A/N: During a time of confinement, Clara thinks back on what it's like to be The Doctor's 'Impossible Girl'.
Impossible Girl
Clara awoke to the feeling of a breeze on her cheek. Eyes fluttering open slowly, her chapped lips parted to let a single, deep breath pass through her teeth. Despite the bright blue sky above, dotted with fluffy white clouds, the air still felt heavy in her lungs. What happened to her? She didn't remember going to sleep, nor being in any sort of field. Now that she thought about it, in fact, she didn't remember much of anything.
Blinking a few times and inhaling again, the air quality didn't change as Clara pivoted her head from one side to the other. There was nothing but green grass on either side of her, freckled with weirdly colored wildflowers. Despite this though, Clara felt as though she were laying on rocks, or maybe a hot, steaming slab of concrete on a summer's day. The longer she sat, breathing, remembering what she could, the more uncomfortable it became.
She had been with The Doctor. Had been, being the phrase of choice in this particular circumstance. As of right this instance, Clara didn't know where she was, where The Doctor was, or how she had gotten to where she was in the first place. Grunting slightly, Clara squinted a bit into the sky. Why don't I just move? It was an obvious question, one that Clara could answer easily. After all she was laying back down in a wide open field. Yet even with so much space around her, she still felt horribly cramped and small. And now that she took in her body, her wrists were aching, laying at her sides against the hard grassy earth. Cautiously, Clara moved to sit up. She was only a quarter of the way there when her head smacked square into something.
Dropping back to the ground painfully, Clara winced and attempted to move her hand to feel where she had knocked her forehead. But something unseen was keeping her hand to the ground. Pulling at the other arm, it to was kept restrained. Panicking now despite the beautiful scenery, Clara pulled at her ankles. These were free, but reaching out with her toes, she couldn't even extend her legs all the way outwards. Instead, they were stuck in a slightly bent position. Clara couldn't move them far before her knees bumped the same invisible walls her head had met with. Inhaling again sharply, in and out, Clara pulled at her waist. Held tight.
"Doctor!" Clara's voice was hoarse and dry. And the illusion of the landscape didn't keep the confined echo of her voice out of her ears, "DOCTOR!"
"He's not here,"
The voice was metallic - robotic even. The beautiful meadow faded away, leaving behind a mosaic ceiling. But it wasn't fully above her, no, Clara was staring at it through a pane of thick, illuminated glass. A man, an old man, was looking down at her through it. His smile just felt wrong as he leaned closer, "it's no use to struggle,"
"Let me out!"
"Whatever for, my dear?"
"This is bloody insane! Let me out, NOW!"
"Such spirit. Not a surprise that my gas didn't keep you out long," the old man chuckled, tapping the glass shield with a finger as he smiled, "that's why I liked you. I liked you the moment I saw you,"
"What?"
"You don't remember much I'm afraid, my butler did quite a number on your head. But don't worry, you'll soon be comfortable. After all...eh heh, you're the new prize of my collection,"
Clara inhaled sharply as her restraints tightened automatically, causing her aching to spike into actual hurt. This wasn't just her prison, it was a display case.
"Why me?" Clara's breaths came in short, Wild gasps, "w-why me?"
"Because you're an exquisite piece of art, my child. Can't you see it?"
Staring at the glass ceiling, it shimmered for a moment before showing Clara's own reflection. She almost didn't recognize herself, dressed exquisitely in crimson with her hair braided back, and her face pasted with makeup. Clara could also see her restraints, which were strong metal cuffs around her wrists and waist. Not escaping these without a Sonic Screwdriver. Clara thought, fighting against her cuffs only to cry out as they tightened, and her reflection disappeared to reveal her kidnapper again,
"The more you struggle the more painful this will be," he stated, "your Doctor is gone, I sent him away. And you will remain here, with me,"
"Till what, then. Till I die?"
"Well yes, I do enjoy the company, Miss Clara. Take a look at your new home,"
Clara felt her Box being jostled as her view changed dizzily. Instead of the ceiling, she was now staring outwards. Hanging from her wrists was painful as she ignored the sting and drank in her surroundings. It was a living room- no, a den. There were two chairs and a sofa; all in red, as well as a coffee table and a fireplace. There was one window, right across from her. And she...she was on the wall, like a pinned insect. And then, like being hit by an automobile, Clara remembered.
"You've been taking...taking people, dressing them, hanging them up."
"Indeed. They make wonderful pieces for my collection. Quite the talk of my house parties,"
"I'm guessing your house guests don't notice that they are real people then?"
"Oh no, of course not. They see, merely elaborate dolls, carved from wax and captured as pieces of art. My own special formula, you see. I've perfected it over the years."
"So you're freezing people, encasing them in wax till their minds turn to mush and their bones crumble away like dust?" Clara felt suddenly sick to her stomach as she jostled, her breath fogging up the glass of her display. She had to get out of this somehow. Keep him talking. The Doctor would come. "Is that what you're going to do to me?"
"What? Oh, no, no, no my love, you are much to exquisite for that. Like I said, I do enjoy the company. This is my private study, you see. Not many people are allowed in here,"
"So what?"
"I can simply do this," the man, Mr. Sandle if Clara suddenly remembered right, opened his palm to reveal a button. It was red and looked a bit like a detonator. But as it was pressed, Clara gasped for breath as noxious gas flooded into her display case, "nighty night, Miss Clara."
Holding her breath wasn't enough as the glass on her case flicked to black, trapping Clara again in eternal darkness.
When she came to, her surroundings had changed. She was standing on the canal of a river bank, looking out at the boats which slowly passed her by. A hot breeze touched the slick skin on her neck as Clara tried to breathe. The air was so limited and it burned, and just enough of it had been sucked out of her prison to take away her voice. Squeezing her eyes shut, a tear escaped as Clara's world took a blurry nose dive. This wasn't the way she wanted to die.
Clara had been on many adventures before, of course. And some had left her injured and longing for relief. She had 'almost died' a lot in the past few months with The Doctor. But this was something different. She didn't feel helpless all those other times. There was always a plan, somewhere, boiling in the back of her mind like a warm pot. But this, being hung up and pinned, truly left her pining for any kind of hope. Clara couldn't imagine what all the others had gone through, waiting around in their displays as the last of their air was sucked out, and the wax closed around their souls. Clara was hardly a spiritual person, but were the trapped people still living souls inside their cold casings?
Blinking out of her running thoughts as the canal scene flickered away to reveal the den, Mr. Sandle sat in one of his chairs. He was drinking tea, the bastard. Just looking at it made Clara crave its soothing presence in her throat. She wasn't able to eat or drink like this after all. That would just mean she would die quicker, didn't it?
"Hello my dear," the man mumbled, taking a bite of a raspberry filled biscuit, "not many words today then? A little light headed in there?"
Mr. Sandle's humor twisted Clara's gut the wrong way as the gave her display case a hard, single jostle in reply. Her restraints automatically tightened into her skin again, and she stopped struggling. Everything hurt.
"Ah, a little to much excitement for you, isn't it?"
Clara said nothing, merely focused on keeping her thoughts straight, "I've gotten a rather large commission from a client of mine, Miss Clara. A very important commission which I cannot pass up,"
What commission? Clara's unasked question came out as a harsh wheeze of breath as Mr. Sandle's spoon clinked against the sides of his teacup, "the client has asked for a statue of your friend, The Doctor. Heaven knows why. But he's offering me a very large sum of money, one which I can't really refuse,"
You wouldn't dare. Clara thought, inhaling and exhaling in panic as something twanged in her head. And it wasn't just something she was imagining. Something was actually attached to her temples, hooked into her skin, feeding on her thoughts.
"I can get The Doctor here easily. He cares for you deeply you know, he told me so. These neurotransmitters I've installed will transmit your...er, discomfort straight to the Dcotor's vessel. It will only hurt for a moment dearest, I promise you,"
Before Clara could even think about what that meant, a searing pain entered her body. It jumped across her bones, causing her hair to rise and stand on end. Clara didn't want to scream, she didn't want to lead The Doctor here. But as the pain increased, she couldn't keep her shrieks subdued.
"That a girl, Miss Clara. Just a little longer,"
"DOCTOR!" Clara inhaled deeply, the name ripping from behind her teeth as the electrical surge stopped and she fell limp from exhaustion. Everything in her body was tingling. Every muscle was burning like fire, her eyes were blurry and dancing with stars, and something wet rolled down her lip despite the dryness of her mouth. Please tell me I'm not drooling. Clara thought, her head lolling to one side as her vision flickered like broken bulbs. Mr. Sandle was merely stirring his tea again, smiling.
"Sleep now, Miss Clara. I'll soon have The Doctor, and there's nothing you can do about it."
Like hell there is. Clara wanted to scream. She wanted to kill this man with her own two hands. But all that came out of her was a strangled wheeze, and a new taste of pennies on her tongue. Blinking, Clara felt the transmitters in her temples tighten up, adjusting to the roll of her exhausted head. And the small tech was still pulsing. Doctor, it's a trap. It's a trap please, don't come here. Don't come here, please! Clara's eyes watered heavily as she clenched her teeth. He wouldn't listen to her, even if she told him not to come. She was his impossible girl. He wouldn't leave her for anything.
It was both a comfort and a burden knowing this, as Mr. Sandle flicked on her display again. It was a beautiful garden this time. Clara was sitting on one of the stone benches, surrounded by lavender and ivy. Inhaling and exhaling, she closed her eyes to the beautiful scene. Don't come here, Doctor. Don't come here.
Clara awoke again to the sound of shattering glass. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, a similar feeling to being held underwater for a long period of time. She'd grown so used to her display and the air inside it, that the fresh air beyond the glass hurt like hell.
"Clara? Clara, come on, answer me!"
Two fingers landed against her neck, as the sound of the Sonic Screwdriver buzzed in front of her face. The Doctor himself sounded winded, and looked like a messy blur as one of Clara's eyelids was forced open, "Clara!"
More buzzing of the Screwdriver as her body was jostled, hoisted up into a pair of arms. The Doctor's tweed jacket had a very particular smell to it. One which Clara both adored and abhorred at the same time. The Doctor always smelled like the binding of old books, and the scent of singed paper. He also smelled like the TARDIS, which had more of a plastic-y stench. Even with her eyes held tight as she struggled to wheeze in breaths of air, Clara knew The Doctor had come for her. His Impossible Girl.
"You are a tricky girl, you," The Doctor said in her unconscious ear, "smart of you to speak to me through your own torture device. Oh Clara, I'm so sorry,"
Don't be sorry! I'm the one who got taken, please don't be sorry! Clara could only tighten her grip on The Doctor's jacket as the hot, sickly smell of the manor disappeared and was replaced by the coolness of the TARDIS. Even the AC kicked on as Clara felt the cool floor of the control room at her back. Why am I so hot, anyway? There was another buzz with the screwdriver as Clara forced her eyelids to open. It was a slow and painful process, as her brain felt like led. But as her lashes fluttered ever so slightly, Clara could see The Doctor. He was rifling through the compartments in the main console, returning to her with a silvery blanket as he tossed it over her, kneeling to cup her cheek with a hand.
"I'm not going to let you die on me again, Clara Oswin Oswald," he said lowly, staring into her half lidded gaze, "you clever girl. You beautiful, brilliant, impossible girl,"
Clara felt her lips pull into a smile as The Doctor kissed her forehead, like he always did, then sat down beside her to hold her hand. And at that moment, Clara knew she would be fine. She was always fine with him. Even with all of her put on display - though the worst confinement. Because she was his impossible girl, and he was her Doctor.
A/N: Eyyy look at that! My very first Doctor Who fanfiction :) I've only just recently gotten into the fandom, but I felt compelled to write this, as I love this pairing as well as this idea of self reflection. Anyway, I hope ya'll enjoyed this story! Please note that I'm still very new to the series so if there are mistakes, that's my bad. *shrugs*. I'm also an American, so pardon if I screw up any sort of terminology XD. I'm not sure if this is a One Shot yet, so I may update with The Doctor's point of view in the future. Thanks for reading!