Hi, sorry for that big plot typo and now its fixed, read on
Many times, after the death of Person A, Person B was found at the dead hour of a winter night sitting beside Person A's tomb frozen in the snow
Here he was, yet again. At the last place Clara will ever be at that has become a place she could never leave.
The Doctor didn't know why he was here, or even how he got there, he hadn't really been paying attention to where he was going. Actually, ever since the 'incident' he hadn't been doing much of paying attention at all. After all, his whole reason for caring was here, unable to leave and go on more adventures with him even if she wanted to.
The Doctor had tried to fine another companion suitable after Clara left him, but it did not go well. He had been told, often by the ever so blunt lizard woman that was Madame Vastra, that ever since Clara left he had become much meaner than this face already was.
He didn't mean to be so agitated by the people who were willing to become his new friends, it's just that they weren't good enough to him. Nor would they ever be for the Doctor believed that no one will be ever good enough as Clara.
Clara. His body shuddered as the name swam upstream through his foggy mind sparking all kinds of memories that tore the holes in his hearts bigger than he thought possible. He closed his eyes to better see and welcomed the stabs of pain that these thoughts would bring.
He invited these feelings inside of himself, he felt he needed to, it was the only thing keeping the numbness of his body and mind away.
Tears pricked the back of his eyes as memories of bright smiles and brown hair filled his sight and thoughts.
He raised the alcohol in his hand to his mouth before taking a swig of whatever brand or kind it may be, they all tasted bad anyway. The foul liquid went down his throat as if his body tried to reject it but he ignored the burn that trailed down to his stomach.
He brought the sleeve of his still raised arm to his face and wiped his nose, he was finally registering that here he was standing outside in the middle of winter snow with little more than a light jacket on.
He inhaled slowly and released the warm breath to form a puff in the cold air and opened his eyes casting all warm thoughts of the short English teacher away and saw what was in front of him.
'Here lies Clara Oswald, loving daughter and friend,' it read on the gravestone in elegant engraved font.
He raised the bottle again and took another swig, not breaking eye contact with the script. He gave an exasperated sigh as he realized there was no more liquid in the bottle and let his arm fall limply back into place.
His breath became slightly labored as the words sent flashes pf the most unnerving thing that he has seen before and that he has not seen for the last time. Death
It was all his fault, he knew, he had been the one to take her to the new world, not knowing or caring if it was dangerous or not. He was the one who wanted to investigate. He was the one who caused her to say those words again, the words he had hoped to never hear again in vain.
Body breaking out in spasms as his mind continued on to conjure the words despite his hatred of hearing them, especially in her sweet voice that his memory had to offer.
His head jerked to the side as if he'd been slapped as those words echoed throughout his vast time-lord brain. Tears built more in the corners of his tired, dull eyes as he recalled them in almost perfect clarity. 'Run. Run you clever boy, and remember.'
He never knew he could hate words so much, but he was proven wrong and felt the fire of hate at the words in his head.
He felt so many emotions at once, almost giving himself whiplash after feeling nothing but numbness for so long. Despite it making him feel worse than he been he relished in it, not necessarily those cursed words but who was saying them.
He slumped and sat down facing the gravestone, letting his long legs stretch out ahead of himself. His dull, grey eyes staring blankly at the name of the first face that face had seen.
He felt a slight ripple of amusement and sadness as he remembered the moment, how one of the first things this face had said to her had been about his kidneys and how he didn't like the color. How her fearful and shocked face held a ripple of humor in her bright brown eyes at his unexpected words.
His chest burned with longing to have the ability to be able to make such fond memories again with her. The burning emotion changed to fill a pit in his stomach with regret. If only he'd known that they're time together would end so abruptly, though the logic long ignored in his mind screamed that it was an unwise thing to know about your own future. If he had known he would have told her so many things.
Wonderful things, heartwarming things, the nicest things this face could muster and more. He realized with a soft, tired chuckle that if he really had gotten the chance to spread these kind words he would've talked her ear off until she told him to stop and that she understood.
A tired smile broke over his face and his strained eyes began to fill with freezing tears as he realized another thing.
He tossed the bottle in his hands aside, not caring where it went and briefly heard Clara's voice in his head telling him to be more respectful in a cemetery, and began to crawl forward. He creased his movements as he was close enough and turned and leaned against the gravestone to hold himself up, his body screeching for any touching comfort that he would have denied needed with the ever present mantra of how he dislikes being touched.
A cold hand came up to rub his bone chilled face before running though his hair and returning back to its place in his lap. He thought of how, even buried in the ground, Clara is still able to support him when he couldn't by himself.
He closed his eyes as a feeling of tiredness swept over the harshness of the only emotions he'd been feeling as of late. He knew he was probably becoming too cold for his own good but brushed it off hearing Clara in his head once again chastising him for not maintaining his health.
A tear slipped past the barrier of eyelashes before trailing down his wrinkled cheek as he thought again to the things he would have told her, one thing standing higher than all. The tiredness was now consuming him and he briefly wondered how long he has been out in the snow before brushing it off like everything else.
Numbness now traveling past his metal feeling to physical, he felt he should be alarmed but he wasn't for nothing mattered to him anymore and certainly not his wellbeing.
Black cloudiness consumed his ever present system of thoughts as they began to disappear one by one until only a single thought remained.
Another tear fell as the thought struggled to live before it too disappeared, gone away as fast as Clara herself had.
What he would have said to her if she had just been there alive then would never be said again. The words he had longed to tell her but refused to even as their lives were in danger.
The single thought, I wish I could have told her I love her.