It had been one of the first things he'd thought about upon hearing of Gallifrey's return, he had to admit. How could he not? A moment like that was not easily forgettable. Especially when the moment revolved around a certain brunet companion.

"Doctor," Her voice drifting in his memory never ceased ache.

"Yes, what is it? What do you want?" He'd replied ignorantly.

"Sorry, but you're about to make a very big mistake."

Pause.

"Don't steal that one, steal this one. The navigation system's knackered but you'll have much more fun."

She'd been there. She'd been on Gallifrey. It was the first time, at least as far as the Doctor could remember, that one of Clara Oswald's many echoes had encountered him. And she'd saved him in the most memorable way possible; by enabling him to take the right TARDIS.

And what a decision that had been.

You're missing the point, Doctor, his lifelong, impossibly blue friend seemed to be reminding him.

And it was far too easy to listen. Because he was realizing...remembering...understanding. There were far more versions of the little feisty girl from Blackpool still out there. Hundreds, thousand even, past, present future, different planets, different galaxies, but one of them was from Gallifrey. And that reminder made his hearts soar almost as much as they did when he was with... the true Clara.

Almost as much.

But not quite the same.

Of course, the consideration never left him. He...admittedly desperately needed her in a way. Even if it wasn't actually her. Because it still was in a way. He just had to fully come to terms with that fact.

He'd received her phone call. The real Clara's phone call, requesting a meeting in her modern time. He already knew the moment he heard the message what their conversation would surely be about. She had a boyfriend now. She was happy. She didn't have room for a daft old man who stole her away from her life day after day. It had taken him considerably longer to reply than either of them probably would have liked, but he'd needed those two weeks to himself. To sit alone. To mourn. To let out every ounce of internalized anger and frustration he'd been keeping hidden inside.

Because as soon as he'd set those coordinates, as soon as he'd arrived at what he'd dreamed to be his home...only to be met with blackness...It hurt more than he could express. His hope, once again, had been taken away. Diminished. Crumbled into a thousand tiny little pieces. What an idiot he had been...trusting that deceitful Time Lord. They'd been friends once, and he'd let his emotions cloud his better judgement. Because those times were long gone.

So here he was again. In the same spot it seemed he ended up so often nowadays. His home was gone, and so was his chances of having any type of relationship with that one girl...because surely, after being reunited with her lost love, she wouldn't have any interest in the him anymore. He was sure of it.

But still, he couldn't help but hang on to that little thread. Him at one end, his hope teetering at the edge of the other. The hope was small, it was unsure, but it was there.

And maybe, if he was lucky, that hope would return to him what was rightfully his.

And maybe, if he was lucky, that hope would bring him home.