning confidence in it that I couldn't quite pick. Indeed, when I looked up, it wasn't Clara, but instead her twin sister. I immediately stop beating the guy and relief fills my body.

"Hey, coffee boy," she says. I turn from my groaning homophobic yuppie to look at Oswin in the face.

"Oswin," I step back, "How's it going?"

"I don't want to disturb you or anything, but, uh, could you not beat up Adam?"

She's got to be joking. No way in hell is Oswin Oswald, my sister-in-law, friends with this homophobic asshole. "He asked for it."

She groaned, "What did he do this time?"

"He called me a 'faggot' meaning to insult me for my clothing choices."

"Okay, yeah, he deserved it." She agreed, " He's a dick, I know."

"Then why are you friends with him? You're bi, aren't you?" I asked, "Wouldn't you want to slap him upside the head."

"I hardly know you. I don't need to talk about this with you."

"Yes, you do," I said, "because, one day, we're going to be family."

It took her a few moments to comprehend what I'd just said.

"You're going to marry Clara?" she asked.

I frowned, "Why is that so surprising? What's the date?"

Oswin was beyond confused now. "December fourteenth?"

"What year?" I asked her. She raised her eyebrows and scoffs.

"My god, you're drunk," she shook her head, "Of course, that makes sense. You've only know her a few months, and now you want to marry her?"

"2013..." I murmured to myself, perhaps a little too loudly.

"Yeah. You alright?" she actually began to allow concern into her usually laid-back, cool expression.

"I'm fine." I stepped closer to her, "Let's go to the Coffeebreak, I'll explain everything in more detail there."

She nodded, bewildered. "Let me call an ambulance first.

We walked to the Coffeebreak in silence, and I got a table.

"So, what happened back there?" she asked.

"He saw how I was dressed. Got obnoxious. Tried to beat me up to prove a point. Got a nasty fright."

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"Long story." was all I said.

There was silence. Oswin sipped at her coffee.

"How are you not completely puffed?" she asked with absolute bewilderment.

"I don't know? Fit, I guess."

"Woah, man, you're in great shape. I thought you were about ready to kill Adam."

"I wouldn't have. I was just minding my own business."

She nodded thoughtfully, "Which was what, exactly?"

"Excuse me?"

"John, I'm not an idiot. I've seen you before. There's something about you. I don't know what it is–it's not quite right. I know people. People who know you. Women, mainly."

She waits for an answer. Funnily, I don't remember her asking a question, but she gave me an inquisitive look, uncanny to Clara's. It was only polite: "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Like how a doctor of astronomical sciences with such charm and kindness beats a guy into nothing. I want to know why River Song tried to kill you. I want to know why you look ten years older than when I last saw you. Your hair's got bits of grey in it. I want to know why you're a great pickpocket-"

"How would you know that?"

"I know people–anyway, I want to know why Clara had a photograph of you before she actually met you."

She looks up at me. I've seen this before. She can make almost any person crumble before her glare. I sigh with exasperation.

"Fine then. Here it is: time travel."

Oswin rolls her eyes at my seemingly condescending comment, but says nothing.

"I'm a time traveler. At the moment, I am thirty-six years old. This afternoon was the ninth of May, 2022. I was dressed for my niece's play. I was just finishing up helping Amy and Rory pack up when I went inside this blue box and I found myself about a block away from where you found me. It's like an obsession. Or an addiction. An addiction, more likely. A drug. I've tried to give it up. I really, really have, but it never works."

"Do you have things you regret?" she asked me curtly, her arms folded across her chest.

"Lots. Like teaching myself to pickpocket. But hey, money changes so frequently that it's a necessity. I can't go around, say, 1987, the year I was born, with money that has 2022 printed on them. That money's just about useless."

Silence.

"Do you actually know River Song?" I enquired of her.

"I know Jack Harkness."

I frowned, "You slept with him, didn't you?"

She scoffed, "I am not talking about this with you, old man."

"You slept with him." I affirm.

"Yeah, okay," she shrugged, "Fine, I did it! No regrets."

I smiled, and then she asked, "Why did River try and kill you?"

I sighed, running my hands through my hair, "she's a psychopath. She didn't have the greatest childhook–2013? Yeah, that would be her third attempt."

"But why you?"

"Crazy ex?"

"This is a crazy messed up joke, coffee boy."

"You want proof..."

"Of course."

"What about that photograph?" I suggest.

"Even that tripped me."

"Why don't you ask Clara? If you're skeptical?"

She nodded, "I did. I didn't believe her."

"Why not? She's a very truthful person."

Oswin frowned, "She's also been know to be manipulative sometimes. I hear that familiar wheezing of the box, and I turn to Oswin. I grab her by the wrist and begin pulling her outside of the café.

"What the hell are you doing?" she says, on the verge of a screech.

"I think you're about to get all the proof you want. Follow me."

December fifteenth, 2013 (Clara is twenty-five)

CLARA: It's a beautiful day and I'm on my way home from the Doctor's newly-furnished apartment. The streets are icy and there's a few inches of snow coating the ground. It makes riding a motorcycle a tad difficult, but I manage. I'm getting that rubbery feeling in my spine. A feeling I'm beginning to associate with the Doctor–John.

Oh, John. He's the same, yet different. He's younger, less scared. The Doctor I grew up with was in constant fear of screwing something up. Not this one. This one has nothing to be afraid of.

I float up the stairs to my apartment. This is one of the only days I will get some alone time in my apartment, as Oswin, Nina, Emma and Ada have been frequently coming over. Except, as soon as I open the door, I realise I'm not alone.

She doesn't speak, she just stares at me with a raised brow, hoping I will talk to her.

"Oswin," I ask, setting down my keys, "What are you doing here?"

She smiles, "I spent last night with that John of yours."

"So did I," I say.

"What did you do?" she asks.

I sighed, "We visited his office. He showed me the stars, then we watched Tangled. I went to his place–"

"–And you just left."

"Yeah"

"Well, my evening was much less romantic, but more eventful. I found John in some alley by that coffeeshop you like, beating Adam–"

"Adam Mitchell?" I asked, "Your co-worker?"

"Yeah. Rose told me this morning that he has a broken nose, broken ribs, five broken bones in his hand, and forty-six stitches." I'm unmoved by this. Adam was a jerk that thinks he knows better than everybody else just because he can work a computer.

"What did Adam do?"

Winnie begins to look uncomfortable, "Apparently, he was being a homophobic bigot."

"Usual, then," I nodded.

Oswin smiled, "And then we had food at the Coffeebreak." There was a pause, like she wanted to add something else, but was too scared. This was a rarity for Oswin. She could usually be trusted to speak her mind.

"He told me the same story you told me."

"And why did you believe him?"

"I could tell he actually knew me, very well, in fact. I had only really realised about six months ago that I was bi, and he just brings it up like it's no big deal." I nod, sympathetically.

"And then he hopped inside that box and just... disappeared. Like he was never there."

I sighed, "He does that. He drops in, changes people's lives, and then leaves like it was nothing. Hey, when was he coming from?"

"2022. He said he was thirty-six. He looked much older though–"

"That's one of his stress years." I explain, "Something big is happening then. I can't remember what, though. It's been eight years since he told me."

Oswin leans forward gravely, "He says he's going to marry you. Don't accept."

"He hasn't even asked me yet."

"You know what I mean. Martha Smith-Jones, from the hospital, she fancied him a while back, and he tossed her away. River Song wants to kill him, literally. When are you going to wake up? I don't want you waltzing into the arms of a sociopath."

"He's not a sociopath. And anyway, it's much too late."

December twenty-two, 2013 (The Doctor is twenty-seven, and thirty-three)

THE DOCTOR: At 5:25am, the buzzer rings. That's never a good omen.

"Hey, John. Let me up, why don't ya?"

The voice sounds like my father once did. In an unsettling, uncanny way. Like listening to an old recording, or reading old journal entries.

I stagger over the abundance of boxes on the ground, and press the button to let him in. Forty-five seconds later, the elevator clunks and start to ratchet its way up. I pull on my robe over my pyjamas and wait in the hall. Sure enough, my visitor is me.

He steps into the corridor, wearing a hoodie and black jeans. His hair is a mess, his jaw is unshaven. I pull him by the wrist into the apartment and lock the door behind us. He looks me over, "Blimey, I was young."

"How old are you?" I ask, throwing any manners the Ponds had ingrained in me out the window.

"Thirty-three. What's the date?"

"December twenty-second, 2013." He groans, 'Ugh, that evening. Now that was abysmal."

He walks into my room, and goes under the covers.

"Um, John?" I ask myself, "When are you from?"

He groans again, and takes some time to think. "November thirteenth, 2019. I was about to go to bed, and you're going to let me, or you're going to really regret it in six years."

That's a reasonable enough answer. I take off my robe and get back into bed. Now, I'm on the wrong side: Clara's side. My doppelgänger has taken over my side of the bed.

I ponder my double. He's curled up. Hedgehod style, facing away from me. Evidently already asleep. I envy him. He is me, but I am not him. Not yet. He has lived through six years of life that still remains a mystery to me. Whatever pleasures he's had, I have no had them yet. Is he married? Does he have a kid? Kids?

I try to consider him with Clara's eyes–this is the man that she's know since childhood. He's a lot more muscular than I am, and has heavy dark circles under his eyes. Clara told me the oldest she's seen me is forty-something, and I wear glasses. That man is foreign to me.

Evening, the same day (The Doctor is twenty-seven, and thirty-three, Clara is twenty-five)

CLARA: We're off to see the new Disney movie–'Frozen'–in 3D. The Doctor is reluctant, which I don't understand because he loves Disney movies. He must know something.

We stand in line for a few minutes to get our food. He has the tickets in his pocket, and I'm starting to wonder whether or not to trust him with them, as he is so completely against the movie.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

He looks at me and forces an unnatural smile that the Doctor does. "Nothing, I'm fine."

We move up in the line and the lady at the cash register asks if we want anything.

He nods, "Just a Coke, please."

I smile, "Yes, and can we please have a large popcorn?"

"Will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you." I give her a smile a she hands us our food in exchange for money.

Something catches his eye, and he excuses himself. I notice all the people–little girls with costumes on, parents who look just as excited. I feel like the odd one out. A twenty-five year old woman coming to see a Disney movie with her currently-absent boyfriend.

He has been gone a long time, and so I go in search for him.

When I discover him, in what first looked like quite an intimate position, until I realised that he was yelling at the gorgeous woman in front of him.

She looked much older, kind of Mrs. Robinson-esque. She wore a cream-colored shirt with a belt and had beautiful blonde frizzy hair.

"River, I can't do this now."

"Why not? You wouldn't answer your phone?" she says it with a kind of flirty undertone that I couldn't miss.

"Yes, but don't make a scene while I'm at a movie with my girlfriend."

"What do you want me to do? Graffiti the Great Wall of China?"

"Go ahead!" he began shouting, but in that kind of whisper-like shouting. I couldn't tell whether or not it was working when the Doctor noticed me, and he stepped towards me.

"Doctor, what's going on?"

River snorts somehow attractively, "'Doctor'? Wow, since when are you into weird kinks?" she turns to me, "What are you, the nurse?"

"Leave her alone, River."

She pouted with forceful innocence.

"Clara, this is Doctor Song."

"Professor Song," she corrected.

"Professor," I bit my lip, fighting against the feelings of inferiority creeping into my thoughts, "Right, okay."

Slightly later, I go to the ladies' halfway though the film, and I see River in there crying.

"What's your name?" asks one of the ladies with her.

"Clara." The lady snorts.

"That's a stupid name. Word of advice–you don't know what you're getting into. John Smith, he's bad news. He's River's bad news. You hear me?"

I roll my eyes, "I've known him almost my entire life. I met him when he was six."

"Is that so? says River, "so perhaps you know his biggest, darkest secret?"

I swallow, "Yes."

"Hmmph, well. Then I guess it's your own fault when you get hurt, Sweetie. And I'll be right here with John in my arms."

author's note: i'm so sorry for villifying river i stg i love her okay it's just how she fit into the story