WARNING: HUGE SPOILERS FOR "THE NAME OF THE DOCTOR"

Clara ran her hand along the Tardis console, a soft blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was apologising. She knew that she and the Tardis were on the same side. After all, all of it, everything in his life had been their doing. They had been the directors of The Doctor's journey since he began running all those hundreds of years ago.

"What are you thinking, Clara?" The Doctor asked, not glancing up. He was busying himself with the Tardis. Flicking switches and checking the readings on the scanner. But his heart didn't seem to be in it like usual; he didn't have the same spring in his step. Clara supposed that was to be expected. The sorrowful look usually hidden behind his eyes shone through, like he didn't care if it showed anymore, his secret had been revealed.

"I've always been there. I mean, they weren't me. But I can remember it, like I'm remembering a dream. It's all in bits and pieces, and I'm not quite sure what's real and what's not." Clara leant against the bar behind her, arms crossed, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Your consciousness was smashed," The Doctor started, his hands resting for a moment, "Like glass, splintering, without direction. Spread across my Timeline like dust in the wind. Without direction or destination. It may take a while for them to find their way home. It's likely most memories will never return. No human brain could hold the memories of a thousand lives lived and died."

"There's a man. There was a man. Right before you saved me. You said he was you?" Clara said. The Doctor tensed.

He walked over to Clara, took a deep breath and put his hands on her shoulders, "Clara, everyone has regrets. Things they wish they'd never said, or promises they'd never made." The Doctor's eyes flickered downward, "Or a choice they'd never had to make. We all have our shadows and we all have our ghosts. The life I've lived. Imagine how dark my shadow is. Imagine how many ghosts."

Clara searched his pain-filled face, his eyebrows were furrowed and hismouth thin and grim. She'd known him since he had become The Doctor, and she still knew nothing of the man behind the Title. But she knew about his darkness and how many had died in his name. Like River Song.

"The Doctor," Clara said softly, "He wasn't The Doctor. But he was you. How does that work?"

"Doctor," The Doctor sighed, he leant on the Tardis console and bowed his head, Clara could tell he didn't really want to tell her, "That was my promise. He broke it. The promise I made about who I was, and who I would be. What he did, he didn't do as The Doctor." He looked up at her, "I'm the eleventh doctor, but I'm the twelfth man."

"Did you tell River?" Clara pulled the blanket closer around her.

"Like I said," The Doctor sighed again, "River always knew. I'm never sure how. She was like that, always knew things before she should, and before I could." The Doctor quietly chuckled inwardly, "Spoilers."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" Clara questioned.

The Doctor was silent for a minute, "When you lose someone close to you; it's always hard to talk about. I've never been ready to face the fact she died, I don't think I'll ever quite accept it. I still had time with her, so I forgot that her time with me had already run out."

Clara listened intently; it was a comforting sign that The Doctor trusted her with this information.

"Over three hundred years I knew her. Three hundred years' worth of adventures, beauty and just … life, but it was all under the shadow of her death. She knew everything about me that day, the day she died, and I didn't even know her name. Can you imagine what I did to her that day, Clara?"

Clara was silent, her face sorrowful.

The Doctor continued, "When I couldn't go on by myself, she was right there beside me, holding my hand, and right at the end, on the day of her death, when she needed me most; I turned to her and asked who she was. I think something broke in her when I said that. I could see it behind her eyes. I think I broke her hearts." The Doctor hid his tear streaked face with his hand in shame, wiping them away angrily, "I wasn't her Doctor back then. I thought I was old, but really I was still so very young. I'm ashamed, that I left her without a goodbye. River always said I hated endings, and she's right. It was selfish to leave her without a word. I just wasn't ready for it to be over, if I said goodbye, it would have felt it was all over forever. I don't think she'll ever really be gone to me. That's one of the reasons for this. She always said I was a sentimental idiot." The Doctor touched at his bow tie.

"The bow tie?"

The Doctor pursed his lips and sat himself down on one of the bottom steps of the silver Tardis staircase, opposite the door. Clara joined him. "I'm going to tell you a story, Clara Oswald."

He took a deep breath and began slowly, "There was a dark day, the day the universe was dying. Star systems disappearing, blinking out of existence, and whole races were being wiped from all memory. Everything was collapsing. Time stood still. Reality itself was disappearing forever. And at the very center of the implosion, there was a boy and a girl. It's a long story, a legend, spanning time itself, but they were the center, the eye of the storm, if you like. That was the day he, the boy, was destined to die. It was set in stone, written across history. And the girl, she was sent to kill him. She was his bespoke assassin. She hardly knew him then, but she did know, however, that her purpose was to murder him. Even though she was in love with him."

"This is kind of a depressing story," Clara softly remarked.

The Doctor ignored her comment, "She didn't want to do it. They'd only met twice, from her percpective, but she knew she loved him. They first met when she was just a baby, he had held her in his arms when she was barely three weeks old. The second time when she was grown; on the day she became the girl who loved him. She understood that day what they would have in her future, how much she would love him, and so she couldn't do it. She couldn't kill the boy."

Clara was beginning to understand just who The Doctor was talking about.

"He was a complicated event, and his death was a fixed point in time, and so in refusing to murder him, she created the end of days. The universe began to collapse, revolving around them as it died, fading to nothing. Time was running out fast. The boy just had to find the girl and hold her, then he with that touch he would be allowed to die, time would be restored, and life would go on. He knew that it had to happen. That he had to die. The girl refused, of course, she wouldn't let him touch her, she couldn't bring herself to let him die, not without knowing how loved he was. And in that moment he knew for sure, he had wondered about for a long time, so he removed a strip of cloth from around his neck," The Doctor pulled his bow tie off, "And told her to wrap it round her hand," He stroked the fabric, winding it between his fingers, "And then he told her a secret, a terrible and brilliant secret, whispered it in her ear, and they were married. With one touch, one kiss, the universe was restored, destiny resumed, and the boy fell dead at the girl's feet."

"He died?" Clara breathed, she realised she had accidentally become quite emotionally invested in the story now.

"He found a way out; he always found a way out. The secret he told her, his wife, was his escape." The Doctor sent Clara a sad smile, "They stayed together, they both had their solo adventures, of course, but they always ended up back side by side. In the end it was the girl who passed away far before her time, just as he'd known she would all along. But he kept the strip of cloth, and he never forgot, and he promised himself he'd keep it with him."

"It's a beautiful story, Doctor," Clara placed her hand on The Doctor's.

"Yes, it is." The Doctor nodded.