Living Lies
After months of silence, an overenthusiastic football commentator yelling "Gooooooal!" is interrupted by the distinctive wheezy groan of the TARDIS landing in Clara's living room. Clara's in her little kitchen, pouring several bags of crisps into a large bowl for Danny. She lifts her head, hardly daring to believe her ears.
She carries the bowl of crisps into the living room cautiously. She's in time to see the Doctor trying to exit the TARDIS. He is swamped in layer upon layer of thick, warm-coloured material that brushes the floor—reds, yellows, and more shades of orange than Clara thought possible. The massive headdress is a bit much, though—and unmistakably Gallifreyan. The Doctor tries to walk out of the TARDIS but the edges of the headdress catch in the doorway. He frowns, an expression that suits this face, and twists his body to side-step out of the box.
Clara moves to position herself between the Doctor and Danny. Her heart is beating a little faster now.
"Clara!" the Doctor says, and there's the tiniest hint of a smile that quickly vanishes. He doesn't meet her eyes. "Hello," he adds, quieter.
"Hi," she replies, and it's all she can say without letting loose a massive grin. Her cheek twitches, no more.
Something catches his eye, and the Doctor tilts his body slightly to one side so he can see past Clara. She looks down, her face growing warm. On the sofa sits a framed photo of Danny, permanently smiling at the football match on the TV. "How is..." the Doctor clears his throat, straightens again, "Danny?"
Clara nods. "Good." She looks the Doctor up and down pointedly, and when she does she notices that the material is old and worn. Ancient, even. Like something stolen from a museum. "How's Gallifrey?"
"Great. Yes." He sounds a bit distracted, fiddles with a layer of his robe until it drapes once more to the floor. "Very good."
"Good." Clara bites her lip, hugs the bowl of crisps closer.
They stand in Clara's living room for a few long moments in silence, neither looking the other in the eye for very long. The commentator on the TV groans loudly as the opposing team scores. Danny smiles regardless.
The Doctor snaps into motion again. "Well, if all is good with you... I'll just be going back to Gallifrey, then." He turns to the TARDIS, his headdress scraping along the blue paint. "Bye."
"If—" Clara starts, and the Doctor instantly freezes with his hand resting on the TARDIS's door handle, "if you want to stay for a little while, then I guess Danny wouldn't mind."
"Oh. Okay." The Doctor begins a laborious shuffle towards the sofa. When he's almost there, he trips on his heavy robes. He falls onto the sofa in a half-controlled manner. Clara moves the photo of Danny onto the table, arranging him so he can still see the TV.
The Doctor reaches for a crisp from the bowl on Clara's lap, accidently poking her in the ear with his headdress.
"So... this is nice," the Doctor says, eyes fixed on the screen. Clara nods, not really watching the match either.
THE END
Author's Note: I re-watched the finale this morning and this popped into my head. I think the finale has broken me.