[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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no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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?]
no subject
[ 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.) ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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.