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Title: Kryptonite Words: 4542 Rating: T Pairings: Clara/12, Missy/11/River, Jenny/Vastra, mentions of past Clara/Danny Summary: AU. Clara Oswald is everything but excited to be enrolled in Comics & Graphic Novels, a reluctance that only grows when she learns who the professor is. A/n: A (very late) birthday present for the lovely cardinalcapaldi! I’m a terrible friend who can’t keep up with the date to save my life, but I love you Annie!! Glad to hear your birthday was fab, you deserve it :’)

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Of all the classes she could’ve done her final year, Comics & Graphic Novels was her very last pick.

In an all-together typical turn of events, every class but that one filled in what seemed like an unfair and impossible span of a few minutes. Not surprising, considering the luck she’d had up ‘til that point, but frustrating nonetheless. She’d been looking forward to Film Studies, and now she had to suffer through an entire term of a class that didn’t interest her at all, a class that happened to be taught by the nastiest professor the university employed.

She sulked over her beer the night after seeing her schedule for the next term. Her roommates Jenny and Vastra were tired from listening to her complain about it all day, and had chosen to engage in other means of entertainment amongst themselves. And Clara was bored, lonely, and agitated. She thought about chatting up some of the men or women who kept looking her way, but the sting from her last loss was still too persistent to do anything but consider it.

Worst of all, the mad, bitchy, posh girl from her class on Villainy in Literature—who also happened to brainwash her best friend into a series of dysfunctional and nauseating sexual rendezvous—decided to make herself welcome at Clara’s table. Clara set her chin in her palm and listened to her brag for fifteen minutes about her shiny new place in Film Studies. She didn’t know how Missy Masters knew she hadn’t gotten that class, or how she knew she wanted it, but she must have from the self-satisfied smirk that stayed in place.

“That’s great, Missy.” Clara finally interrupted, after she couldn’t take anymore. Missy gave her a mad grin.

“It is, isn’t it? Absolutely wonderful. Where is John tonight? I notice it’s just you and the pair.”

Clara crossed her arms over her chest.

“He’s with a girl.” She sniffed.

He was at his flat, working on his tower made of miniature fezzes that he hoped would set some sort of record, or win him a spot in an art museum, or something. But she wasn’t going to tell Missy that. She wanted her to think he was involved elsewhere, so she’d keep away from him.

Missy’s eyes twinkled. “Dear, if you’re going to lie, do try to look at least slightly convincing. God, the Doctor’s going to eat you alive, babes. Make sure you do your homework, as they say.”

Missy was just trying to get her worked up. She was always doing that. She was sure of it.

Except…

She felt like she was actually probably fucked.

------------------------

Her premonitions weren’t wrong.

On the first day of her new classes, she spilled scalding tea down her top, tore a hole in her tights, walked in on John and Missy doing some very disturbing things with River Song, accidentally made Rory Williams cry in The Irish Literary Revival, and put her foot in her mouth before Comics & Graphic Novels even began. Maybe even two feet.

“So,” a Scottish voice said. She’d just chosen a seat and had pulled her phone from her bag. She was checking her texts in the few minutes before class began. John had been sending her a frantic amount. She kept her head down and hoped whoever was talking to her would fuck off. She wasn’t in the mood. Her knees were drafty from the tear in her tights, her top was sticking uncomfortably to her breasts from her spilt tea, and she now knew way more about her best friend’s flexibility than she’d ever wanted or needed to know. “Looking forward to the class?”

“Not in the slightest.” She answered. She read the first five of John’s texts, then found they were only serving to stress her out. He let Missy (and sometimes River) manipulate him to the point where he had nearly zero control over his own life, but would he listen to Clara’s advice? Never. If he had, his life would be a lot more peaceful than it was now.

“Oh?” He asked. “And why might that be?”

“Comic books aren’t literature.” She answered shortly. She locked her phone and then looked up, with the intention of telling her visitor she wasn’t in the mood to chat, but thanks anyway—only to immediately feel her stomach plummet. Her lips parted wordlessly. Fuck. Oh, God.

“Erm.” Her mind spaced. “Uh. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“That’s what’s wrong with phones, Miss Oswald. They dull your brain, take your attention from more important matters. There are revolutions happening right now everywhere, but nobody notices because they’re too intent on Google or Amazon or Youtube.”

She was already lost and confused, and his lecture hadn’t even started yet. Not a good sign.

“Right. Well, I didn’t mean to be rude, but that’s what I think about comic books. I’m only in this class because Film Studies filled.”

“And despite that, I’m still going to teach you something. If I can get that phone out of your hand for more than a couple minutes, you’ll learn to love comic books yet.”

She watched him wink as he rose from the seat beside hers. Her cheeks were burning as he strolled down to another row of seats, sat beside a student, and presumably asked the same thing.

Nice one, Oswald.

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He was out of his mind

He assigned them four issues for the first night. Clara threw them on her desk when she returned to her flat and glared at them.

“I’m not reading all those.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Jenny agreed.

“I’m not.” Clara paced the floor. “That’s too much. Who does he think he is? Even if I liked comic books I wouldn’t read that many in one night. Doesn’t he know his students have lives? Things to do? Places to be? That our bodies need food and sleep and a certain level of social interaction?”

“So what’s your plan, Clara?” Vastra asked from the corner. Her voice was calm, passive. “Will you failing change his mind?”

She stopped. She glared at Vastra.

“No. But maybe it’ll make him…consider my view.”

Jenny set her knitting down and crossed over to Clara’s desk. She lifted the first one. She flipped through.

“Oh, look—it’s nearly all pictures. That’s not so bad. You read more words than this before breakfast.”

“I’m not doing it!” She huffed. She was infuriated and she wasn’t sure precisely why. She just knew she wasn’t going to do it, and he couldn’t make her. Her grief counselor had warned her about embarking on “power struggles” in her quest to heal, and had emphasized the danger of needing control, but Clara refused to see it for what it was. This wasn’t a power struggle. This was just…good versus evil. Right versus wrong. Four issues a night was wrong. And she had plenty to say about it.

-------------------

He called on her first during the next class meeting.

“Miss Oswald,” he called. His grey eyes were hard, intense. His thin lips were curled up just slightly at the corners, like he already knew she hadn’t done her reading. He probably did somehow. “Explain the significance of Pérez’s usage of primarily pastel colors—and then a striking, violent red—when depicting scenes of Clint’s childhood.”

She had no idea who Clint was. She guessed—and hoped—that was the “real name” of whoever Hawkeye was. She panicked for only a moment, but then the mirth in her professor’s eyes made her skin hot. She squared her shoulders.

“Pérez employed light colors to depict childhood innocence and ease. He switched to red when depicting…shocking events out of the ordinary.”

Her professor inclined his head. “Fabulous answer…if you were attempting to explain this to a room full of Year Threes. Details, Miss Oswald. Specifics. I want to know you’ve read.”

The bastard. He knew she didn’t read. And he knew that she knew he knew she didn’t read. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it publically.

“I’m sorry, professor. I thought everybody in the lecture hall was intelligent enough on their own; I wasn’t aware I needed to offer summaries of the reading publically.”

A slight narrowing of his eyes was all he gave her. He smiled instead of glowered.

“You mustn’t ever assume people are intelligent, Miss Oswald. I know I, for one, won’t make that mistake ever again.”

His look was pointed and rude. Clara scoffed before she could stop herself. He glowered right back. This was going to be an enjoyable term.

-----------------------

Four more issues were assigned. They joined the untouched pile on Clara’s desk. She paced John’s bedroom floor and ranted for half an hour about the entire ordeal. He looked worried.

“I can’t believe you said that to a professor. In front of the entire room.”

Now that she was out of that situation, she couldn’t either.

“It just came out. I dunno. He made me so angry.”

“Why? He only asked you a question. To be fair, that is his job, he’s educating you.”

“He knew I didn’t do the reading. He was trying to humiliate me.”

“Well, Clara. You’re supposed to do your readings.”

She shot a nasty look his way.

“Don’t you have a bow tie warehouse to be at right now?”

“That’s Friday,” he quipped, without missing a beat. “Do you think…maybe…you’re so…agitated because Danny was on his way to the comic shop when—”

“Shut up!” She interrupted shrilly. She swallowed hard and looked away from him. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

He held up his hands.

“Sorry, hey,” he said softly. “Come here. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just…trying to understand. Trying to help.”

She walked over and sat beside him, but she was tense even as he gave her a warm hug.

“I don’t need help.” She said stubbornly. She quickly reached up and wiped at her eyes before he saw the moisture glistening in them.

“You need to read these comics.”

“No.”

“At the very least, will you look up summaries online?”

She didn’t respond.

“You don’t want to go toe-to-toe with the Doctor, Clara. He’s kicked out loads of students.”

“Probably because he’s a wanker.”

“Clara.”

“Fine.” She snapped. “I’ll look at the summaries. But it won’t be enough. He’ll call on me and ask me question after question until he finds the one I don’t know the answer to. And then he’ll humiliate me. But maybe once he does, he won’t call on me anymore.”

“You know the guaranteed way to beat him, don’t you?” John pointed out. “Actually do the reading. Have him be the one to come out wrong.”

“No, because that’s what he wants me to do.”

------------------------

“Miss Oswald.”

Here we go, Clara thought. She looked up from her notes and peered towards her professor. He had that coy smirk on again.

“Discuss the failings and the successes of Clint’s relationship with Penny in issue eight.”

All relationships are basically the same. Fuck it.

“They love each other: big success. But it’s complicated and they continuously screw each other over: big failure.”

“Once again, Miss Oswald, a perfectly nuanced response fit for my ten year old daughter. Brava. Moving on. Miss Jones, what do you think…”

She felt oddly smug, and she wasn’t sure why. She just knew his smirk satisfied some need in her.

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They were sixteen issues in before their routine changed. She’d toss the comics onto her desk, come to class with some snarky bullshit answer already formed, share an irritated but somewhat amused smirk with the professor, and move on along.

Until he stopped her on her way out of class one afternoon.

“Miss Oswald, stay back, please.”

He didn’t even look up from his briefcase. Clara sighed. She stepped to the side and watched all her classmates filter out the door. Once it was empty, he looked up.

“You’re well aware you’re failing my class, correct?”

“I had a hunch, yeah.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her posture. They stared each other down.

“Why didn’t you just drop the class if you weren’t going to participate at all? Why waste both our time?”

She didn’t have any sort of answer that time. Maybe she was just trying to see what she could get away with. Maybe she was taking out her anger at the universe on him. Maybe she was regaining control. Or maybe she was just a bitch.

She settled on a shrug.

“What is it that you hate so deeply about comics?” He finally asked. He sounded nearly exasperated. It was the most flustered she’d ever seen him.

“I told you.” She said. “They’re not real literature. I’m studying English literature. I’m protesting the inclusion of this course.”

“And what, in your mind, makes real literature? A certain number of pages? A certain formatting? A lack of art?”

“Real literature makes overarching commentary about life. Real literature touches people. It’s not just fun and games. It’s not just overly strong men and overtly sexualized women running around in spandex, saving people from giant mud monsters or whatever.”

He considered her for a lot longer than she was comfortable with. She refused to back down from his stare.

“I’ve got a proposition for you, Miss Oswald.” He began. She stared warily. “I’m going to assign you some extra reading. If you read this—honestly, truly read it—and find, come the end, that it neither touched you nor fit your personal qualifications for real literature—I’ll pass you for this term. You’ll get the literal bare minimum required to pass, but I’ll pass you.”

She stared. “Seriously.”

“Seriously. Cross my heart.”

She figured she had nothing to lose. All she had to do was say it was awful, and she got a free pass.

“All right, then. Let’s have it.”

-----------------------

“’The Night Gwen Stacy Died’,” Vastra read off. “Sounds like a laugh.”

Clara looked up from her spot on the sofa. She had a mug of tea, a warm blanket, and she had taken her bra off—she was readying herself for a nice reading session. Not the comic, of course. Her novel for that week. But Vastra had spotted the comic on the coffee table.

“Yeah, I’m not reading it.” Clara responded. She opened her novel and flipped to her bookmark. She heard the comic rustle as Vastra sifted through the pages.

“Retro. Whoever Gwen is, she’s sexy. Wow, a midair orgy.”

Clara looked up. “What?” She laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Yeah, I am. But you should still give it a spin. Think of how happy it’d make your precious Doctor.”

She looked back down at her book. “Stop.”

“You can continue giving each other lovey eyes every time you’re in public together.”

“Stop.”

“You know, somebody’s going to catch on.”

“Vastra, we’re glaring at each other, not making ‘lovey eyes’.” Clara finally snapped. “We hate each other.”

“So read this and pretend he’s Gwen Stacy. Whack. Problem solved.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t actually die. Nobody ever actually dies. You die for a few pages, then you come back as like a squirrel or something.” Clara commented.

“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe you’re bitter and biased and actually don’t know anything about comics because you refuse to let yourself read one.”

Clara sighed. “Bye, Vastra. I’m reading.”

She finished her novel. She made another mug of tea. She wandered around the carpet trying to ring John, but his voicemail informed her he was working on his fez-tastic masterpiece. It was amazing anybody ever slept with him.

Finally, out of sheer boredom—or that’s what she told herself, anyway—she collapsed back down onto the sofa and snatched the comic off the table. She opened the cover, and as she did, a million different memories assaulted her. She thought of the glossy glow of the thousands of issues lining Danny’s bedroom wall. She thought of the serious pucker of his lips when he was reading something he found particularly incredible. And she thought about his trip to the comic book shop that Sunday, that began with a cheerful conversation between the two of them about where they might be meeting for lunch, and ended with the sickening slam of his body against the pavement.

She knew it wasn’t fair to vehemently despise all cars and all comics for what had happened, but it was either that or despising herself.

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Horribly enough, it wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t necessarily good, but it definitely wasn’t bad either. She read through with passive enjoyment until she neared the end. And she read a page. And then she stopped. And her breath caught audibly. And then she went back and read that page again. Her eyes scanned over the columns, trying to catch every tiny detail in the picture, every word that wasn’t just plainly written out for her like in novels. She reread the same awful page before she realized what had happened. Before she caught the tiny word snap! and understood what was unsaid.

“No.” She said aloud, dumbly. She re-read the page again, her lips still parted. “No way.”

She turned over onto her stomach and continued reading, her heart pounding hard in what could only be distress. She kept waiting for it to change. She kept waiting for Gwen to pop out of a wardrobe somewhere, or to come back to life, or to secretly have sent her doppelganger out and about. But it didn’t happen like that. The comic reminisced on Peter and Gwen’s good times. How they’d met in college and fallen in love…and then Clara was brought back to reality by an ambulance arriving, and Spider-Man admitting aloud that she was dead, and he’d killed her.

He hadn’t meant to kill her.

He’d caught her ankle with webbing after she was pushed off a bridge, hoping to pull her back up. But when he’d grabbed her ankle, the force of her stopped fall snapped her neck. Just like that. All in one go. Like a man stepping in front of a moving car. Like a man smacking the pavement and never getting back up again.

‘That’s awful,” she said aloud, to nobody at all. Her eyes burned. “That’s terrible.”

She thought about refusing to continue, but her sadness gave way to anger. She read on with vengeful enjoyment as the Green Goblin—who’d pushed Gwen from the bridge—was pounded on by Spider-Man, and his pained words to the villain as he did made Clara cry. And the words at the end of Green Goblin’s death, after he was pierced through the middle by his own glider, made Clara quiet. “So do the proud men die: crucified, not on a cross of gold—but on a stake of humble tin.”

She looked up from the comic, her cheeks wet, her shoulders quivering. Damn it.

----------------------

“Ah, Miss Oswald. Early to class. What did you think?”

“It was rubbish. It was awful. It was juvenile. It had plot holes larger than Russia.” She slapped the comic down onto his desk. She stuffed her hands into her pockets before he caught the quake.

For a moment, he looked terribly disappointed. But it passed quickly.

“Thank you for trying, Miss Oswald.”

“Thank you for the pass, Doctor.” She responded.

She walked briskly up to her seat. She sat down and she hunched over. She tried not to regret turning over the comic, but her heart ached the entire lesson.

------------------------

She didn’t want to be seen.

She kept her sunglasses and hat on up until the last possible moment. She considered leaving them on in the shop itself, but thought that may draw even more attention to herself. She felt embarrassed as she slowly stepped through the shop door, stepped to the side, and removed her hat and glasses. One comic. One comic, and she was out, and she didn’t have to tell anybody or explain anything to them.

She wandered around, but became easily overwhelmed by the shelves and shelves of comics. To make matters worse, there were huge tables covered with labeled boxes that were filled with comics and more comics. She heard snickering, but when she turned, it was only a man laughing at something on a page. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. The girl behind the counter was young—very young. Illegally young. She was definitely still in primary school. Clara looked around, confused.

“Hi.” She said. “I’m looking for a comic. Do you…work here?”

“I help here. It’s a hobby.” She corrected. She folded her tiny hands atop the table. “What are you looking for?”

“Erm. A comic. A…Spider-Man comic.” She wanted to fall right through the floor. “’The Night Gwen Stacy Died’?” She looked around the shop. “Is your…mum here?”

She was concerned about the girl, and felt she shouldn’t be alone in a shop, but when she hopped off the stool and immediately took off towards a shelf, Clara realized she was more of a lost little girl than the girl was. She hurried after her. She watched in amazement as the girl plucked the issue without even having to search once.

“Last one. Is that all you wanted?”

“Yeah.” She paused. “No. Do you have the issues right before that one?”

The little girl gestured to the comics lining the left of the spot she’d just pulled from.

“Ordered. Take your time.” She said politely. She hopped off with a lot more helpfulness and social tact than a lot of shop workers. Clara watched her in disbelief for a moment and then shook her head.

She climbed up onto the step stool the girl had stepped down from. She spent a lot longer than she planned pulling comics out, shifting through the pages, trying to see which dealt with more of Gwen and Peter’s story. After at least fifteen minutes, she heard a chuckle. Assuming it was the same man laughing at a comic, she didn’t turn. She should’ve.

“You’re quite a liar, Miss Oswald.”

She jumped so suddenly that she nearly toppled of the stool. Her professor shot a hand out automatically and grabbed onto her forearms, steadying her. His eyes were dancing with amusement.

“I thought it was rubbish? With plot holes bigger than Russia?”

She was caught. She had the comic he’d loaned her and three previous issues in her hands. Fuck.

“It was.” She sniffed stubbornly. She paused. “…but perhaps I enjoy rubbish and plot holes larger than Russia.”

“Well, you must. My daughter says you’ve been in our shop for nearly a half hour, murmuring about Gwen and Peter underneath your breath.”

Her cheeks went hot. “I have not.”

“Gwen never lies.”

She blinked. “What?”

“My daughter, Gwen.” He pointed at the young girl behind the counter. “Very clever.”

“Yeah,” Clara agreed weakly. She was having difficulty processing what was happening. “She’s very mature for her age.”

“She lost her mum at age five. She’s had to be.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

An awkward silence fell over them.

“So you have a comic book shop?” Clara finally asked. She looked around. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Had it for a while, though it’s nearly gone under thanks to the new comic shop.”

Clara looked down and away. Danny had shopped at the other comic shop.

“Yours is cleaner.”

“That’s what I think, too.” He agreed. “You’ve been to the other shop? Do they not carry these issues?”

“Ah, no. My…boyfriend used to go to the other one a lot.” She was still in an awkward place, where she wasn’t sure what to call Danny. My ex? But they hadn’t broken up. My late boyfriend? It sounded so…formal.

The Doctor blinked. He looked annoyed for a moment, but it passed by.

“Why are you so against comics if your boyfriend loves them?” He finally asked.

She considered shrugging and leaving. But she felt a strange need to defend herself and her behavior. Like his opinion mattered, somehow.

“He, erm. Died. Last year. He was the student who was…” she trailed off. After a moment, the Doctor’s eyes widened.

“Oh. Danny. Danny Pink.”

It surprised her that he remembered his name. She swallowed roughly.

“Yeah.” She whispered. “So. Anyway. Wasn’t keen on going back to that shop.”

“No. I’d imagine you wouldn’t be.” He said. His voice was softer now. He looked down at his feet awkwardly and then looked back up. “Listen. You can borrow those comics, if you like. We’ll set this shop up like a library for you. That way you can read all the ones you want without having to make huge financial commitments.”

She had been debating which to buy, as she couldn’t buy them all. She nodded her head slowly, cautiously.

“All right. But I still want to buy this one.” She held up the comic he’d loaned her.

He inclined his head. “Of course. Gwen will ring it up for you.”

The little girl obediently skipped back over to them. Clara handed her the issue and watched her cheerfully head back over to the front.

“Gwen for Gwen Stacy?” Clara finally asked.

“Of course. What kind of comic book professor would I be if I didn’t name my only child after a character?”

“One without dedication, that’s for sure.”

“Exactly.” He nodded.

She didn’t remember smiling, but after a moment, he was too. They awkwardly avoided eyes a second later.

“So it’s Gwen and Peter’s relationship that won you over?” He asked. He headed towards the front. She followed.

“Sort of.” It was his grief, but we’ll go with that.

“Just wait until the second half of term. You’re going to enjoy Iron Man and Captain America’s subtext.”

She laughed, surprised. “What?”

“Wait and see.” He said.

She crossed her arms. She scrunched up her nose.

“Who says I’m going to read your assigned issues?”

“I do. Because it’ll make our discussions we’ll have here at my shop every Wednesday night very difficult if you haven’t read.”

She frowned. She tried to remember if she’d heard him mention that in class. “You can’t fit all your students in here.”

“Oh, I know. I was only referring to you.”

She flushed, taken aback. She took the bag his daughter offered stiffly.

“And what makes you think I’d agree to that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just had a hunch.”

They were smiling again. She mentally berated herself. For that and for the warmth beginning between her legs and in her heart.

“Well, I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no.” She hedged.

“Wouldn’t expect anything else. I’ll be here every Wednesday at seven if you decide to come. We’ll have cakes and tea and coffee and chips. Maybe enough extra revising will bring your grade back up.”

Without another word, he strolled back into the door behind the counter. Clara cleared her throat lightly and met Gwen’s eyes.

“Brunettes are his kryptonite.” Gwen shared wisely.

Clara laughed, before she could stop herself. She slapped a palm over her lips and willed the girl to ignore her flushed cheeks.

“Lovely to know, Gwen. I suppose I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

#cardinalcapaldi #whouffaldi #i forgot my own tags for my blog organization dammit #clara/12 #maybe??

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Of all the classes she could’ve done her final year, Comics & Graphic Novels was her very last pick.

“That’s great, Missy.” Clara finally interrupted, after she couldn’t take anymore. Missy gave her a mad grin.

“It is, isn’t it? Absolutely wonderful. Where is John tonight? I notice it’s just you and the pair.”

Clara crossed her arms over her chest.

“He’s with a girl.” She sniffed.

Missy was just trying to get her worked up. She was always doing that. She was sure of it.

Except…

She felt like she was actually probably fucked.

------------------------

Her premonitions weren’t wrong.

“Oh?” He asked. “And why might that be?”

“Erm.” Her mind spaced. “Uh. I didn’t realize it was you.”

She was already lost and confused, and his lecture hadn’t even started yet. Not a good sign.

“Right. Well, I didn’t mean to be rude, but that’s what I think about comic books. I’m only in this class because Film Studies filled.”

“And despite that, I’m still going to teach you something. If I can get that phone out of your hand for more than a couple minutes, you’ll learn to love comic books yet.”

She watched him wink as he rose from the seat beside hers. Her cheeks were burning as he strolled down to another row of seats, sat beside a student, and presumably asked the same thing.

Nice one, Oswald.

-------------------

He was out of his mind

He assigned them four issues for the first night. Clara threw them on her desk when she returned to her flat and glared at them.

“I’m not reading all those.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Jenny agreed.

“So what’s your plan, Clara?” Vastra asked from the corner. Her voice was calm, passive. “Will you failing change his mind?”

She stopped. She glared at Vastra.

“No. But maybe it’ll make him…consider my view.”

Jenny set her knitting down and crossed over to Clara’s desk. She lifted the first one. She flipped through.

“Oh, look—it’s nearly all pictures. That’s not so bad. You read more words than this before breakfast.”

-------------------

He called on her first during the next class meeting.

“Pérez employed light colors to depict childhood innocence and ease. He switched to red when depicting…shocking events out of the ordinary.”

Her professor inclined his head. “Fabulous answer…if you were attempting to explain this to a room full of Year Threes. Details, Miss Oswald. Specifics. I want to know you’ve read.”

The bastard. He knew she didn’t read. And he knew that she knew he knew she didn’t read. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it publically.

“I’m sorry, professor. I thought everybody in the lecture hall was intelligent enough on their own; I wasn’t aware I needed to offer summaries of the reading publically.”

A slight narrowing of his eyes was all he gave her. He smiled instead of glowered.

“You mustn’t ever assume people are intelligent, Miss Oswald. I know I, for one, won’t make that mistake ever again.”

His look was pointed and rude. Clara scoffed before she could stop herself. He glowered right back. This was going to be an enjoyable term.

-----------------------

Four more issues were assigned. They joined the untouched pile on Clara’s desk. She paced John’s bedroom floor and ranted for half an hour about the entire ordeal. He looked worried.

“I can’t believe you said that to a professor. In front of the entire room.”

Now that she was out of that situation, she couldn’t either.

“It just came out. I dunno. He made me so angry.”

“Why? He only asked you a question. To be fair, that is his job, he’s educating you.”

“He knew I didn’t do the reading. He was trying to humiliate me.”

“Well, Clara. You’re supposed to do your readings.”

She shot a nasty look his way.

“Don’t you have a bow tie warehouse to be at right now?”

“That’s Friday,” he quipped, without missing a beat. “Do you think…maybe…you’re so…agitated because Danny was on his way to the comic shop when—”

“Shut up!” She interrupted shrilly. She swallowed hard and looked away from him. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

He held up his hands.

“Sorry, hey,” he said softly. “Come here. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just…trying to understand. Trying to help.”

She walked over and sat beside him, but she was tense even as he gave her a warm hug.

“I don’t need help.” She said stubbornly. She quickly reached up and wiped at her eyes before he saw the moisture glistening in them.

“You need to read these comics.”

“No.”

“At the very least, will you look up summaries online?”

She didn’t respond.

“You don’t want to go toe-to-toe with the Doctor, Clara. He’s kicked out loads of students.”

“Probably because he’s a wanker.”

“Clara.”

“You know the guaranteed way to beat him, don’t you?” John pointed out. “Actually do the reading. Have him be the one to come out wrong.”

“No, because that’s what he wants me to do.”

------------------------

“Miss Oswald.”

Here we go, Clara thought. She looked up from her notes and peered towards her professor. He had that coy smirk on again.

“Discuss the failings and the successes of Clint’s relationship with Penny in issue eight.”

All relationships are basically the same. Fuck it.

“They love each other: big success. But it’s complicated and they continuously screw each other over: big failure.”

“Once again, Miss Oswald, a perfectly nuanced response fit for my ten year old daughter. Brava. Moving on. Miss Jones, what do you think…”

She felt oddly smug, and she wasn’t sure why. She just knew his smirk satisfied some need in her.

----------------------

Until he stopped her on her way out of class one afternoon.

“Miss Oswald, stay back, please.”

He didn’t even look up from his briefcase. Clara sighed. She stepped to the side and watched all her classmates filter out the door. Once it was empty, he looked up.

“You’re well aware you’re failing my class, correct?”

“I had a hunch, yeah.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her posture. They stared each other down.

“Why didn’t you just drop the class if you weren’t going to participate at all? Why waste both our time?”

She settled on a shrug.

“What is it that you hate so deeply about comics?” He finally asked. He sounded nearly exasperated. It was the most flustered she’d ever seen him.

“I told you.” She said. “They’re not real literature. I’m studying English literature. I’m protesting the inclusion of this course.”

“And what, in your mind, makes real literature? A certain number of pages? A certain formatting? A lack of art?”

He considered her for a lot longer than she was comfortable with. She refused to back down from his stare.

She stared. “Seriously.”

“Seriously. Cross my heart.”

She figured she had nothing to lose. All she had to do was say it was awful, and she got a free pass.

“All right, then. Let’s have it.”

-----------------------

“’The Night Gwen Stacy Died’,” Vastra read off. “Sounds like a laugh.”

“Yeah, I’m not reading it.” Clara responded. She opened her novel and flipped to her bookmark. She heard the comic rustle as Vastra sifted through the pages.

“Retro. Whoever Gwen is, she’s sexy. Wow, a midair orgy.”

Clara looked up. “What?” She laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Yeah, I am. But you should still give it a spin. Think of how happy it’d make your precious Doctor.”

She looked back down at her book. “Stop.”

“You can continue giving each other lovey eyes every time you’re in public together.”

“Stop.”

“You know, somebody’s going to catch on.”

“Vastra, we’re glaring at each other, not making ‘lovey eyes’.” Clara finally snapped. “We hate each other.”

“So read this and pretend he’s Gwen Stacy. Whack. Problem solved.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t actually die. Nobody ever actually dies. You die for a few pages, then you come back as like a squirrel or something.” Clara commented.

“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe you’re bitter and biased and actually don’t know anything about comics because you refuse to let yourself read one.”

Clara sighed. “Bye, Vastra. I’m reading.”

She knew it wasn’t fair to vehemently despise all cars and all comics for what had happened, but it was either that or despising herself.

---------------------

“No.” She said aloud, dumbly. She re-read the page again, her lips still parted. “No way.”

He hadn’t meant to kill her.

‘That’s awful,” she said aloud, to nobody at all. Her eyes burned. “That’s terrible.”

She looked up from the comic, her cheeks wet, her shoulders quivering. Damn it.

----------------------

“Ah, Miss Oswald. Early to class. What did you think?”

“It was rubbish. It was awful. It was juvenile. It had plot holes larger than Russia.” She slapped the comic down onto his desk. She stuffed her hands into her pockets before he caught the quake.

For a moment, he looked terribly disappointed. But it passed quickly.

“Thank you for trying, Miss Oswald.”

“Thank you for the pass, Doctor.” She responded.

She walked briskly up to her seat. She sat down and she hunched over. She tried not to regret turning over the comic, but her heart ached the entire lesson.

------------------------

She didn’t want to be seen.

“Hi.” She said. “I’m looking for a comic. Do you…work here?”

“I help here. It’s a hobby.” She corrected. She folded her tiny hands atop the table. “What are you looking for?”

“Erm. A comic. A…Spider-Man comic.” She wanted to fall right through the floor. “’The Night Gwen Stacy Died’?” She looked around the shop. “Is your…mum here?”

“Last one. Is that all you wanted?”

“Yeah.” She paused. “No. Do you have the issues right before that one?”

The little girl gestured to the comics lining the left of the spot she’d just pulled from.

“You’re quite a liar, Miss Oswald.”

She jumped so suddenly that she nearly toppled of the stool. Her professor shot a hand out automatically and grabbed onto her forearms, steadying her. His eyes were dancing with amusement.

“I thought it was rubbish? With plot holes bigger than Russia?”

She was caught. She had the comic he’d loaned her and three previous issues in her hands. Fuck.

“It was.” She sniffed stubbornly. She paused. “…but perhaps I enjoy rubbish and plot holes larger than Russia.”

“Well, you must. My daughter says you’ve been in our shop for nearly a half hour, murmuring about Gwen and Peter underneath your breath.”

Her cheeks went hot. “I have not.”

“Gwen never lies.”

She blinked. “What?”

“My daughter, Gwen.” He pointed at the young girl behind the counter. “Very clever.”

“Yeah,” Clara agreed weakly. She was having difficulty processing what was happening. “She’s very mature for her age.”

“She lost her mum at age five. She’s had to be.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

An awkward silence fell over them.

“So you have a comic book shop?” Clara finally asked. She looked around. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Had it for a while, though it’s nearly gone under thanks to the new comic shop.”

Clara looked down and away. Danny had shopped at the other comic shop.

“Yours is cleaner.”

“That’s what I think, too.” He agreed. “You’ve been to the other shop? Do they not carry these issues?”

The Doctor blinked. He looked annoyed for a moment, but it passed by.

“Why are you so against comics if your boyfriend loves them?” He finally asked.

She considered shrugging and leaving. But she felt a strange need to defend herself and her behavior. Like his opinion mattered, somehow.

“He, erm. Died. Last year. He was the student who was…” she trailed off. After a moment, the Doctor’s eyes widened.

“Oh. Danny. Danny Pink.”

It surprised her that he remembered his name. She swallowed roughly.

“Yeah.” She whispered. “So. Anyway. Wasn’t keen on going back to that shop.”

She had been debating which to buy, as she couldn’t buy them all. She nodded her head slowly, cautiously.

“All right. But I still want to buy this one.” She held up the comic he’d loaned her.

He inclined his head. “Of course. Gwen will ring it up for you.”

The little girl obediently skipped back over to them. Clara handed her the issue and watched her cheerfully head back over to the front.

“Gwen for Gwen Stacy?” Clara finally asked.

“Of course. What kind of comic book professor would I be if I didn’t name my only child after a character?”

“One without dedication, that’s for sure.”

“Exactly.” He nodded.

She didn’t remember smiling, but after a moment, he was too. They awkwardly avoided eyes a second later.

“So it’s Gwen and Peter’s relationship that won you over?” He asked. He headed towards the front. She followed.

“Sort of.” It was his grief, but we’ll go with that.

“Just wait until the second half of term. You’re going to enjoy Iron Man and Captain America’s subtext.”

She laughed, surprised. “What?”

“Wait and see.” He said.

She crossed her arms. She scrunched up her nose.

“Who says I’m going to read your assigned issues?”

“I do. Because it’ll make our discussions we’ll have here at my shop every Wednesday night very difficult if you haven’t read.”

She frowned. She tried to remember if she’d heard him mention that in class. “You can’t fit all your students in here.”

“Oh, I know. I was only referring to you.”

She flushed, taken aback. She took the bag his daughter offered stiffly.

“And what makes you think I’d agree to that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just had a hunch.”

They were smiling again. She mentally berated herself. For that and for the warmth beginning between her legs and in her heart.

“Well, I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no.” She hedged.

Without another word, he strolled back into the door behind the counter. Clara cleared her throat lightly and met Gwen’s eyes.

“Brunettes are his kryptonite.” Gwen shared wisely.

Clara laughed, before she could stop herself. She slapped a palm over her lips and willed the girl to ignore her flushed cheeks.

“Lovely to know, Gwen. I suppose I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

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