A/N: Yay! A Christmas one-shot! Set in an alternate universe in which The Doctor and Clara and entirely human (Weird, I know right?), which includes them being a married couple in the modern day world. :D I have another little holiday story that I will be uploading on Christmas day, and it may or may not include a debut of a certain new Doctor. ;) :)

But alas, enjoy!

Chapter Five: Caller Eight

Another package arrived in the mail that day.

Clara had signed the contract and thanked the postman with the same plastered smile on her face that she had been wearing throughout the tedious days of the holiday season. Closing the door behind her, she despondently looked down upon the return address, and wasn't surprised to find that it belonged to the hospital at which her husband worked at.

You should be happy Clara. The woman told herself as she carelessly tossed the cardboard box atop of the kitchen counter, the brown paper packaging soaked midway with melted snow. At least you know he's alive. She bit her lip as she reached for the orange pair of scissors that lay across the stack of bill receipts and catalog subscription cards, knowing that the box's content's would only disappoint the hopes she held rather far in the back of her mind.

She violently stabbed the tapeline and ran the blade down the middle of the packaging, then gently placing the scissors aside and leaving the rest of the work to the strength of her two small hands. Opening the box, she repeated the ritual of pretending to be excited as she picked up a Christmas card that lay atop of two perfectly wrapped presents. This time, he didn't even bother to write anything sentimental; he just left the cliché message that came with the card to do the greeting for him.

May the spirit of Christmas bring joy to your heart and happiness to your home.

Best Wishes,

Dr. John Smith M.D.

Her irate and trembling hands pleaded to tear the card in half. After three months of not seeing his face around the house, after three months of his arms not being there to embrace her when she needed it most, this was supposed to replace his absence? The wording felt inappropriate to read, it felt too formal for the man. It was as if he had forgotten that Clara, his wife as a matter of fact, was not just his colleague or coworker, but his spouse, his other half.

Clara had tried desperately to understand the situation. She knew that when marrying a doctor, it had its consequences. A small house in a quiet town was no place for a man that held such knowledge. In late September, John was assigned to the hospital in the city, four hours away from the tiny abode in which they shared. "It's not permanent, and I promise I won't be gone for good." he said at the time, and Clara believed him. She was understanding then, but when his phone calls stopped coming, his voice was heard less and less, making Clara's memory of him throb with the pain of his absence.

Throughout the month of December she had started to receive packages from him; they were primarily Christmas gifts. At first, Clara was delighted that there was at least a sign of him in the house, and the lengthy messages he wrote for her were written with promise. But she had assumed that the hospital became busier, for the gifts were still there, but John just seemed to fade away as the days passed. His handwriting became messier, as if he didn't have the time to tell her that he was okay and that he would be coming home soon, and they became shorter and less meaningful. Call Clara selfish, but the frustration was boiling within her at the lack of communication between them.

Placing the card aside, she sighed as she picked up the two pristine wrapped boxes in their snowman decorated paper, their white ribbons crooked and frayed at the edges. Making her way barefoot into the living room, the sound of a toddler's footsteps made her lips form a small smile.

Clara wasn't the only one John had left behind.

"Are those from daddy?" a small voice from a three year-old boy asked curiously behind the back of a leather sofa, his soft green eyes peeking at the boxes Clara carried in her arms. "Yes Hadley, they are." she replied as she sat down on the carpet at the foot of their Christmas tree that she ended up decorating by herself, her son had burned his tongue on hot cocoa the day of and had refused to do anything else but 'recover from his injury' (Which meant watching all his favorite movies on repeat). "But remember, you can't open them until Christmas morning, do you hear me?" she pointed a finger at him, which only earned her a stubborn expression from Hadley.

"But Christmas is..." he trailed off, counting on his fingers. "...three days away!" He cried, emphasizing on his exclamation point as he dramatically fell atop of the disarray of throw pillows. His mother only scoffed in return. "Oh come on, it won't be that bad. All good things come to those who wait."

"But I don't wanna be pa...pashi..." he sighed in exasperation of himself. "What's the word?"

"Patient, my dear." Clara pointed out, rearranging the bows on the presents once they were placed underneath the tree that glittered with lights and other miscellaneous yet significant ornaments, such as her baby's first Christmas, or the angel that John had given her the year they first met. A deep pang of nostalgia made her heart seem to ache. "Come here Hadley," Clara said softly, opening her arms as he toddled on his feet over to her embrace. She buried her face in his brown mop of hair, trying to give her little boy the love of two parents, which was especially hard to do all by herself.

"When is daddy coming home?" Hadley asked quietly, his tiny voice mumbled by the fabric of her blouse.

"Soon, very soon. I promise." Clara whispered, pressing a kiss atop of his head.

"You said that days ago." he replied in discouragement.

"Well, this time, I mean it." she said, stroking his back comfortingly as she held him in silence. Her son didn't seem entirely convinced. Clara wasn't either, but she was determined to remain optimistic around Hadley. "Hey," she carefully nudged him with her shoulder, his green eyes staring back up at her. They were his eyes. And his hair, and unfortunately a little bit of his chin. But Clara loved it and adored it all the same. She bopped his tiny nose, which resembled hers in a number of ways as she said, "You look so much like your father."

He jutted out his bottom lip as he protested, "I don't look like daddy; he's old."

His comment only made Clara laugh as she replied, "Yes, yes he is; but when you grow up my child, you will be just like him. Smart, funny, kind..." And albeit the circumstances, Clara knew what John was, and that would never change.

"Thank you for calling Gallifrey Regional Hospital. Our attendants are unavailable at the time, for emergencies, please dial 999. If you wish to schedule an appointment, press 5. If you wish to speak to an attendant for further information, press 7."

Clara pressed seven, holding her breath as she anxiously awaited further instructions.

"Thank you for calling Gallifrey Regional Hospital. Please await for an available attendant. Caller eight."

Eight. Clara thought to herself with gritted teeth, a number that became difficult to process. She was the eighth caller, which meant seven were ahead of her. Only seven, Clara. She repeated to herself in third person. You can survive. In truth, she felt long dead. This was the third time she had tried calling, the two previous attempts cut off with her wanting to break the phone apart in aggravation. As the minutes passed by, the on-hold music seemed to become louder and more disturbing, Clara trying to calm herself down by tapping the desk in rhythm to the tune.

Don't worry...stay awake...only a few callers left! She tried encouraging herself, her eyelids starting to fall as the tapping became softer until suddenly the energy of her enraged and irritated self had only dwindled down into the desperate minimum strength of her lost hopes. Gosh, those people must have a mouthful to say...

"Gallifrey Regional Hospital, how may I help you?"

"Aha! Yes!" Clara lifted her head from her desk, wiping the drool from her chin with her sweater sleeve as she exclaimed, "I would like to talk to Doctor John Smith at the earliest opportunity, p-please?" Her eyes were tired, and the taste in her mouth pleaded for some toothpaste, but she was too preoccupied to think about her personal hygiene at the moment.

"Is this to arrange an appointment with him?" the attendant asked. "If so-"

"Actually, no." Clara pressed her lips together, trying to remain patient. "I just, I really need to talk to him."

"Is this an emergency, ma'am?" the optimistic female voice shot back at her, as if she knew John better than Clara did herself. "I apologize, but I cannot simply connect you to his personal office line without further specification."

Clara's eyebrows raised as she parted her lips to say something, but the voice on the other line seemed to take her second of silence as a full response.

"Are you a patient of his?" she queried. "If so, I can take a message if you'll just give me your name and number-"

Clara laughed dryly, her free hand tightening into a fist as she said, "No, I-I'm not a patient-"

"I apologize ma'am, but Doctor Smith is very preoccupied with other commitments at the time-"

"Well, he made a commitment to me first." she said firmly in exasperation of the lady's rhetorical questions, slapping a hand around her mouth as she closed her eyes in regret of what she had just said. There was a slight silence on the other line.

"Ma'am, are you in personal relations with Doctor Smith?"

She heaved out a sigh, her heart raising from her sweater as she explained, "Yes, yes I am. Clara Oswald-Smith, his wife? So before you make another excuse about any of his 'other commitments', he still has one here. And if he's still so 'preoccupied', I will take your word for it and hang up. So please, just let me speak to him."

The attendant seemed to be taken aback by her words, and Clara couldn't help but feel exhausted for yelling at the poor girl. "I'll connect you to his personal office line right away, ma'am." She concluded in a weakened voice, and with that, the conversation ended. As if she were looking for some peace, Clara's tired eyes looked up at the ceiling. She was afraid that her protesting might have woken up Hadley.

"Hello?"

"...John?" Clara whispered into the phone, a small smile appearing on her face.

"This is he." the familiar voice of her husband clarified.

"Oh my goodness, John!" she grinned, shaking her head in disbelief. "Hi, I-I can't tell you how happy I am to hear your voice again; it seems like forever since we've talked, and-"

"Wait, sorry-" his shaky laugh cut her off. "Who is this?"

Her ecstatic expression faltered. "I...It's Clara. Who else could it be?" She was a little disappointed that he couldn't recognize her voice, but her overall self was more than happy to be reconnected with her husband again. There was a slight pause on the other end. "Oh yes, Clara! Oh wow, this is- I haven't seen you in ages; how you've been?"

"I-I've been great, Hadley's been great-"

"Did you get all my Christmas presents?"

"Yes," Clara reassured him with a laugh. "Yes I did. Thank you for all of them by the way."

"Well, you're welcome!" he replied a bit hurriedly. There was a moment of silence between the two, Clara smiling like an idiot as she tried to fill in the gap with some significant talk. "Don't just end it there, how have you been mister?"

"Ah, been doing okay. Found a permanent apartment here in the city, become quite acquainted to it actually- listen. I gotta run, this friend of mine is having a birthday so I offered to take her overnight shift, you know how the young ones like to party, eh?"

"Wait, John..." Clara tried to keep up with his words, sitting down on her bed, or what was supposed to be their bed. "You-you're hanging up so soon? I haven't had the chance to talk to you in weeks, and, well...I miss you. Your son misses you too, and-"

"Yes, Clara, miss you lots, but I promised that I'd-"

"Well, you made a promise to our family first, if I'm not mistaken." Clara interrupted in an impatient tone, trying to bite down her tongue to keep herself maintained. "John, I feel as though your work is taking up too much of your time, and I, we'd like you to come home. And soon, if possible."

"But Clara, you see, that might not be possible. I'm taken care of here at the hospital, and it's great pay, which I know is what you like."

Now it was Clara's turn to be taken aback. "I-I'm sorry, but I think you've got the wrong person."

"Sorry?"

"I don't recall ever marrying you for money." she shot through the phone. "John; I don't care whether you remember this or not, but you have a family four hours away. You say you're taken care of there, but who's going to take care of us?"

"Of course I remember my family, Clara." he said in defense. "If you want me to send you a check, or maybe more gifts for Hadley-?"

"No! You don't understand, do you?" her voice was beginning to raise by that point. "I don't care if you send me all the damn presents in the world, John; your son needs you here. I need you here." She tried to contain herself, but the voice she hardly recognized had already broke her apart as she said in a trembling voice, "I just want you home." Her chest heaved up and down as her breaths shortened. "I just want you to come home."

There was a sudden silence that hit her like a bullet coming from the other end. It was more than simple realization, but it was coming to terms. "I-I don't get off until March, Clara." his quiet voice admitted, and the words struck Clara in a way that she couldn't describe. It was a feeling of loss, a feeling of pain that she knew wouldn't wear off. "...March." she repeated, closing her eyes. She wiped her eyes, breathing in one last breath before she concluded, "Well then, I don't believe we have anything else to say to one another."

"Clara, wait-"

She wanted to hang-up by that point, smack him more than anything else; but it was those two tiny words that led her into saying her final sentence of the conversation, "What do you think I've been doing all this time?"

He felt as though leaving them was some sort of crime that deserved punishment. And John felt guilty, he would do anything to take it back. His feet paced the floor of his office as his hands ran through his hair repeatedly, trying to come up with a solution to all of his problems. Doctor John Smith had developed and built up so many trustworthy relationships in the past three months, he had made many future commitments for the coming year, but now he was beginning to regret them. Each and every one.

In truth, depositing a check back to his family had become a weekly ritual that had lost its purpose. He started to forget about his wife, his son, the life he had outside of the hospital, and started treating them as if they were a task to get out of the way. It made him feel horrible by doing so, in a way he couldn't describe; and looking around him, he had so much he needed to take down before he could see what truly made up his life.

So when his nurse lightly knocked on the door of his office, she was met with the mind of a mad man trying to sort out his own chaos. "Doctor Smith, are you alright?" she asked in concern, approaching him slowly.

"I-I can't, I can't do this anymore," he began muttering to himself.

"Sir I do not understand, you can't do what anymore?"

"This, this, I can't do it anymore!" he shouted, scaring the nurse even more so as she tried to calm him down. "Tell Doctor Porter that I'm sorry, I can't cover her shift for her tonight." he ordered angrily, as if he wanted to tear himself to shreds.

"Doctor," the nurse said firmly, catching his attention, an opportunity she knew to take advantage of. "You should probably get some rest, go home for the night, you're working too hard-"

"Home?" he raised his eyebrows, and to the nurse, he looked far from insane. "M-My home is miles away by this point," he admitted. "...and...a-and I think I'm losing everything at once."

"Well," the nurse said gently, offering him a look of sympathy. "What are you going to do about it then?"

He breathed in, his hands hiding his face as he tried to hold himself together. "I need to take everything apart."

"I think the turkey's ready, mummy." Hadley announced as he sat before the oven, his blue blanket draped over his shoulders as he held a mug of hot cocoa. (Clara made sure that it had cooled at least ten minutes before he drank it this time.) "Ah," she said, squatting before the oven window beside her son. "I think so too, come on, get up." she patted him on the shoulder.

It was Christmas Eve, no word from her husband, and Clara was trying to accept the fact. If she were to be like this for the next few months of her life, then so be it. It would only make her stronger as a parent. Taking the turkey out of the oven with her mitts on, Clara smiled proudly at her success of such a dish, for it took quite a few attempts before she could actually prepare it correctly. "It smells delicious, too." she uttered to herself.

Just then, the doorbell rang, Hadley's head jerking up like a puppy's as he exclaimed, "Is that the postman again?"

Clara furrowed her brow as she checked her wristwatch. "At eight o'clock in the evening? I doubt it." Taking off her oven mitts, Clara brushed her hand off on her apron as she said, "Stay right here, I'll go check who it is." It probably was the postman again anyway, carrying another meaningless gift of apology from her husband. Making her way to the front door, her hopes were already set and lowered.

"Another package-?" she asked as she swung the door open, not the postman, but a different face, yet entirely familiar. In his hands weren't flowers or gifts or anything of the such, in fact he wasn't even holding anything, just himself standing simply in the doorway of what was his house. "Delivery." John announced sheepishly with a shrug, a small smile on his face as he saw his wife's expression of pure astonishment.

Her small hand reached out to gently caress his face, her eyes locking onto his as she whispered, "Are you real? Are you actually, properly real?" He chucked shyly as his hand met hers, a feeling that she hadn't felt in a while; a feeling that she missed. "Yeah, confirmed. Actually, properly real."

The tear that traced her face made a path down her skin as she smiled. "How is this even possible?"

He sucked in a fresh breath of air. "A lot of arranging I'm afraid, but you don't need to know about that-" Before he could finish, Clara took him into her arms, her small body fitting right with his, as it always will be. She could hear his voice waver as he choked on a sob. "And I promise never to leave you...again." His words made her smile more than ever before.

"Daddy daddy daddy you're home!" a voice shrieked excitedly as it traveled through the hall, a small body appearing at his side. "Hadley," John grinned as he lifted his son off of the ground and into his arms. "How are ya, buddy?"

"I'm impatient is what mummy says." the toddler giggled. "But I can't help it if I'm excited to open presents!"

John laughed. "Well, I'm glad I'm here with you all to see you open all your presents!" His son responded by wrapping his chubby arms around his father as he exclaimed, "Love ya daddy!"

"I love you too." John smiled. "Now why don't you head on back inside; I can smell dinner."

"Yes, and I did cook it correctly this time." Clara pointed out as John set Hadley back down, the sound of his pattering feet echoing throughout the house as he made his way back into the warmth. A sigh escaped her lips as she said, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Clara Oswald." John replied, and before Clara could say anything else, he closed the space between them with a kiss. She was taken aback by the gesture, for the feeling of her lips on his was one that she missed the most. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his own, two hearts hammering with a passion that would never be lost, one that could never be forgotten. Pulling away, Clara corrected him. "Mm, Clara Oswald-Smith to be precise."

"Clara Oswald-Smith." he repeated, his beautiful wife smiling back at him. "I love you, and I can never say it enough."

"I've missed those words, and I miss saying them to you," Clara responded. "I love you too, Doctor John Smith." She raised an eyebrow in amusement, gesturing for him to come into the house. "Now come on, you don't want to stay out in the cold." Brushing off the patches of show that layered atop of his coat, the man did as he was told, and smiling to himself, entered the house he could truly call his home.