A/N: I'm alive! This semester is kicking my butt, so I'm not able to write very often, but I have a few things coming your way. There are also a couple (or more?) things I wrote over the summer that I haven't posted yet, so stay tuned.
Anyway, I'm sorry about this. Really, really sorry. Warning: this is completely made up of feels and there is no happiness anywhere. I just keep imagining the Doctor going places he remembered being with Clara so he can try and remember her, and then It's Quiet Uptown came to mind and just... Yeah. This is the result.
Context: The place the Doctor goes in this fic is the place where Clara and the Doctor lie to each other and go their separate ways in Death in Heaven. Happy times.
(Random side fact: I wrote this during my Music History class today because during the 70 minute class period we literally just sat there and listened to a mass the whole time.)
If you see him in the street, walking by
Himself, talking to himself, have pity...
He is working through the unimaginable
-It's Quiet Uptown by Lin-Manuel Miranda
His memories drove him to a familiar street.
As he stepped out of the TARDIS, he felt icy droplets of rain pelt his unprotected hands and face. In the next step that he took, his foot splashed in a puddle.
He could feel people's eyes trained on him. The streets and the sidewalks were crowded, throngs of people passing by, but a few must have seen the TARDIS materialize and were gawking at the blue box. He was getting careless.
He didn't care.
His eyes roamed over the concrete sidewalk and the bland buildings, the rain tainting them both dark shades of black or grey. A heavy weight of sadness sat in his gut. What exactly had happened with Clara here? He couldn't quite remember anymore. Something sad. Something lonely.
He pulled the TARDIS' door closed, ignoring the spectators, and merged into the crowd. He kept his head down, eyes trained on the ground.
It felt wrong to walk here alone. He imagined someone by his side, asking him endless dull questions. That would be preferable to this.
Instead he had only the solitude of his own mind. Even that was unusually quiet. The song was running through his head again. Her song. Somewhere, memories begged to be remembered.
But for the most part, the time lord's mind was quiet.
He looked up, hoping for any kind of distraction, anything to occupy his mind. A young woman going the opposite direction locked eyes with him, just for a moment. Her eyes exuded compassion. Pity.
How long had he been this pitiful, this desperate? How long had he been searching for something that was far beyond his reach?
Was this what Clara would have wanted?
"No," he muttered to himself. He knew enough about her to know that much. But what was he supposed to do? Just let it go, let her go?
His hand clenched into a fist at his side. He could almost remember how her hand fit perfectly in his. He could almost remember how he held on to her as they ran. Almost.
He sighed. After all his searching, all his wandering, that was all he ever got. Almost.
It wasn't enough.
He could never let her go.
