[Hearing River's name makes her remember that the other woman is there too. And she's the Doctor's wife, which only makes her feel more guilty about everything. Her feelings for the Doctor and the way she's made herself important to his very existence are things that she should be ashamed of. She's not, though, and won't allow herself to be.]
His face was the last thing I saw before waking up here. You had just -
[She hesitates, pulling back just enough that she can look up at him. Tears slip down her cheeks, but she's not ashamed of them this time. They can freely fall, and she doesn't care.]
You had just regenerated. The Tardis was crashing. When I woke up here, I thought maybe I had dreamt it all. I was so desperate not to lose you after you changed into someone else in a blink of an eye that I didn't care you were from before me. I was happy pretending we were on the same path together, because finally we were again. We were here together. Nothing else mattered.
[Not her own regret to undo. Not her personal goal. Just getting to have another chance with him where he was just the way he is now, bowtie and floppy hair and and hands that fit perfectly in hers.]
[ The Doctor takes a step back, enough to gently wipe away at the tears that fall against Clara's cheeks as he listens.
Always, always talking, that's what the Doctor does, it helps to fill in the silence, it helps to sort his thoughts out, and it's something he's always done over the years of traveling alone — but he's a good listener, too. When he needs to be. ]
I wasn't sure I could. [ He exhales. ] For quite some time now, I wasn't sure there was a me after this, you know, not until I saw him in person, saw him right there. Thought I'd simply run out. [ — of time, of running.
He shifts enough to dig into the inner pocket of his long coat, pulling out the familiar sonic screwdriver, scratched and used, with its familiar green bulb on top. ]
He was holding this, too. This one, not one before it, not one I didn't recognize.
[ He looks back at Clara now, meets her eyes with his and studies her. Really studies her. ]
Who are you, Clara Oswald? You know me so much better than I know you, and I could never quite figure it out. Can't even figure it out now. We've met before. Met a lot of befores. [ He pauses. ] Souffle Girl. The governess. Clara Oswin Oswald. Who are you?
[He puts her on the spot, and her eyes manage to grow wider for a moment. She isn't expecting him to ask that, of all things. And she really isn't sure how to answer at first.]
We eventually make our way to Trenzalore.
[Her words are soft and carefully selected, eyes never leaving his as she speaks.]
And I did what I was born to do. I saved you, Doctor. I couldn't let my clever boy's light go out. The universe needed you. I needed you.
[She gives a shaky exhale, one side of her mouth tipping upward in a sad but accepting smile.]
So I did the impossible and I leapt into your timestream.
[And obviously it worked out just fine with hardly any lasting damage. She only tore herself apart into thousands of pieces, spread across all of time and space to find and save him. A piece of her has been everywhere with him, in exactly the right time and at exactly the right place. They go all the way back to Gallifrey, a piece of her guiding him to his specific Tardis he runs away from all those endings he never wants to face.
She's still in one piece though, and shrugs to show him that it wasn't any big deal. She had been avoiding telling him this, because he deserves to live it and experience it himself. ]
His voice is quiet, almost nearly a whisper of his usual, more boisterous tenor, when he repeats: ] Trenzalore.
[ His hearts sink at the mention of the place, the one place he could never go, the place that he'd been running from for almost as long as he could even remember. Given his absolute aversion to endings ... it only makes sense. ]
Now, why would we go to Trenzalore? [ The Doctor keeps his gaze on hers, thumb grazing at her cheek again, though the tears have stopped at least. ] No, don't tell me. Spoilers. [ He huffs an exhale, wry, and thinks briefly of River Song. It was always her favourite word. ] I shouldn't know that. I can't know that.
[ He lets his hand drop now, diverts his gaze, looks towards the trees around them and the simulated sun above. It's all beautiful, but that's all it is: a simulation. It isn't real. It isn't really life.
Clara continues to speak, and the more she does, the more the Doctor can feel the edge of panic rise within him; there's dread too. He snaps back towards her, all thoughts of trees and sun forgotten. ]
You did what? [ It's not angry, but it isn't gentle either. ] Clara — why? Do you know what could have happened? How did — why would I let you do something like that? Why would I ever let you do something like that? You could have — [ He breathes out again. There's a pause, and he shakes his head. ] Impossible. Impossible Girl.
[Somehow, she never thought he'd go straight to asking her why. It should've been the first thing she thought he might ask, and she should've had better control over her words and the situation. This is exactly why it's dangerous to let that control slip. She lets herself start to show what she's feeling, and then words fall free from her mouth.
And now they're here, with his hand on her cheek and her looking up at him like he's the center of her universe.]
Isn't it obvious?
[She tries playing it off cooly, acting like it isn't a big deal and it's something that anyone would do for a friend. At first, she isn't going to elaborate. But she quickly realizes that would be cruel. And right now, she doesn't have it in her to be cruel to be kind.
She isn't sure she'd be able to piece her heart back together if she intentionally allows it to break into thousands of pieces.]
I -
[She finds the words are hard to get out. This is her, putting herself out in the open, at her very most vulnerable. And it's absolutely terrifying. A few more tears fall, and she trusts him to wipe those away too.
It's time to be brave, Clara. Please, let her be brave.]
I'm willing to do whatever it takes to save you. It's what you do when you care for someone.
[Because she doesn't just fancy him the way a schoolgirl would a boy at school. Because she's willing to die if it means keeping him in the universe. It's what you do when you love someone, and in the way she looks up at him right then it's completely obvious just how she feels when it comes to him. She remembers once saying something about the trick to getting by in life being not to fall in love.
And now look at her. Trying to be brave and tell someone her feelings, and for once she can't find the right words to say anything at all. So her hand goes to his cheek, thumb grazing against his skin. She looks up at him for a moment, leaning in as if she's going to kiss his cheek just as she's done countless other times before. Only this time her lips lightly graze his, hands reaching up to cradle the back of his head. Her fingers thread through his hair as she guides him to lean in, so she can rise up on her tiptoes and press her forehead against his.
Her eyes shut and she just enjoys the closeness between them. She isn't sure he'll allow it to be there anymore after this, and she wants to remember what it feels like.]
Oh, Clara. [ It isn't always easy to render the Doctor completely out of words to say but right now his mouth feels empty of them. Their timelines are out of sync, but because they are, maybe he gets to spend a little more time with her; or perhaps it's the other way around and she gets to be with him (this face, not the one with the angry eyebrows and the accent and the wrinkles) for longer.
He meets her eyes then, doesn't look up or away or at anything else but her, and his voice is soft. So impossibly soft, and almost unsure, but he's certain about one thing at least: ] I never asked you to. I would never ask you to something like that.
[ And yet, she asks him, Isn't it obvious? and oh, what a way to shut him up all over again.
For a daft thousand year old thing like he is, with all of the experiences in the universe and yet still not nearly enough, he can be so impossibly thick. Because it isn't. It isn't obvious to him that someone could do something so selfless for anyone at all, but most especially for him. A mad man with a traveling box who is so afraid and so very lonely and so far away because he has to be.
And he's been here before — well, been somewhere like it before; he'd loved and he'd lost so many, he would be a fool not to recognize this for what it is — even if he's almost too afraid to admit to it, to even consider it a possibility.
No. No, he's lost too much. He's made so many wrongs, turned so many lives awry ... he couldn't do it to Clara. Not Clara. Not his Clara.
The press of her lips against his is soft, a touch, almost not quite there; but he can taste the salt from her tears on them, and on his tongue now, and he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to ruin everything the way he often does. Eyes closed now, he decides that he won't be abrupt, he won't shift completely out of her space, he won't — he won't do anything but be there. ]
[At first, his words feel like a rejection. They sting and cause her to want to curl inward on herself. It's not often she allows herself to be so vulnerable, and feeling like she's made a fool of herself has her wanting to push away and run. She won't do that, of course, since this is the Doctor and she's an adult that can handle some hurt feelings.
But oh, it hurts, really stings. And she doesn't want to do the self-reflection necessary to pinpoint just why that is.
So when he just stays right there in place she's left unsure of what to think. So she enjoys the moment for what she feels like it is. A one sided romance that's being gently rejected for the sake of saving their friendship. Clara releases a slow and shaky breath, willing herself to say a joke or anything to make light out of this. Her pride depends on it.]
Is that all you have to say? Someone's trying to tell you that they love you and you only care to let her know that you'd never ask her to sacrifice herself for your sake?
[Is what comes out instead, and she's surprised by the blunt honesty that spills past her lips. She doesn't pull away, doesn't move from keeping her forehead pressed against hers. Her words don't hold any real bite as much as they do her usual sharp teasing, and the corner of her mouth tips upward in amusement. All humor at her own expense, of course.]
Clara, you don't want to be saying things like that, not to me.
[ Where he'd been standing stock-still before her, their foreheads pressed together, her voice soft and her breath a little shaky, now he reaches with both hands to hold her face between them. Steady, still, gentle, and he tilts his gaze to look at her, eyes going a little cross when he focuses on her mouth, her nose, finally glancing towards her eyes.
He could follow her comment up with humour, could bring it out into lightness, and he could distract them both, send their conversation veering off into something droll, something silly. But the sharp edge of her words and a familiar aching keeps him solemn.
Yes — he's been here before, had to leave her behind too, and he doesn't — he doesn't want to leave Clara now. Hell, he isn't sure that he could.
But. ]
I'm a different me from the me that you know, and I don't mean the old man with the severe eyebrows. You said so yourself, you're from a time when you knew me better than I know you. [ And before she can protest that none of that matters, or the fact that time is always a bit bonkers when it comes to travelers like them, he continues on. She'd be right, though; it doesn't actually matter. It's just something he feels he should say.
What he says next does matter: ] I'm no good for you, and all of this — it won't last forever, you'll get tired of it. You'll want things. You'll want more. And you deserve those things, those humany things.
[ He's very old and he'll still live longer than she will; that's just the way of it. She deserves someone better, she deserves a whole, full life full of human experiences that isn't the madness and chaos of the life (the lives) that the Doctor leads. It doesn't escape him either the reason he's here at all: his regret. What had happened because of him. How Amy and Rory had died because he'd tried so hard to let go, and couldn't, and in the end it had cost them their lives.
In the end, he is meant to be alone. How could he condemn Clara to a similar fate? ]
[She really doesn't want to be crying. But she's humiliated and the sting of rejection continues to worsen the more he tries to make her see reason. She can't go and tell him that their timeline issues don't matter because this is all that's left for them. After they leave the station, she'll never see him again.
Tears slip free from her eyes and slowly track down her face as she looks up at him. He's breaking her heart, but he isn't the first to do so and she knows he won't be the last. There's the edge of fear creeping in that she's just ruined their friendship, and he'll pull away and refuse to be her closest friend all in the name of protecting her or keeping things from becoming more awkward.
A protest dies before she can ever verbalize it, and yet she can't bring herself to look away from him. She has to eventually though, so he won't see the self-loathing that's in her eyes. Her fingers curl around his wrist, and she stands there with a stubborn refusal to meet his gaze again.]
You'll go back after this and be back with your Clara, just the way things should be. Be back in the proper timeline and all. Just...just forget I said anything, yeah? It's not important.
[She's desperately trying to salvage what she can of their friendship, terrified that it's not going to work. She doesn't bother telling him the things she wants, because it's not her place to force him to listen and understand. He's given her his answer and viewpoint on things, and she can accept that. She'll just need some time to nurse her wounds and everything'll be fine.
Don't say that. It is important. And it's important because you're saying it, and you are my Clara, just like the Clara in my precise timestream is my Clara too. We're different only because of where we are, but we're the same person — we just haven't caught up yet.
[ Time's weird and confusing and it's difficult to explain, especially in a way that doesn't make him sound like a hypocrite. But there we have it. There's the best sort of timey-wimey explanation he can come up with. Without using the words 'timey-wimey' too (bit of a mood killer, that).
God, and it hurts both of his hearts in a way that feels hollow and sad, to see the way she's looking at him now — or rather, the way she isn't looking at him at all. He lifts the hand not captured by hers to swipe the tears away again with a thumb and it doesn't feel quite as right anymore, like he's lost the right to do something like that now. ]
River kept a journal for this very reason, for the way we would constantly run into each other but never at the same time. Time is like that, and it doesn't change the fact that River is still River. But I don't think you're saying everything that you want to be saying.
[ And that's okay. It is.
(Maybe. At least that's what he's trying to convince himself of.) ]
[The mention of River's name very nearly knocks the breath out of her. It's like cold water being splashed over her, reminding her of the fact that no matter what he may say, her feeling the way she does is wrong.
Telling him about those feelings is wrong.
He's married to River, even if she's very technically dead in the timeline they're in together. But he's right about the way time works for them, even if she also feels it makes him a huge hypocrite for rejecting her based on the fact that she's from beyond him in the timeline. She doesn't vocalize that, but she does lift her gaze enough to briefly meet his eyes. Her fingers press a little more firmly against his wrist, like she's trying to gauge how fast his hearts are beating right now.]
You're married to River. [Her free hand goes up to cup his cheek, thumb grazing along his jawline. It's to show him that there's no hard feelings, and that she's always be his Clara.]
I don't have the right to tell you what I did, much less everything I wanna say. No matter how important it may seem.
[All of that sounds so painfully human and ordinary that she rolls her eyes at herself, and quickly adds on:]
Whenever you're ready to hear every ounce of what I'm thinking and feeling when it comes to you, Doctor, you let me know. But I'll only let you do it when you're ready to accept all of it without a fight. You don't have to reciprocate, but you're absolutely not allowed to tell me what you think is best for me. It's my life, and who I give my heart to is my own choice. You don't get to take that away from me.
[The corner of her mouth tugs upward, dimple trailing in its wake.]
I — yes, yes, I am married to River, was married to River, but it's — [ Complicated. And, well, she's sort of ... dead. Except she's not, not when he'd bumped into her last, and not the River on this station either.
He huffs a frustrated breath, because this is all coming out wrong, and his thoughts are all scrambled up and aren't being said properly. They're not the right words; they're not the right thoughts.
The Doctor closes his eyes, lets Clara's touch buoy him, guilty that it could soothe him so when he hardly deserves it. He's absolutely horrible at this sort of thing, and he's afraid, so desperately afraid that the wrong thing will hurt her too badly. Strange that a few adventures in each other's company could bring him to this, but there's always been something about Clara Oswald in his orbit, a mystery he needs to solve. ]
Clara — [ He starts, mouth open, but nothing comes out. Even still, she remains so strong and stoic and kind and caring, and so very frustratingly Clara, that the Doctor finds himself at a (rare) loss. ]
[There's a fond smile that takes over as he tries to explain River. She knows it's complicated, and isn't about to try and ask him to simplify it for her sake. Everything with the Doctor is complicated in one way or another, and she accepted that the second she decides to run away with him for their little adventures.
This part of things is what she signed up for too. Falling for someone isn't ever easy, particularly when it doesn't seem that those feelings are returned. But she's a big girl and isn't about to let that get in the way of their friendship. Not when he so earnestly seems to want reassurance of where they stand.]
Same place we've always been, doing the same thing we've always done.
[Her fingers curl against his cheek, palm pressing a little more firmly as if it's going to help reassure him that everything is fine.]
You'll be the Doctor, and I'll be right there at your side.
[And does it really need to be any more complicated than that? After the admission she's just dropped at his feet here, she thinks keeping it simple is the absolute best thing she could possibly do.
Her hand drops away from his cheek so she can cross her arms over her chest.]
[ It doesn't feel quite right, like whatever path they'd managed to find together despite the shift in their timelines has been pulled apart, skewing them ever-so-slightly and keeping a sort of ... gap between them. It's something he can't quite do anything about, not where he is, not when he is — and not to bring River up all over again, even in his thoughts, but it doesn't even feel unfamiliar.
It's just his life, his destiny, to always be one step ahead or one step behind those closest to him. It's safest, though, isn't it? To keep that distance, because bad things happen when he gets too close, and he's had proof of that time and time again.
His mouth quirks even when his hearts feel the dull ache and the coolness over his cheek from the absence of Clara's warmth feels just a bit like a sting.
And he nods, glancing up to meet her eyes. ]
Yes. All right, Clara Oswald. Onto our next adventure.
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His face was the last thing I saw before waking up here. You had just -
[She hesitates, pulling back just enough that she can look up at him. Tears slip down her cheeks, but she's not ashamed of them this time. They can freely fall, and she doesn't care.]
You had just regenerated. The Tardis was crashing. When I woke up here, I thought maybe I had dreamt it all. I was so desperate not to lose you after you changed into someone else in a blink of an eye that I didn't care you were from before me. I was happy pretending we were on the same path together, because finally we were again. We were here together. Nothing else mattered.
[Not her own regret to undo. Not her personal goal. Just getting to have another chance with him where he was just the way he is now, bowtie and floppy hair and and hands that fit perfectly in hers.]
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Always, always talking, that's what the Doctor does, it helps to fill in the silence, it helps to sort his thoughts out, and it's something he's always done over the years of traveling alone — but he's a good listener, too. When he needs to be. ]
I wasn't sure I could. [ He exhales. ] For quite some time now, I wasn't sure there was a me after this, you know, not until I saw him in person, saw him right there. Thought I'd simply run out. [ — of time, of running.
He shifts enough to dig into the inner pocket of his long coat, pulling out the familiar sonic screwdriver, scratched and used, with its familiar green bulb on top. ]
He was holding this, too. This one, not one before it, not one I didn't recognize.
[ He looks back at Clara now, meets her eyes with his and studies her. Really studies her. ]
Who are you, Clara Oswald? You know me so much better than I know you, and I could never quite figure it out. Can't even figure it out now. We've met before. Met a lot of befores. [ He pauses. ] Souffle Girl. The governess. Clara Oswin Oswald. Who are you?
no subject
We eventually make our way to Trenzalore.
[Her words are soft and carefully selected, eyes never leaving his as she speaks.]
And I did what I was born to do. I saved you, Doctor. I couldn't let my clever boy's light go out. The universe needed you. I needed you.
[She gives a shaky exhale, one side of her mouth tipping upward in a sad but accepting smile.]
So I did the impossible and I leapt into your timestream.
[And obviously it worked out just fine with hardly any lasting damage. She only tore herself apart into thousands of pieces, spread across all of time and space to find and save him. A piece of her has been everywhere with him, in exactly the right time and at exactly the right place. They go all the way back to Gallifrey, a piece of her guiding him to his specific Tardis he runs away from all those endings he never wants to face.
She's still in one piece though, and shrugs to show him that it wasn't any big deal. She had been avoiding telling him this, because he deserves to live it and experience it himself. ]
no subject
Oh, no.
His voice is quiet, almost nearly a whisper of his usual, more boisterous tenor, when he repeats: ] Trenzalore.
[ His hearts sink at the mention of the place, the one place he could never go, the place that he'd been running from for almost as long as he could even remember. Given his absolute aversion to endings ... it only makes sense. ]
Now, why would we go to Trenzalore? [ The Doctor keeps his gaze on hers, thumb grazing at her cheek again, though the tears have stopped at least. ] No, don't tell me. Spoilers. [ He huffs an exhale, wry, and thinks briefly of River Song. It was always her favourite word. ] I shouldn't know that. I can't know that.
[ He lets his hand drop now, diverts his gaze, looks towards the trees around them and the simulated sun above. It's all beautiful, but that's all it is: a simulation. It isn't real. It isn't really life.
Clara continues to speak, and the more she does, the more the Doctor can feel the edge of panic rise within him; there's dread too. He snaps back towards her, all thoughts of trees and sun forgotten. ]
You did what? [ It's not angry, but it isn't gentle either. ] Clara — why? Do you know what could have happened? How did — why would I let you do something like that? Why would I ever let you do something like that? You could have — [ He breathes out again. There's a pause, and he shakes his head. ] Impossible. Impossible Girl.
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And now they're here, with his hand on her cheek and her looking up at him like he's the center of her universe.]
Isn't it obvious?
[She tries playing it off cooly, acting like it isn't a big deal and it's something that anyone would do for a friend. At first, she isn't going to elaborate. But she quickly realizes that would be cruel. And right now, she doesn't have it in her to be cruel to be kind.
She isn't sure she'd be able to piece her heart back together if she intentionally allows it to break into thousands of pieces.]
I -
[She finds the words are hard to get out. This is her, putting herself out in the open, at her very most vulnerable. And it's absolutely terrifying. A few more tears fall, and she trusts him to wipe those away too.
It's time to be brave, Clara. Please, let her be brave.]
I'm willing to do whatever it takes to save you. It's what you do when you care for someone.
[Because she doesn't just fancy him the way a schoolgirl would a boy at school. Because she's willing to die if it means keeping him in the universe. It's what you do when you love someone, and in the way she looks up at him right then it's completely obvious just how she feels when it comes to him. She remembers once saying something about the trick to getting by in life being not to fall in love.
And now look at her. Trying to be brave and tell someone her feelings, and for once she can't find the right words to say anything at all. So her hand goes to his cheek, thumb grazing against his skin. She looks up at him for a moment, leaning in as if she's going to kiss his cheek just as she's done countless other times before. Only this time her lips lightly graze his, hands reaching up to cradle the back of his head. Her fingers thread through his hair as she guides him to lean in, so she can rise up on her tiptoes and press her forehead against his.
Her eyes shut and she just enjoys the closeness between them. She isn't sure he'll allow it to be there anymore after this, and she wants to remember what it feels like.]
no subject
He meets her eyes then, doesn't look up or away or at anything else but her, and his voice is soft. So impossibly soft, and almost unsure, but he's certain about one thing at least: ] I never asked you to. I would never ask you to something like that.
[ And yet, she asks him, Isn't it obvious? and oh, what a way to shut him up all over again.
For a daft thousand year old thing like he is, with all of the experiences in the universe and yet still not nearly enough, he can be so impossibly thick. Because it isn't. It isn't obvious to him that someone could do something so selfless for anyone at all, but most especially for him. A mad man with a traveling box who is so afraid and so very lonely and so far away because he has to be.
And he's been here before — well, been somewhere like it before; he'd loved and he'd lost so many, he would be a fool not to recognize this for what it is — even if he's almost too afraid to admit to it, to even consider it a possibility.
No. No, he's lost too much. He's made so many wrongs, turned so many lives awry ... he couldn't do it to Clara. Not Clara. Not his Clara.
The press of her lips against his is soft, a touch, almost not quite there; but he can taste the salt from her tears on them, and on his tongue now, and he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to ruin everything the way he often does. Eyes closed now, he decides that he won't be abrupt, he won't shift completely out of her space, he won't — he won't do anything but be there. ]
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But oh, it hurts, really stings. And she doesn't want to do the self-reflection necessary to pinpoint just why that is.
So when he just stays right there in place she's left unsure of what to think. So she enjoys the moment for what she feels like it is. A one sided romance that's being gently rejected for the sake of saving their friendship. Clara releases a slow and shaky breath, willing herself to say a joke or anything to make light out of this. Her pride depends on it.]
Is that all you have to say? Someone's trying to tell you that they love you and you only care to let her know that you'd never ask her to sacrifice herself for your sake?
[Is what comes out instead, and she's surprised by the blunt honesty that spills past her lips. She doesn't pull away, doesn't move from keeping her forehead pressed against hers. Her words don't hold any real bite as much as they do her usual sharp teasing, and the corner of her mouth tips upward in amusement. All humor at her own expense, of course.]
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[ Where he'd been standing stock-still before her, their foreheads pressed together, her voice soft and her breath a little shaky, now he reaches with both hands to hold her face between them. Steady, still, gentle, and he tilts his gaze to look at her, eyes going a little cross when he focuses on her mouth, her nose, finally glancing towards her eyes.
He could follow her comment up with humour, could bring it out into lightness, and he could distract them both, send their conversation veering off into something droll, something silly. But the sharp edge of her words and a familiar aching keeps him solemn.
Yes — he's been here before, had to leave her behind too, and he doesn't — he doesn't want to leave Clara now. Hell, he isn't sure that he could.
But. ]
I'm a different me from the me that you know, and I don't mean the old man with the severe eyebrows. You said so yourself, you're from a time when you knew me better than I know you. [ And before she can protest that none of that matters, or the fact that time is always a bit bonkers when it comes to travelers like them, he continues on. She'd be right, though; it doesn't actually matter. It's just something he feels he should say.
What he says next does matter: ] I'm no good for you, and all of this — it won't last forever, you'll get tired of it. You'll want things. You'll want more. And you deserve those things, those humany things.
[ He's very old and he'll still live longer than she will; that's just the way of it. She deserves someone better, she deserves a whole, full life full of human experiences that isn't the madness and chaos of the life (the lives) that the Doctor leads. It doesn't escape him either the reason he's here at all: his regret. What had happened because of him. How Amy and Rory had died because he'd tried so hard to let go, and couldn't, and in the end it had cost them their lives.
In the end, he is meant to be alone. How could he condemn Clara to a similar fate? ]
no subject
Tears slip free from her eyes and slowly track down her face as she looks up at him. He's breaking her heart, but he isn't the first to do so and she knows he won't be the last. There's the edge of fear creeping in that she's just ruined their friendship, and he'll pull away and refuse to be her closest friend all in the name of protecting her or keeping things from becoming more awkward.
A protest dies before she can ever verbalize it, and yet she can't bring herself to look away from him. She has to eventually though, so he won't see the self-loathing that's in her eyes. Her fingers curl around his wrist, and she stands there with a stubborn refusal to meet his gaze again.]
You'll go back after this and be back with your Clara, just the way things should be. Be back in the proper timeline and all. Just...just forget I said anything, yeah? It's not important.
[She's desperately trying to salvage what she can of their friendship, terrified that it's not going to work. She doesn't bother telling him the things she wants, because it's not her place to force him to listen and understand. He's given her his answer and viewpoint on things, and she can accept that. She'll just need some time to nurse her wounds and everything'll be fine.
Won't it?]
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[ Time's weird and confusing and it's difficult to explain, especially in a way that doesn't make him sound like a hypocrite. But there we have it. There's the best sort of timey-wimey explanation he can come up with. Without using the words 'timey-wimey' too (bit of a mood killer, that).
God, and it hurts both of his hearts in a way that feels hollow and sad, to see the way she's looking at him now — or rather, the way she isn't looking at him at all. He lifts the hand not captured by hers to swipe the tears away again with a thumb and it doesn't feel quite as right anymore, like he's lost the right to do something like that now. ]
River kept a journal for this very reason, for the way we would constantly run into each other but never at the same time. Time is like that, and it doesn't change the fact that River is still River. But I don't think you're saying everything that you want to be saying.
[ And that's okay. It is.
(Maybe. At least that's what he's trying to convince himself of.) ]
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Telling him about those feelings is wrong.
He's married to River, even if she's very technically dead in the timeline they're in together. But he's right about the way time works for them, even if she also feels it makes him a huge hypocrite for rejecting her based on the fact that she's from beyond him in the timeline. She doesn't vocalize that, but she does lift her gaze enough to briefly meet his eyes. Her fingers press a little more firmly against his wrist, like she's trying to gauge how fast his hearts are beating right now.]
You're married to River. [Her free hand goes up to cup his cheek, thumb grazing along his jawline. It's to show him that there's no hard feelings, and that she's always be his Clara.]
I don't have the right to tell you what I did, much less everything I wanna say. No matter how important it may seem.
[All of that sounds so painfully human and ordinary that she rolls her eyes at herself, and quickly adds on:]
Whenever you're ready to hear every ounce of what I'm thinking and feeling when it comes to you, Doctor, you let me know. But I'll only let you do it when you're ready to accept all of it without a fight. You don't have to reciprocate, but you're absolutely not allowed to tell me what you think is best for me. It's my life, and who I give my heart to is my own choice. You don't get to take that away from me.
[The corner of her mouth tugs upward, dimple trailing in its wake.]
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He huffs a frustrated breath, because this is all coming out wrong, and his thoughts are all scrambled up and aren't being said properly. They're not the right words; they're not the right thoughts.
The Doctor closes his eyes, lets Clara's touch buoy him, guilty that it could soothe him so when he hardly deserves it. He's absolutely horrible at this sort of thing, and he's afraid, so desperately afraid that the wrong thing will hurt her too badly. Strange that a few adventures in each other's company could bring him to this, but there's always been something about Clara Oswald in his orbit, a mystery he needs to solve. ]
Clara — [ He starts, mouth open, but nothing comes out. Even still, she remains so strong and stoic and kind and caring, and so very frustratingly Clara, that the Doctor finds himself at a (rare) loss. ]
Where does this leave us now?
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This part of things is what she signed up for too. Falling for someone isn't ever easy, particularly when it doesn't seem that those feelings are returned. But she's a big girl and isn't about to let that get in the way of their friendship. Not when he so earnestly seems to want reassurance of where they stand.]
Same place we've always been, doing the same thing we've always done.
[Her fingers curl against his cheek, palm pressing a little more firmly as if it's going to help reassure him that everything is fine.]
You'll be the Doctor, and I'll be right there at your side.
[And does it really need to be any more complicated than that? After the admission she's just dropped at his feet here, she thinks keeping it simple is the absolute best thing she could possibly do.
Her hand drops away from his cheek so she can cross her arms over her chest.]
Onto the next adventure, yeah?
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It's just his life, his destiny, to always be one step ahead or one step behind those closest to him. It's safest, though, isn't it? To keep that distance, because bad things happen when he gets too close, and he's had proof of that time and time again.
His mouth quirks even when his hearts feel the dull ache and the coolness over his cheek from the absence of Clara's warmth feels just a bit like a sting.
And he nods, glancing up to meet her eyes. ]
Yes. All right, Clara Oswald. Onto our next adventure.