Author's Note: When I began writing this, I had every intention of it being completely smutty. However, it's not turned out that way at all. Just sweet stuff.
All mistakes and errors are my own. Reviews and constructive criticism are really fantastic.
Disclaimer: Nah. Don't own anything. Would be nice, though.
It wasn't safe anymore, they weren't safe anymore, she wasn't safe anymore. HisClara. They both knew that their visit to Trenzalore was nowhere close to the end of it all. There would be more battles - back on the fields of Trenzalore - if what Dorian told him would been correct. No doubt it would be happening in present time, before it would be known as a battlefield graveyard, as the resting place of his TARDIS. Where the inside had leaked to the outside. It wasn't a monument. He never wanted to be seen as a hero. Time travel was damage, it was corruption. All the worlds he'd saved, all he'd ever done, it could all be wiped out in a moment. It was.
Then soon after, it had been reversed, because of a girl. A girl willing to let herself be torn into a thousand pieces throughout his timeline. A thousand versions of herself, of Clara. It wasn't mean to be like that. Never. Yes, she was safe. For the hell of it, she let him rescue her. She was always more than capable of saving herself but she wasn't meant to survive and nor was he. He didn't want to question why. Too many things in his life always remained unexplained. Clara, herself, was inexplicable for so long. She was the only mystery he cared about, the only one he wanted to solve. The pay off, her remaining alive, was worth it, but this constant danger he realized her life was in - it wasn't worth it.
Because of the trauma, he wanted them to pull away from each other, further and further away, instead it felt like they were being pushed closer together. Through the boundaries, through his rules of being a time lord - not getting too emotionally involved with anything - but that was something that had failed on numerous occasions. Especially with Clara. Emotion built and built and built and he didn't think there was a limit.
As Oswin, she'd been cheeky and and flirty and intriguing. As Clara Oswin, she challenged him and he liked that. She was curious and quick on her feet and with her mind and the moment she set foot in the TARDIS and he handed her that key, he knew things were changing for him now, after the Ponds. He wanted someone close, always. He'd never given someone a key to his ship that fast, ever, but there was something about her. Then she fell to her death.
Will you come away with me? he'd asked her, knowing she probably wouldn't survive the fall long after it occurred but needing hope for himself and maybe even some for her. Why could he never bargain with the universe? The universe owed him, it really did, he thought.
And maybe, just maybe, that phone call to his TARDIS when he was in the year 1207 was the universe granting him what he yearned for. Clara Oswald. It was her, the same woman, safe face - similar name, different qualities to her personality - but it was her. He's gotten of that cloud when the second version of her died, but went into hiding for a long time - he couldn't explain why he was so drawn to this woman. Basically all he knew about her was that she liked to bake souffles and what a random fact that was.
Then there he was, after that unexpected phone call - the worlds run you clever boy and remember setting him off in a hurry - to arrive at the Maitland's front door in just a few minutes time. Clara had no idea who he was, how was she to know? It wasn't possible. Nothing pertaining to her was possible. The future, to the 1800s, to present time - she wasn't the exact same girl every time. Not a Time Lady or anyone like himself. Though he'd thought about it once or twice, that maybe she could regenerate and manage to keep the same body through all the years but no, that wasn't possible either.
The Doctor couldn't explain when his feelings had started, if it was when he met her the second time and lost her or when he gained her the third time. He was betting on the third time. He had her back, sort of, and she wasn't so intrigued and impressed with him and that intrigued him. The immediate danger that had come her way when he'd showed up at the Maitland's home actually scared him to death. She'd almost died. Again. There was no way he was letting that happen. Before that danger came, when she slammed the door in his face, he felt affection. When he saved her, he couldn't stop himself from kissing her forehead, carrying her to her bed and setting up her bedside table for her when she awoke.
He was such a conundrum to her, sitting outside the house, guarding her - protecting her - as if he knew she would be in danger again and all he wanted to do was protect her. He knew her, she couldn't figure out how but he treated her with such warmth and kindness that she knew she would be safe with him.
But no, no she was definitely not going to jump in his snog box a couple days after she'd only just met him and run off with him. It made no sense to her. And it made no sense to him, bless him, because he looked so confused when she told him to come back another day because then she might say yes.
When their actual proper adventures started, he was thrilled, while still trying to figure out the riddle of who Clara Oswald was, keeping it a secret from her the whole time. When they'd been on the wrecked TARDIS and she'd died again, she was one of the zombie creatures - he knew he had to prevent that from happening. But the ship was scared and protecting itself and the Doctor honestly didn't know if he and Clara would make it out alive. He took it as his chance to call her out, to ask her what she was.
A trick? A trap?
In that moment, the only thing she knew she was, was that she was scared of him. That's what she was. He'd invited her. What was he talking about, the Dalek asylum, Victorian London, how she had died saving him both times?
By the end of the day, she remembered none of it. The Doctor remembered all of it. And he needed to know of her comfort there in that ship with him.
Do you feel safe? He wouldn't face her, but she turned to him.
Of course. As if there could be any other answer.
Then he swung around, wildly, to see her. Give me a number, out of ten. Ten being "Woo hoo!", one being "Aghhhh!"
You're being weird,she turned to walk away from him but he followed, speaking urgently a sort of plead laced in his voice.
I need to know if you feel safe, I need to know, he hesitated, you're not afraid.
Of?Clara questioned him, wanting to know where exactly he was going with this. It was seemingly out of nowhere, she didn't know why he was suddenly so concerned. She didn't know, that soon enough, she would remember it all.
The future. Running away with a spaceman in a box. Anything could happen to you.
That's what I'm counting on, she'd said as if she wasn't concerned at all.
That's when he realized that it wasn't just simple crush-like feelings he had for her, he was in love with her.
He began being able to see past this enigma that she was. When the Tardis was wrecked and all he wanted was to find her and have her there by his side, safe and sound, nothing much had mattered to him. The TARDIS, of course, but Clara was something to him he'd never experienced. Cleverest man in the world, but how was this woman possible. It drew him toward her even more and Clara, too, was affectionate with him but neither ever discussed emotions with each other.
Not until after Trenzalore.
Clara had been through too much and over time she would start to forget. She wouldn't carry memories of all her past lives and she wouldn't have the headaches and nightmares of each and every death that her echoes had suffered. Sometimes in such brutal ways but every single time it had her been her choice to save the Doctor. That's one thing that was still staying in her mind after returning from his time stream, the whispers in her head in all her lives.
Doctor, Doctor, Doctor. Find the Doctor, save the Doctor.
Every single time. She would be born, have a childhood and a proper time growing up in each life, but none of her echoes lived past their mid-twenties. She told The Doctor that. It's what made him want to push her away from him a little bit. The fact that, seemingly, the point of her whole existence, existences, was to keep him alive. The guilt in his hearts was frightening to him and he didn't like it.
Though he never wanted to be viewed as a hero, he wanted to be her hero. It was silly, maybe, but really he'd never had someone protecting him. His companions and species he ran into were always, usually, under his protection. It wasn't even because Clara was woman he felt like she should sort of be the damsel in distress. No, he never thought that way. Never about her. She could take care of herself, but he wanted to take care of her, too.
His feelings were intense and he wanted to deny all the thoughts moving around in his brain.
Clara would have none of it though. Sure, she was exhausted and feeling weak after all the events but she was still observant and could be quite persistent when it came to getting him to open up to her, and she could tell that he was slowly distancing himself from her. The first couple nights, he would hold her until she fell asleep. When she became able to keep herself steady and stable, he would carry on short conversations with her, and then disappear somewhere around the TARDIS. It stung her, but she wouldn't ever tell him that. She would die for him over and over again and if that situation had presented itself again, entering the time line to save him, she would do.
She had no doubt that if the roles were reversed, he would do the same. Hell, he did to the same for her, entered his own time line to bring her back where she belonged. In the world, safe, with a life. And occasionally, not only just on Wednesdays anymore, she belonged with him.
Just this once, just for the hell of it, let me save you.
Clara gets curious, sometimes, if the Doctor knows that he's saved her life in many ways as well.
Her life had become idle, just the same daily routine. She loved the Maitland's but she'd met to be with them for a week, and then it turned into a year. After the death of their mother, she was more than willing to watch kids when their father was away at work. The timing of everything had been weird. She's just graduated university with a degree in English literature, had a job lined up as a teacher but had to put it on a hold. They told her when she was able, the job would be there for her when the next school year began, or sooner if they could arrange it. But Clara could go anywhere in time and space and little had she known that there really were so many different worlds and creatures and monsters and anything could happen.
Not just the adventures and the danger, that was the least of it. He happened to her.
This goofy, clever man that seemed to have a weird fetish for fezzes. And eating fish fingers and custard. Once he'd even explained to her that one of the most upsetting things about all his regenerations, so far, was that he still hadn't gotten the chance the to be a ginger. It really was a simple ask, wasn't it? Then other times, he would just talk on and on about "sciencey spacey timey wimey stuff" or something like that, that she really did not give a damn about but she loved hearing him speak, regardless.
This man had most definitely happened to her. Love happened to her, to them.
She went and found him, under the console of the TARDIS, tinkering around with things, as he always did.
"Doctor" she said firmly, "We need to talk."
He hadn't been expecting her presence because he jumped a bit and hit his head, "Ouch," he whined, rubbing at where his head had collided with an object. Then he turned and faced Clara, shoulders tensing, when backtracked in his mind and realized what she'd said to him. When a girl says we need to talk that really definitely not a good thing, is it?
"Hm, yes, talk. I- I suppose we can do that. Haven't had a nice chat in quite awhile, have we?"
Clara raised an eyebrow, she had no idea if he was being daft or being serious. She wasn't going to play along if he was just playing ignorant, though.
"Yeah, about that, Doctor, I think it's probably about time I go back home. You know, finding a flat and moving since the Maitland's have a new nanny now. It's been about a year, I have that job waiting for me in a few months."
The Doctor frowned, "You-you want to leave?"
"Well not much is going on here, is it? You were there by my side, constantly, right after Trenzalore and, now, these past few days, you barely look at me. You don't want to travel anywhere. You've just been down here, tinkering with your snog box."
He huffed, "It is not a snog box!"
"Not the point, Doctor."
He didn't want to have this conversation, he ran his hand over his face and through his hair, frustratingly, before composing himself and straightening his bow tie. For some reason, that always made him feel a little more confident. He wouldn't lie if he said that sometimes Clara scared him. She was different from anyone else he traveled with and she most definitely had her own mind. It was intimidating.
"There has to be a limit, Clara," he spoke calmly
"To what?"
He sort of swung his hands around wildly, "To-to everything," then he gestured to between the two of them, "to us."
She just watched him for a moment, he decided to keep talking when he realized she was going to let him take control with this conversation. She just need him to talk to her.
"Do you remember, Clara? Months ago, do you remember when I asked you if you felt safe, if you weren't afraid?"
"My answer is the same now as it was then, Doctor, of course I feel safe. We all get afraid of things sometimes, but you get used to it, you forget you're in danger when you know there's someone next to you who'd do anything for you," she smiled at him comfortingly, he still looked distressed.
When Clara took a step toward him, he took a step back. He felt like a disease. He knew that, yes, right now she was safe and Clara wouldn't lie to him. She wasn't a liar.
"Clara, you've died. For me, because of me, thousands of times. Throughout history, time and time again. There always comes a time when it's time to stop, to step away. I've lost too many people. I can't lose you. Clara, I can't," he pleaded.
"It was my choice, you know? Entering your time line to save you, and it was your choice to do the exact same thing to save me," she approached him again, slowly, but he didn't back away this time, "I think maybe you're the one that's scared, Doctor."
He nodded, "You may be right."
She grinned, and ran the pad of her thumb across his cheek, "I'm always right."
He laughed at that, "You are. So, you're not leaving just yet, are you? Because of your teaching position and needing to find a flat?"
She shrugged, "I have a few months of freedom. Take me somewhere, Doctor. An actual proper holiday."
"An actual proper holiday, hm? We can do that."
Clara doesn't know when it happened but she looked down to see their hands entwined together, she gave his hand a squeeze and saw the corners of his mouth rise a little bit into a soft, subtle smile.
At once, she remembered words he had spoken, when they had been at the Caliburn house.
Hold hands. Keep doing that, and don't let go, that's the secret.