Fingers trace formica countertops, finding reflections of neon from the street outside. Whiskey by her hand; melting rocks. She picks up the glass and swirls the contents reflectively. Should be moving on soon. No sense in lingering after a painful goodbye. There's a whole Universe to save. It's been a while since she's had to do it singlehandedly. Probably could do with the practice.
She takes a sip, closing her eyes to savour the spreading warmth.
Jeannie's earnest face seems etched into her eyelids.
"What will you do now, Doctor?"
"Same as ever. I'll keep on going; the long way round."
"I'll miss you."
"Nah. You're right. Good stories have a happy ending, and you've found yours here. Now go! Go, and hold onto it. Hold it tight."
"I will do Doctor. Oh, I will do-"
Her reverie is interrupted by the jangle of the TARDIS door. She frowns, not turning her head. What can the Old Man be up to? It's not like him to let strangers in against her wishes. "Sign says we're closed."
"Oh, I never pay attention to signs like that. Closed, No Entry, Danger. I tend to view them more as advertisements."
She stopped bothering with breathing centuries ago, but old habits die hard. She cannot help the sharp intake of air at the sound of that voice. She spins slowly on her stool to see him standing in her doorway. He's even wearing the velvet coat.
She smiles. "You like a bit of danger?"
He frowns, mouth a thin line. "No, what I like are answers. Why is it closed?" He steps inside, door closing behind as he continues: "Why is no one allowed in, what are they hiding? What kind of danger?"
"We're closed because I say so. This is my place. My rules. Does that answer your question?"
He shakes his head, fingers drumming on the top of her juke box. "No, because that's not the right question. The question I want answering is how a 1950s Earth-themed diner came to be on the seventh moon of Athens about three thousand years after Elvis died. And more importantly, how it came to be here today when it wasn't here yesterday."
"Hmm." She purses her lips. "That's quite a question."
God, she's missed that shark's smile; lip curling at her challenge. "Care to answer?"
She folds her arms, shrugs. "History nerd."
He taps the glass front of the music player with one long forefinger. "With a jukebox full of these anachronisms? I don't think so."
"You like Earth music?"
He nods.
"Pick a number then." She stands, crossing to him. If she had a heart to beat it would surely be racing. "Go on. A good one."
He gives her a hard look. "Twelve."
She brushes past him, punches in the code that will make the box play. The drums start first, then that opening riff. For a second she can taste tank diesel and hot metal in the air; his presence the mnemonic that takes her back long, long ago. Raising an always immaculate eyebrow, she turns to him. "Good choice, Doctor. Flattering."
"Who are you?" he says, almost a growl.
"Who do you think I am?" she demurs.
He licks his lips, terribly confused. "Are we flirting? Is this-? This is flirting, isn't it?"
"Are you so out of practice?"
He puts his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, I came in here because this-" he points to the nostalgic piece of Americana all around them "-this is a TARDIS with a malfunctioning chameleon circuit. I thought maybe I was having some sort of mid-life crisis and the diner desktop and school-teacher vibe was a terrible error of taste. But this-"
"Error of taste?" she finds herself exclaiming. "Doctor-!"
"No, shut up. Just-just shut up. I can feel what's happening." He raises a finger to his temple. "I know when I walk out of the door I'm going to forget, like I always do when I meet myself. Look, what you get up to in the privacy of your own regeneration is… well, it's not fine, this kind of narcissism really isn't fine-"
She reaches up and puts her hand over his still protesting mouth. "Doctor. I'm not you from the future. Calm down." She lets go when his mouth stills under her palm.
"But outside, when I asked, they said-"
She screws up her face, embarrassed in spite of herself. "Okay, yes, I do sometimes… borrow the title. But you know what it's like! Wrong name in the wrong place, you can change an entire causal nexus-" She stutters to a halt as those long fingers suddenly wrap around her wrist, his face no longer confused.
"You don't have a pulse," he says, fingertips pressed against where her radial artery should beat.
"No."
"And you only breathe when you're talking, when you're thinking about it."
"Yes."
His mouth quirks, twitching up at the corner; a puzzle solved. "Clara?" he breathes.
"Clara," she nods, relieved he remembers, because half the time she doesn't and it's always embarrassing to have to go and check.
"How long has it been?" he says, for want of something better, hands flapping. "How've you… how've you been?"
"Oh, shut up," she says, and kisses him.
He tastes exactly as she remembers, the way he does in her dreams when she occasionally chooses to sleep. His mouth moves under hers, reciprocating, eager-
She breaks the kiss. "But you don't remember me," she says, her voice thick. "Why would you-?"
"There's a hole," he says, uncurling the fist that clutches his velvet lapel, so her fingers lie flat across one beating heart. "And I can feel when it's been filled."
She shakes her head, smiling now. "You were never this romantic, Doctor. What have you been up to?"
His thumb traces her cheek, fingers tangling in her hair. A chaste kiss, pressed against her lips before he asks the question. "How long have you got?"
"Oh, you know. World enough, and time."