Warnings: Character Study, Speculation, Introspection, Episode Tag for TNotD
A/N: Written for who_contest's Prompt:Down. Och, this was a bit of a struggle. It only took me half an hour at most, but it was another one of those fics that Musie wanted to run with (far, fast and with a lot more than the drabble challenge called for), so keeping it within the frame of 500 words (by Word Doc count anyway!) was a task. This was another one of those fictions that sounded great in my head, but how it translated to paper...well, I can only leave that up to you, dear Reader. Hopefully you find it as enjoyable to read as it was to write. As usual, this fic is mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. And (as always), I apologize for any repetition, misspellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly-thinky/wandery/blithery and unbeta'd.
Disclaimer(s):I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!

He was talking, but she couldn't hear him.

He was always talking (though she only listened half the time), so why should this feel any different?

Because what he says now is Important.

It was always Important. She always understood, even when she only half listened.

But with the spinning churn of the room; the whirling, sinking sensation of her thoughts, she couldn't discern the Important from the important – even as she listened harder than ever before. But what was she listening to?!

'DO NOT HAVE MONSTERS'

'Doctor Who?'

'High Council of Gallifrey…name these Time Lords…Protectorates of the Matrix…Gallifrey itself…Chancellors stand thusly – '

His name.

"I know your name," she croaked, the spinning green-violet-white within queasy-semi-darkness reminding her (vaguely) of the time she was so terribly sick in her auntie's drawing room: it was Easter and she couldn't make it to the out-house in time –

But…her auntie didn't have an out-house.

'What's happening?' Clara thought desperately, unable to make her mouth move to push the question past the stasis of her vocal cords, beyond the numb stillness of her lips. 'Why am I remembering – '

Things that never were. That hadn't been. That never would be.

Would they?

She looked (briefly, quickly), too afraid and sick to let go of the odd metal mesh she was clinging to and face her best friend; her worst (unNamed?) fear. He looked confused, but compassionate.

He mustn't know then.

Or he did, but he didn't know that he knew –

'Spending too much time with him. Starting to think like he speaks.'

She wanted to laugh, but she was too afraid she would throw up. She knew mere seconds were passing, but why did it feel like centuries? And why did it feel like there was a secret, right on the tip of her tongue, that her mind was too afraid to speak?

She managed to turn her head (just slightly) to look at him, to see his mouth moving –

" – this close to the heart of the TARDIS –"

but she couldn't look anymore. She could see the Storm, see it raging on a face that flickered and dimmed before it could fully surface in her mind. It was this face, though the Look he gave her rendered it unrecognizable; not her Doctor.

It couldn't be.

"Your name…I saw it – "

A dream that echoed from her lips. The face he had then (fierce, angry, unrelenting) –

before he died, screaming, flickering…then GONE

rising to the forefront of her mind, wiped away by the shocked (guilty) look that he gave her now. Awe, fear reflected in the shadows of his eyes – then he was leading her away – grip gently firm, unyielding…

This was the end.

Or was it the beginning?

He didn't know. But she did. Now she knew what he'd hidden from her – so much more than a mere Name, or even the (dark) secrets he kept –

Keep us SAFE

She only hoped he could run when it was time: Run – and remember…