Summary: She looked at him too long, touched him too much, but he couldn't stop her. She was like a drug to him: the more he shot up, the more he needed. How long would it take for him to overdose? He kissed her too sweetly, spoke to her too softly, but she couldn't get out now. He was her sun: the thing that kept her alive and warm and safe. How long would it take for him to burn her? AU/AH (kind of)/OOC. Future Mature content and vulgar language.

*Read A/N at the bottom for more information.

Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Doctor Who at all. I own no book, music, or movie/television references. Idea's mine, but that's it.

"The beginning is the most important part of the work." Plato, The Republic

The Beginning

Clara believed there was a beginning to every story. For if there was no beginning, she reasoned, how could there be an end?

A film she saw a while back revolved around a family of writers. The son in the film was writing a short story and the first words to his tale were the first words that ever fell on the audiences ears: "I remember it hurt," he said in a voice over, "Looking at her hurt."

For some reason, even though she knew the voice was just an actor reading lines in a recording booth somewhere in Los Angeles, California, she had a feeling this movie would change her life. Movies had always been like that for her. If she wasn't captivated in the first five minutes, it was a lost cause. But those words, the first words, well, they held her hostage. They stuck a stinging knife against her throat and threatened to go for the jugular.

This is her beginning. It is not a fairytale and it's not been thought up by a genius moneymaker in Hollywood. It doesn't even begin with her birth as so many great stories do. No, Clara's story changed her life and she swore to God the entire time she lived it, cameras were following her, making her existence into a movie. They were towards the end, she presumed, when they figured out who she was to him.

When it began however, when she didn't know that around the bend was her destroyer, when all she cared about was the noise her heart made, she was just a lost girl.

..1..1..

She could hear her heart. After listening for long hours, her eyes watching the sky go from blue to pink to black, she reasoned with her brain and set to work on naming the sound her heart was making. The process took time. Time she typically reserved for labour or tedious tasks. She needed to find out though, what the noise reminded her of. The sun rose and fell constantly before it clicked. Her heart, the gentle thrumming of it, the forceful banging of it, she could hear it all. And it sounded like trouble.

Put with his heart as it was so many times, the call was different. It wasn't scary or worrying. No, it was neither of those. Their hearts, as they beat together in their chests, mingling in the heat and the sweat and the lust, they sounded like music. They sounded as if Mozart had composed them; sculpted them by hand and put them in their bodies to be found years later when the individuals had age and life wearing on their shoulders.

Full of sloth and loathing, she could hear her heart after he left as it thumped angrily. It screamed at her endlessly, throwing its voice around all hours of the starless night.

His heart no longer sang with hers and maybe that was why she skulked. Why her heart, her soul, berated her. He let go of her as the sun brushed a soft pink hue across the horizon that stretched for miles down the shore. Arms that once held her close let her fall into the waves. Swathed in surges of sorrow and twists of joy, slowly being swallowed by the ocean of her own making, she drowned.

She was still drowning, eavesdropping on her heart's whispers as she watched the shore fade to the darkest of blue and then to the most solid black.

Clara's head pretended sometimes. It went back to the days when she lay sweaty and worn on his bed, watching him read a book or write an article.

And then she would be overwhelmed with memories in the present, they struck her like matches and engulfed her in their flame. She burned with nostalgia in the sweetest, most painful way. She ached for him constantly, wishing foolishly for him to return. She begged at least to go back in time. Surf the universe in a blue box. In his blue box. The one he tempted her with.

And while she was hoping for days taken from her, that was when she heard it. It was not the insufficient lull of her heart. It was not a trick of the light, for all that surrounded her was darkness and she was not dreaming because she never slept anymore.

The commotion whirred and beeped around her, filling her eardrums with clouding thoughts. Her ribs hurt and it took her a moment, a vicious moment, to realise it was her heart crashing and moaning against her bones.

It was there. Truly and definitely it was there. It faded in and out and in and out until it sunk against the thick, wet grains of sand . She felt like fainting and maybe she did when the doors snapped open and he walked out with a bright smile gracing his lips, because the second her eyes landed on him, when they took in the bow tie and the suspenders, she was hit with a sudden memory. It was as if the night was released by the box and aimed directly at her head.

She was falling and drowning all over again and she could hear his voice as if it were right next to her, but she couldn't see him. She saw only the scraps of time long ago, but his call bled into her ear and soaked in her brain like it had been there all along: "Clara," it shouted, and through the remnants of years past she could feel his arms cradling her. "Clara, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." It cried . . . he cried. Drops of liquid bathed her skin as he continued to speak. "I don't know what happened. I was supposed to be gone for five minutes. How long has it been, Clara. Please, tell me," he whined. He sounded lost and in so much pain.

She wanted to tell him, to answer him, but her mouth wouldn't move. Her eyes remained shut and finally after what seemed like hours, that night became crystal clear.

The night her life changed forever. The night she met The Doctor.

A/N: Despite talking about Clara here, some of the story will focus on The Doctor's perspective due to the storyline being a bit more dramatic. It'll be easier to understand what's going on if we get insight to his mind as well as Clara's. You'll be finding more about each character in the next chapter, which is the true "beginning" to their story. This is just the prologue and it's really short, as you can tell. It gets longer, but there's no scheduled release date for each chapter. It'll be when I have them completed and proofread properly.

The story's AU and very OOC, but I say kind of AH because there's still spooky stuff going on, but The Doctor and everyone is human. Torchwood exists, but they're more experimental inventors and not alien crime fighters. The Doctor's kind of an ass in this, very self-centered and womanizing. Clara's sarcastic and snappy, but very closed off and doesn't like people all that much.

I hope you enjoyed reading and look forward to what happens next. If you want to review, favourite, or follow, you can do that too. It'll make me smile and feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Thanks - LoveIsATemple