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“Oh, fuck off,” Clara grouched as the wind picked up, throwing rain into her face. She was running from the school to the pavement outside the gates to search for her cab, the messenger bag she used for classes bouncing awkwardly off her legs. Her motorcycle, a Triumph Bonneville Scrambler she affectionately called “Maple”, had pitched a fit this morning. Rather than starting up with her normal purr of the engine, she made the most awful grinding noise before the engine clicked off. Clara had called a cab soon after, and made arrangements to be picked up at the end of the school day. Unfortunately for her, several parents wanted to talk about their children after classes ended, despite parents’ evening happening later that week.
She’d been able to push back the pick-up time, thank goodness, but the cab dispatcher warned her that she might end up not being the only passenger. Clara, at that point, couldn’t have cared less. All she wanted to do was curl up in her warmest blanket and pyjamas, and watch shitty reality television with a large cup of tea.
The few minutes it took for the cab to arrive at the entry to the school gave Clara enough time to picture moving out somewhere sunny and warm, perhaps California or Greece. There was enough coastline in both places, so she wouldn’t feel too homesick for the wide expanses of water. The cab pulled up, finally, and Clara wasted no time in throwing open the rear door and essentially flinging herself inside. She slid a little on the leather seat, and her bag, heavy with her laptop and other teacher-related bullshit, slid with her. There was an “oof” from the other side of the cab, and Clara looked over, immediately apologetic.
“Oh, God, shit, sorry!” She exclaimed, pulling the bag into her lap before buckling up. “I didn’t see you.”
The cab pulled away from the kerb and before the man next to her could reply, the cabbie asked, “The address Otis gave me before getting here, ‘s that the right one?” He rattled off the address to Clara’s flat, and she hummed her affirmation. Otis must’ve been the operator from that morning.
“You’re alright, by the way,” the man next to her said, using his hand to wipe off the water that’d hit him from her bag. Clara had a moment of confusion before realizing he’d picked up the conversation from seconds ago. Her mind was all over the place, and she winced internally about it.
“Still,” Clara insisted. And because she’s never been one to be shy about meeting new people, “I’m Clara Oswald. Sorry again for getting you wet.”
“Rory, Rory Williams. And don’t worry; worse liquids have got on me today,” he joked.
Clara raised an eyebrow in interest, and he went on to explain, “I’m a nurse at Royal Leadworth.”
“Ah,” she nodded, “I’m a teacher at Coal Hill. Though, since I was picked up right outside the gates, I guess you’d’ve figured that already.” She joked back.
“I figured it was a safe bet to think so, yes. What subject do you teach?” Rory turned slightly to better face her.
“English,” Clara said proudly. “It is a lot of fun to teach. Or, well, when the children are interested, that is.” Rory smiled sympathetically.
“Working with patients is the same,” he rubbed a hand over his face. Clara could see the tightness at the corners of his eyes, and she figured he was doing his best to stay awake until he could get home.
They chatted more as the cab wound through the motorway. By the time they were nearing Rory’s flat, she felt as if she had been catching up with an old friend. He had been in the middle of telling a story about his friends—Amy and a man who only went by “the Doctor”—when he suddenly trailed off.
“Is everything alright?” Clara asked, frowning slightly in concern.
“Huh?” He said, distractedly, before focusing on her. “Oh, no. Yes, it’s fine. Or, well, it’s not, but it is.”
Hesitant to prod more, Clara opens her mouth slightly to ask, but then closes it again.
Sensing her indecision, Rory said, “Amy… She is, was, my best friend. She’d been my wife, actually. I lost her two years ago in an, um, in a car crash. There wasn’t anything A&E could really do for her.” He was quiet for a moment before continuing, his voice bittersweet. “Our anniversary is on Sunday. The Doctor said he would be here to support me, and to visit her grave with me, but he’s not arrived yet. He travels a lot for work, and he’s scatterbrained at the best of times.”
Clara frowns more at that, understanding but not understanding. Though, with her own mother, she’d been in similar boats.
“I’m just saying that it wouldn’t be the first time he’s promised to go with me and then forgotten.” His tone then takes on a defensive tone, “He’s a good friend, a great friend. He doesn’t do this on purpose.”
“I believe you,” Clara said, gently. Nina, a close friend of her own, was the same way. Clara never begrudged her for it; she showed up when it really mattered, and that’s what Clara cared about most. Taking a deep breath and hoping she wasn’t overstepping by doing this, Clara pulled out a notebook and a pen. She scribbled down her name and phone number, tore out the page, and offered it to him. “In case you need a friend who is not currently abroad, nor travels often.” It was a gentle teasing that she gave, just to keep the mood a little lighter than what it was.
Rory took the paper, a small and sad smile on his face. The cab pulled to a stop outside a block of flats, and Rory prepared to leave. He put the paper in his jacket pocket, and pulled out his flat key. “Thank you, Clara.” He said, his voice sounding somewhere between a sigh and a mutter, as if he wasn’t certain at all as to what was happening. “It was nice to meet you.”
“It was good to meet you, as well, Rory.” Clara replied, her voice still as soft as it had been earlier. “I hope…” She pauses, not wanting to make the mood shift further, but pushed through because she knew she'd regret not saying anything. “I do hope that he comes on Sunday.”
The man smiled in lieu of an actual response, before turning to the cabbie and handing over the money for his ride. He popped the door open and got out, but gave Clara one last look before closing the door. His smile felt more genuine then, and Clara hoped that the blush that formed on her face could be explained by the cold air coming into the cab. She gave a small wave, and the door closed. She settled into her seat again as the cab started once more.
After a few minutes of silence, the cabbie said, unprompted, “I think he likes you.”
Clara startled at the sudden voice, but said, her voice not sounding nervous at all, thank you very much, “Oh?”
“Aye,” he agreed, his eyes flickering to hers through the rearview mirror before going back to the road. “Looks at you the same way I looked at my wife when we first started courting.”
Clara huffs a small laugh. “Alright then,” she said, humouring the man. The rest of the ride went on in silence, Clara lost in her thoughts. She really hoped Rory would call or text or something. Even if it was only friendship that they’d have, she knew that she wanted him to be a part of her life. Hopefully he wanted her to be a part of his.