One-shot; Eleven/Clara, Twelve (takes place immediately after "The Caretaker")
A/N: This little blurb just filled my head after watching "The Caretaker" and wouldn't let go of me. One way or another, I'm going to have to write some kind of happy ending for these two because I think my heart won't be able to take it otherwise! ;-) Hope you enjoy, and please let me know if you do- it helps keep me writing!
I love him.
He's not my type at all.
Because I see wonders.
Clara Oswald had never considered herself to be a dishonest person. In fact, her mother used to comment that she had never known her daughter to tell a lie when she'd been a child.
Apparently, she was making up for it, now, because in the space of a few hours, she had told one lie after another, to the Doctor, to Danny, and, most of all, to herself.
As she combed her hair, getting ready for school, wondering what it would be like to face Danny after the events of last night, she marveled at how easily such untruths had begun erupting from her mouth, she who usually hated dishonesty.
And yet she hadn't hated it about the Doctor, even knowing he wasn't always truthful with her. There had been nothing about him she could have hated. How could she, when she had loved him so much.
She'd understood that the lies he'd ever told had been born of his wish to do the right thing, to protect people, no matter the pain to himself. And that was when she realized she had become just like him.
It was why, "I need Danny so that I can stop thinking about the Doctor I loved, the one who isn't here, anymore" became "I love him".
It was why "Seeing someone who looks so much like the man I loved breaks my heart every time I look at him" became a dismissive "oh, no, he's not my type at all."
And worst of all, it was why, when Danny asked her flat-out for the truth about why she stayed with the Doctor, the lie of "because I see wonders" tumbled out of her mouth, instead of the truth that was "because I loved him with all my heart and he needs me".
She sat back against her chair and studied her reflection in the mirror. She'd put on a bit more make-up again, without even realizing it. One of her students had commented that she always looked like she was going out for a night on the town these days, and Clara had been surprised when she'd looked in the bathroom mirror and found she was right. So she hadn't just been lying to everyone around her. She was wearing a mask, so no one could even see the truth, least of all herself.
She put the comb down and reached for the lipstick, to put on a third coat, unable to keep from thinking of the Doctor's mouth- stretched in a smile over his impossibly large chin. How often had those lips of his brushed her forehead, her hands, her cheeks. Back then, she'd worn almost no make-up at all, because she'd never had to hide her true self from him. Nor had she ever wanted to.
Now she wanted layers of wax on her mouth, some thin physical barrier that would keep her lips untouched, even when another man kissed her. Her true self was still for the Doctor alone, her bare mouth, her naked eyes, her skin that had warmed with his every touch.
She could almost see the image she craved above all else in the reflection, as though by sheer will she could make the tall figure of her Doctor materialize behind her, his hair falling into his eyes, hands resting on her shoulders, the tweed of his jacket cuffs scratching at her skin.
How do I stop loving you? she wanted to wail. How do I move on when it feels so impossible?
The Doctor smiled at her, the slow, knowing smile he'd always given right before she figured out the answer, all on her own.
Because you're the girl who makes everything possible.
She wanted to stand and throw herself in his arms, but his ghost vanished into the air, still smiling, as she watched him go. And the pain of losing him, over and over again, was so real that she could barely breathe.
What good was lying to everyone for their own protection when maybe this time Clara Oswald just couldn't pull off one more impossible feat? She squeezed her eyes shut and wished, for the first time, that the Doctor hadn't saved her after she'd jumped into his Time Stream. It would have been a kinder end.
Instead, it was he who had died, and she was condemned to abandon her whole nature- her truth and her courage- to dull the unbearable pain of losing the man she loved, to latch on to the first man she could find who would be so not the Doctor that she could run away with him in the small, brown school instead of a big, blue box. She was condemned to go on living without the bow-tied man who had loved her and who had been so very, very loved in return. After all, even a ridiculous lie was sometimes easier than a painful truth.
So she would do it the only way she knew how. She would lie and lie again, to the Doctor and Danny, to herself, until she could believe that it was okay, and that her heart would find a way to survive this.
Smoothing her hair one last time, Clara stood and reached for her purse, squaring her shoulders.
Not everything fades, the Doctor had once said. Not love. Not Always.
She hoped with everything in her soul that he had been wrong.
- The End-