Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Possible in Dreams	By : DJCo Category: 1 through F > Doctor Who Views: 6291 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is the intellectual property of the BBC. I make no money from this story. All characters and settings created by Steven Moffat.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
120 Years Later...
Clara slumped down on the sofa in frustration. Once again, she had failed to perfect her mother's legendary soufflé. All the ingredients were there, but unfortunately it had collapsed quickly upon removal from the oven. She had enjoyed a brief period of success at the endeavour, but her most recent attempt had sadly been a return to form.
“So much for Soufflé Girl,” she muttered to herself. Artie had gone round to his friend Rob's house after school, ostensibly to do homework – though seeing as Rob was the boy who'd recently been bought a brand new games console for his birthday, Clara suspected that homework was far from being on the agenda – and Angie was off on another one of her walkabouts, though was most likely at Nina's. Their father was still at work, and wasn't due home for another hour or so.
The Doctor was nowhere to be seen either, and she wondered whether her melancholia had more to do with loneliness than her lack of success with the soufflé. It was perhaps a strange admission, but a part of her missed the thrill of danger that her travels with the Doctor provided; real life seemed boring by comparison. Where were the terrifying monsters?! Why was she not spending her days running up and down corridors? It didn't feel right somehow, and she wondered when she would next hear that bizarre wheezing, groaning noise – which had always sounded to Clara like a cow in labour – and that blue box would materialise on her doorstep. He usually tended to show up on Wednesdays, and today was Monday – another reason to feel blue – so perhaps she wouldn't have too long to wait.
She had been thinking a lot lately about the possibility of joining the Time Lord on his travels full-time. At present she felt far too much responsibility for the children. They'd been through too much; like her, they had lost their mother, and she knew what that felt like. She had once claimed to Angie that she was not trying to be their mother, but she now doubted the veracity of that statement. She could never replace Mrs Maitland in their lives of course, nor would she ever try, but she could at least take over from her. No one had asked her to fill that role, but she had taken it upon herself to step in and support the family because it seemed like the decent, honourable thing to do. The fact that the kids often seemed to actively resent her presence didn't matter; it was the belief that one day they would realise the sacrifice she had made for them – that one day they would thank her – that made it all seem worthwhile.
She had been prepared to sacrifice herself for the Doctor on Trenzalore, by throwing herself into his time stream and splintering herself across time and space. In that moment, the children's welfare had weighed heavily on her mind, but she had denied the thought prominence, because she had to. The fate of the entire universe had been at stake, and if she hadn't done what she had done there would've been no future for the Maitland siblings, or anyone else, at all. So, she considered, in that sense maybe she had put them first after all.
But she had been thinking mainly of the Doctor; that mad, wonderful, impossible man.
She had been the Impossible Girl. Right from the beginning, they seemed to belong together.
She was far from being the first young woman to travel with him (for it always seemed to be young women), but she felt that after everything they'd been through together, everything they'd shared, everything she'd seen of his past, that she had cultivated a place in his hearts that was more special than most.
Or maybe she was just flattering herself.
She heard the sound of letters hitting the doormat, and looked at her watch; 4:17pm. Yep, that was about right for the postal service these days. Bills, she thought. She knew they'd be bills. No one wrote to each other the old-fashioned way anymore. Modern technology had its value of course, but Clara enjoyed writing by hand, and it saddened her that calligraphy and letter-writing might become lost arts (not to mention the truly horrifying concept that books might one day disappear altogether – she had seen no evidence of that on her travels to the future, but frankly she was too scared to check).
She made an effort to rise from the sofa and make her way to the front door. She picked up the mail and rifled through it. Sure enough; a couple of bills and a bank statement addressed to Mr. Maitland – it had taken a while for her to get used to calling him George, despite his insistence – and... a very old-looking letter the like of which she had seen once before.
Her address – 30 Oak Street, Chiswick – was written in exquisitely neat, and familiar, handwriting. Clara turned the letter over in her hand. Her heart skipped a beat; the last time she had received a letter like this it had been in the gravest of emergencies, and had ultimately led to Trenzalore. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to tear open the envelope and read the letter.
My dearest Clara
Please forgive my intrusion. Do not despair, the situation is not desperate. While I should like to think that the Doctor's good faith in entrusting me with your contact details was not misplaced, I have felt compelled to contact you once again despite the lack of emergency. This coming Sunday, January 14^th 1893, my beloved Jenny is to celebrate her 26^th birthday, and we would like very much to request the pleasure of your company in a “conference call” which will act as a social gathering. I have been led to believe that this is a time-honoured human tradition.
Assuming you are willing and able to attend, please find and light the enclosed candle. As I explained in my previous summons, it will release a soporific which will induce a trance state, enabling direct communication across the years. Fear not; this time it will be your decision to join us at your discretion.
Yours Sincerely,
Madame Vastra
Clara breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at the timely irony of a hand-written letter from the nineteenth century arriving just as she had been lamenting the passing of the form. She thanked her lucky stars that it wasn't a case of 'be careful what you wish for.'
She stared at the letter, reading it over a few more times. She felt flattered and humbled that Vastra – she wondered whether Jenny was aware of this or if it was to be a Victorian surprise party – liked and trusted her enough to invite her to such an occasion. She was impressed and astounded at Vastra's ingenuity and calculated precision in communicating with her across more than a century – twice. She wondered how the lizard woman achieved the feat.
After some deliberation she decided to wait until later in the evening to join the party, after she had dealt with her housekeeping duties and sorted out the kids' dinner. After all, the past wasn't going anywhere.
* * * *
Night had fallen, and Clara had told the rest of the household that she was going for an early night. She had thought about taking a relaxing bath and lighting the candle, but the prospect of turning up to Jenny's party naked was enough to put her off the idea – she could more than likely control her appearance in the dream-scape with a little concentration, but she wasn't taking any chances!
She had placed the candle on her bedside table, beside her treasured copy of 101 Places to See. She struck a match and lit the candle, before lying down on her bed and making herself comfortable. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, centring herself. She began to feel consciousness slipping away as she inhaled the soporific, a pleasing scent she couldn't quite place.
In her mind's eye, she saw a jumble of images; the Doctor – all of him... The TARDIS... Angie and Artie... Sights, smells and sounds from this life and a thousand others rushed to the forefront of her conscious mind. She felt weightless, as if she were falling through space and time once again.
The sensation passed, and she felt a momentary disorientation, and for the briefest instant she felt frightened, for she knew not what was happening, where she was, or even who she was.
She 'landed' suddenly with a bump, feeling through her whole body as though she were returning suddenly to a gravitic environment. Her consciousness and sense of self returned to her, and when she opened her eyes she found herself sitting in a chair around a familiar pentagonal table. The rest of her surroundings were unfamiliar, and carried an eerie impression of unreality.
She appeared to be in some sort of grand nineteenth century office, or some place of administration. A large desk dominated the room, and Clara was struck by the beautifully ornate décor. Abruptly she realised that she wasn't alone, as her vision became fully focused on the setting and she became aware of two very recognisable figures seated opposite her.
Clara smiled at them.
"Dearest Clara,” Vastra said warmly. “We're so glad you could attend.”
Jenny greeted Clara with a tender smile, echoing her beloved wife's sentiment wordlessly.
“I wouldn't miss this for the world,” Clara replied, returning the couple's smiles. “Looks like I'm the first to arrive?”
Vastra and Jenny exchanged glances. “Indeed,” Vastra replied.
Clara nodded, then regarded the birthday girl with a fond grin. “Happy birthday, Jenny!”
“Thanks,” Jenny replied sincerely.
“I'd have got you a card but I'm not sure you can send them back in time. Not without a TARDIS anyway.”
Jenny chuckled. “That's OK.”
Clara was surprised that Jenny would want to return to this dream-world, given that the last time they had convened here it had resulted in her attempted murder; in fact, she had effectively died, albeit temporarily. “I'd have made you a cake too but it was a bit short-notice,” Clara continued. “Or, I don't suppose you'd fancy a soufflé? I'm good at those... sometimes.”
“I'll take you up on that one day!” Jenny beamed. She was genuinely glad to see Clara, and grateful to her for joining in with the celebration. Her joy was thankfully enough to mask the slight discomfort she felt after her near-death experience the last time she had entered this world. She still shuddered to think of it, and she had made sure to double-check every lock on every door in the house before lighting the candles.
Clara nodded, smiling. “So, is he coming?”
Neither Jenny or Vastra needed confirmation that Clara was referring to the Doctor. “I'm afraid not,” Vastra said, cutting off Jenny before the young woman could speak.
“Oh,” Clara said simply, blinking in surprise. She looked from Vastra to Jenny for an explanation.
“We have decided to keep this a strictly... female affair,” Vastra informed her.
Clara nodded slowly. “I see. Girls' night in. Fair enough.” She smiled again. Times weren't so different after all. “So, no Strax either then.” Then she added quickly, to clarify, “That was a statement, not a daft question.”
“Of course,” Vastra said, and Clara thought she noticed the hint of a smirk on the lizard woman's face. Vastra caught her lover's eye, and the pair exchanged coquettish smiles before Jenny looked away in seeming embarrassment. They reminded Clara of a pair of lovestruck teenagers, and she couldn't help but beam at them.
“So, who else are we expecting?” Clara asked.
The question caught their attention, and their expressions changed almost imperceptibly, but Clara was certain she caught a hint of worry on Jenny's face. “Well...” the young woman began, then seemed to falter.
“An old friend,” Vastra cut in quickly.
Clara looked from one to the other in nervous confusion. What was going on? What weren't they telling her? Before she could voice the question, Vastra spoke. “Would you like some tea?” With a wave of her hand, a tray appeared on the table out of thin air. On it was an ornate china teapot adorned with a pretty floral design, and four cups, indicating that they were awaiting the arrival of only one more guest.
“Can't we bring out the cake yet?” Jenny chimed in excitedly.
“Not yet, my love,” Vastra replied, as if she were admonishing a small child for her impatience. She then appeared to be distracted by something, inclining her head in a manner that reminded Clara of a dog listening out for something only it could hear. “Ah,” she said. “I think our final guest is about to arrive.”
As Clara opened her mouth to speak, the air around them was disturbed by a small whirlwind whipping up in the empty chair to her right. A flash of light blinded the trio momentarily, and when their vision adjusted the chair was now occupied by a beautiful but dishevelled-looking young woman in pyjamas and a pink dressing gown, who regarded them with distraction and suspicion.
Clara blinked in surprise at the newcomer. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, as if from another dream; her striking red hair flowed freely over her shoulders, adorning her long, slender frame.
The woman beheld Clara blankly, but blinked in recognition when she noticed the other two figures present. “Madame Vastra... Jenny... Where am I?” She spoke with a distinct Scottish accent, discernible from only the few short words.
“Amy,” Vastra addressed her, fondly. “It's so very good to see you again.”
* * * *
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Possible in Dreams