And the Grass Will Grow Again.
A/N: This is from Clara's point of view, after the end of Series 8; after Danny is dead. It's a little AU I think, because I'm not sure how much she would actually blame the Doctor really? But anyway, read, enjoy and leave a review please!
You cry, when it's over, for a while. You might not admit it, you may not even shed a tear, but in your own way you cry. You feel the gap, where joy once hid, and gasp when your fears are confirmed, and all that's left is an empty hole.
You blame him, you need space; but of course he can give you plenty of that, with the magic of the blue box. But nothing feels like magic any more, because he stole that away from you, thank you very much, when he didn't save him. You know there's nothing he can do, but there's no way that you can accept that- he's to blame, and he's the reason that you're crying.
You dare not speak, lest to lose the battle with that lump in your throat, and if someone calls, you have to hang up, because you don't trust your own voice. What's more, you don't trust your brain to tell you what to say. But if no-one calls, you cry even more, because, really, even just another "I'm sorry", would help ease the pain.
It hurts when it's over, a gushing ache that's been building throughout this wretched battle, against the monsters that you once dreamed of seeing. You dream of the words, you dream of a girl, one who smiled and laughed, and said "Run you clever boy, and remember". You barely remember running, now. You don't notice the pain, until it's taken over. It's okay in the day, unless something, or someone reminds you, but you can't help but snap at the people that tell you to let go, or to talk about it- because you can't let go, and talking seems too much like forgetting, or moving on, thanks. Besides, all you really want is a hug- but he isn't here, and, well- he doesn't do hugging any more. It's his fault, anyway.
It's at night when it's worse. Without the hum of the engines to rock you to sleep, the ache almost overwhelms you, forcing you to think about what you just lost, who you just lost- and any more and you'll just scream- until you make everything into a metaphor, and the rain becomes your tears, and the wind your cries, and the sun, when it fleetingly dares to peak out from behind the storm ridden clouds, seems to mock you, making you remember when everything was still the same. When the sunset was pink.
And you'll cry until there's nothing left, until the well has run dry. And finally, when your throat can stand it, you'll talk to the thin air before you, which seems so important.
You'll accept, but promise never to forget, move on, but hold onto your regrets.
And you realise, that somewhere inside, you're still the bossy girl, the nanny, the time traveller in the snogbox, and the English teacher, who fell in love with Mr "PE". He died, but will always live, in your memory. In your heart. And you realise that it's not his fault, really. And though some of you will never fully forgive him, you love him, because he's been there from the start, and has healed you time and time again. He is a doctor, after all.
Because it hurts when it's over, and you'll cry. But somehow, the grass grows again, and something will begin. And then you can smile. But for now, lay down and just remember.