Author's note: From Clara's perspective, this story is set after the events of Hell Bent. From the Doctor's perspective, this story is set sometime between the events of The Caretaker and Dark Water. I've also assumed that the events of Season 8 took place in 2014.
"You'll never find him," Ashildr had said, after Clara told her she was going to look for the Doctor. "He could be anywhere in the universe. And even if you do," the Viking girl added, in her blunt manner, "so what? He won't remember you."
But Clara had merely smiled. "I'm not going to look for the Doctor now. I'm going to look for him before."
They'd landed in Coal Hill, London, on an early summer's day in 2014. They'd never managed to fix the Chameleon Circuit, and their Tardis still resembled a 1950s diner. 'The Tardiner', Clara had laughing nicknamed it, shortly after they'd piloted the stolen spaceship away from the Nevada desert, and the name had stuck. Ashildr had grudgingly agreed to park it in the courtyard of the Coal Hill Shopping Centre.
"People will just assume it's a new café," Clara explained. "One of those – oh, what did they call it?" She searched for the word. After one hundred and three years, it sometimes got tricky to remember jargon from the early twenty-first century. "Pop-ups! A pop-up café. That unfortunately, happens to be closed."
Ashildr rolled her eyes, like the teenager she would always be. "Try not to be long."
There had been a time, in that distant year, where the Doctor had fallen into a habit of picking Clara up every Wednesday afternoon after the school day was over, and whisking her away to a new adventure. He would park the Tardis in a supply closet, and drop her back in the same place (well, usually the same place) a few minutes (according to Earth time) later.
Today was a Wednesday, and Coal Hill Secondary School had just let out. Clara lingered in the cafe across the road, hiding her face behind a magazine, and stealing glances at the stream of people leaving. The students; jostling and laughing and absorbed in their twenty-first century phones. The teachers; more sedate, carrying briefcases and folders. She was careful not to let any of them see her. She had lived for well over a century, but she still looked as young as she did when she had been Miss Oswald, Coal Hill English teacher. She did not want to be seen in two places almost simultaneously. Way too much potential for awkward questions.
When she deemed the coast to have sufficiently cleared, Clara crossed the road, dodging the traffic, and snuck inside the school. No one around – good. She scurried along the corridors, trying to remember the layout of the school. Where the heck had that supply closet been? Clara rounded a corner just in time to see the rather surreal sight of the back of her self – her younger, very much alive self – hurrying ahead of her. Clara pulled back immediately. Mustn't let me see me! How the hell would she ever explain to her younger self what she was doing there?
Down the corridor came a familiar wheezing sound. Clara poked her head around the corridor, which was now empty. The noise, now fading, came from behind a closed door. When it had died away, she opened the door to find a closet stocked with photocopier paper and a couple of broken chairs.
Clara's eyes sparkled, and she hugged herself tightly. "Oh, Doctor," she whispered. "Now I just have to wait for you to come back."
Footsteps. Someone was coming down the corridor. Clara dodged into the nearest classroom and closed the door. It was a man, and he was humming. The sound awoke distant memories. Clara peered through the window panel, and gasped.
"Danny."
Danny Pink. Oh, Danny Pink. Satchel slung over his shoulder. Calm, pleasant face. A little shorter than she'd remembered. To her surprise, Clara felt a long-forgotten wave of grief wash over her. In a few weeks' time, Danny would be dead. She could call after him. Warn him. Try to stop the accident. But no. It was dangerous to change the past like that. She watched him go, her grief now subsiding to guilt. She'd rarely thought about Danny in recent decades – not even for five minutes a day, like he'd once instructed her to in that long ago dream.
Clara flung herself into the teacher's chair. Nothing to do but wait. She drummed her fingers on the desk, and fiddled with the pens, breathing in the aroma of textbooks and floor wax and teenage sweat. She wondered where the Doctor had taken her younger self on this occasion. Was this the time they went to the planet with the giant singing earthworms? Or the one where they ended up being chased by the one-eyed, one-legged aliens (blimey, they could hop fast!).
Minutes ticked away. Clara now paced between desks. What if the Doctor wasn't coming back? What if he'd dropped her back in the caretaker's shed, or her flat, or in a different country on this occasion? She closed her eyes, trying to remember. It was so long ago…
Just as she was about to give up, she heard it. The wheezing sound, coming from the supply closet on the other side of the corridor. She peeked through the window again, and saw herself exit the closet, laughing and shaking petals out of her hair. Oh. This must have been the time the Doctor took her to the planet with the exploding flowers.
As soon as her past self rounded the corner, Clara darted out of the classroom, and threw open the closet door.
"Oh, my stars."
There it was. That beautiful, blue police box. Clara took a deep breath, pushed open the Tardis doors, and stepped inside.
She drank in everything. The blue and orange roundels. The chalkboard at the top of the staircase. The console, with its complicated array of levers and screens and buttons. She'd forgotten how much she'd loved it, that spaceship which had come to be her second home. It made the Tardiner seem as impersonal as a motel room.
And then she spotted him. If her heart had not already been suspended, it would have surely missed a beat.
The Doctor was leaning over the console, punching coordinates into a keyboard. His grey hair was shorter than it had been on that last day, that sad, terrible day when she'd left him in the Nevada desert. He wore his black jacket with the red lining, the one that made him look like a magician.
He looked up and saw her. No, not just 'saw'. He recognised her! He looked surprised, but not displeased.
"Clara?"
Her name on his lips was like a drop of honey in a mug of warm milk.
"Back so soon? I was just about to leave."
"Yeah." Her voice squeaked. Clara cleared her throat and tried again. "Yeah, I, um… forgot my book."
"Your book?"
"Yeah. 'Pride and Prejudice'. Think I left it in here somewhere." Her feet didn't seem to want to move, but she forced herself to step past the Doctor, towards the bookcases. She made a show of looking at the shelves, sensing his eyes on her back. "Y'know," she said, feeling herself start to babble, "Speaking of 'Pride and Prejudice', we should pay a visit to Jane Austen one of these days. Just pop over to 1797 and see how she's doing. Wonderful writer. Bet she makes an amazing cup of tea, too."
"Is uh, everything ok?"
"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?" She turned around to see him frowning. He flapped his hand vaguely in her direction. "There's something different about you."
Clara gulped. She'd chosen an outfit similar to what she'd usually worn on summer days at Coal Hill. A dress, belted at the waist, and a dark jacket. Not exactly the same pattern on the dress, but close enough. Nothing she could do about her hair though. It was shorter than she'd worn it in 2014, and hadn't grown a millimeter since the Doctor had extracted her from the trap street. She was counting on the Doctor's spectacular lack of observation to see her through.
The Doctor snapped his fingers. "Glasses! You were wearing glasses before. And now you've taken them off."
Clara smiled, in spite of herself. "I've never worn glasses, Doctor."
His frown deepened. "And you've never had a moustache either, correct?"
"A moustache. Seriously?"
He shrugged. "Ok, then."
Silence fell between them. The Doctor broke it.
"Find your book?"
"My book? Oh – no. Must have left it in my classroom. But if you see it-"
"I'll be sure to return it."
Clara took a breath. "So, listen Doctor. While I'm here, I want to say thanks again, for showing me something new. That adventure that we just had…"
His creased face broke into a smile. She'd forgotten how boyish the Doctor looked when he smiled. "I thought that agapanthus nearly had us. I'm never going to get those scorch marks out of my trousers." He twisted around to show her.
Clara laughed. "That's right! I'd-" She bit her tongue. She had nearly said "I'd forgotten all about that." Instead, she continued. "I had the best time. Really. Thank you, Doctor."
The Doctor cleared his throat. "Y'know, you don't have to go just yet. We could go somewhere now. One more quick trip. On the planet Broxton there's a continent called Jespari that has little tiny birds that glow in the dark. Every two thousand years they migrate south, at night. If we go now, we can watch them. What do you say?"
Oh god. Clara nearly shuddered. The temptation was overwhelming. To go off with the Doctor like old times. One last adventure with her best friend. He was watching her expectantly. All she had to say was "I am so in, Doctor!".
But that would be impossible for many reasons. Because she'd be changing his history. Because the two of them together were a dangerous combination. Because if he discovered that she was a later version of the Clara he knew, and that she was destined to die in the trap street, there's no telling what he'd do.
And because it would never be one last adventure. If she stayed with him now, she'd never be able to leave.
"I'd love to," she began, and her throat contracted at the expression of delight that crossed the Doctor's face, "But there's this… thing I have to do."
"A thing?"
"Yeah. A thing."
"Clara, it's a time machine. I can drop you back five seconds from now."
She shook her head regretfully. "I really can't, Doctor. I should be going."
It was like shutters coming down over his face. He turned, and busied himself with the Tardis console. "Ah. I see. Well, I can guess what your 'thing' is."
"Um, you can?"
"Of course." He looked up. "I'm not stupid, Clara. You want to spend some time with P.E. Understandable. Absolutely. Young, handsome suitor versus the old man in the box. Start of a long and happy life together. Isn't that right?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
He raised his hand in the old familiar gesture; index finger and pinkie raised, middle fingers folded down. "Now I know what's different about you. It's the eyes. They're even bigger than usual! You could pass for a Malvoster from the planet Optula. They all have eyes the size of tea cups. Nice race, the Malvosters, but they do tend to stare. They produce very nice doilies too. Is there, ah… a reason for the eyes?"
Oh, Doctor. It's like this. Danny dies. You leave and then you come back for me at Christmas. I travel with you and I get reckless and do something stupid and get killed by a bird. A raven, to be exact. And you blame yourself, and practically tear the universe apart bringing me back to life – which by the way, doesn't quite work; my body is only suspended. And you decide it's too dangerous for us to be together so you give up all your memories of me, including, I suppose, all those things I said to you in the Cloisters on Gallifrey. So you see, I'm actually a future version of the Clara you currently know, and I shouldn't be here, but I needed to see you, so I've travelled back in time to when you still remember me.
Clara shrugged. "No reason."
"Well. Don't let me stand in your way." He moved aside for her to pass.
But instead, Clara stepped forward and wound her arms around the Doctor's neck.
She felt his body instantly turn rigid, and his arms flapped awkwardly by her sides. He spluttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Hugging… not really a fan."
Of course. She should have remembered. During their time together, the Doctor had gradually become more demonstrative. He'd accepted her hugs gracefully, and even initiated several of his own. But it had taken a while. This was earlier in their friendship. Likely, he wouldn't hug her back.
But just when she was about to release him, Clara felt his body relax and his arms close around her; his long fingers pressed against her shoulder blades, and his cheek resting against her hair. For an instant the Doctor held her tight, before abruptly breaking away to turn his attention once more to the Tardis console.
"So," he said rather gruffly, "Next Wednesday, then?"
"Yep. You'll see me next Wednesday." But I won't see you.
"I'll look forward to it."
Clara reached the door. "Me too." It now time to say the words she had come to say. "Goodbye, Doctor."
He looked up, flashing her a brief yet tender smile. "Goodbye, Clara."
She stepped out of the Tardis and wiped her eyes as she watched it dematerialize.
Ashildr was waiting when Clara entered the Tardiner. "About time. It was getting boring waiting here. I was nearly going to put the 'Open' sign up and sell some chips." She paused when she saw Clara's face. "So you found him."
Clara nodded, fiddling with the coordinates on the console.
"What did he say?"
Clara did not reply.
"You're taking us to Gallifrey, aren't you?" Ashildr said quietly.
Clara span around. Ashildr stood with her arms folded and an eyebrow quirked. "How did you know?"
"They'll send you back to the trap street," said Ashildr. "Back to me… and the Raven. Why, Clara? Why? Is it because of me? Did I-"
"It's not you," Clara quickly assured her. "You have been bloody amazing. I couldn't have gone on this long without you. And the places we've seen and the things we've done have been incredible. But…"
"It's not the same without the Doctor," Ashildr finished. Clara nodded.
"And that's why you wanted to find him," said Ashildr. "You wanted to see him one last time before you went back to face the Raven."
Clara nodded. "Yeah. I wanted to say goodbye to him properly, when he still knew me. One last farewell."
She pulled the lever, and the Tardiner dematerialized, bound for Gallifrey.