AN In light of the premiere of Series 8, I've written a short one-shot about Clara still getting used to this new doctor like the rest of us! Cheers!
Clara was staring at him again. In fact, she wasn't sure she'd stopped staring since the regeneration. At first she gawked like a curious, undignified child, but her gazes had since turned more refined, more subtle - as subtle as one can be around the doctor. He knew of course, which was appalling but did nothing to dampen her unbridled need to trace every line like she was going to uncover some mystery in the depths. He had the decency at least to ignore her penetrating eyes eventually, and brush her off with a roll of his own or a scoff.
He was colder than her Doctor had been. Everything about him screamed glacial and untouchable. But, he was her Doctor wasn't he?
Madam Vastra's words were echoing in her head, playing like a soft melody that served as her mantra. Anger flared at the memory, but Clara stomped it down with a frown.
Had the Doctor chosen this face on purpose, or was it simply an act of his subconscious? Was he trying to tell himself something? Was he trying to tell her something? The world? To stay away lest they all be frozen by his icy blue eyes?
Clara shivered uncomfortably. She didn't want to stay away, and she knew deep down that didn't want her to, either. Yet, even though he was standing a meter away from her, she couldn't recall a time he'd seemed so distant. Even the sound of his voice as he babbled on about something, or the scratch of his chalk on his newly-acquired, old-fashioned blackboard, felt muted and far away, like he was an echo of another time.
She loved him, didn't she? Of course she'd always been attracted to him. It was simply impossible to not fall for a man who offered the universe at his fingertips, but before she hadn't needed to sort through those feelings because he wore a younger, softer face that made it easy to accept such renegade emotions.
Of course she loved him, but now she had to figure out what that love meant, if it even meant anything at all. That tiny inkling that the Doctor would abandon her had grown so very strong since his new face, his new self, had appeared. There was something in the sharp lines and unforgiving shadows that told her to prepare for the worst, and how he smoothly avoided direct eye contact for long periods of time left her feeling chilly and bemused. What was he worried about her finding out?
"Clara," he called over to her. The unfamiliar Scottish drawl still managed to surprise her when she wasn't prepared for it. "If you could please bring me another stick of chalk."
He whirled around to face her, his jacket was unbuttoned and billowed outwards, flashing the silk, red trim underneath with a certain finesse that had Clara star-struck momentarily. She regained her composure and regarded him with a tight smile.
"He speaks! I was beginning to think you'd gone and forgotten all about little ol' Clara. I'm not your servant, you know. Maybe you ought to ask the TARDIS, since you seem to be on much better terms with her."
Despite her snarky reply, Clara made her way to the large bookcase, threw open the bottom cabinet and tossed the box over her shoulder, knowing full well that he'd catch it.
"Are you still cross with me?" he demanded half-heartedly, snatching the box from the air with ease and plucking a piece of chalk before throwing it back at her with more force than necessary.
"Oi!" she cried, narrowly dodging the container. "If I'm cross it's only because you said we'd be going somewhere and that was hours ago. I'm tired of waiting around. It makes me feel bloody useless."
"It is all about you," muttered the Doctor under his breath, but just loud enough for Clara to hear. Before she could open her mouth in a retort, he continued. "Why don't you fly us to the destination I have mapped out on the console? Most of the controls are on auto-pilot. All you have to do is steer. Think you can manage that, Miss Impossible Girl?"
His voice was sharp, yet there was an undeniable fondness peeking out from beneath his words. Whatever he was working on had clearly put him in a mood, but Clara was far too excited to lose any more of her temper. Quickly she made her way to the dash and paused immediately, her hands hovering over the various knobs and switches that she had learned so much about. Her relationship with the The Lady in Blue had been her rockiest one yet. She turned to see the Doctor grinning madly at her, his frosty eyes practically glittering with excitement.
Clara wasn't sure if he was excited for her unlikely success or potential failure, but she knew in that moment that he was the Doctor; he was her Doctor. And without another negative thought to damper her eagerness, she grasped the lever and threw the beautiful beast into gear.