Title: Rage, Rage
Summary: Clara Oswald dances with death. (Huge spoilers for Face the Raven)
She had taught Dylan Thomas to her class once. Personally, she really hadn't liked it that much- a bit too pretentious, a bit too showy (a bit like the Doctor, really) but a lot of her class seemed to enjoy it. And besides, it was part of the curriculum.
Clara Oswald walks out of the wooden door into the dark, lamp-lit street, and strides off to face death with what she hopes is a bright confidence. And all she can think of is that one line from that old famous poem- do not go gentle into that good night.
Despite her speech to the Doctor, she's scared- terrified, even- of death. Why shouldn't she be? Being scared of death is like being scared of a twenty-foot-tall, snarling, bug-eyed monster from the planet Venus- it's perfectly rational and everyone except the lunatics is afraid of it. Everyone except the lunatics and the Doctor.
Oh, hell.
This is really it, isn't it? She's going to have to face the raven, and face the terrifying, empty void that is death and face the prospect of never, ever seeing the Doctor ever again. That's what scares her more than death, now that it comes down to it.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
The raven lifts its head and stares into her soul with its beady black eyes. Clara stares right back at it, as it ruffles its feathers and releases a plaintive, rattling caw from its ragged throat. She lifts her chin, and lets her defiance gradually overtake her fear, just like she wants it to.
"Let me be brave," she murmurs under her breath, and steps forward, the motion rolling through her body.
She feels, rather than sees, the presence of the Doctor behind her. He's watching, and she can imagine his fists clenched by his sides, willing himself not to move.
"Let me be brave," she repeats, and steps forwards again, curling her fingernails against her palms. They draw blood- perfect little semicircles, but she doesn't wince in pain.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day-
Come and get me, she thinks, and the raven does, swooping forwards to meet her even as she raises her arms out and embraces death head-on in some grotesque parody of affection- and the raven caws once more and coalesces into mists and it's all inside her and it's horrible-
She can hear a sound. It's a bit like screaming.
Maybe it's her.
Clara Oswald wonders if there's an afterlife and if there is, will she see Danny Pink again?
Clara Oswald wonders if there's a heaven or a hell and if so, which one is she going to?
Clara Oswald wonders why the Doctor isn't rushing forwards to hold her body as the last ounces of life leave it and she's left as a corpse on the ground, black smoke trailing wistfully out of her mouth.
Clara Oswald danced with death one time too many, but didn't let it overtake her until the very end.
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.