Author's Note: This is the sequel to By The Sword. The reading order so far for all of my Flynn/Clara fiction is: Season 1 - And She Was Not An Adventure, Plato's Step-Daughter, A Christmas Clara, Sure As Sin, Once Upon A Dime, Reap The Whirlwind, Out Of The Darkness, And Into The Light, By The Sword and (Film Tie-In) - Fools & Sages. Each new Flynn/Clara story will include an updated reading order. Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

~*~

Quatermain

"I'm... I'm fading," Flynn said, turning to her, his voice becoming bizarrely high. "From the feet up," he added oddly, holding up his leg, everything below his ankle completely gone.

"Oh my God," Clara said, her hands flying to her mouth, "oh my God!"

"Keep it together, Clara," Jenkins ordered, snatching up a magnifying glass, his face paling despite himself.

"This is my fault, isn't it!?" Clara cried, the tears beginning to fall afresh, Flynn now running around like a headless chicken on non-existent feet. "I've undone my decision" -

- "I'm too dishy to disappear!" Flynn bewailed to the heavens. "Who's going to colour-code my cravat collection now!?"

"Do something," Clara sobbed, grabbing Jenkins's arm, "for God's sake, do something!"

Jenkins just slapped her across the face with the magnifying glass, which turned into a rubber fish at the last second, sending her sideways, before transforming into a bucket of water which Jenkins threw over Flynn, stopping him in his sopping tracks. "I always knew a magical magnifying glass would prove useful," Jenkins said in an undertone before setting it down on the table, "so useful I may invest in another one."

"Jenkins," Flynn said, his voice cracking, "what in the name of Long John's long johns is happening!?"

"You have everything and nothing to do with this," Jenkins fired at a still stunned Clara, "but it was his choice," he whirled on Flynn, the tails of his frock-coat flying, "and now he has to live with the consequences of that choice," he said, turning to Clara again.

"Even as it kills me!?" Flynn squeaked.

"No," Jenkins said, now pacing the floor, brow furrowing, "of course not. But in your alternate timeline, you chose not to attend that interview, disobeying a direct order from the Library I might add" -

- "Get to the point!" Clara screeched as Flynn started to fade further from view.

"The point is you dragged him out of his own timeline and into yours, wherein he died, the end – or almost anyways," Jenkins said, eying Flynn like he was from Mars.

Clara just gaped at Jenkins, resembling the rubber fish he had just slapped her with.

"You have everything and nothing to do with this," Jenkins fired at a still stunned Clara, "but it was your choice," he said, whirling on Flynn, the tails of his frock-coat flying, "and now he has to live with the consequences of that choice," he said, turning to Clara again.

"But the time she bought me is evidently running out," Flynn said acerbically, flexing his now see-through fingers.

"Which is why she has to go back and make sure you become the Librarian," Jenkins said, making for the back door, "and that you attend that damned interview!"

"What!?" Clara protested, doing a double-take.

"If Flynn fades from existence," Jenkins explained impatiently, "so will everything he has ever done, all those souls he saved, the apocalypses he averted" -

- "All those sartorial successes I sported," Flynn wailed, burying his face in his now non-existent hands.

"Fine, I'll do it," Clara said, face completely bloodless, "I'll go back."

"If he goes down, he's taking you with him," Jenkins warned her, flinging open the back door.

"Never mind me," Clara spat, tucking her hair behind her ears, "worry about Casper over there."

"You can't escape your fate, Clara Hartley," Jenkins said quietly, but she just looked at him, holding his gaze for a long moment, before throwing herself into the fray, history repeating itself -

"You okay, kid!?"

Clara sat up, head spinning, stars exploding in front of her eyes. Around and above her, there was a cacophony of concerned voices, but what stood out most of all was a Southern drawl, reminding her of all that she was running from. "I'll... I'll be alright," she said shakily, staggering to her feet, "I - I mean I'm fine."

"You need to look where you're goin', man," Jacob snapped at his father, "you're gonna end up killin' somebody swingin' that piece of scaffoldin' about like a baseball bat!"

"Girl came barrellin' out of nowhere," Isaac said coolly, "ain't my fault she wasn't lookin' where she was goin'."

Jacob just shook his head, Isaac coolly raising an eyebrow in response before turning and leaving, Jacob watching him go. "Sorry about that," he apologized, turning to Clara, "the ole man's a surly old sod, he don't mean no harm, not really."

Clara just stared at Jacob, her mouth opening and closing, remembering as though from far away I already had a job, family business... This was the Jacob of ten years ago, living a lie, standing right in front of her right now, the past colliding with the future. "You're – you're a surveyor," she stuttered stupidly, glancing around her, only to find herself in what seemed to be a construction site.

"Yeah," Jacob said, looking amused, "more or less. Just finishin' on workin' on your Pyramid."

"My what!?" Clara said incredulously, doing a double-take.

"Your exact replica of the Great Pyramid," Jacob said slowly, "at one twentieth scale includin' its missin' capstone. I mean, you're battin' for the brainiacs, ain't ya?" He gestured to her baggy white t-shirt and black Lycra shorts, Clara glancing down at herself, only to see she'd undergone yet another wardrobe change, her shaking hand then reaching up to her hair, only to find it pulled back in a high ponytail.

"If you mean I'm part of the translations team, yes," Clara said stiffly, thinking on her trainered feet, "otherwise you're making it sound like I've misplaced a polyhedron."

Jacob just grinned, a rueful twist of the lips Clara was all too familiar with. "Hieroglyphics, huh?" he said, rolling up a denim sleeve.

"I'm actually more an Occitan kind of person," Clara said uneasily, "but academics can't be choosers. I have to go where the funding is."

"Gotta do what we gotta do, right?" Jacob said, glancing over his shoulder, only to see his father gesturing impatiently, tapping his watch. "Time is money," he said, exhaling sharply, "and I'm makin' my ole man bankrupt. It's been nice talkin' to you kid, maybe I'll see you around." He tipped an imaginary hat at her, before turning and leaving, the heavy tread of his boots echoing oddly around the auditorium, reverberating down the years.

~*~

Clara crept behind a pillar, not knowing what the hell she was meant to be doing apart from finding Flynn, her mind racing through a thousand possibilities. Was there a reason why the first face she'd seen was Jacob Stone? Or was it just a co-incidence? It couldn't possibly be fate, could it? But fate had flung her here in the first place.

Biting her lip, she glanced around her, noting the hunched shoulders and furrowed brows of her supposedly fellow academics, all similarly dressed to her, the sound of pens scribbling across paper disturbing the silence. She glanced down at her trainers, trying to see them as a sign that she was supposed to be here, finding no other way to explain her magical makeover.

Forcing herself to focus, she slunk over to a wall, pretending to study its hieroglyphics, her brow furrowing in fake thought, only to frown for real. "This is complete codswallop," she muttered to herself, "utterly idiotic tripe" -

- "Fancy some folderol?"

Clara whirled around, only to find herself facing Flynn, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish's.

"You're only focusing on the Fourth Dynasty," he said pompously, gesturing to the wall behind her, "these particular glyphs are actually derived" -

- "From the Third Dynasty regional variance," Clara said coldly, recovering herself. "Yes, I know."

"You looked like you didn't."

"Well, I do," Clara snapped, turning away from him, her hands starting to shake despite her apparently cool demeanour. Events were unfolding too fast, making her head spin again, but she didn't have time to do detective work and track Flynn down. So it was only logical the back door had taken a short cut and dumped her headfirst into Flynn's life, but all the same, she wished she'd been given a moment to prepare herself.

"It's through these stones we can summon the power of the gods," Flynn said, dark eyes distant, utterly unaware of Clara's ignominy, "absolutely square on every level..." As he waffled on, sliding into a dodgy French accent that meant to pay tribute to Napoleon whom he was now quoting, Clara finally turned around, using his soliloquy as cover to study him, taking in his towering frame and messy dark hair, how his safari style jacket was stained at the sleeves.

"Flynn," Clara began, her voice cracking, remembering the Library, their last words, Flynn beginning to fade out of existence, "I" -

- "I don't know you," Flynn said suddenly, his words striking her through the heart like a sword, "are you the other candidate?"

Clara just stared at him, bewildered.

"For the promotion," Flynn said impatiently, "as head of the translations team."

"What, can't handle a little competition?" Clara flared up, recovering herself again, knowing she was allowing herself to be sidetracked and not caring.

"You might be little, but I'm sure I can handle you," Flynn retorted, nostrils flaring.

"Never judge a book by its cover, Quatermain," Clara said scathingly.

"Then maybe you can explain how these primitives unlocked the majesty and mystery of trigonometry," Flynn said nastily, gesturing around him, "engineering centuries ahead of their time" -

- "They reached past themselves," Clara said, her voice cracking, "and touched the divine." And with that, she turned and left, leaving Flynn alone with his fractured thoughts.

I found solace in the strangest place
Way in the back of my mind
I saw my life in a stranger's face
And it was mine...

~*~

"Isn't it perfection?" Flynn said, startling Clara, who had been surveying the Pyramid with some scorn.

"Back off, butthead," Clara said, flicking the brim of his safari style hat, which Flynn was now self-consciously sporting, "or I'll call for security."

"That promotion is mine," Flynn said pettishly, before taking off, scampering through the crowd of students like an overgrown Labrador.

"Bloody hell," Clara muttered, before following him, knowing she only had herself to blame. She had to set aside all personal feelings, putting the mission first and making sure Flynn attended the interview, instead of throwing hissy fits as soon as she saw his face. But it would be easier said than done, and in that moment, she wasn't sure she could do this after all.

"I want to thank you all for a great semester," a bespectacled man with a clipboard tucked under his arm intoned loudly, silencing the students, Clara coming to a stop, seeing Flynn at the front of the crowd, trying to high-five people who just ignored him. "Despite what the naysayers have been spouting," the bespectacled man continued pompously, Flynn booing loudly and rather immaturely, making those closest to him wince, "we will show for the first time - at perfect one twentieth scale, using real Pyramid stones - exactly what the Great Pyramid looked like, complete with its missing capstone."

Everybody started applauding, Clara clapping along, trying to blend in. The bespectacled man just smiled and nodded, before bowing his farewell. As he turned and left, Flynn followed him, Clara watching, noticing how the bespectacled man seemed to speed up, feigning not to hear Flynn's pretentious calls of Professor! But the bespectacled man reluctantly then came to a stop, turning to face Flynn, resulting in an abrupt discourse that ended with the bespectacled man shouting at Flynn, his voice ringing around the auditorium, making everyone stare.

He then turned and stalked off, leaving Flynn standing on his own, utterly shellshocked, Clara standing there in turn, her fists clenching by her sides, knowing without knowing that this was the moment that had nearly broken Flynn into fragments. During the dawns, where they would lie in her bed, Clara wrapped in Flynn's arms, he would sometimes tell her stories of his adventures, never telling her of his life before he became the Librarian, only mentioning there had been once been a moment that had nearly ended everything.

Clara watched as Flynn slowly took off his safari hat and jacket, dumping them in an urn, giving his dashed dreams one last glance before turning and leaving, his shoulders hunching as he went, the sight cutting Clara to the heart. But just as she made to go after him, she froze, her gaze being drawn upwards almost against her will, to where a shadowed figure stood on the balcony, watching her as she watched him. And then he was gone, a ghost fading into the shadows.