A/N: At first I wasn't sure how I felt about the fact that they brought Clara back in Hell Bent. But after a few rewatches and reading a lot of analysis I can hardly imagine a more perfect ending for her character. I suppose that my original reluctance to the Hell Bent ending stemmed from the fact that I was grieving her death in the two weeks between Face the Raven and Hell Bent and finally made my peace with it when they threw her back into my world in the finale. Most people who don't like the Hell Bent ending seem to think that it has no repercussions for her character. I disagree and this little story is my version of what happens when the repercussions catch up with Clara and she becomes tired of running.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who
Summer can't last forever
Clara sat cross-legged shoulders hunched with an old diary in her hands. Hundreds of pages filled with handwriting and memories that she barely recognised as her own. She put on the sonic sunglasses and directed them at the monitor.
"Screen on," she whispered as the monitor flickered to life accompanied by a sonic buzz. Outside stood Ashildr together with Nina, their latest travelling companion. It was meant to be a cheerful farewell, after all at least this time her and Ashildr weren't standing over a dead body of one of their friends like they had in the past. No, they were leaving Nina behind to a bright future. However there still was something forced to the happiness of the middle-aged woman and the girl infinitely older than her. The smiles didn't quite reach their eyes as the absence of the third person who should have been there for this goodbye was duly noted. Yet Clara was unable to move and join them her feet glued to the TARDIS floor as if some imaginary force had slumped over her shoulders and was pressing down on her.
Ashildr gave Nina on a last wave before joining Clara back inside the TARDIS.
"I'm sorry, but...," Clara whispered barely audible.
"But you can't keep doing this," Ashildr finished for her.
"I think...I think it's time," the girl without a heartbeat confessed finally after silence filled the room for several minutes.
"Time for what?" the immortal wondered trying to sound confused but the hurt in her expression betrayed her.
"You know what. For Gallifrey. To face the raven."
"Clara," Ashildr started various emotions mixed in her eyes. Clara had seen that look on someone's face before, albeit she no longer recalled it, she no longer even remembered that face. But every time she read her first diary she imagined that this was the exact same expression as the Doctor wore on his face on that fateful day in the trap street. Once she had been able to vividly picture the memory of his face and his eyes in that moment. But with every day passed the memories and pictures faded and first the lines started blurring between the face of an old grey man and that of a young gentleman with a prominent chin. Now there was nothing, just a hole.
"You have known from the beginning that this day was coming. Gallifrey has been the destination from the beginning. You knew we were just taking a small detour. One that was perhaps a bit bigger on the inside, but still a detour."
"Yeah, but..." Ashildr choked not able to form the words that were forming inside her. It didn't matter that they were left unsaid, Clara always knew anyway. But knowing never made this whole thing easier, did it? The girl stood with limp hands hung next to her, suddenly seeming so small and frail, so reminiscent of the little Viking girl who once declared a war upon a mighty alien race.
Clara's expression softened as she stood up and enveloped her in a hug: "Hey, it's okay, you'll be alright, you'll be fine."
Ashildr shook of the hug and spoke in defiance: "Will I?...I don't understand, Clara...why now?"
The other girl took a deep breath: "Because we both know summer can't last forever...and it's nearly winter."
She took Ashildr's hand and led her to the place near the console and sat her down on the floor. She put her hand onto her smaller hand and passed her the leather bound diary.
"Because of this."
"It's your diary, but..."
"Do you remember Stephen?"
Clara could practically see the wheels behind Ashildr's eyes turning trying to place the name looking for at least a bit of recognition. But as she had expected there was nothing there.
Ashildr shook her head: "No, should I?"
"Well neither do I. But apparently he was the first."
"The first what?"
"The first to travel with us. And now he is long gone, turned to dust. Even his children and those who came after them have been buried for hundreds of years. And yet we two persist, don't we?"
"See! We persist, it's not all sad," Ashildr cried trying to prevent the inevitable.
"But what is a person but a sum of their memories? And our memories have long since turned to dust just as Stephen has just as Nina will someday soon for us. And I can't keep doing this, I can't go on like this anymore, I just can't...," she gestured to the book: "There was a time when I found it hard to imagine an existence without the Doctor. But to keep all of time and space safe I had to stay away from him. It was easier for him, he had forgotten. But I had to remember for the both of us. So I just walked into my box and flew away. And remembered. Until one day, I didn't. I can read that damn book and God knows that I was very meticulous when I wrote that down, got every single of his words written down to the T like a girl who once apparently was an English teacher from Lancashire would, but I can't remember. There's just nothing there but a hole. A hole which I can't fill in with words even if I hang onto every single one of them. Because the words they are still there but the feelings are long blown away. I swore to myself, Ashildr, that I would never let this happen to myself. But I did. And that's why it's time to stop running."
"So you want to die?" Ashildr questioned.
Clara got up and tenderly stroked the TARDIS console: "Do you know that this is all I ever wanted? But not like this. Yes, I'm alive but not really. Because the truth is that Clara Oswald died a long time ago, that day on trap street and then again that day in Nevada when I first walked away to his box. So no, I don't want to die, but I want to feel alive again. I got to live for a fair bit even though I was technically dead and don't you ever think that I didn't enjoy every single second of it. And at first I didn't mind. I got to see and feel and experience it all through the eyes of the Stephens and the Ninas and it was wonderful for a while. But now it's gotten too much...and I'm just so tired, so weary...I can't see the beauty of it anymore, Ashildr. When I looked at Nina this morning all I could see before my eyes was the image of her dead body. And I can't keep going like this. I live but I am dead inside. And I just want to feel alive again, the blood rushing through my veins, the sound of my heartbeat. Even if it's just for a second..."
Neither of them spoke for a few moments.
"I...I think I understand," Ashildr spoke out at last. But once again the true meaning behind her words was left unsaid. But what about me? Are you going to leave me?
"You could come with me, you know. The Time Lords, dreadful hats but a smart bunch according to the diary. Perhaps they could figure out a way to fix you?" Clara offered as a way out.
Ashildr shook her head: "They can't. Been there, tried that. I might have forgotten a lot but I still remember this. It's not something you forget so easily."
Clara joined Ashildr back on the floor and enveloped her in a hug: "Then promise me that you will keep going for me, won't you? The TARDIS will be yours to have."
"What is there to keep going for?"
"My story," Clara answered: "after I do this, I'll just be a story. But it doesn't matter because we're all just stories in the end. And my story was a great one, with a few glitches in the middle, mind you, but still a good one. It was a story I wrote myself and I'm quite proud of it. But a story is nothing without it's storyteller, so I am asking you, will you be mine? Will you tell my story, Ashildr?"
"Of course," Ashildr let out between the sobs.
"Good," Clara smiled: "cause you know I wasn't actually asking you for a promise, but giving you an order."
"Yes, boss," the smaller girl laughed before her expression turned serious once again as she clasped Clara's hand.
"Are you scared?" she asked finally.
"Of course," Clara whispered a single tear streaming down her face: "I'm bloody terrified of dying."