If knowledge equates to power, then she was the epiphany of power. But, with great power comes great responsibility (and the need to take a nap. She got that from one of Artie's favorite books and she found it highly appropriate for her current situation) She knew all about the Doctor, his goodness, his kindness, his worst fears, his deepest secrets and all his deepest regrets. She didn't want to be burdened with all this information, but it was the (her) only alternative.
Clara was generally a smart woman. She was a teacher, but now she didn't know what she should do. Every time she closed her eyes, it hurt. It hurt to remember. It hurt to think. She didn't know who she was anymore. She needed help; she needed to understand what was happening to her.
She didn't want to see the Doctor. If anyone, he was the last person in the whole universe that she wanted to see. She wanted her Mum. She wanted to be with someone who loves her. She wanted to be normal; she wanted to be loved, like she loved her mother (and maybe the Doctor). And maybe, she wanted the Doctor would notice her (or one of her echoes or whatever the hell they were).
She was upset that he treated her as nothing more than a friend. She liked to think that the friendly gestures were something more than just platonic, but she knew her hope was useless. So, she told him that she would rather be alone with her thoughts than in his company - she wanted to sort it out on her own. Before he could formulate a response, she left the console room and headed down the corridor to her own room.
She sat in the rocking chair in the corner and cried. She sobbed like a pitiful child and eventually, she cried herself to sleep. She had nightmares about the past, the present and what was to come; she didn't know who she was anymore. She was death, she was pain, she was loss, but she didn't think the she was Clara Oswald.
Really, she was starting to have doubt Clara Oswald's existence in the first place.
She heard a voice that was vaguely familiar to his. The language he spoke was foreign, and though she had not used it before, she somehow understood what he was trying to say. His words were comforting, raw and beautiful. She felt safe and a little less terrified of who (or what) she was.
"I'm here, Clara. I'm here. It's alright. I know you're sleeping, and I know your upset, but please be okay. Dear God, I'd give all the adventures in the world just for you to be okay; you probably can't hear me, but I'm here, and I'll never let you go. Just please, please, please be okay."
She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want to see the look of pain on his face, so she stayed in his arms, eyes closed, but ears open. He started crying in the crook of her neck, his salty tears trailing down her pale frail skin. He kissed her eyelids and picked her up. She was carried to her bed, where he laid her down, and pulled the covers over her. He kissed her forehead once again before she hears him walk over to the door. He pauses before walking out, and she could have sworn that she heard him mumble something about being rubbish at keeping promises and being rubbish at not falling in love.
(She falls asleep once more, with a hopeful ghost of a smile on her face. Maybe she wasn't so alone after all.)
xXx
The Doctor was pacing. For once in his very long life, he was confused, perplexed even. He didn't know what to do or what to say to her. He was quite certain that if he told her how he was feeling, she would probably hate her even more than she did already (which he seemed to think was quite a lot). He was didn't understand why he got all tingly and happy and felt so young whenever she touched his hand while running away from blood thirsty aliens. He didn't understand why he felt empty when she wasn't in the room with him. It frustrated him. He was the Doctor, the single most knowledgeable being in the universe (of all time and space for that matter) and he should know what was happening to him. He was starting to get a little aggravated with himself.
Gosh, he hasn't felt like this since he was with Rose all those moons ago.
Clara woke up to the sound of obscenities. She recognized the voice instantly; it was the Doctor's. Clara, who knew almost every single form of the Doctor (of that she was sure), also knew that that he rarely ever swears. She quickly figured that something was terribly wrong.
She wasn't in the mood to get out of her bed; she was rather cozy and all snuggled up in her blankets. But he had helped her last night (though he didn't know that she was listening to him), so she sort of owed him a debt (and it made her sad to hear him so angry).
She changed out of her pajamas and into a dress and a nice cozy sweater before venturing out into the corridor and starting her walk to the console room. The TARDIS kept trying to throw her off and lead her to some far-fetched region of the machine. She wasn't too worried about getting lost though, the loud yells of words not suitable for children's ears led her straight towards him. She crept into the console room quietly, and he didn't notice her until he bumped into her while angrily pacing around the room. He was startle, and the look of shock shot a twang of adoration straight through her. She didn't think about that. Don't do it, Clara. Don't fall in love.
"Hello, Clara!" he greeted, with a forced smile on his face. Did he not want to see her? Should she return to her room and go back to wallowing in her own self-pity a confusion? She was busy thinking about what to do when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a hug.
"Please," he pleaded as if his life depended on it, "don't go."
"Okay." She whispered back.
They stand in an embrace for a while. It should feel awkward, but she doesn't think it does. It feels nice, ordinary even. All her mind can think of is how nice his chest feels with her head nuzzled into it; his arms wrap around her frame like magic.
"Did I wake you? Clara, I'm so sorry. I got this call from alien affairs about a very serious dilemma and I was really quite concerned and confused and flustered and I didn't know what to do, and I rarely get angry, well proper angry , but I was furious because I didn't know what to do an-"
"Doctor, please just shut up." She sighed. It upset her that she wasn't on his mind. She was angry about the fact that he wasn't so concerned over her. She let the coldness and the fear and pain take over once again.
"Who was it that called?" she pressed, curiously.
"Um, just one of my earth friends." He croaked uncertainly.
"Oh." She looked down, disappointed.
He didn't understand what he had said that put her in such a depressing mood. On a normal day, she would have poked fun at his response to her. He was exasperated and let out a sigh. Letting go of her and instantly regretting his decision, he came to a conclusion- he loves her. He wants to spend all the time he can with her (and it only took her dying all over time and space for him without him even knowing for him to realize it)
Forget it, falling in love was always going to kill him; she was killing him. At least if he told her, she would have a chance to say no. He would not hurt her like he had hurt Rose.
"Nobody called, Clara." He confessed.
"Excuse me?" she whips her head around so fast, he can almost hear the air around her head whistle.
"I was angry."
"No shit, I heard you all the way from my room. Who knew Time Lords had such bad vocabulary?"
"Oi, shut it! I'm trying to tell you something here!" he yells, then feels bad for being so harsh with her.
Her heart leaped. Stop it! You know you can't! She prays to any god out there that he's going the words she's been (literally) dying to hear. She knew that it was hopeless though. She couldn't help it; it was undoubtedly human, and so not the Doctor that she wanted to cry.
"You're going to be the death of me, Clara." She laughs at what she thought was a compliment, she stares him down, and almost as if she's daring him to tell her something that she doesn't want to hear.
"So, there wasn't a phone call, and I was angry because I didn't know what was happening to me. I think that I've grown soft. Goodness! It's been a while. Clara Oswald – I think I'm in love!" he proclaims.
She was angry; what's the point of even caring of what he thinks of her anymore. His heart belonged to another, she was never his. She wasn't even sad, she was expecting this. She was expecting him to reject her. Don't cry. Dontcrydontcrydontcry.
"Clara," he walked towards her, "Why are you sad? Please, don't be sad."
"I'm not sad. I'm angry. What's the point of having I here? You don't even look at me! I'm just something to have around until I die or get lost or whatever. I'm so fucking meaningless in comparison to you and your stupid god complex." She shouts, furious tears stream down her face. She doesn't bother wiping them away. She was incredibly angry, and angry Clara was reveal-your-deepest-secrets-without-knowing Clara. "Can't you see that I love you, Doctor? I've died so many times just to save your sorry ass and you don't even notice!"
He wasn't sure what to say or do without screwing up the situation even more, so he kissed her. She was shocked at first, but she responded and wrapped her arms around his neck and they wouldn't stop, they didn't want to stop, he would never stop. She tasted like tears and candy and hopefulness and he loved it. He looked at her, and blushed. She smiled up at him.
"I-" He stopped and she cut him off abruptly.
"I know, Chin. I know."
After some consideration (and re-reading this and cringing a lot) I decided to go through and sort of re-write this story.
So here is re-written chapter one. I think it sounds better (like a lot better. My writing was so nasty a year ago #bless)
I hope you like it and hopefully I'll be done with this mini-project soon enough to update my fics that I'm putting off (due to a terrible case of writers block.)
bleuboxes