#1: Now We Live In You
The Doctor had been missing for approximately 7 hours longer than usual. If he hit the 8 hour mark, Clara would start to panic. Until that point, she would just try not to worry too much. It took some getting used to, feeling less like she was being babysat by the ancient alien, and given more free reign to do her own thing. When he would bring her home, she wouldn't see him for a week or two, and sometimes more. She would often go for a day or two without seeing him between adventures on the Tardis, left to her own devices on the ship. Not that she would complain. She treated that time to herself as a vacation, alone time, no Danny, no Doctor. Just Clara and the old girl.
She would adventure through the halls of the Tardis, finding new rooms, some barely cupboard size, and some as large as a cathedral. The Doctor clearly took no issue with her explorations of his ship, and any door she chose to look into would open for her. At first, it felt personal, like she was invading the Doctor's privacy. But she soon discovered that some rooms seemed to be designed specifically for her. The Doctor had waved her off with a "telepathic link" explanation and had gone off down the hall to a room Clara could never seem to find.
An enormous library could always be found when she wanted a good read. The swimming pool was located nearby, and Clara's guilty pleasure soon became sitting in the hot tub while sipping an ice-cold soda and reading Pride and Prejudice. The Doctor never seemed too bothered to find her; whatever he was up to kept him busy enough. When she'd had enough alone time, Clara would mosey back to the console room and he'd already be there waiting for her, preparing for their next trip or to bring her home, with a grin and a wink.
It was only occasionally in between adventures that the Doctor would disappear into the halls of the Tardis and would not come back out for an extended period of time. Clara was never sure why.
Seven and a half hours longer than usual. Clara was starting to go into panic mode.
What if he had fallen into a trap somewhere and was waiting for her to come looking for him? What if he wasn't in the Tardis at all, and she was now trapped aboard the alien vessel with no way to get home? The Tardis wheezed, sounding strained. Yes, Clara reasoned, she was likely overreacting.
Perhaps this happened when the Doctor needed to sleep? She wasn't sure when or if he ever did.
Clara huffed a heavy sigh and put down her book. She got up and marched out of the library with a new determination. Time to find that ego-maniac of an alien.
The halls seemed darker than usual, giving the Tardis an eerie glow. Clara shivered, it was also much colder here than in the warm fire-lit library. She frowned and tried to keep her nerves from skyrocketing. She walked with a false confidence around the corner and considered the various doors that appeared. She had never seen these doors before. Clara wondered curiously about the Tardis' supposed telepathic abilities and if perhaps the old girl was leading her astray.
The second door on the left looked differently from the rest of them, with a wider girth and a larger handle. Clara stepped closer, and along with the clipping noises of her heels on the hard floor, she could hear a sad strain of a flute.
She opened the door, half expecting to find the Time Lord practicing the instrument all this time without a care in the Universe. Instead, she found a rather different sight.
"Doctor?" she asked the dark room.
A bright light emitted from one side of the room. A television screen? Clara moved closer.
On a large and very comfy-looking couch sat the Doctor, bowl of popcorn in his lap, fuzzy blanket draped over his shoulders. On the tv was a bald man playing the flute.
Clara shook her head, "Really? You've been sitting here watching… what is this?"
"Eh?" the Doctor seemed woken up from his reverie and finally noticed her presence. He blinked quickly and wiped furiously at his eyes, "Oh! Clara! It's nothing, nothing.."
"Doctor?" Clara leaned in to see him better in the dim lighting. "Are you.. crying?"
"Of course not! You broke my concentration, just the eyes adjusting to the light difference.."
Clara snickered, "You are so full of it Doctor. What are you watching?" she sat beside him on the couch.
The Doctor simmered down and looked thoughtfully at her. His voice was quiet and serious, "It was a well-written story. A very.. familiar one. In my many lives, I have lived some quite ..differently and experienced many things, you know."
"Yes, but what has gotten you so upset, Doctor?" Clara was confused.
"Not upset. More.. nostalgic. I really am a sentimental old fool deep down, Clara," he pointed at the screen. "Much like Picard."
"Picard?" she asked. It sounded familiar. A memory struck her and she burst out laughing with a whooping sound, "You're watching Star Trek?!"
"Next Generation. Classic. Was always the superior, even the 100 year special couldn't top it," the Doctor explained with an academic tone he would use generally when observing something scientific.
"And you're crying!" Clara giggled.
He growled at her with furiously glaring eyebrows, "Clara, I'm amazed you even know Picard was a captain in Star Trek, and not some silly Star Wars or bloody Battlestar Galactica!"
"And now you've lost me."
"So how would you know or understand it enough to be so quick to judge, hmm?" he pointed a finger in her face. "Humans, you create masterpieces of art and then color over it with a permanent marker."
Clara stopped laughing and tilted her head, examining the Doctor. He glared back, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. He was trying to defend and protect himself with anger, as usual. Clara realized she had actually hurt his feelings.
"Doctor, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh at you. Tell me about why you're feeling nostalgic," she tried to reach him but he seemed to be closing down.
"Hardly matters, like you would understand, Clara, too posh for a little classic sci-fi. You want the real deal, I'll give it to you." He began to sit up and push himself off the couch.
Clara frowned and pulled him forcefully back down before she could change her mind. He seemed surprised and shocked at the physical contact. "Sit down, mister. I said I was sorry. Now tell me. I'll listen. I won't laugh. I won't tease. I promise."
Their eyes met, and she looked into the deep gray and blue pools that stared back at her. The credits of the show had long since passed, and the light of the menu screen streamed across the Doctor's face. She tried to show in her own that she genuinely cared. He seemed to question her for another moment, analyzing her expression and her hands still resting on his arms, then he finally relaxed back onto the couch.
"A dream. Or so it seems," his voice was low and gruff. "Picard lives out his days on a foreign planet, waiting to be rescued. No one ever comes for him. He learns the culture of the people, the land. He loves, he lives. He grows into an old man. But it was all just a dream. He remembers it as though he truly lived it. And he is all that remains of their world, within his memory." The Doctor's eyes are pained.
Clara released a deep breath, feeling the sorrow emanating from the only known Time Lord in the Universe. She realizes her grave mistake at laughing at him. She gently squeezes his arm, "The flute?"
"He has the flute that he learned to play on that world, and he can still remember just how to play it," the Doctor blinked several times. "But he lived for decades without the Enterprise, and was then suddenly thrust back into it, without warning. No guidelines of how to go back to flying the damn thing. And totally alone."
It really was sounding quite familiar. Clara understood now why it had struck so close to home for the Doctor.
"Not alone, Doctor," she felt a surge of emotion rise in her chest. Her voice cracked, "You are not alone."
Suddenly she found herself in his arms, held tightly to his chest with her face buried into his neck.
"I thought you didn't like hugging?" she asked him with a secret smile.
"This is the only exception to the rule, I hope you understand."
"Oh, so you get hugs when you need them, but I have to fight for one when I do?"
"You're right, life isn't fair," he stated like a matter-of-fact, making no apologies.
Clara sighed dramatically to act frustrated and pushed back as he released her from his tight grip, and kissed him on the cheek. She giggled at his almost indistinguishable blush. "Doctor, you know what I meant. Next time you want to marathon-watch Star Trek, you just tell me!"
"Kirk or Picard, my Clara?"
She glanced up at his mischievous eyebrow, knowing he was asking her a deeper question. The young and handsome man of action? Or the wise older man of logic and philosophy? She could almost see both of them within his face now, pleading and smirking at the same time.
Clara grabbed some popcorn from his bowl with a knowing grin, "Janeway."
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