Limerence

/ˈlɪməɹəns/ Noun

a state of mind caused by a romantic attraction; or an involuntary romantic infatuation with another person, especially combined with an overwhelming, obsessive need to have one's feelings reciprocated.

Clara thought that she didn't care that her dear Doctor didn't hug her anymore. She forced herself to believe that the touches his previous regeneration gave were something of the past, now that she understood they were two different people, but with the same name. She thought that she wouldn't feel as hurt when she desired comfort from him and he did not give it back.

She knew if she cried, the universe wouldn't stop for her. So, she stopped moping and hardened her exterior.

She knew if she asked for more, she'd receive less. So, she stopped asking.

She knew if she kept on trying with her dear Doctor, each rejection would feel like another blow to the chest. So, she stopped trying with him.

She was definitely craving for some sort of affection. She knew it and she used Danny for it, yet Danny did not fill the hole the Doctor had left. It was a slow process of walking down a road that never seemed to end. She felt bad she was using the man for her desires, but where else she would get it from? The Doctor would never return it. She was selfish, she knew that, but could one really blame her, as her best friend disappeared in the blink of an eye? She did her best to be supportive, but even then, it felt as though he hated her.

The thought constantly remained in her head, just like today, as they witness the explosion of several planets in a row, all the bits and pieces of the rock slowly bursting. The thought of every creature on that planet, despite being alien, just being blown up, just like that. They just watched that, as though it was nothing. She felt sick as he explained there was nothing they could do, as a fixed point of time is a fixed point in time.

"...it's a good thing that the TARDIS was close by. Imagine, being stuck there. We'd be blown to smithereens. Obliterated, gone without a trace. We'd never exist. We just wouldn't exist at all. I would have thought the HADS would have activated, but it appears that she stayed..." She looked down at her hands as he spoke, rambling about why or how or God knows what. She was trembling. Christ, she could really use a hug. She could use anything, but Danny wasn't there. She was stuck with a stick of a Timelord who would never do anything of that sort. He didn't do what she was used to anymore. She let him ramble on as she supported herself with the console railing. "Though, it amazes me they managed to detonate every nuclear plant in the planets. I had stopped them last year, a face or two ago. I didn't stop that, unfortunately, but their organization..." it took him five minutes to realize Clara had gone silent, no joke, no loud breaths, nothing from her lips. Five minutes. His last regeneration only needed one. What a change.

"How could they do such a thing?" Her voice cracked in the middle of it. Just the continuous thought, how they just floated above the planet, living as all those lives were lost.

"They're mercenaries. Evil mercenaries, with nothing left to do but to kill. I stopped them. They're gone in the future and that's the important part." He said, striding to the TARDIS console. He did not think any more of it, all because he stopped them already. Fixed points in time, he understood.

Clara didn't.

No matter how much she had traveled with him, no matter how many planets they've seen, and no matter how many times she had seen death; the very idea would haunt her forever. A life, just ending ever so quickly, with a flick of a switch, a pull of a trigger, a short nod from a family member...it made life in general seem so short.

In this case, her mind was racing, the very idea of how with just a press of a button, death of billions would come, in a blink of an eye. Her body was trembling, eyes downcast as she breathed short breaths.

She knew what she was having: a panic attack.

She continued to run through the instructions she told her students when they had one, but it was so hard. Her feet tingled. Ah, her vision was altering, disfiguring as though she was looking through a fish-eye lens.

She could hear the Doctor's feet shuffle, as if hesitant. She'd have to calm herself down. She doubt she'd get any help from the Doctor, he didn't do things like that.

Silly Clara, thinking she'd get a piece of touch from her Doctor. If hugs were off limits, she highly doubted he'd comfort her with any other method. It wasn't his method, as he'd probably say something brash and then stride off.

His actions took her completely by surprise. He pulled her close, murmuring sweet nothings into her ear. His long and bony hand stroked her hair, while the other went up and down her back with tenderness she never saw. She cried into his shoulder, silently cursing herself over her display of weakness, but the touches she received from him were just enough to make her continue to cry, in order to keep this moment. Her panic attack was starting to subside, but she didn't want him to let go.

"Clara, Clara, Clara." Her name spilled like a prayer from his lips as he breathed more comforts into her ear. "Everything is going to be alright. Breathe, just breathe." To think she'd see this side ever again; a side of softness, rather than brasher responses. It was uncommon and odd.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she continued to breathe, trying to push him gently away. She didn't want this. She didn't need this; she learned her lesson already, to just not ask. It wouldn't help her. "I'm just tired."

"You're not fine, Clara." He pointed out, chuckling softly. "Anyone could tell you that. So, please," he allowed her to shuffle slightly away, just to be able to see her face to face. He, uncharacteristically and lovingly, wiped a tear with the pad of his thumb. "Breathe with me, slowly now. Control. You like control, right?" She glared at him through teary eyes, "Control your breathing and breathe with your nose." He wasn't wrong, so she couldn't fault him for anything.

He took a deep breath, motioning for Clara to follow. She managed to, with slight difficulty. She feels as though the Doctor had done this before, judging by the way he seemed to know exactly what to do.

"I'm sorry." She murmured, wiping her cheeks. She felt like a child. To be fair, she was, in comparison to her dear Doctor.

"What are you apologizing for?" The Doctor asked, eyebrows furrowing. Looking at him now, there seemed to be a deep sense of care wrapped in his eyes, something she didn't seem to notice before.

"This. It's ridiculous." She sighed.

"Is that what you think, Clara?" He asked, "That you can't display yourself the way you want to, merely because of my change?" How did he get it so right? It was like he read her mind. A lack of response was all he needed. "I'm still the same man. Appearance and personality may have shifted, but I'm all the same. Didn't I tell you that?" He did. Knowing that she understood, he added on, "I'm still the Doctor. And you're still my Clara Oswald." Her cheeks grew pink in his declaration.

"Of course you are. I wouldn't have you any other way." She said, smiling softly. She felt better, in higher spirits.

"Go wash up. We have another adventure soon, Clara." Clara nodded, walking off to one of the many corridors. The Doctor breathed, looking to the console. "Thank you, old girl. I didn't know, how could I have known? She doesn't tell me anything." A short beep, "I know, I know. It's my fault. I'll learn eventually. I have to."