For Ali and the bitch that never cooperates, from Harry and Clara.
.
Sometimes, you're angry; with life, with him, with the universe. But mostly, you're angry because you're not sure how to make this right, not sure what words to say that will make the hurt disappear. But words have never been your strong suit, anyways. Instead, you wrap your arms around her waist and bury your head in her neck, feeling her body shake against your own.
She's looking skyward, like she always does at night. She looks at the sky, at the stars that draw patterns in the pitch black. You know what she's looking for and yet, you know she'll never see it again. Because following you back in time meant that she would never see her best friend again.
"Do you think he's alright?" she asks softly. Her eyes never waver from the sky, and you wonder briefly if they ever will, really.
You hug her tighter. "Yes," you murmur against her fiery hair. "I don't think he's alone." Her body relaxes and you smile. "Let's go to bed," you whisper. She nods and you detangle yourself from her. You grab her hand and let her to your bed, in a home that you've made for yourself in a different city, in a different time period.
In a different life.
.
Sometimes, you're jealous of him – the Doctor that is. You hate how he wormed his way so far into her life that occasionally she doesn't know how to live without him. That she doesn't want to live without him, that she won't live for you and only you.
He's consumed her, utterly and completely, and she's had a taste too. Now she craves it. He's poison and chocolate, the stars and an impossible blue box.
And how could bland normality compete?
It's times like these when her whole body shakes with the need for an adrenaline rush, when her fingers taps out a rhythm against the table top and her eyes darken with annoyance. And it's times like these that you can't do anything for her. You can't make a thrill appear out of nowhere, in a blue box that's bigger on the inside, with a man straightening his bowtie, asking, "Well, where are we off to now?"
The only thing you can do is sit there, and watch her flick through The Times, seeking something to do, some mystery to solve. But she never finds anything other than a series of murders and robberies because there's nothing odd going on.
Because the Doctor and his aliens are a universe away.
.
Sometimes, you hurt. There's an ache deep in your chest because there are tears running down her beautiful face, and you still don't know how to fix it. She cries because she misses him, misses their home in Scotland, misses her daughter, misses everything. It's these days that she won't let you hold her, comfort her.
She locks herself in the spare bedroom that will never be filled, and cries for days. Everything becomes unimportant to her and it kills you inside. Because there will always be a part of her that belongs to the mad man with a blue box.
You can never have her completely. And sometimes, it kills you.
You spend these days working, picking up as many hours as you can because it's better than being alone. But reality always hits you when you go to sleep by yourself, and wake up to a cold bed.
As you pass the door to the spare bedroom, you whisper, "I love you." And you wonder if that (if you) will ever be enough for her.
.
Sometimes, there are good days, when she sits with you at the table for breakfast, and chats about the things she's seen in The Times. You listen to her talk because her voice, still heavy with her Scottish accent, is soft and passionate. Occasionally, you respond, letting her know that you're still listening to her ramblings.
After breakfast, she kisses you. And in that moment, you know that everything is alright. She loves you, and she chose you over him. She decided that life with you was more important to her and, even though she doesn't show it often, you know she cares.
Those are the days when she writes. She writes of their last adventure together, of your act of desperation, of the decision she made. Because, on those days, it doesn't hurt to remember. It doesn't hurt to remember the adventures she will miss out on. Or the adventures that she had with him.
She looks up at you, a smile in her eyes. "Do you think he's okay?" she asks.
"Yes," you answer without blinking. "I bet he's just fine."
.
Sometimes, you wonder. Wonder what the Doctor is doing, if he misses her like she misses him. Wonder how your daughter is. Wonder how the universe is getting along without them. In these moments, you figured out how far the Doctor really wormed into your life. He inserted himself into every corner of your little existence and you let him. And you know that's what he did with her – silently moved in her heart to where the entire world, the entire universe revolved around him.
Those are the days that she just kisses your cheek and murmurs, "They're just fine. They've got each other." And despite everything, you believe her.
.
Sometimes, you remember. You stand outside with her, in frigid air, looking to the stars that paint pattern in the sky. Oh, how many of them did the Doctor take you to? How many of these planets and stars are safe in the sky because of that mad man?
You think about the adventures you had and the enemies you fought. You think about the planet just outside of your universe. You remember the feeling you got as he passed you, running in the opposite direction, and how you would just follow him without question, running to keep up with his pace. You remember dinosaurs and Daleks and the saving people.
And there are the little things that you remember too. You wonder if Vincent (when you were dead and cold and plastic) ever looked up at the same starry night and had thoughts about sunflowers.
Or if Queen Nefertiti ever looked at every new star and wonder if they were spaceships.
You remember Scotland, and you wonder if it misses you.
But most of all, you remember the flat you shared with her. You remember coming back and cleaning house because his TARDIS could never land on the right date. And you remember the friends and the family you left behind.
It's these days that you let yourself drown in the memories.
.
Mostly, though, you just live. You never thought you would have to experience life without the Doctor, but the universe had other plans. Life is oddly peaceful without the running and the saving and the Doctor. And you've made a life for yourself here in this new city, in a new time.
She curls up next to you on the couch, close, and that's when everything is alright. Because, regardless of how much of her the Doctor holds, you always hold just a little bit more.
A/n – thanks to the beautiful Cassie for beta-ing this for me and giving me a few sentences here and there! She's lovely!