"When do I start?" Clara laughs. She does hope the joke is taken well and doesn't go against her.

She genuinely would love this job. Being cooped up in the TARDIS has become maddening.
Yet, is he why /she/ has kept her here?

to, because she is utterly convinced that it's him, and she's missed him with an endless ache. Yet, he hasn't missed her, because you can't miss someone you can't remember, can you?

She ought to be qualified. Even with the psychic paper, she has spent countless hours in his(?) library, reading and researching. Clara has been on many worlds and in quite a few universes. All of those are filled with libraries. So, yes...qualified. "I would like to work here." She so wants-

/him/.
"What time of day would an assistant be needed?"
She doesn't sleep much anymore herself. Peace has fled, and since the TARDIS refuses to move, she has nowhere to go.
"I used to teach English and literature, I'm sure I may be of some help."

Good sense tells her to ask to work at the Bod. Since when has she listened to /that/? Clara knows it's him. It has to be him.
Hes less frantic, more at ease. She cant recall a time hes ever seemed so settled before. It isn't natural, and she wants to shake him. She wants to make him be...well,-

day to day interaction.
Circular logic has not occurred to her. She /could/ go to the Bod and not see him at all, but the longing and curiosity would kill her.
"I would like that, if you have the time."

Clara wonders what /she/ is playing at. The Bod? She was not aiming that high. This library is perfectly fine by her. She isnt sure she can handle the hustle and bustle of the Bod. She has locked herself away from people, and now, if she's found /him/, its going to be all she can do to survive-

the Old Girl has kept her here this long for a reason, she ought to help her with this one.
"I'd be honored to be considered."

Even though working here with him will break her already non working heart even more.

Something about the box makes her skin crawl, but Clara is rather distracted at the moment. She'll most likely turn her full attention to it...later.
"Clara Oswald." She amends, holding out a bit of psychic paper that she found one afternoon on the TARDIS.
"I can provide references of course."
If -

over in her attempt to contain every emotion that threatens to overwhelm her.
"I heard there was an opening for an assistant. I thought I might apply."

John.
A common enough name, but it's a name that he has used over and over.
It has to be him.
Swallowing hard, she forces what she believes to be a smile upon her face.
"Clara."
Oswald. Impossible Girl.
/Your Clara, your Clara/

"I really don't wish to be any trouble, yeah?"

The accent spills-

Clara's eyes grow large with barely suppressed emotion. [Get them under control!]
"I can move."

She's been locked up in the TARDIS for months. She's been stuck here for a solid year, and near madness has finally driven her out, no matter how she has tried to resist.

own ears. No, hes not towering over here, lean and wiry, piercing her through with those keen gray eyes. Mad professor hair, wild and unkempt, making her fingers itch to touch.
Yet...
Is it? Him?
Has she traveled for so long in /his/ TARDIS that she simply /know/?

"Did I take your table?" -

Nothing that has happened to her can compare to this moment. Being trapped in the body of a Dalek is child's play. Her body and soul, ripped apart by the Time Winds, akin to a hug if set next to this. If asked, death by Raven was like stubbing her toe.
"Hello."
Her own voice sounds wrong in her -