Goodbye Doctor, Hello Life
Summary: Ever since the Christmas regeneration, Clara realized The Doctor's 12th self was...different. It creates an insurmountable rift between them. So, fed up with 12's cold nature, Clara decides to go home. Permanently. These are their thoughts after this event occurs. Drama/Angst. Rated T for swearing & general angry-ness.
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One day...one day, Clara Oswald told herself, he will understand. The Doctor will understand why she did what she felt she had to do. She had made her decision and she couldn't go back from it. It was for the best, she thought. No other way, really.
At least...that's what she kept telling herself inside her head as she slowly made her way toward the familiar London brick townhouse. Never-mind the tears...they didn't matter. They would subside, eventually. Yes, it would take time...lots of precious time to get over...well, everything...but, she convinced herself, it would get easier. At least now, she had the time...she was back home...and she would spend her time with her human family now-The Maitland children: Angie & Artie. And their dad, of course...and her own father...oh dear...when was the last time she had contacted him, her own father? He's probably worried sick...
And the Doctor...well...she couldn't think about it...she musn't...it was too painful.
In the end, he had said nothing...that was the worst part...the silence that followed...but the look, the look he gave her...God...he had never looked at her like that before...not in this body. Not with those eyes...those steely blue-gray eyes.
One look had said it all, though. And it had sent chills down her spine to recall it. How haunted it was. It scared her more than the Ice Warrior or the "ghost" of Caliburn House. It scared her more than the Whispermen inside his tomb, and more than seeing the Daleks once more or even seeing the massacre that was the Time War. There had been a barely imperceptible nodding of a much more firm, chiseled chin than the one she remembered making fun of so fondly, and then he had opened his arms to her and she had gone to them automatically, hoping for some small piece, one last shred of the warmth that had radiated from her Doctor, not so long ago. Sadly, the hug was quick & stiff. Mechanical, almost. And over too quickly.
He might have been in shock...unable to react appropriately at the time...either way, it left her feeling cold, detached, and confused. He had behaved like she was a stranger to him...and I suppose, in a way, it sort of made sense. Except...for her, it was almost the other way round. He had become a stranger to her...he had been keeping her at a distance for months...not just physically, but mentally & emotionally as well...gone was the boyish smile, gone was the bow-tie & tweed, gone were the affectionate kisses to the forehead, gone were the days of hand-holding, enthusiastic high fives, and spinny hugs...
He was a brand new man. But he was still the Doctor...sort of...except, he wasn't. She had tried, oh Lord, how she had tried to get used to the new him! She felt she had given it her best shot! She tried to make him laugh, tried to make him smile, and even tried her usual flirting...no good. None of her old tricks worked anymore. This newest version of him was just...so...different...not only that, he was difficult and...and...and grumpy...and critical...and harsh...
She didn't even mind that he looked older now, so many previous versions of him had looked old, it didn't faze her one bit. But now...he acted older...but it was more than that, though. This him was...well, he was...just...*cruel*. Especially to her. And she would ask him why!? Why must he be so mean to her!? He never answered her...just told her to go back to her room. And it broke her heart. She didn't deserve this, she didn't! So, the next day, she decided she had had enough. So...she left.
New tears surfaced as she opened the door to the house. She wiped them away quickly, stepping into the foyer, glancing around to see if anyone was home..."Hello? Angie? Artie? Helloooo? I'm back!"
No answer. Well, what did you expect, Clara? It's the middle of the day...they're probably at school. You'll see them later. Right now, though...God...what was she to do?
She looked at the calender. Of course. It was Wednesday. But from now on, Wednesdays were just that. Wednesdays. Boring, middle-of-the-week, days in which she must find other ways of occupying herself. So...what'll it be, Clara? A bit of cleaning and tidying up? Or are you gonna do the girly thing and go cry in your bedroom for hours?
She had kept herself together fairly well, she thought. She had done well. But she was alone now...she glanced at the clock in the hallway. Hmm...11:30. She had a bit of time for a good cry before the kids got back...or she could nix that idea completely. She *had* to remain cheerful, she knew, for the sake of her own sanity. So she decided to make the family an after-work/after-school souffle as a way of saying, "Hey! Remember me? Your old baby-sitter? Well, I'm back again, only this time I'm staying! Isn't that wonderful?" And as she thought about it more and more, she realized, this, more than anything else, is exactly what she need right now...so she pushed all her bad thoughts aside, put on her apron, & set to work.
After all, she had to prove to herself that there is life to be found outside the Doctor...it was possible...
"No more Impossible Girl".
Life moved on. And so would she.
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She was gone. Clara Oswald, the impossible girl, was gone.
Possibly forever.
How...how could he have let this happen? He didn't even try to stop her, for Rassilon's sake!
Oh...he knew...he understood. He knew why she did it...he really did. And he couldn't blame her...not when he had practically forced her into it...well, more like, "coerced" her into doing it. But still...
He sighed heavily. It was for the best. No matter what she had done for him, the simple delicate truth of the matter was, of course, the same problem he always had with human companions...they died. Eventually, every single one that he had ever picked up, along his numerous travels, would...die. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about that fact. It was a fact of their natural biology.
Clara, however impossible she may be, would die too. Because the original version of her was human.
Oh he knew what he could do...there were definitely ways to get around this...to bend the rules of time and space for his own selfish means, and he had...been there, done that, became human, fell in love, went to war, and that human life was stolen away all too soon. The whole shebang.
And actually, the thing was...he could easily do it again...become human, that is, using the chameleon arch to re-write his biology as a human, be John Smith again, or make up some other character, and live happily ever after with Clara Oswald, but...
But the truth was...now...after all that had happened, after all the lives he's gone through, he just couldn't bring himself to do it again.
What was the point of it? He had always felt old...and he was older still...but before, at least in his 9th, 10th, and 11th selves, he had looked younger...which made it so much easier to run around, fight enemies, and all that other silly physical stuff that situations demanded of him to do. Now? Suddenly, he was back to looking like the old man he really was...and worse yet, he could feel all that hyper -active energy seeping out of him every time he so much as looked into a mirror. Regeneration had not been kind to him this time around...and so, born with the knowledge of this, and faced with the evidence of it on a daily basis, he had stopped being kind himself.
A fact that he deeply regretted taking out on Clara. But who else was there to take it out on, eh?
No one! Nobody at all! And it was his fault!
But guess what, Doctor? Now what? Hmm? She's gone back to her family...and you've got no one. You know you can't be by yourself for too long before you turn into a complete loony...is it time to find a new replacement, hmm? His mind teased him mercilessly...is it time to pick up another unsuspecting victim? Another poor soul to feed your never-ending vice?
No...He told that voice, gritting his teeth & clenching his jaw. "NO!" He shouted to the empty room. "Not this time! This time, I will go solo! I will go wherever, whenever I wish...and I shall not permit myself to take any companions...none at all. If they ask, if they beg for me to take them, I shall say...no."
"I've done it before with Lady de Souza, as well as a few others...I can do it again. And I shall. I will not risk any more human lives...nor any others, for that matter...here & now, I swear it. I swear on all the lives I've lost, that from this moment forth, it shall only be me in this box."
Apparently, the TARDIS herself had something to say to that statement...for there came a noise that sounded suspiciously like a "Harumph!" As if she was chastising him! Like a bloody child!
Well, that just won't do. "I heard that! And who are you to judge, eh? You didn't even like Clara! So what are you angry about!? I thought you'd be happy! It's just you and me now...like it always has been, 'ol girl. Just like you wanted! You've got me all to yourself...and now...you're telling me that you miss her? That's just ridiculous!"
'No...what's ridiculous is that you're talking to a ship like it's a real, live, breathing woman...' He heard Clara say. Okay...more like, what he remembered her saying once...in a conversation they had before the time the TARDIS exploded in an aborted time-line.
His subconscious clearly wanted him to go mad. It kept bringing up memories of her...things she had said, the things they did together, & little moments they had shared...
And for some odd reason, the TARDIS was showing him various photos of her and him on his viewing screen...flashing one after another, like a video collage.
"Why the hell are you on her side now?! Eh? It doesn't make sense! Don't you get it? She's better off where she is! I'm not going after her this time. She's home now...she's where she belongs. That's it. End of story. So please remove these pictures from my sight. I mean it! Stop! Just STOP!" He was so angry at the TARDIS, he actually punched the screen. Broke the glass instantly...badly cutting up his wrinkled hand in the process. "Damnit! Look at that, then, eh? You happy?"
When he got no response, he stormed out of the console, bloody fist at his side, to go find some bandages, all the while grumbling to himself and every so often, would shout a few nasty alien phrases to the TARDIS...
It was hours before he was able to find the med-bay, as the TARDIS had re-located it several times.
He really was a "mad man in a box" now...
Only this time...no one was there to save him from himself.
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A/N: I had meant for this to be pretty serious drama...and it's not over yet, at least, I don't think it will be, but that last part got a little...silly. Maybe too silly of an ending. I'm not terribly happy with it, to be honest. I'm used to writing happy, fluffy bits. And I just don't know how to write 12 yet, I'm not too familiar with his voice, or mannerisms, as I haven't really seen much of Peter's work. Anyway...I wrote this to vent my frustration over what I hear from Moffat about how 12 is going to make things "difficult" for Clara. That comment made me quite angry because I think Clara deserves better than that kind of treatment from him, especially since she's done so much for him, more than any other companion, I think...but then, that's just me. Things are what they are. And 11 will die. And all hopes of Whouffle will die with him. Not happy...Sorry for the rant.