Nina had dragged her to a pub. It wasn't really Clara's thing, but her friend was in need and maybe a few drinks wouldn't hurt. She slid her finger slowly over the mouth of her mug, listening intently to the young woman arguing that maybe men weren't the best option in life. Maybe, Nina slurred, maybe men were pointless and brute and things to be used and tossed aside – like they treated women.

"Nina, let's not be rash," Clara warned as Nina slapped her arms against the table and complained. "There are a lot of really good things about men."

"As a species?"

"They're not a species," Clara laughed.

Nina pointed, "They're totally another species – like from space. Space blokes. Maybe there are space blokes and normal blokes and all the normal blokes are in Norway."

Eyeing the other woman, Clara shook her head and declared, "Cutting you off."

"But I've just gotten started," Nina whined.

Clara sighed, "Yup, definitely cutting you off."

"Why'd he do it, Clara?" The question was pained and honest and Clara opened her mouth to respond, but remained silent a moment, staring into her friend's eyes. There wasn't an easy answer, and she wasn't sure what her friend needed to hear.

Men did all sorts of things without provocation, without reason, without thinking. They could be gentle and kind and wonderful and they could turn around and be cruel and selfish and stupid, but Clara knew women could – and definitely were – the same. Of course, she knew she'd never cheat on her boyfriend, if she ever got around to finding one. And she knew Nina didn't deserve to be cheated on as her friend had been loyal to the moron who'd put them in this situation: crying in a pub and questioning what she'd done wrong.

"It wasn't anything you did," Clara assured, knowing it was the truth. "I don't know why he did it – lost his bloody mind – but it certainly wasn't you. He obviously doesn't deserve you and you shouldn't spend another moment thinking on it."

Nina nodded, slowly, and then dropped her temples to her fingertips, snorting down at the table before muttering, "Maybe I should go out, do something drastic," she glanced up and around the pub, "Pick up a new bloke."

Clara laughed aloud and reached out to stop her friend from leaving the booth, "Nina, no, no, you're not just going to pluck yourself a new set of regrets we'll be talking about tomorrow!"

With a frown, Nina nodded and dropped back against the plush cushions that gave a tired wheeze. "Maybe just back to the flat for a good sleep."

Reaching out to take her the tops of her hands, Clara told her firmly, "Good sleep, good cry, and some tea."

Nina laughed, and turned her palms up so Clara could clasp her hands, giving her friend a small nod of assurance. They would go back to Nina's; she would put a kettle on, listen to her cry just a bit more, and once she'd fallen asleep, she would… the door burst open and Clara turned slowly towards the sound, one eyebrow arching high as she took in the odd man now stumbling inside with a sly grin and a mess of black hair.

He seemed enchanted by the place, peering around and almost immediately catching her eyes, which widened as he moved towards her with intent. Clara shifted back in the booth and turned her gaze to her friend, still looking at the stranger.

"Excuse me, milady, if I could interrupt for a moment to ask a question," he drawled.

Clearing her throat, Clara turned and lifted her chin slightly, trying to give an air of disinterest while taking in the red vest that revealed a light sprinkling of chest hair, the long leather coat with the embroidered cuffs that swayed slightly from his momentum towards her as he stood, waiting. "Ask away," she managed, meeting the devilish spark in his bright blue eyes, vaguely aware of Nina kicking her underneath the table.

With a half grin, he asked, "What is the year?"

"The what?" Clara repeated, bending slightly, as if the distance between them had been at fault for the misunderstanding and she instantly regretted it because he shifted forward as well, nose now mere inches from hers as his smile spread and his brow softened.

"The year," he whispered.

"It's 2012," she responded in kind.

The man released a laugh as he straightened before allowing, "Missed the mark by a bit more than a stone's throw, Smee."

Clara shifted back to look for his companion, but found herself exchanging a confused look with a few other patrons who shrugged and went back to their drink obviously content with imagining this fellow had simply had one too many at another pub. And Clara agreed, head tilting back to observe the jewelry on his fingers and the sheath of a sword at his ornate belt.

"Lost your mate?" Clara questioned, watching him turn before he swung back and stared up at the ceiling in obvious frustration.

He narrowed his eyes at her and teased, "Would you like to replace him? I've got plenty of rum on the ship and a hearty appetite for a good time, love."

Nina snorted.

"She's invited too," he added, "If you're into that sort of…"

"No," Clara laughed. "No, and we really should be going, sir."

"Sir," the man tilted back to repeat. "I quite like the sound of that."

With an amused huff, Clara declared with a look over his appearance, "Much loftier than pirate."

"So much so," he replied with a small wag of his head.

Clara shifted to the edge of her seat and she cleared her throat at him, watching as he took a step back with a half bow and then grinned up at her. Knowing he was affecting her despite her best efforts to remain unaffected and Clara got the impression that the smug gentleman in front of her was used to the reaction. She steeled herself and hopped onto the wooden floor, bumping him away to offer her friend an arm.

"We should maybe take him up…" Nina started.

"You, hush," Clara spat.

"Your friend has a touch of rational thought," the man offered, waiting.

"Nina," her friend told him readily.

Clara's head snapped to the other woman, anger burning her face before she told her, "Really, Nina."

"Clara, come on, he's a handsome enough bl…"

"No," Clara replied.

"Clara," the man said lightly, waiting for her to meet his eyes again before he bowed lowly and then looked up from under his brow deviously to allow, "Killian Jones, at your service, should you be needing any."

Rolling her eyes, Clara told him firmly, "I shant, actually, but thanks for the offer. Should I be needing entertainment for a girl's party, I could give you a ring – do I blow into a conk shell, or send up smoke signals?"

He stood straight as Clara pushed past him, Nina hanging on her arm. Gaining a few odd looks from the others in the pub – others, she knew, who might know her father and ask him about his daughter's drunken friend or her feisty exchange with this strange man – Clara made her way to the front door, turning only when Killian shouted her name. And when she looked, she instantly regretted it seeing the smug look of satisfaction on his face, that she'd turned when called.

"Be seeing you, Clara," he told her plainly.

With a shake of her head and a simple smile, she replied, "No, you won't."

But he was still smiling and, despite herself, as she walked out into the snow, she grinned.