"Uh, your compartment works...I'm not too sure I want people listening in," he admitted with a bit of redness tinting his pale face. He's been through the public media ringer and his particularly gruesome death at the hands of a fellow Tribute still stuck to his head.

In fact, part of the reason he was here was to check up on Clara as soon as he was back. When he found her busying herself as mentor, he quietly stepped aside and let her work in peace. There was something between them and it...it was welcomed and terrifying at the same time. It was the familiar warmth of fire in the desolate emotional winter Sunderland had imposed on himself.

"I see you're uh," James looked at her and immediately raised his eyesight to the ceiling. "You're okay, I didn't want to bother you in the last week o-of the Arena."