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locker_monsterTitle: Household Gods (3/5)
Rating: PG
Characters: Twelve, Clara
Timeline: pre-"The Caretaker"; no spoilers.
Summary: An unexpected discovery at the British Museum leads the Doctor and Clara to Ancient Rome, but things quickly get out of hand when the Doctor is mistaken for another man...
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC.
A/N: Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rumpelsnorcack for the awesome beta.
Chapter One. Chapter Two.
Clara had to admit she was hungry. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast beyond one sip of her tea back at the British Museum before the Doctor had phoned.
Her stomach rumbled again as she got into line at the tavern. It was oddly like a fast food restaurant back home. A person got up to the counter, gave their order, handed over their money, and then they had a hot meal a few minutes later. There were no deep fryers or grills here, though. Just a stoneware oven for baking bread and numerous amphorae filled with a variety of foodstuffs.
While waiting, Clara did a quick browse of the menu, which was just a mosaic on the wall. All pictures, no words. Handy if you couldn't read. When she made it to the front of the line, she went for something simple. Fresh bread and cheese, figs, and a mug of wine. Since it was such a simple order, she had her food in no time and she went to find a place to sit.
She chose a table that faced the street so she could spot the Doctor when he returned. The first fig she casually popped into her mouth and she wasn't prepared for the explosion of flavour. It was sweet like peach, far sweeter than the figs she was used to back home. The second one she bit into more slowly and that allowed her to truly appreciate the taste. The cheese, goat from the taste of it, melted on the still warm bread and the wine, though watered down, was still rich and fruity.
This was definitely better than the tuna and corn sandwich she had bought at the Great Court café.
Clara sat there for a few minutes, just enjoying the food and the atmosphere. She and the Doctor managed uneventful trips from time to time, but it was always nice to simply sit and not worry about invading aliens or impending death. As peaceful as it was, she wished for company. Someone who could appreciate the sights and sounds with her. The Doctor was an obvious choice, but she wished Danny could be here, too. She visited all of these places but she never could tell him about any of them. It made the temptation of coming clean all the more appealing. She wanted to be able to share the most extraordinary part of her life with the man who was quickly becoming more than just a friend.
The tavern was nearly full by the time the Doctor appeared. Clara spotted him coming up the street. He had a distant look on his face, which meant he was lost in thought. She couldn't tell if his visit with Horatius had been a success. She called the Doctor's name to draw his attention and he slowly made his way over. When he sat down, he didn't say anything.
"What's wrong?" She pushed the plate of figs towards him, though she doubted he would eat any.
"Horatius was the one who did the carving." The Doctor picked up one of the figs, but he didn't bite into it. He just rolled it back and forth between his fingers, examining the skin.
"Shouldn't that be good news? So who's the owner?"
"A man named Caecilius."
The Doctor seemed strangely detached from the conversation. Clara knew he could be easily distracted, but this was something else. Something was bothering him. "Did you get an address?"
"No." The Doctor blinked, realizing his folly, and he looked up at Clara. He didn't look scared, but he was definitely rattled. It was similar to the time when he thought that the monsters from under the bed were real creatures that haunted the human race. Haunted. The word seemed apt. "Doctor, do you know him?" It was the only explanation that made sense.
The noises of the tavern seemed to fall away, like they were the only two in the room. "Yes, I've met him before. Do you remember the Doctor who married Queen Elizabeth I?"
Clara remembered that adventure very clearly. How could she not? She had met two other Doctors that day. "The one with the hair. Is he the one on the carving?"
She saw a brief flash of annoyance in the Doctor's eyes at her description of his other self, but at least it alleviated his distant look. "He is. We met Caecilius in Pompeii, in 79 AD." The Doctor paused and it was one of those meaningfully silences where he expected her to know what he was talking about.
Pompeii. 79 AD. Clara thought back to her school days. It only took her a moment to remember and her heart lurched at the realization. Mount Vesuvius. "You were there the day that Pompeii was buried."
The Doctor nodded, looking neither ashamed nor proud to have witnessed such a powerful day in history. "I couldn't save the city, but I managed to save Caecilius and his family. The only way to get them out was with the TARDIS."
Clara was starting to make sense of it all. Caecilius and his family had been inside the TARDIS. Even she, someone from the 21st century, had been baffled by the TARDIS' impossible dimensions. For someone from the 1st century, it only seemed natural to conclude that the time machine was something that belonged to a god. "You gave them a second chance. No wonder they worshipped you."
It was a poor attempt at a joke, but the Doctor didn't acknowledge it. He sat back in his seat. "Mystery solved."
She could understand being a little shocked upon finding out that someone you had saved was now praying to you on a daily basis, but the information wasn't that disconcerting, not for someone like the Doctor. Something was still bothering him, then, to have left him that fazed. "Do you want to go see him? To see how he and his family are doing? I know you don't look the same-"
The Doctor's hand clenched and the fig he was still holding burst. The juice and pulp seeped between his fingers and dripped slowly onto the table. Clara's eyes widened at the unexpected destruction. She was used to the Doctor being more composed.
She didn't have anything to clean his hand with, but she still leaned across the table and pried his fingers opened to remove the crushed fig. The Doctor, particularly fussy about physical contact, pulled his hand away, finally noticing what he had done. With his clean hand, he pulled out a handkerchief from one of his pockets.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I need to force it out of you?" She wasn't against needling him until he grew absolutely frustrated with her, but it was kinder to let him come to his own admission.
The Doctor wiped at the sticky pulp on his palm, not quite meeting Clara's gaze. "We do look the same."
It was always weird when the Doctor referred to himself in the third person or in the plural. "I know you're both tall and skinny, but unless Caecilius' eyesight got really poor since he saw you last, I think he's going to notice a difference."
"I know I look different, Clara." The Doctor sighed before meeting her gaze. "It's Caecilius and I who look the same."
Her brow furrowed as she tried to process this new tidbit. "The same. Like, sorta resembles? Or you could be his twin?" The hard, icy stare she received in return was answer enough. "Oh." At least that explained the Doctor's behaviour just now.
He had another man's face.
"Wait. Didn't you realize that you had Caecilius' face after your regeneration?"
"My brain was a bit scrambled at the time," snapped the Doctor. He shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket. "Do we really need to talk about this? We found out where the carving came from. You can get back to your students now." He got up from the table before Clara could say anything.
She was used to his mood swings, but this was still a startling shift from his upbeat disposition this morning. Not wanting to be left behind in Ancient Rome, she left the table and hurried to catch up with the Doctor.
Clara didn't have to go far. The Doctor was waiting for her at the corner, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. With his shoulders hunched, he looked a bit like a lost little boy. Okay, so he was a centuries old Time Lord who was far from little, but the lost part still applied.
She fell into step next to him and they started the long walk back to the TARDIS. For the first few minutes, neither of them spoke. She knew the Doctor didn't want to talk about Caecilius, but she wanted to. Clara was of the firm opinion that it would be good for him to talk it out.
"Doctor-"
He grabbed her arm before she could continue. It wasn't a harsh tug, just a fleeting contact to gain her attention. "Not now."
Someone else might have thought he was telling her off, but Clara recognized the soft urgency in his voice. Something wasn't right. He was discreetly looking around, though to the casual observer it seemed like he was simply checking out the wares in the stalls they passed. So they were being watched then.
She held back a sigh. So much for an uneventful trip.
Her first logical thought was that they had greatly annoyed one of the artisans they had visited, but she couldn't recall saying anything that would cause offence and the Doctor had been blunt, but not overbearing. Her next logical thought was that they were about to be robbed.
They were dressed strangely and they had been making enquiries all afternoon at places which provided expensive services. It was simple enough to mistake them as citizens of wealth.
The sun had set and the shadows were growing darker. Now would be the perfect time for thieves to jump them.
"Thoughts?" she asked in a whisper.
"If we stay in the street, we should be fine." There were plenty of people about. Labourers were getting off of work and heading home and the shops were still open. If anyone wanted to attack them, there would be plenty of witnesses.
But Clara was applying modern thinking to the ancient world. Numerous witnesses were a deterrent back home, but here in Ancient Rome, maybe no one cared if someone got stabbed out in the middle of the street. She wanted to quicken her pace, but she forced herself to take calm, even steps.
"Do you get to choose your faces?"
The Doctor interrupted his surreptitious glances of the surrounding area to glare at her. "You want to discuss this now?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "Better than walking along in silence."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine." He threw up his hands. "No, I don't get to choose. I was offered a choice once, but I didn't like any of the options so I was overruled."
"So why do you look like Caecilius?"
The Doctor thought about this for a moment. "I don't know. In those first hours, I thought I was trying to tell myself something, but the notion went away once I stabilized."
Sending a message using another man's face. That seemed unnecessarily complicated. "Maybe you just wanted–"
Whatever else Clara wanted to say was forestalled when a large man slammed into her. It wasn't the accidental stumble of someone who had lost their footing. She was nearly bowled off of her feet and only the man's beefy hands on her arms kept her upright. She tried to break free, but he was stronger than her, and he easily pushed her into a narrow side street.
The next thing she knew, she was shoved up against a wall, one of the man's hand wrapped around her throat.
The back of Clara's head throbbed where she had smacked it on the wall, but it was only a minor distraction. All of her attention was focused on scowling fiercely at the man. He was built like an Olympic wrestler and the muscles in his arms bulged as he tightened his grip. She tried not to swallow as the pressure on her windpipe increased.
Two more thugs appeared, dragging the Doctor between them. He was hunched over and breathing heavily and it seemed likely they had punched him in the gut. The two men threw him down to the ground, forcing the Doctor to put out his arms to brace his fall.
"Thought you could outsmart us, could you?" The man holding Clara was the one who spoke and she pegged him as the leader of the trio. His clothes and sandals were of slightly better quality than the other two hooligans.
Though gasping for air, the Doctor still managed to chuckle. "I have the feeling it doesn't take much to outsmart you."
The man didn't take too kindly to this, but instead of making a move against the Doctor, his hand squeezed tighter around Clara's throat instead. Against her better judgement, she moaned.
The Doctor went still, but his expression hardened. Hatred burned within his cool blue eyes. "What do you want?"
"You know already." The man smirked. "Isn't that what you do?"
Clara had no idea what he was talking about and neither did the Doctor, it seemed. He looked around at the gathered brutes, weighing his options. "Fine. Let my friend go and we can talk like civilized men."
"The chief augur doesn't want to talk. He demands that you stay out of matters that are best left to the men with true divine gifts."
"The chief augur?" The Doctor shook his head incredulously. "Tell me, who do you think I am?"
"You are an impost–"
"No, shut up. My name. What do you think my name is?"
The grip around Clara's throat slackened just a fraction as the man frowned at the Doctor. "You are Lobus Caecilius." A brief hesitation at the end of the sentence made it seem like the man wasn't a hundred percent sure.
Clara rolled her eyes skyward. Of course these men thought that the Doctor was Caecilius.
The Doctor was equally bored with this turn of events. "I am not Lobus Caecilius. Even if I was, Caecilius would know better than to involve himself in divine prophesising."
The man took a moment to think it over before nodding his head at his fellow thugs. One grabbed the Doctor under his arms, pining them behind his back, and hauled him to his feet. The other immediately swooped in and rammed his fist into the Doctor's stomach. The air in the Doctor's lungs rushed out in an audible whoosh. Clara couldn't help but flinch.
The slight movement brought the man's attention back to Clara. She was growing light-headed, no thanks to the hand pressing on her throat, but she still had enough awareness to shoot daggers from her eyes. "Whoever you are, you can deliver a message to Caecilius. He can worship whomever he likes, but he can't-"
Something whizzed by Clara's ear. The man stopped short, his lips pulling down into a frown.
There was an arrow sticking out from his chest.
She barely had time to register what happened before more arrows rained down from above. The thug holding the Doctor was struck in the back and the other thug barely missed being pierced in the shoulder.
Another arrow embedded itself in the man's chest, right in his heart. In his death throes, his hand constricted around Clara's neck like a vise and she nearly choked. Gasping for air, she fought madly to free herself, but she was trapped.
When the man toppled over backwards, he pulled Clara with him, and the last thing she saw was the ground rushing towards her head.
Rating: PG
Characters: Twelve, Clara
Timeline: pre-"The Caretaker"; no spoilers.
Summary: An unexpected discovery at the British Museum leads the Doctor and Clara to Ancient Rome, but things quickly get out of hand when the Doctor is mistaken for another man...
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC.
A/N: Many thanks to
rumpelsnorcack for the awesome beta.Chapter One. Chapter Two.
Clara had to admit she was hungry. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast beyond one sip of her tea back at the British Museum before the Doctor had phoned.
Her stomach rumbled again as she got into line at the tavern. It was oddly like a fast food restaurant back home. A person got up to the counter, gave their order, handed over their money, and then they had a hot meal a few minutes later. There were no deep fryers or grills here, though. Just a stoneware oven for baking bread and numerous amphorae filled with a variety of foodstuffs.
While waiting, Clara did a quick browse of the menu, which was just a mosaic on the wall. All pictures, no words. Handy if you couldn't read. When she made it to the front of the line, she went for something simple. Fresh bread and cheese, figs, and a mug of wine. Since it was such a simple order, she had her food in no time and she went to find a place to sit.
She chose a table that faced the street so she could spot the Doctor when he returned. The first fig she casually popped into her mouth and she wasn't prepared for the explosion of flavour. It was sweet like peach, far sweeter than the figs she was used to back home. The second one she bit into more slowly and that allowed her to truly appreciate the taste. The cheese, goat from the taste of it, melted on the still warm bread and the wine, though watered down, was still rich and fruity.
This was definitely better than the tuna and corn sandwich she had bought at the Great Court café.
Clara sat there for a few minutes, just enjoying the food and the atmosphere. She and the Doctor managed uneventful trips from time to time, but it was always nice to simply sit and not worry about invading aliens or impending death. As peaceful as it was, she wished for company. Someone who could appreciate the sights and sounds with her. The Doctor was an obvious choice, but she wished Danny could be here, too. She visited all of these places but she never could tell him about any of them. It made the temptation of coming clean all the more appealing. She wanted to be able to share the most extraordinary part of her life with the man who was quickly becoming more than just a friend.
The tavern was nearly full by the time the Doctor appeared. Clara spotted him coming up the street. He had a distant look on his face, which meant he was lost in thought. She couldn't tell if his visit with Horatius had been a success. She called the Doctor's name to draw his attention and he slowly made his way over. When he sat down, he didn't say anything.
"What's wrong?" She pushed the plate of figs towards him, though she doubted he would eat any.
"Horatius was the one who did the carving." The Doctor picked up one of the figs, but he didn't bite into it. He just rolled it back and forth between his fingers, examining the skin.
"Shouldn't that be good news? So who's the owner?"
"A man named Caecilius."
The Doctor seemed strangely detached from the conversation. Clara knew he could be easily distracted, but this was something else. Something was bothering him. "Did you get an address?"
"No." The Doctor blinked, realizing his folly, and he looked up at Clara. He didn't look scared, but he was definitely rattled. It was similar to the time when he thought that the monsters from under the bed were real creatures that haunted the human race. Haunted. The word seemed apt. "Doctor, do you know him?" It was the only explanation that made sense.
The noises of the tavern seemed to fall away, like they were the only two in the room. "Yes, I've met him before. Do you remember the Doctor who married Queen Elizabeth I?"
Clara remembered that adventure very clearly. How could she not? She had met two other Doctors that day. "The one with the hair. Is he the one on the carving?"
She saw a brief flash of annoyance in the Doctor's eyes at her description of his other self, but at least it alleviated his distant look. "He is. We met Caecilius in Pompeii, in 79 AD." The Doctor paused and it was one of those meaningfully silences where he expected her to know what he was talking about.
Pompeii. 79 AD. Clara thought back to her school days. It only took her a moment to remember and her heart lurched at the realization. Mount Vesuvius. "You were there the day that Pompeii was buried."
The Doctor nodded, looking neither ashamed nor proud to have witnessed such a powerful day in history. "I couldn't save the city, but I managed to save Caecilius and his family. The only way to get them out was with the TARDIS."
Clara was starting to make sense of it all. Caecilius and his family had been inside the TARDIS. Even she, someone from the 21st century, had been baffled by the TARDIS' impossible dimensions. For someone from the 1st century, it only seemed natural to conclude that the time machine was something that belonged to a god. "You gave them a second chance. No wonder they worshipped you."
It was a poor attempt at a joke, but the Doctor didn't acknowledge it. He sat back in his seat. "Mystery solved."
She could understand being a little shocked upon finding out that someone you had saved was now praying to you on a daily basis, but the information wasn't that disconcerting, not for someone like the Doctor. Something was still bothering him, then, to have left him that fazed. "Do you want to go see him? To see how he and his family are doing? I know you don't look the same-"
The Doctor's hand clenched and the fig he was still holding burst. The juice and pulp seeped between his fingers and dripped slowly onto the table. Clara's eyes widened at the unexpected destruction. She was used to the Doctor being more composed.
She didn't have anything to clean his hand with, but she still leaned across the table and pried his fingers opened to remove the crushed fig. The Doctor, particularly fussy about physical contact, pulled his hand away, finally noticing what he had done. With his clean hand, he pulled out a handkerchief from one of his pockets.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I need to force it out of you?" She wasn't against needling him until he grew absolutely frustrated with her, but it was kinder to let him come to his own admission.
The Doctor wiped at the sticky pulp on his palm, not quite meeting Clara's gaze. "We do look the same."
It was always weird when the Doctor referred to himself in the third person or in the plural. "I know you're both tall and skinny, but unless Caecilius' eyesight got really poor since he saw you last, I think he's going to notice a difference."
"I know I look different, Clara." The Doctor sighed before meeting her gaze. "It's Caecilius and I who look the same."
Her brow furrowed as she tried to process this new tidbit. "The same. Like, sorta resembles? Or you could be his twin?" The hard, icy stare she received in return was answer enough. "Oh." At least that explained the Doctor's behaviour just now.
He had another man's face.
"Wait. Didn't you realize that you had Caecilius' face after your regeneration?"
"My brain was a bit scrambled at the time," snapped the Doctor. He shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket. "Do we really need to talk about this? We found out where the carving came from. You can get back to your students now." He got up from the table before Clara could say anything.
She was used to his mood swings, but this was still a startling shift from his upbeat disposition this morning. Not wanting to be left behind in Ancient Rome, she left the table and hurried to catch up with the Doctor.
Clara didn't have to go far. The Doctor was waiting for her at the corner, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. With his shoulders hunched, he looked a bit like a lost little boy. Okay, so he was a centuries old Time Lord who was far from little, but the lost part still applied.
She fell into step next to him and they started the long walk back to the TARDIS. For the first few minutes, neither of them spoke. She knew the Doctor didn't want to talk about Caecilius, but she wanted to. Clara was of the firm opinion that it would be good for him to talk it out.
"Doctor-"
He grabbed her arm before she could continue. It wasn't a harsh tug, just a fleeting contact to gain her attention. "Not now."
Someone else might have thought he was telling her off, but Clara recognized the soft urgency in his voice. Something wasn't right. He was discreetly looking around, though to the casual observer it seemed like he was simply checking out the wares in the stalls they passed. So they were being watched then.
She held back a sigh. So much for an uneventful trip.
Her first logical thought was that they had greatly annoyed one of the artisans they had visited, but she couldn't recall saying anything that would cause offence and the Doctor had been blunt, but not overbearing. Her next logical thought was that they were about to be robbed.
They were dressed strangely and they had been making enquiries all afternoon at places which provided expensive services. It was simple enough to mistake them as citizens of wealth.
The sun had set and the shadows were growing darker. Now would be the perfect time for thieves to jump them.
"Thoughts?" she asked in a whisper.
"If we stay in the street, we should be fine." There were plenty of people about. Labourers were getting off of work and heading home and the shops were still open. If anyone wanted to attack them, there would be plenty of witnesses.
But Clara was applying modern thinking to the ancient world. Numerous witnesses were a deterrent back home, but here in Ancient Rome, maybe no one cared if someone got stabbed out in the middle of the street. She wanted to quicken her pace, but she forced herself to take calm, even steps.
"Do you get to choose your faces?"
The Doctor interrupted his surreptitious glances of the surrounding area to glare at her. "You want to discuss this now?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "Better than walking along in silence."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine." He threw up his hands. "No, I don't get to choose. I was offered a choice once, but I didn't like any of the options so I was overruled."
"So why do you look like Caecilius?"
The Doctor thought about this for a moment. "I don't know. In those first hours, I thought I was trying to tell myself something, but the notion went away once I stabilized."
Sending a message using another man's face. That seemed unnecessarily complicated. "Maybe you just wanted–"
Whatever else Clara wanted to say was forestalled when a large man slammed into her. It wasn't the accidental stumble of someone who had lost their footing. She was nearly bowled off of her feet and only the man's beefy hands on her arms kept her upright. She tried to break free, but he was stronger than her, and he easily pushed her into a narrow side street.
The next thing she knew, she was shoved up against a wall, one of the man's hand wrapped around her throat.
The back of Clara's head throbbed where she had smacked it on the wall, but it was only a minor distraction. All of her attention was focused on scowling fiercely at the man. He was built like an Olympic wrestler and the muscles in his arms bulged as he tightened his grip. She tried not to swallow as the pressure on her windpipe increased.
Two more thugs appeared, dragging the Doctor between them. He was hunched over and breathing heavily and it seemed likely they had punched him in the gut. The two men threw him down to the ground, forcing the Doctor to put out his arms to brace his fall.
"Thought you could outsmart us, could you?" The man holding Clara was the one who spoke and she pegged him as the leader of the trio. His clothes and sandals were of slightly better quality than the other two hooligans.
Though gasping for air, the Doctor still managed to chuckle. "I have the feeling it doesn't take much to outsmart you."
The man didn't take too kindly to this, but instead of making a move against the Doctor, his hand squeezed tighter around Clara's throat instead. Against her better judgement, she moaned.
The Doctor went still, but his expression hardened. Hatred burned within his cool blue eyes. "What do you want?"
"You know already." The man smirked. "Isn't that what you do?"
Clara had no idea what he was talking about and neither did the Doctor, it seemed. He looked around at the gathered brutes, weighing his options. "Fine. Let my friend go and we can talk like civilized men."
"The chief augur doesn't want to talk. He demands that you stay out of matters that are best left to the men with true divine gifts."
"The chief augur?" The Doctor shook his head incredulously. "Tell me, who do you think I am?"
"You are an impost–"
"No, shut up. My name. What do you think my name is?"
The grip around Clara's throat slackened just a fraction as the man frowned at the Doctor. "You are Lobus Caecilius." A brief hesitation at the end of the sentence made it seem like the man wasn't a hundred percent sure.
Clara rolled her eyes skyward. Of course these men thought that the Doctor was Caecilius.
The Doctor was equally bored with this turn of events. "I am not Lobus Caecilius. Even if I was, Caecilius would know better than to involve himself in divine prophesising."
The man took a moment to think it over before nodding his head at his fellow thugs. One grabbed the Doctor under his arms, pining them behind his back, and hauled him to his feet. The other immediately swooped in and rammed his fist into the Doctor's stomach. The air in the Doctor's lungs rushed out in an audible whoosh. Clara couldn't help but flinch.
The slight movement brought the man's attention back to Clara. She was growing light-headed, no thanks to the hand pressing on her throat, but she still had enough awareness to shoot daggers from her eyes. "Whoever you are, you can deliver a message to Caecilius. He can worship whomever he likes, but he can't-"
Something whizzed by Clara's ear. The man stopped short, his lips pulling down into a frown.
There was an arrow sticking out from his chest.
She barely had time to register what happened before more arrows rained down from above. The thug holding the Doctor was struck in the back and the other thug barely missed being pierced in the shoulder.
Another arrow embedded itself in the man's chest, right in his heart. In his death throes, his hand constricted around Clara's neck like a vise and she nearly choked. Gasping for air, she fought madly to free herself, but she was trapped.
When the man toppled over backwards, he pulled Clara with him, and the last thing she saw was the ground rushing towards her head.
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