A/N: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!
It's a cold autumn afternoon and only a few leaves still cling stubbornly to the trees as Clara Oswald makes her way through the old cemetery. She's the only one there today, not that there are ever that many people there to begin with. The wind blows sharply against her face as she weaves silently through rows and rows of graves. Finally she reaches a familiar plot of land next to a grove of oak trees on the far side of the cemetery. She kneels down on the dying grass, already feeling the tears coming as she gazes at the tombstone in front of her.
Why did you have to leave me?
"Your boyfriend?"
She whips around. There's a man standing right behind her, someone she's never seen before. He's tall and dressed in a scruffy looking brown jacket. His short grey hair and lined face indicate his older age, but his eyes are sharp and beady as they gaze down at her. Clara feels as if he is staring right through her, and she doesn't like it. How did he sneak up on me? She stands up quickly and wipes her eyes. "What did you say?"
"The stiff in the ground. Was he your boyfriend?" Clara is taken aback by the man's blunt tone.
"Wha-Who are you?" She looks around the cemetery. It's still deserted except for the two of them.
"Still haven't answered my question." He continues to stare at her.
"No. He wasn't my boyfriend. Just…just a friend."
"Died young, this friend." He says, nodding towards the dates on the headstone behind her.
Clara wipes away another tear. "Yes. Too young. He should have had a long time left. But life never works that way, does it?" She lets out a small laugh. "Never the way you want it to."
"It's been almost a year since he kicked the bucket. Why do you keep visiting?" he asks in the same brash manner as before.
"How did you-?"
"I've seen you. Every Wednesday. You come, kneel down, have a good cry, leave. Rinse and repeat."
Clara looks at the old man with suspicion. "You've been following me." It wasn't a question.
"It's my job."
"Your job?"
"I'm the caretaker."
"Of the cemetery?"
He ignores her and looks at the gravestone again. "Why Wednesday?"
"What?"
"Why do you come on Wednesday? Most people come on the weekends, or holidays, or not at all. Why Wednesday?"
"Wednesday was the day we used to meet." A rush of memories floods her mind. "Every week, he'd come and get me and we'd go places. Weird places. Wonderful places. Never the same thing twice, always an adventure. Wednesday was our day."
"And you don't know what to do with yourself now he's gone. Sometimes you can't even get yourself to believe he really is. You sit at home waiting and waiting until you finally remember no one's coming, so you come here to remind yourself."
The truth in his words hits Clara hard, and she doesn't even stop to ponder how this man she's never met knows so much about her.
"First time I saw him," she begins, "I thought he was the strangest person I'd ever met. Always bouncing around-couldn't keep still for more than two seconds if he tried-mouth going a mile a minute. Always curious about everything, like a little kid." She doesn't know why she's telling him all this, but the words just keep coming. "But he was so smart, and generous, and so eager to help. Always the first one to jump in when someone was in trouble. That's how he…he got in over his head and-"
The tears are back again, and this time she doesn't bother trying to stop them.
"You loved him."
"Yes! I loved him!" She's sobbing now and the words are spilling out of her mouth almost too fast to understand. "I loved him and I never told him. And now I never can because he's gone. Stupid selfless idiot! He's gone and he's never coming back. And now I'm alone again."
The old man makes no move to comfort her, but his gaze softens slightly. He waits until she finally calms down before he speaks.
"He wouldn't have wanted his impossible girl to spend her days crying over him."
Clara looks at him, stunned. She hasn't been called that since-
"Did you just say-"
"You know what I think? I think he would have wanted you to get the hell out of this lifeless old graveyard and go out there and get back to living. So what if you never got to tell him how you felt? Who knows, maybe he's heard you now that you've finally said it out loud after all this time. And if he hasn't, you can tell him when you're both five feet under. So get out of here, Clara Oswald. It's not your time yet."
She's stunned into silence. How does he know my name? She has so much to ask and say but her mouth just won't move even as the old man turns and begins to walk away.
"But what do I know? I'm just the caretaker."
She finally finds her voice. "Wait! How did you-"
But it's too late; he's disappeared into the trees. Clara considers going after him, but something tells her she won't be able to find him.
She sits for a while, thinking, before turning back to the tombstone.
"He's right isn't he? Whoever he is. You would be disappointed in me, sulking here when there's still so much to see. Everything we didn't get to. Only now, I'll have to see it all for both of us. Okay?"
Clara takes a deep breath.
"Miss ya."
She walks away.