(This story is a third chronological part of an arc (What if). First story being: All I need; second: And the storm would come.)
Fear of failure, fear of the unknown, fear of change. There are so many types of fear. Endless list of fears and anxieties. And what comes with it? Nothing good I can tell you that much. No growth; no moving forward; no sense of purpose; no life.
We all have fears, it's only natural. We all run about our busy lives. Flying speedily through the routines of our make-believe paradise and we never slow down. We try not to let our small fears slow us down, or wave us in our flight. But do you ever pause long enough to wander which one was the biggest? Which one of those evil seedlings would creep into your heart at the first sign of weakness and immobilize you; numb you.
Clara did. She often ran by her fears through those alone, cold nights. After travelling with the Doctor she had quite an assortment to choose from. Rational, irrational, mind-blinding, soul-crippling fears. But there was one that trumped all the rest; one she feared the most. And it was not some fear of a creature, or a distant Sun threatening to devour galaxies, or of a monster that creeps in the night. Not even death. So what did she fear the most you seem to ask? Or what she preferred to call-dread.
True, she would often seem afraid when confronted with an outer force both strong and cruel; but nothing could compare to that one fear. Because that one fear would make you lose breath, shutter, collapse and paralyze on the spot. No way out. Nothing to do once you let it overtake you. That's why you shouldn't. Don't let it come close-she would tell herself. Too much to bare once you let it; too weak to fight once it takes over.
And she has been a nervous child. Always doubting herself. Trusting others more than her own thought and beliefs. Dependent, weak even. But that all changed. She became her own person. Strong, proud and admittedly a bit controlling. All in the line of work, she would claim.
And she still had fears; as one does. She most certainly did not like bugs. Couldn't go as far as to say she was afraid of them, but still. And she even now sometimes felt uncomfortable around people. Not really what you would call fear, more of a nervous reaction to being judged. Always that eye on her.
She had three mirrors. No, it was not to compensate for the wideness of her face. It was to see and empower herself. That extra bit of energy she needed before heading out into the unforgiving, relentless world. To make sure she faces herself. Fight your fears and you will be free.
If there is no enemy within, the enemy outside can do you no harm. Her biggest enemy, her own self; was staring from the reflection of that three-faced mirror. And her biggest fear? Well, that's a story on its own.
Clara rather enjoyed their down-time together; usually taking place rather un-spectacularly in the sanctuary of the TARDIS library. She would be seated right across the Doctor and be nose-deep in a book. She would naturally quite often steal glances at the Doctor. She would take pride in her innocent victories that went unnoticed. And then she would jolt up in search of a next distraction. Library so vast, she would often disregard time and its definite progression while searching for her next conquest. She would then be trapped in an argument with her own controlling mind about which book she would give her attention first. Troubles in her life- too many choices. When it comes to books anyway.
And he would just observe her little storming from his chair; her turmoil of unnecessary aggravation; and smile silently. Then he would for the infinite time tell her of the TARDIS cataloging system and how she might use it someday; might save her some time-he would boost. And she would refuse, of course with a smug comment on how she liked exploring, and not knowing what she will get in the end. And then he would retort confused, something like her not getting what she started for and how that made little or no sense at all; and why was she confusing him again? And she would smile proudly declaring it being her mission in life; confusing him and all of his 27 brains. And she would deliver that line with a smile and a wink.
And she would then continue searching; lighting her face with excitement when confronted with a particularly promising leader-bound cover. A rare specimen of secrets and hidden treasures that might give her a glimpse into the Doctor's past. One she probably was a part of, but conveniently forgot. The forbidden section- he warned her of the subject, but as per usual she considered nothing out of bounds in her case. Not after what they've been through. But she did respect his wishes. His name will forever remain unknown for her. Knowing the consequences of it falling into wrong hands, she feared to even pry. But that's not the story here and I have led you astray. One of my many qualities.
What would happen if you were to be faced with your biggest fear? Would it be too much, making you turn and run. Or would you face the declining odds and chose to fight. Clara often wandered, but knew deep down such an answer could not possibly be imagined. It had to be lived. And she really had no immediate intentions of such a scenario taking place any time soon. She would try and fight, probably. Quite sure she was on that. What she didn't know was would she win. And so, she held that Pandora's Box tightly closed and locked.
Her days with the Doctor were nearing perfection. Saving worlds commingled with relaxing times when they both would let down their guards; enjoying each other. Learning more every day. How he would throw a downward glance when she would bite her lip, marveling his red-lining coat. How he would steal small touches each time he pretended it being of the utmost importance to stand so close to her; and then be awed with her dimple and trying to hide a smile when she would catch him staring; failing naturally. They were so in-tune it was almost impossible to throw them off-balance. Rescuing civilizations, fighting monsters became pass-time for their practiced strategies. Almost too good to be true.
Clara tried to reach for that far-off dusty book on a crowded shelf. Big, interesting-looking book; really no resisting it. She wanted to steal its secrets. No, not wanted; needed. Needed so much she omitted a silver-tread in front of it.
Ouch- Clara breathed almost silently when a flash of electricity ran though said silvery tread and gave her finger a light shock. Moving her head sideways she began examining the strange, almost invisible structure. Shy light falling and barely grazing it revealed it to be some kind of foul-shaped, repulsively-distorted silver web. She returned to her finger; initial numbness already fading from it. And no sign of a mischief who made it.
Dismissing every thought that urged her to be alarmed, Clara simply grabbed the book and gracefully came down the small ladder; slumping into her chair once again. Doctor was embedded in his own book and took no notice of the commotion from his companion. Must be a very mysterious book, having been so protected- she though and smiled. Then nudged by her subconscious, she declared casually something like- did not know you collected psychedelic spiders- to the Doctor. She half-expected some sarcastic comment about it not being possible, you silly woman,-or of some announcement of the TARDIS self-cleaning mechanism that prevented it.
What she most certainly did not expect was a burst of energy that lifted the half-asleep Time Lord from his slumber and propelled him with the speed of sound by the look of it, towards her. What kind? Where?- he wanted to know, looking intently into her widened eyes. I don't know- she responded-Just saw the web. Got stung by it, but it's fine now.-she finished her view of the situation with a smile. No, no, no, no, no- Doctor frantically began examining her arms. Did he bite you?- he asked in horror. No, I don't know; I don't think so. Why are you acting like this? It's just a spider.
Just. Oh how he despised that word. Just a spider. Just an illusion. Just a bite. Just the end of the world. Just a crashed heart with no way of healing.
Just- he whispered suspending his finger over a small, red dot on her forearm. Just a crushed soul. He exhaled at her comment of being perfectly fine, and not noticing, and how he really need not panic, and why was he dragging her out of her chair?
He would exhale once again noticing her now fear-filled eyes; looking at him for answers; for reassurance. Asking silently for a comment not to worry, how it would all be fine. What she got was frantic pulling from to somewhere deep inside the TARDIS. And it would break the flood-gate in her head. Doctor was worried.
It doesn't even hurt-she would yell at the frantic Time Lord who was apparently growing less confident upon her skills of deduction; shoving her into a strange long cabinet filled to the ceiling with stoked-shelves. Endless bottles spread upon rows and rows of cabinets. Bubbling, sparkling, some even whispering. No it wouldn't-he voiced, finally releasing her hand to busy himself in locating a specific bottle somewhere in that organized mess. And Clara would eventually look down on her bitten arm. Just a small dot. Meaningless surely.
And yet, Doctor was uneasy; rushing from one end to the other of that strange room, looking for something. She wanted to indicate some kind of a funny comment on getting something for his nerves while he's at it, but rather decided to address a more pressing issue. It's getting cold in here. Is the heat out? -she postulated squeezing her arms around her chest trying to stay warm. A sharp exhale from her mouth revealed a mist of her warm breath escaping into an exceedingly cold room; but Doctor took no notice. He seemed unaffected by the temperature drop. It was starting, and she didn't even know.
Seconds passed and Clara could feel as though besides body heat, the cold seemed to be draining something else as well. She felt dizzy. Right, don't panic. It's just a bit of cold, and you are tired, probably. Long day, saving planets and all that.-she reassured herself. She glanced again at the Time Lord who was now holding a couple of sparkling bottles and searching speedily through a book.
Doctor?-was the last thing she said before her body gave up on standing, and she suddenly felt herself falling onto the cold floor. Something caught her head mere seconds before smashing onto the marble surface, whispering Stay with me Clara; but she felt week.
It was like tumbling down an endless, black abyss while your life was being extracted from your defenseless body. And she somehow knew that once the bottom was reached, that was it. The end. No more echoes to come back as. No more chances, end of the line. And she was falling so fast.
Just fight it Clara, please. Do it for me.-she could make out through a veil of deafening silence that engulfed her, only to be replaced by the crawling of the fog. She was afraid now.
I'm fine- she whispers into the air managing to catch a glimpse of her Doctor, sprawled beneath her on the floor; holding her head, his fingers on her throbbing temples and a bottle of some mixture beside him. And then there was silence.
He was too late. Clara was already in stage two and he needed to wake her up if he was to administer the antidote. So he held his companion in his lap, fingers on temples and concentrating fiercely. But she was so deep already.
Human brain is a funny thing. Doctor would say pudding-filled, but would be very far from the truth. It was a mess of unanswered questions, un-lived dreams and secret passions. And it was complex, developed and tricky. And he would sometimes wonder if he would ever succeed in understanding its intricate webs of imaginations. Time Lord's brain was practiced, and controlled. One of the most powerful things in the universe, but tamed. Sequenced and ordered and safe. It took him centuries to master it, but humans were different. They were delicate and fragile and had to be dealt with care and precision. But he was running out of time.
Clara opened her eyes only to find herself in strange surroundings. It could have been the TARDIS, but she could not tell. It was too dark. She was surrounded with huge, looming mirrors in wooden frames. Just standing there, towering over her. Fogged up by the cold. She shivered.
There was no reflection in them. And no sound. Just the silence and her now trembling-body. Doctor?- she tried calling out, but got no answer. Her own desperate cries fell like a muffle and echoed in her traitorous imagination. And then she remembered. Fears are not real. They do not exist, not really. Fears are just a creation of our overzealous imaginations. And as such, could be destroyed. It was possible and Clara was willing to try. Because that was what she was good at-taking charge. So why not take charge now? Now when it would seem impossible to do so. It was only suitable for the impossible girl to even try. So she dares, and fights. Her fist clenched and eyes tightly shut, she chases her daemons away.
Moments pass and nothing happens. Nothing besides the silence being trashed by tiny claps of something on the mirrors. And her pulse starts to change; her calmness ripped apart and her strength betraying at last. And she would no longer be able to force her eyes shut. Opening them with urgency she breaks into a run; further and further into the maze of mirrors. And she stops only when hearing a distant shatter. Please tell me it's the Doctor trying to get to me. But she can't wait for long, and she is running again; letting out a scream when her hair gets tangled in some webbing. It's just some mirrors, and spiders.-she responds to that growing restlessness. Small fear, cradle-bound but growing. Not even close to the one, and you know it.-she slows and forces her breathing to calm down enough to see a smudge on a mirror to her left-Come back to me Clara.
But then the mirror starts dissolving; water pouring down it, destroying the note. And she is no longer running.
She is standing on a rocking boat in the blackness of the sea. Small wooden boat crashing against the black waives. No horizon in sight, just walls of water growing and closing in. I'm sorry, but I have to…- something echoes inside her expiring mind and she knows. Turning around just in the moment to observe a 30 foot-tall wave crashing onto her little wooden boat. And she's falling again.
And there's that voice again-I have to make you drink this…-And she is choking now. –I can't breathe.
She is sinking, hoping the Doctor would hear her plea. Hopes splashed away by her own choking body. No reply. And she is so close to giving in. She reaches with her hand to the disappearing surface. Her last ounce of courage. She swallows inside preparing to face her biggest fear.
Because she does not fear death; not now, not ever. She does not fear herself, or failure or rejection. She fears losing him.
But she is coughing now. Air in her lungs- burning, expanding them. She is breathing again, but everything is dark still. And then she feels a soft cares on her lips that lingers. And when it's gone, she hears that voice again-there you are; and she opens her eyes.
Doctor was clutching her in his embrace, sitting in the same spot she fell not minutes ago. Their foreheads touching, hands on her face; and eyes closed. Mouth slightly open and whispering something she could not understand, but felt was directed at her.
Told you I was fine- Clara would smile weakly dropping her head onto his chest. Could you see everything? Of course he could. Her biggest nightmares played vividly by her imagination were still seared in his memory. And he is exhaling now; dropping his chin to her head. Yes-he finally answers.
She could ask him about his biggest fear, but would probably never get an answer. In her mind, the Doctor has no fears. But as though he could hear her, he's talking again. Of course I have fears.-and she is lifting her gaze now to look into his eyes. Was he crying? He would call it inflating-eyes, but never admit to it. What do you fear the most?- she wanted to ask, but he already read her thought silencing her lips with his. Losing you- was a mental note left floating somewhere in her mind and in that moment, she was no longer afraid.