Perchance

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Flynn muttered as Clara straightened his tie to her own specifications, enduring her ministrations with apparent equanimity, becoming rapidly and reluctantly used to Clara treating him like her especial property.

"Well, you are," Clara said firmly, taking a step back to appraise her handiwork. With the threat of being flung out onto the street removed from the equation, and Flynn on his way to the interview, Clara had now completely regained her usually controlling composure. The only thing undermining her own equanimity was the fact she and Flynn had now fallen into a rocky routine, one that made her uncomfortable, existing somewhere between enemies and allies.

"Mom said you were a keeper," Flynn said acerbically, recalling Margie's astonished face when Clara announced Flynn had an interview with a leading educational establishment, Margie completely holding Clara responsible for this miracle of Flynn taking his first footsteps into the real world. She had then rushed off to sort out his best suit, Flynn retreating to his room, Clara taking herself off to clean the kitchen again.

"Somebody has to keep you in line," Clara said just as acerbically, softening his severe side-parting with her fingers, "and it might as well be me."

"Who died and made you dictator?" Flynn flared up, jerking his head away. "You're not the boss of me!"

"If you're still angry about that kiss, don't be," Clara said smartly, dusting down his suit sleeves, "I won't be repeating the experience. It was a once in a life-time event." But the falsehood sat ill on her lips, Clara knowing full well that she was lying about lying in wait for Flynn, all that was yet to occur.

"It better be," Flynn blustered, "not all men enjoy being mauled" -

Clara clamped her hand over his mouth, silencing him. Flynn narrowed his eyes, but he didn't say anymore, reluctantly allowing Clara to link her arm through his, before heading in the general direction of the Metropolitan Library. As they crossed the courtyard, Flynn tripped and stumbled the whole way, nearly taking Clara and several strangers down with him, including a bespectacled schoolboy with neatly side-parted hair and spectacles, his blazer alarmingly ironed to within an inch of its life.

"I'm so sorry," Flynn apologized as the schoolboy edged away from him, "it's my nerves" -

- "Hey!" Clara suddenly cried, lunging forwards, grabbing the boy's ear. "Show me your hands!"

"You're insane, lady!" the schoolboy screeched, struggling to escape, Flynn's hand flying to his mouth in horror at seeing Clara manhandle a minor like he was a common criminal. "Let me go!"

Ignoring his protests, Clara rifled through his blazer pockets, unearthing Flynn's wallet and a motley collection of items that couldn't possibly belong to the average schoolboy. "Is it your time of the month, perchance?" she said sarcastically, waving a packet of tampons in front of his face, making the schoolboy blush hotly.

"I was in a rush, okay?" the schoolboy snapped. "Hit and run. I just grab what I can."

"Well, hit and run somewhere else, sunshine," Clara said, shoving him away, throwing Flynn his wallet, dumping everything else onto a passing security guard, startling him.

Dragging a protesting Flynn onwards, Clara finally allowed herself to breathe, her encounter with the teenage Ezekiel reassuring and rattling her all at once. First Jacob, now Ezekiel. In some strange way they were all still with her. Yet as they approached the imposing Metropolitan Library, Clara uneasily wondered at how easy this was all proving to be, escorting Flynn to his interview, letting fate do the rest, so boom she would be back through the back door, her life her own again. There had to be a catch in it somewhere, but Clara couldn't quite catch the catch, keeping a weather eye out for it all the same.

Five minutes later, they were facing a long and winding line of other prospective Librarians that spanned an entire elaborately embellished spiralling staircase, the queue traversing several floors, Flynn's face paling at the sight. Clara tightened her grip on his arm, not allowing him the opportunity to escape. She had got him here so far, so Satan would have to sell saltine crackers instead of souls before she let Flynn quit at the starting line. She forced him to join the end of the queue, the two of them standing on the bottom step, Flynn clutching his folder for dear life, looking like he was going to faint.

Time ticked past, the queue moving slowly, Clara lolling against Flynn, her arm still tucked through his. Flynn glanced down at her, uncomfortably aware of how close she was, her hair smelling strangely of summer, falling over her shoulders like a dark curtain.

"You alright?" Clara asked curiously, glancing up at him.

"I am perfectly capable of standing in a queue on my own, thank you very much," Flynn said stiffly, "so you can go and catch a coffee or whatever beverage you British barbarians drink. I'll be okay on my own."

"I'm staying put," Clara said through gritted teeth, before suddenly burying her face in Flynn's shoulder, startling him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned against his will.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," Clara lied, raising her head, struggling to control her emotions. She was with Flynn and she wasn't, the contradictions playing havoc with her heart.

"We're almost at the top," Flynn said, hastily changing the subject.

Clara just nodded, before huddling closer to Flynn, all she didn't have left.

Oh, all that I know
There's nothing here to run from
Cos yeah, everybody here's got somebody to lean on...