Chapter Text
Malcolm Tucker wanted to smack his head against the fucking wall. No, wait a minute; he wanted to smack her head against the fucking wall. Being a media strategist for a party was hard work at the best of times - he should know, he’d been doing it for god knows how long – and it involved making a lot of decisions that people with more power than him should be making, but were too chicken shit to do so. So when the cabinet re-shuffle came around and every one lost their heads over who’d replace Hugh, they turned to him to find a solution. And he’d made a lot of shitty choices in his time, really shitty choices – but NONE were as rushed or as ill thought out as his decision to make Nicola-fucking-Murray the newest head of DoSAC.
He was scrolling through a recent article in which ‘The Guardian’ described her as ‘clueless’ and Malcolm had a hard time not chocking on his coffee. Clueless didn’t even begin to describe the multi-fuckup that Nicola was proving to be. In fact, he was convinced that she’d never even been in an office, let alone run one. He felt like he had to constantly walk behind her with a broom and bucket just to make sure he could clean up the trail of shit she seemed to leave in her wake.
Ha, he thought, Nicola Murray’s wake. Now there’s a party I wouldn’t miss.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Malcolm looked up from his phone and saw Oliver Reeder standing in the doorway of his office. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Your face twitched,” he continued, ignoring the question. “Could have been an attempt at a smile – looked more like you were having a stroke.” Malcolm didn’t say a word, didn’t need to, he just raised one eyebrow and the lanky streak of Reeder piss was already backtracking. “Not that I’m saying you look like a stroke victim or, you know, that you were smiling or-“
“Get to the point, some of us have work to do.”
“Right, yes, okay.” Oliver fiddled with his tie, “see the thing is, you know how you told Nicola Murray to enrol her daughter in a comprehensive school?”
The school he’d spent a whole day trying to arrange? The school he’d hounded until they agreed to take Murrays daughter? Yes, he’d say he remembered.
“Well,” Ollie continued, “she hasn’t gone with that option and she’s currently at her preferred private school, booking her daughters tuition.” His words were coming out faster now, tripping over each other, “and some how it got out to the press so they’re on their way too and-“
Malcolm could feel his grip getting tighter around his blackberry. He leaves Nicola alone for five minutes and she already manages to fuck up the carefully formed plan he, yes he, devised in an attempt to make her look semi competent in the eyes of the media. “Oh for fuck sake! Sam!”
His assistant popped her head inside his office. “Yes?”
“Get me a car, fucking quickly, right?” Malcolm pointed a finger at Ollie, “you. You’re coming with me.”
“But-“
Malcolm wasn’t listening, his jacket was already on and his feet were already moving. He had to get to Nicola Murray before she ruined everything he’d set in motion – couldn’t she see he was trying to stop her from hanging herself with her own rope? I’m too fucking old for this, he thought as he dragged Ollie into the car waiting outside.
~*~*~*~
I’m so not prepared for this, Clara Oswald thought as she watched The Doctor move around the TARDIS with all the elegance of Bambi on ice. He was excited about something, she didn’t know what because she hadn’t been listening since they left the ship in the asteroid belt. Aristotle it was called.
The thing was, The Doctor was… different now. Good different or bad different she wasn’t sure yet. The old face with bow tie was happy, smiley, predictable, and flirty. This new face was… well, for one she hadn’t seen him smile at any appropriate moment. Two, he certainly wasn’t predictable and three this face was far closer to something she’d want to flirt with.
She hadn’t actually fancied the Doctor before now and she certainly hadn’t been unsure of his motives before now. It was unsettling and left her on edge. Before Trenzalore, before everything had gone wrong, she’d had control of her life and how The Doctor fitted into it – but now he was turning up three weeks late and unannounced in her school cupboard just so he could fly her off to a holiday inside a Dalek.
And then he’d thrown that question at her. “Am I a good man?” Well how was she supposed to answer that? She couldn’t say yes, because she’d seen him angry – she’d heard the stories of the populations he’d culled – and she couldn’t say no because she’d seen the lives he’d saved, watched him walk through hell and back to save her. “I don’t know,” she’d replied and he looked so disappointed that she nearly changed her answer.
Then they’d gone into the Dalek, people had died, and they had argued but ultimately the day was saved. And now he was babbling about a planet made of clouds like nothing had even happened.
Clara felt like she needed some air – today had been enough time travelling to last her for a few weekends, she was sure. “Doctor can you take me back to my school now?”
He stopped what he was doing and cocked his head. “Why? Didn’t you just hear what I said? Planet of the clouds, rain that tastes like bubblegum – and sometimes acid - but that’s not the point.”
“Yes, it sounds… wonderful, but I still have things to do at home, on Earth. In case you’ve forgotten I am a teacher.”
“A teacher?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.
“Yes, a teacher. Do you really never pay attention to me when I’m talking?” Then, seeing the guilty look on his face Clara sighed; that was opening a whole conversation she really didn’t have the energy for today. “Look, never mind. Can you just take me back?”
The Doctor pulled a lever; there was a slight thud and then silence. “Coal Hill School, Thursday, 3:45 in the afternoon. Close?”
Clara put her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the TARDIS doors. “Closer than Glasgow three weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry?”
She smiled; he heard everything. “Nothing.”
“Clara?” he asked and she turned to look at him. “Coal Hill School is it?” He raised an eyebrow. “I might pop in sometime.”
“Don’t you dare.” Her warning was playful, but as she stepped out the TARDIS doors and back into the storage cupboard she heard his response.
“I don’t take orders, Clara.”
And much to her horror, he sounded serious.
~*~*~*~
Malcolm had made it just in time to see Nicola Murray, followed by the oaf that was Glen Cullen, get swarmed by the press as she stepped out from the pearly private school gates. Ollie was laughing at how flustered she looked and Malcolm might have found it funny too if this didn’t reflect so badly on his party.
An overpaid MP, claiming to be ‘one of the people’, sending her daughter to an over priced private school? He could the see headlines now. And then, looming behind the headlines, he could see the mountain of fucking paperwork he’d be left with in order to try and clear things up. Thank Christ he got there in time and got her away from the cameras.
“I don’t know what makes you think you have the right to barge into my daughters new school.“ Nicola was talking at him, running her mouth like a wind up toy that had been on full throttle since their car journey started twenty minutes ago. He’d stopped listening two weeks ago after she’d first introduced herself to him, but that didn’t make her noise any less irritating.
“Not your daughters new school,” he corrected, jabbing away at the buttons of his phone. “We’ve been through this a thousand fucking times. That was just a routine visit, right? You’re weighing up your options and you’ve gone for the comprehensive school.” Nicola went to say something, but he cut her off before she got the chance. “Is your daughter stupid?”
Her mouth had popped open like a fish. “Excuse me?”
“I said, is your daughter stupid? Thick? You know, a little bit slow? A little bit mental? I can phrase it fifty thousand fucking ways if you want me to.”
“No,” said Nicola, sounding outraged. “How dare you-“
“Right, it doesn’t matter what shitty classroom she sits in then, does it?“ And Malcolm nearly carried on, but he’d explained over and over again why he was right and she was wrong – and he wasn’t in the habit of repeating himself.
The car pulled to a stop outside the school, the correct comprehensive one, and Malcolm watched as Nicola eyed it through the window and then pulled a face. “Coal Hill School?”
“Well bend me over and fuck me sideways,” said Malcolm as he got out of the car, “Nicola Murray can read.” She was quick to follow his lead and the two of them made their way to the entrance where two smiley teachers were waiting.
“I can small the teen pregnancy already,” Nicola mumbled, slogging ahead to do the greetings.
Bitch, Malcolm thought. He came from a public school and he still managed to come out the other end with more sense than all of the polo playing, money-shitting wankers that liked to call themselves his superiors. But that wasn’t the point; he wasn’t here to flaunt his old successes, he was here to add to them by making sure Nicola signed away her daughters teenage years to this school.
As Malcolm was saying his ‘hello’s’ to the teachers and trying not to think of the million other things he had to deal with when he got back to the office, he saw Glen and Ollie pull into the car park and then approach them. Malcolm had never been happier to see the pair of twats – at least with these two here, he could get back to work on his phone until the deal was done.
“Ah it’s Tweedle prick and Tweedle prat,” he said, looking the two men up and down.
“Why are we here, Malcolm?” asked Glen, looking every bit his sixty years.
“Because you two are going to go with Nicola and make sure she signs that paper, right? I don’t care how you do it, strap a fucking bomb to her if you have to, but get it done.”
“And while we’re in there doing the impossible?” Ollie asked, gesturing to the room Nicola had just followed the head teacher into.
“I’ll be out here,” Malcolm said, taking a stride toward the youngster, “stopping the rest of DoSAC falling apart while I’m not there to hold its hand.”
It seemed that was warning enough because the two men scurried off to attempt to do their jobs. Meanwhile Malcolm began to pace, but he was sure to keep within Nicolas line of sight, every so often passing by the door just to serve as a scary fucking reminder that if she fucked this up, he was coming for her and this time the bollocking wouldn’t be so lax.
It was about ten minutes later when the sound of heeled footsteps briefly drew his attention from the screen of his phone. He didn’t really pay much attention to the woman and after a quick assessment he decided she was just another teacher going about her business.
“Doctor?”
Malcolm looked behind him to see who the woman was speaking to, but saw no one else. Must be off her rocker, he thought and went back to his phone.
“Uh, Doctor, don’t ignore me.” The woman came closer, so close in fact that this time Malcolm was forced to acknowledge her.
He looked her up and down – short, large face, prying eyes. “Are you talking to me?”
She cocked her head. “Do you see anyone else in this hallway? I knew you wouldn’t stay away, even though I just told you to stay out of my school. You really don’t listen to me when I talk do you?” This girl waited for a response, but when he was too dumbfounded to give one, she carried on. “What is this then, spy on the companion day? Secret alien living under the school?” Then she frowned, “please don’t tell me it’s an alien living under the school.”
Malcolm continued to stare and thought perhaps Nicolas concerns about this school had some grounds, after all if they were letting loons like this one near it’s students then no wonder they all failed. “Listen sweetheart, I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” he noticed how she flinched when he swore, but he carried on anyway. “So if you wouldn’t mind scampering back to your class of snot-nosed kids, I can get back to my work.”
Clara couldn’t believe her ears, or her eyes, or anything really. What was going on? Since when did The Doctor think he could swear at her and get away with it? She could understand him acting differently if he was trying to stay anonymous, but subtle wasn’t exactly the Doctors style and not involving her in the adventure certainly wasn’t him. Plus, she’d just left the TARDIS and warned him not to encroach on her life on Earth; was he really so selfish that he ignored everything she said? Also, how dare he talk to her like that – she didn’t care who he was pretending to be, no one called the kids in her class snot-nosed. It was safe to say Clara was fuming.
She folded her arms across her chest. “You listen Doctor, I don’t know what’s gotten into you or how long as passed since our last detour, but it’s only been about ten minutes for me and if you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll detach something from you.” Clara paused for effect, “and it won’t be an arm. Also, while we’re at it, don’t think that just because you’ve changed into some stupid…” she looked him up and down, finally settling on his eyes, “old man suit, that you get to parade around my school like you don’t even know me.”
Malcolm was acutely aware that the conversation between Nicola Murray and the head teacher had stopped, he was acutely aware that everyone in that room was gawping at him through the glass and that his phone was beeping like crazy in his hand, but most of all he was aware of the young woman who had just spoken to him without the slightest hint of fear in her voice. He didn’t quite know how to react at first – she was clearly fucking insane, that much was obvious – but there was something in her eyes that made him stop.
Even Sam, who’d been his right arm for years, would never speak to him so candidly, so unafraid. Yet this teacher, English teacher judging by the bundle of Pride and Prejudice papers in her arms, had not only argued with him, but she’d put him in his place too. At the very least he was intrigued.
Malcolm grabbed her arm and pulled her a little way down the hall – he didn’t like to be stared at. “Look sweetheart, I don’t fucking know you, alright? And in case you haven’t noticed I’m as busy as a Victorian whore with no knickers on.”
Clara could feel her hands balling up into fists – how dare he. How dare her friend, best friend, speak to her like that. “Where did you fly off to this time, Doctor?” she hissed, “did you get into trouble and regenerate again, only this time into an even bigger egomaniac? Just tell me what’s going on? Is this an undercover operation for UNIT? Are you-“
Malcolms ears pricked up then. UNIT? Now that was interesting. He’d seen files on them, heard vague rumours about their work and occasionally he’d spun a story or two which would be passed to them – but he’d never been told who they were or what they did. Yet, here was this young thing talking about it like it was old news. Maybe she wasn’t so crazy – maybe, if he spun her up in a little bit of a web, she’d spill the beans and he could add more things to his pile of ‘information reserved for blackmail’. “UNIT, you said?”
For a moment, Clara didn’t quite process what he said. She was still so angry that anything than other a grovelling apology was sort of pushed to the side, but suddenly she began to notice. She looked at this man again - he was exactly like The Doctor. Not sort of – exactly, eerily so. He had lines in the same place; his fingers and hands were the same size and moved the same way when he spoke. The accent was the identical deep Scottish tone, his eyes the same steely ‘stay-away-from-me’ blue and even the way he held himself screamed ‘Doctor’!
Now she thought about it, it was all too strange. Too exact. And he really didn’t look like he had a clue about UNIT. Had she just fallen into an elaborate plan? An elaborate trap? Maybe this really wasn’t The Doctor, but instead some strange genetically engineered doppelganger. Suddenly Clara realised she’d made a huge mistake. “UNIT? Hahaha, no… no, I didn’t say that. What is that anyway?” she began to back up, “well sorry to bother you, but I really must be getting back to class. Goodbye Mr…?”
“Tucker,” he offered, trying not to laugh at her horrendous attempt to backtrack. Too late now love, he thought, you’ve already put your foot in your mouth. He watched her scurry away down the hall; rounding the corner so quickly one of the papers fell from her hands. He waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps then went to pick it up.
“Social issues in Pride and Prejudice,” he read, “Class 3C essay for Miss Oswald.” This Miss Oswald had information about a part of the government he didn’t, and that didn’t sit comfortably with him.
“Well Oswald,” he said, tucking the badly penned essay into this pocket, “I’ll be seeing you very shortly.”