A/N: This is my first fanfic. I hope you enjoy reading it. This is loosely based on the end of Kill The Moon, when Clara tells the Doctor to leave (and my opinion that Twelve seems sad at times throughout the series). Strong friendship based-fic. Does not contain any spoilers for the scene, nor is it required to have seen it to follow the story.
You Don't Always Have To Be Alright
Clara was running. Not for the first time, of course, but perhaps the first time she'd done so without being late for something (or chased by God-knows-what). As it was, she was running back from work, not to, as she might have done previously. Her phone was still held tightly in her hand from when she'd answered to the oh-so-familiar number.
He'd developed the habit just recently - of calling whenever he got bored of hanging around waiting for her in her bedroom - and Clara was beginning to wonder why that was. Surely he could occupy himself somehow for a few short hours until she got home? She almost laughed out loud at that, being reminded how completely impossible, and entirely impatient, the Doctor was.
This thought brought her back to the conversation, if it could be called that, that they'd just had. She tried not to think too hard, as confusing and worrying as it had become to her.
The bell rung loudly, signalling the end of the impossibly-more-tiring-than-yesterday school day; for students and teachers alike this brought with it the chance to go home, relax and generally be unproductive for two days.
After hastily dismissing the year 10 English class (that had already began to leave at the sound), Clara quickly grabbed her things together and dashed out of the door, intent on getting to the adjoining maths' department. Her journey was interrupted by the sharp ringing of her phone.
Thankful no students were around to hear the noise, she somehow extracted her phone from her pocket, nearly dropping the stack of folders she'd been carrying in the process. She answered it one-handed, distracted by her previous thoughts and the steadily-falling stack, saying her name absent-mindedly to the currently-unknown caller.
A gruff, and rather quiet, male voice she knew all-too-well answered her: "Clara..."
He seemed ready to say more, but was interrupted as the carefully-ordered folders fell from Clara's hands, scattered all over the floor and prompted Clara to let out a quiet curse as she bent to pick them up. Only just refraining from muttering about the disordered state of the stack, she turned her wavering attention to the caller.
"Sorry about that. A thing happened, with some folders, but that's over now..." Clara said in a rush, having not heard the man speak before. "Who is this again?"
The same voice answered her, "The Doctor..." He seemed confused, but shook it off and continued, "Clara, I need your help." He spoke in a low, almost whispering, voice.
"With what?" Clara now perked up, eager to hear about the latest, if unexpected, adventure they could be going on.
"...Something." The quiet voice answered again, somewhat unhelpfully in Clara's opinion. But before she could say as much, "Just come." A pause. "Please." With that the phone line went silent; disconnected.
This left Clara very confused and slightly worried. Why would he just cut her off like that and what did he need her help with? A thousand questions ran through her mind, fuelled by her growing concern for the man who seemed untouchable. Her last, before she gathered the scattered folders, tightened her grip on her phone and began a very fast walk home, was: what had happened?
For the quiet, low, whispering voice had quite possibly cracked on the final word.
Back in the present, nearly having reached home, Clara still couldn't get the thoughts out of her mind. Hearing the Doctor say please was worrying in itself, but hearing how his voice had cracked frightened Clara so much more. He'd spoken so quietly she couldn't help but wonder if there was something really, horribly wrong. Still thinking, she let herself into her apartment, making her way silently to her bedroom, dropping the folders and various other things around the room as she went. Her focus was now entirely on the big, blue box parked in the corner. She entered with worry, and no small amount of fear, in her heart.
The console room was empty. There appeared, at first glance, to be no sign of the Doctor anywhere. Wandering and looking around for several minutes, she'd just thought to try looking elsewhere when she spotted him: curled up, supposedly sleeping, on the comfortable-looking chair he seemed to favour. Clara rushed up the stairs to be sure. His shoes were next to the chair, seemingly having taken them off before sleeping, his legs rested on the chair beside him and his head had lolled to the side in sleep. His breathing was deep and even. Clara heaved a sigh of relief as she reached him, thinking there was nothing to worry about after all.
She looked again at him, closely, noticing what she hadn't before: his eyes, rimmed red, as if he'd been crying, and the way his face seemed alert, even in sleep. His eyes moved beneath his lids, as if he were dreaming. She had just made her mind up to let him sleep and ask her questions later, when he began to turn, quite forcefully, in the chair. His breath came in shorter bursts and his eyes move faster now. Clara quickly determined this was a nightmare and thought she should attempt to wake him.
She reached tentatively out to shake his shoulder, moving much faster when a small, almost-unheard, whimper escaped his lips. Her hand had barely touched him when he jolted awake.
Startled by his sudden movement she retracted her hand swiftly. He seemed to take a moment to reacquaint himself with his surroundings before turning his gaze downward.
Wondering if he was alright, and suspecting he wasn't, Clara spoke into the silence that had settled around them: "Doctor...?" Her voice was questioning. "Are you-?" She cut herself off with a gasp; her eyes drawn to the look the Doctor was now giving her.
His eyes, previously red, now shone with unshed tears. There was a deep sadness in their depths that seemed to stab in the centre of Clara's heart and, as she watched him, a tear he seemed unable to stop ran down his cheek.
She dropped to her knees slowly in front of him, catching the tear with the pad of her thumb, and repeating the question she'd tried to ask before: "Are you alright?" Though she knew the answer, her heart clenched at the almost-imperceptible shake of the head the question had earned her. "What's wrong?" She tried again.
The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, but only ended up causing more tears to flow. Gently reaching up from her place on the floor, Clara wrapped her arms carefully around him, drawing him to her, saying reassuringly, "You don't always have to be alright."
It seemed to be enough, for the walls he had kept up broke at the sound and the flood of tears that had been waiting were released as a torrent of almost-sobs.
Clara sat there for what felt like hours, but was more like 10 minutes, just holding the man she'd saved, who needed saving again, whispering comforting nonsense to try to soothe. It was him that finally pulled away in the end, having managed to calm himself, though she kept her hands on his arms, encouraging him with her eyes to talk. It was another few moments before he did; Clara had stayed quiet this time, seemingly waiting for him.
"I'm sorry..." He started, "I didn't-" Clara felt she had to cut him off; to correct him.
As she moved her hands to hold his, he stopped and looked at her. "It's okay," she said quietly, comfortingly. "It's okay to not be alright." She paused and met his gaze, asking once more, "What's wrong?"
He explained; telling her everything at last. He spoke of loss and loneliness, of fear and anguish and of a love that he'd never have; of home, and friends and how he could never leave. Clara understood.
She leaned in and whispered into his ear, words he never thought he'd need to hear, "You will always be welcome here, Doctor. Never leave." Pausing for just a second, she added, "You're my best friend as well, you know." She pulled back and smiled, a smile with so many hidden emotions. He returned it. And he understood.
Almost at the same time, they reached out and pulled the other into a hug.
Clara had made a mistake; and so had he. They'd make sure never to do so again.
A/N: Well that's the end. I really hope you liked it. Please review and tell me what you thought. Constructive criticism is appreciated.