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She’s the last one standing, running from the droids on what’s been her ship for almost a year. She’s bleeding, her jumpsuit is torn, but she’s still got her vortex manipulator. Thank the stars. She gulps down some precious air while matching the co-ordinates to those of the closest open time window (she wouldn’t step through one unless she absolutely had to, not when she had a perfectly good manipulator). An undercover time agent wasn’t supposed to abandon her mission for something like this, but she was not really in the mood to become spare parts.
She presses the button and melts into the vortex.
*
18th century France, Earth, though. She’s certainly not staying. There are a lot of time windows open, and her manipulator isn’t faring well in the turbulence; its power is fluctuating. It should have one trip in it, at least. She just has to decide where to jump. Maybe she’d dare steal some vacation?
Then she catches a glimpse of dirty trainer and pinstriped trouser leg, and her plans aren’t so important anymore.
It can’t be love at first sight. She’s taken too many “learning to not fall in love” classes. Lust at first sight, maybe? Destiny? He’s in danger, in any case, and that’s all that matters.
*
She’s a stable boy at first. She’s tiny and short-haired and keeps her head down, and nobody looks further.
Next, she grows her hair five feet or so, has some wide dresses made – her favourite is silk and the colour of blood – and minds the scores of children. As for spare time; she’s a 51st century girl, easy to please. These people are much more open minded than she thought, if a little grubby; the food is plentiful, if gruesome; and court intrigue was better than most holo-soaps.
She has really, really fun, until Madame de Pompadour notices her. “I am no fool. Like the Doctor, you are from this vessel where my life is on display.”
Clara gasps; suddenly the corset feels even tighter and the scent of her own perfume seems much more cloying. There was no point in denying it. “That’s right. I think... he needs help.”
“That much is clear, and we shall help him.”
*
The Doctor visits many times. He only sees Reinette.
*
Reinette’s holding her elbow and marching her down the corridors, the clicking of their heels echoing over and over; the rustle of fabric nearly drowning their voices. “Now is the time,” Reinette shouts. “I shall entrust something in your care.”
They don’t stop till they’re in her bedroom, where the time window fireplace is always in the centre.
“Is it not working?” Reinette asks.
“No,” says Clara, on her knees half-inside it. “It is broken.”
“Need to get a man in”, Reinette states somberly. Something in her voice tells Clara she means her. “You will repair it?”
“Yes.” Whatever it takes, Clara will fix this.
“I shall be grateful.”
“You think he’ll stay here? If the fireplace’s working?”
“I must hope.”
The fireplace is really broken. There is soot everywhere. Clara takes a second to resign herself before reaching into her cleavage and withdrawing the vortex manipulator. She hadn’t really believed she’d ever leave, had she? Not since she ran into the Doctor.
She makes sure the manipulator is ready, that the co-ordinates are correct, and then she jams it as far up the chimney as her hand and arm allows her, till it catches on some sharp edge and is stuck up there. It would open the time window when the fireplace was activated, and take the Doctor back to the ship.
If she was lucky, it had enough power for two trips.
*
She’s running from the same droids again, leading them as far away from Reinette’s bedroom as possible.