A day had passed since lessons had started in the William's household, and Clara had yet to see Mr. Smith again. Another passed, and then another, then two, and three, and the cycle continued. Once a week had passed without the smallest hint of the recluse in sight, Clara shrank with disappointment.

Lessons continued splendidly, and although she was delighted that her students were finally interested in learning, Clara felt like the majority of the praise should go to Mr. Smith rather than herself. He had been the one to give her the idea to tell stories, after all. There was the itch in the back of her skull telling her to thank him in person, to defy everything and march up the steps to his door.

But there wasn't even a flicker of his breath in the air. And she was a cowardly woman who didn't have the courage to make such a bold move.

In fact, Mr. Smith, John, as Rory had instructed her to start calling him, was so distant that if she had been anyone else she would have figured that he had left the manor, or that he had never even been there at all. The only thing that told of his presence was the occasional slam of his door and the meals that Vastra or Jenny occasionally sent up to his room.

He spent the majority of his time in his room or the library, sometimes Clara would pop up the stairs to find a book that she needed, and found that the library door was locked shut. She didn't ever dare to open it or call out his name, but if she listened hard enough she could hear the sounds of pacing through the wooden door. Whatever it is that Master Smith did in there for hours at a time was beyond her.

Although her curiosity toward the mysterious resident of the manor was still burning bright, life moved on without Master Smith. Clara's day was always busy it seemed; if she wasn't tutoring the children then she was having a lovely conversation with Master Williams, or helping with the laundry with Jenny and Vastra, who told the most hilarious tales, and on occasion she would accompany Drax into town to help with the shopping errands. Clara settled into her new role quite nicely; she truly did love her new job, much more so than any of her past places of employment. Everyone here was so kind and generous, there was no sniveling maid whispering about her in the corner, or a irritable mother snapping at her. It was peaceful.

"Clara?"

The governess was pulled out of her thoughts by Jenny's sweet voice. She shook her head and looked up to look at Jenny, a unfolded pile of laundry sitting in front of her.

"Miss Clara, are you alright?" Jenny asked, biting down on her lower lip with a look of deep concern.

Clara smiled brightly and nodded, a slight blush turning her cheeks red; she was embarrassed at being caught daydreaming. "Yes Jenny, I am perfectly alright," she said, starting to fold the pile of laundry once again, "I suppose I'm just tired, its been a very long day."

"Oh, I heard. Master Williams told me that you and the children took a walk around the property today. Were the children very rowdy?"

"No," Clara shook her head, looking up at Jenny with a smile. "They were wonderful. They love the outdoors, but it's far too cold for my liking, although I don't quite have the heart to tell them that."

The topic changed quite quickly after that, Jenny began to talk about the trip to the beach she and Vastra were planning on making once the springtime came around. Master Williams had given them a whole week off for them to spend the time together. It was some sort of anniversary for the two, Jenny wouldn't say what, but she got a dreamy look in her eye whenever she mentioned the getaway.

There was a sudden noise upstairs that pulled the two women out of conversation. It was the sound of pacing footsteps above them. The laundry room, where the two women were folding clothes was directly below John's bedroom and study. Clara wouldn't have known that unless she had followed Jenny up one evening to give the recluse a plate of dinner one evening.

"What is he doing up there?" Clara asked, as she folded one of Arthur's shirts with precision. "Everyday, he starts stomping around up there."

"Did Master Williams not tell you?" Jenny asked, setting a folded shirt on top of Clara's. "Mr. Smith is a writer, he does all of his work from his study. He paces around like that when he's thinking apparently, I don't know why he does it, I just know that it's best not to interrupt him."

"He writes?" Clara was astounded. As horrible as it was to think, Clara had assumed that Master Smith was unemployed, and was just living off his good friend Rory's kindness. She had no idea that he had some form of employment, even if it was as risky as a writing profession. "What does he write? Rory never told me any of this?"

Jenny nodded with a small smile. "Oh yes, Master Smith writes novels of some sort, oh what did he call them...science fiction? Yes, I do believe that was it. I've never read any of them but from what I hear, he has a decent following of readers. He's as successful as writers can get I suppose."

"He's been writing for years, since before the Pond's got married. He helped Master Williams buy the manor in fact, although I believe that he could have done that even without the help of the books as income."

"That's fascinating," Clara whispered, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment. She could hear his footsteps above her, suddenly she wondered what he was pacing about upstairs. Was he writing some complex ending? A devastating character death perhaps? Or maybe some kind of intense action sequence that required such precise word choices that would leave him pacing upstairs for as long as he had been. "So, is that what he does all day up there alone?"

Jenny shrugged slightly. "I think so, at least to my knowledge. No one is allowed to read his books before they are published, and no one is to enter his room when he's up there. The only person he lets read his novels before they are finished is his editor and publisher."

That was the last time they spoke of Master Smith's work for a while. It didn't come up in the conversation for many more weeks until one night at dinner when the man slinked down the stairs and sat at the table for dinner after the children were put to bed as though he did it every evening. The whole table stood in shock for a moment, staring with mouths agape at the recluse as he served himself a plate of food silently. Rory stood up from the table like lightning, his chair tossed to the floor behind him.

John looked up at him with mild interest, as though confused by his shocked outburst. "What did you do that for, Rory?"

Rory opened and closed his mouth a few times, as though searching through the recesses of his mind for the right words. Clara, Jenny, and Drax exchanged a look, confused by the interaction between the two men. "Y-You're here."

"Yes," Master Smith said casually, turning his attention to cutting the roasted chicken on his plate, "I got tired of eating alone. I thought you all could use the company."

Rory seemed to collect himself at that statement; he picked up his chair off the floor and lowered himself in it slowly, staring at his friend as though he would disappear in a second. "I take it then that you are...feeling better?"

John paused his cutting and looked up at Rory, his eyes hot with something that looked like embarrassment; however, besides the look in his eyes, John didn't show any indication that he wanted the conversation to be moved to somewhere more private. Instead he turned his attention to Clara, who just seemed to remember that she was seated next to him. "Clara," he said quietly, pulling her out of her nosy eavesdropping, "Would you mind passing me the plate of greens."

Clara recovered from her shock quickly, walking over to the other side of the table and grabbing the half-full platter of green beans, handing the dish over to the man, who accepted it with a quiet grunt of thanks. She took her seat beside him silently.

"So," Clara began, silently begging Jenny and Vastra to stay as they said their goodbyes and hurried out of the dining room to help in the kitchen, their dresses brushed together as they walked away. "How did you and Master Williams meet exactly? He tells me that you two are very close friends."

John glanced over at Rory, who was still sitting stoically at the table, rubbing his hand over the slight splatter of facial hair, lost in thought as he stared at his friend, as though afraid he would disappear if he took his eyes off of him. "We met after I came down to London one summer to visit Amy. She introduced me to her fiance, who happened to be Rory." The man trailed off, making it very clear to Clara that he didn't feel like discussing the matter for very long.

Clara tried a different approach, one more awkward silence and she would make her escape. Although she was delighted to see Master Smith, he was acting more strange than usual, and it unnerved her. "I heard from Jenny that you are a writer," Clara began, folding her napkin over and over in her hands, "I would love to read one of your books someday. Do you think they are appropriate for the children to read?"

John turned to face her for the first time that night, his brows furrowed as he wiped at his mouth with a napkin. "My books are very dark and probably far too mature for the children," He said honestly, placing the piece of cloth in his lap, "Who told you that I was a writer?"

Clara stuttered and looked toward Rory, unsure if she had overstepped some kind of line.

"I did." Rory spoke up, grabbing John's attention. "Clara was asking for book recommendations and I told her the truth; I'm not the most qualified on the subject of books. That title belongs to you, and then I happened to mention that you write. Why, John, is that a problem?"

"No, no of course not. Its just not often that someone asks about my work is all." He turned back to Clara, "Would you really like to read some of my works?"

Clara nodded, still too shocked and worried to say anything else. John took note of her and nodded himself, standing up from the table and making his way upstairs. He shuffled around up there for a few moments before bringing down a heavy tome, covered in dust and bound in the most beautiful leather, painted like the color of the night sky, with swirling galaxies in bright purples and shades of violet. The Eleventh Hour was painted on in gold.

"That's the first in the series."

And then without another word, the man was gone, the plate of food taken up to his bedroom, only the whip of his bed robe and the creak of the stairs announcing his departure. Clara felt the heavy book in her hands, feeling the weight of it, running her fingers over the sides of the pages. "Did I offend him somehow, Rory?" She asked after a moment of silence, turning to find the master of the house with his head in his hands. He waved off her concern with his hand.

"No, he's just like that. Here one minute and gone the next." He commented, a small smile on his face. "I'm surprised he let you see his work, he's usually pretty private about his writing...especially around…" He didn't say the word 'stranger' but it was implied. It was sometimes easy to forget that, she was indeed a stranger to John. He probably didn't spend nearly as much time thinking about her as she did him.

"Have you read any of his books?" Clara asked him, curious to open the tome in her hands.

"I read some of his older titles, he's been writing since before Amy and I were engaged. He would always hand out deluxe editions for me and Amy to read, but he never gave me that series, he wrote them after her death, I assumed they were too personal for me to read."

Clara looked down at the beautiful book with curiosity, slowly inching her way out of the dining room. She wanted to open it up, see the secrets that it held, secrets that even Master Williams didn't know about.

"He seems to like you, Clara." Rory said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"He's never really opened up to anyone like he has with you," Rory continued, standing up from his seat, "I know it doesn't seem like he's very open, you hardly see him. But since Amy's death he's been very shut off. I'm glad to see that he trusts you, even if he doesn't know you well."

After he said his goodbyes, Master Williams made his way to his downstairs bedroom, his bare feet padding against the wooden floors. Pretty soon, Clara was left alone in the dining room, pressing the book that she had just recieved tight against her bosom.

She made her way over to her room, quickly lighting a candle by her bedside. She curled up under the covers and placed the book in her lap, running her hands over the smooth leather. The book was in mint condition, there were no creases in the binding, no tears or stains on the pages. It was even wrapped up in a beautiful purple bow, tied off neatly. The book was beautifully presented, almost as though it was prepared to be a present to someone.

Clara opened up the front cover with shaking hands, her fingers running over the rough paper seam. Inside there was a dedication to one Impossible, mad Amelia Pond. Clara skipped to the first page and began reading. She stayed up all night dissecting the book. Apparently, the series was about an alien from a distant planet called Gallifrey who traveled in a telephone box that was actually his spaceship. He had lived for hundreds of years and seen thousands of different planets. Clara fell asleep before she made it very far, the Doctor, as the lonely alien called himself had just met a little girl with the fairytale name.

AN: Hey guys I hope you enjoyed this chapter, sorry for being gone so long. Hopefully you didn't find the chapter overly rushed, it was my intention to make the events feel a little rushed, because of how suddenly John appears and disappears. Also, as you can probably tell I changed the summary of this story slightly, I just didn't like where I had planned it to go and I figured it was early enough the creation of the fic to change it. Anyway...as always I look forward to your opinion on the chapter. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.