Chapter Text
Clara Oswald looked long and hard at her reflection. She was done up well in her makeup, the shading around her eyes subtle, yet complimentary to their shape, her lips slightly shiny with the colored gloss she traced over them. Her hair was straightened and tame, the sweeping bangs she grew to love brushed to the side as her locks dusted over her shoulders.
Today was the first day that she would make an appearance before the entirety of her new department. She was the newest staff member in the English Department at Coals Hill University, and there was nothing that could stifle the pride she felt at her new position. After many years of undergrad and graduate coursework, she was finally where she longed to be.
“Hello, I’m Clara Oswald. Yes, hello, I’m Clara Oswald. Pleased to meet you!” She smiled at herself before shaking her head, sighing at the stupidity of her nerves. “I’m Professor Oswald, but you can call me Clara.”
Donning a flattering purple pant suit, white button up, and thin black scarf, she left her mirrors and made her way to the University, the fall air already crisp in her lungs. August was, surprisingly, one of the few months that Clara always looked forward to. It was the start of another year of academia, and another adventure in the literary worlds of her most beloved writers.
The University was a stunning place, with brick buildings supported by white columns, incredible libraries and theaters, and lush, green grass accented by the trees which littered the grounds with leaves in the fall and pollen in the spring. This time of year, during the quiet hours when only professors and lingering summer term students were on campus, it was perfect for afternoons spent on The Lawn, which was arguably the focal point of the University. There was a building on the far end of it that Clara was headed to, her thoughts occupied with the coming meeting and her hands full with her laptop bag and coffee.
With ease she strode down the long corridors of the designated meeting place, which was boringly named New Cabell Hall. As she entered the west stairwell she was greeted with the echoes of conversation and the general bustle of staff as they were herded towards the elected conference room. Each step in her ascent felt heavier than the last, and it dawned on her for the second time that morning that she was invariably anxious.
“Right, do you need someone to carry you, or can you manage on your own?”
Clara hadn’t realized she stopped moving until the impatient Scot questioned her, his eyebrows raised expressively as he took her in. There was something oddly familiar about his face, but she couldn’t quite place why. He stood over her despite being two stairs below, and the jean trouser and black sweater combination he wore gave no doubt as to how lean he was.
“No, sorry,” she replied with an empty laugh, stepping closer to the rail so as to let him pass. As he crossed she could see him watching her in his peripherals, his eyes blue and hard, pinning her in place and keeping her silent. She wondered what the hell happened to have earned his scorn at eight in the morning, but she would come to learn that such behavior was merely muscle memory.
“Clara!” she turned quickly, preferring the light, friendly tone to the sarcasm she just heard.
“Professor Pink!” Clara greeted him with a smile, switching her coffee to her left hand so she could offer him her right. He took the stairs two at a time, the muscles of his legs evident in the outline of his tan trousers, his grip firm around hers.
“Just Danny,” he returned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “we’re colleagues, there’s no need for the formalities.”
Danny introduced himself to her the previous week after finding her roaming the halls of the maths department. Both he and Clara were new members of the Coals Hill staff, and they found comfort in each other’s presence. They grabbed coffee after their respective department meetings, and the conversation was light and flowing. While he was not in the English Department, he mentioned that he would also be on campus this morning, as all departments held conferences on the same day.
“Glad to see you’ve made it, Danny,” she teased, recalling his possible schedule conflict. “How was your hike?”
“Fantastic, thank you for asking,” he grinned, and it was welcoming. He gestured forward and they walked to the third floor together, making their way through the thickening groups of professors and department heads who gathered for pleasantries in the halls. When Clara came upon the room for the English Department, she extended her hand once more to Danny.
“Thank you for being a familiar face this morning,” she said after exhaling shakily, her brows raised in an expression of ‘time-to-see-what-the-day-has-in-store.’
“You’re welcome,” he returned with a knowing nod, half turning to find his room before adding, “and don’t be a stranger. Us Maths and English types ought to stick together.”
She pursed her lips in amusement and watched him walk away, pleased to have made a friend well before she believed she would. With a final, deep inhale she entered the class, browsing the faces within to see if anyone else she recognized was there. There were a few individuals in close, loud conversation, their attire similar despite their varying sexes, and she wondered if she was doomed to fall into their style. She noticed almost immediately that she was the only person wearing anything other than black, gray, and browns, but she did not mind the added attention of her purple color splash. If she was the only new face among the crowd, there was little she could do to avoid the spotlight.
It was then, during her sweeping of the room, that she noticed the man from the stairwell; a fierce scowl was on his face as he silently observed his surroundings. Clara considered him with curiosity, her head tilting to the side as she thought long and hard on why he was so familiar. The deep lines, blue eyes, stark gray and white hair all seemed to connect to a name, but she was struggling to recall it. She didn’t realize how direct her staring was until she found him staring back, a brow raised in questioning. It was then that it dawned on her...
“Malcolm!” A voice behind her greeted him, and the woman was received with a less than subtle rolling of the eyes and incredibly false grin. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning, you’re usually missing in action for these sort of festivities.”
Malcolm Tucker, the fallen Director of Communications. It was years since his name grabbed the headlines of newspapers and news channels, his very public plummet from power a hot topic during her time in university. That was seven years ago. Though he was eventually found innocent of his charges after many appeals, the repercussions were so great that he was practically exiled from politics. Clara was internally horrified to learn that he moved on to higher education.
“I heard there were strippers,” he deadpanned, crossing his arms defensively as the woman bouncily approached him, “but if you’re the entertainment I think I’ll hold on to my wallet.”
Clara frowned as she dropped into the closest seat to her, but not before catching his eye once more. The rest of their conversation fell into the murmurs of the rest of the room, and she kept herself to herself as the remainder of the department filed in. Fresh meat, she thought, hazily remembering the horror stories that came out of his public shaming. Wonder how many poor students and professors fell under one of his infamous bollockings. Better yet, how the hell did he get hired here?
“Alright everyone, time to get into order,” the English Department Head, Matthew Greason, called them to attention, his casual attire a massive difference to the professional garb he donned during her interviews. He was balding and round, with a misshapen mustache and white hair, but he had a sweet smile and a profound knowledge of literature.
The room was full, roughly twenty professors cluttered in with one another as they received their briefings for the coming semester. After the regular business, Dean Greason introduced Clara to her colleagues, and they all welcomed her with handshakes and words of advice.
“Welcome to the Department,” Malcolm greeted, offering her his hand. “Malcolm Tucker.”
“Thank you,” Clara replied politely, slightly avoiding direct eye contact as she took his hand. “Clara Oswald.”
He nodded in acknowledgement before moving on, and she wondered if he remembered their encounter that morning. Then she looked at her hand, realizing how cold to the touch he felt. No soul, she thought with a private smile, which unfortunately caught the attention of the woman who greeted him earlier.
“Miss Oswald, such a pleasure to have a fresh, young face in the English Department,” she cooed as she brought Clara in for a one-sided and fairly uncomfortable hug. “There is a certain monotony to University life as a staffer when everyone already knows one another. I’m Nicola James.”
“Nice to meet you, Nicola.”
“There are some very interesting individuals here, though. You can’t even fathom how fascinating a lecture with Dean Greason actually is, he has this fantastic way of...” Clara couldn’t help the fact that she stopped listening. Nicola’s voice was rather high pitched and drawn out, each syllable being paid special attention as they bounced off of her tongue. There was something cringe worthy in the way that she presented herself. Clara began to understand why Tucker wouldn’t bother hiding any contempt he held for her. “...rough around the edges, but Malcolm offers a truly remarkable course on the literature of theatre.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Malcolm. He teaches a course on contemporary drama.”
“Does anyone else find that odd, or is it just me?” Clara questioned honestly, everything she knew about him at odds with this new information.
“He’s calmed down a bit since then,” Nicola spoke quietly, as if afraid to divulge such news. Clara was thankful she didn’t have to explain the thinking behind her question, but she leaned in with the decrease in volume of their conversation. “I think it’s his health that keeps him careful, but fifty-six isn’t exactly an age for outbursts and high levels of stress. Besides, academia suits him.”
“That’s something I wouldn’t mind witnessing.”
“That’s a possibility, you know. His course is always relatively large; he sparks some interest amongst the students. There is no harm in sitting in a few classes if you have the time in your schedule. Heaven knows I do it across departments.”
Clara considered this for a moment before nodding in contemplation, not letting on to how much she would like to look into the opportunity. It seemed like a paradox, Malcolm Tucker and theatre. Besides, she had a close friend who majored in political science at university; she would find it fascinating to hear what has become of the spitfire Scotsman.
“Thank you, Nicola,” Clara smiled genuinely, the woman growing on her despite the brevity of their conversation. “I look forward to working with you in the future.”
“Likewise, Clara. Do enjoy the rest of your day!”
She tried to, but the rest of her day consisted of meetings, meetings, and a few more meetings. She was swept through the English Department with a gusto that would send anyone to bed early, but there was much to do and little time to do it before the beginning of the semester. What she wanted to tackle first was the issue of her new office. The walls were barren, the desk empty of personal touch, the shelves ghostly without books to grace them. She had boxes of items that she wished to organize in the small space, which she would take time to unpack in the morning.
For now, she was focused on the paperwork that she had to work through, each line of writing more confusing than the last. Curriculum guidelines. Student relations and regulations. Health concerns. Necessary actions for emergencies. Course material requirements and text information. When she was a quarter through the documents she resigned herself to bed, the early morning and excruciatingly boring pace of her afternoon leaving her more than knackered. Before sleep overtook her she thought of three positives of the day, or things that made her smile, which was a habit she picked up upon the suggestion of a close friend.
One. Danny Pink and I had a wonderful conversation this morning.
Two. The English Department was very receptive and welcoming.
Three. I learned that Malcolm Tucker teaches Contemporary Drama.