a/n: I had only watched one episode of season eight until Saturday, when I did a marathon to catch up. This is what happens when I watch eight hours of a show in a single sitting.
Scratching the Surface
With a loud metal-on-metal groan, a rush of wind blew through the room, rustling curtains that hung over closed windows and stirring papers on the small bedside table. A tissue that had been lying on the dressing table rose gently in the air and disappeared from view as the TARDIS slowly appeared in the corner of Clara's bedroom. Tall and imposing, it barely fit in the narrow space between her bed and her wardrobe.
The door burst open and the Doctor's head popped out.
"Clara. Clara!" he hissed in a stage whisper. "Clara, where are you?"
The click, click, click of high heels on a wooden floor preceded her bursting into the room.
"No, no, no, no, no," she said firmly. This was accompanied by a vigorous shake of her head. She shook her finger at him. "I said no, and I meant it."
Still halfway in the TARDIS, the Doctor held onto the doorframe and hung partway into the room. He moved his head back and forth, trying to see around her.
"Is he here?" he asked, still in a stage whisper. Clara raised an eyebrow at him. "Danny, Mr PE teacher, is he here?"
"Maths teacher and no, he's not here yet."
"Well, good," he said in a normal tone. "Then there's nothing to stop you from coming with to the Nevarian Nebula. There's a planet there that is made entirely of jelly. Well, it's not really jelly, just looks like it. And wiggles like it. Tastes a bit like it too. So I guess it may be jelly, or near enough. Do you like raspberry?"
He stepped out into the room. His typical black on black outfit complimented the grey of his hair, hair that was beginning to be in need of a cut, Clara noticed. He needed someone to look after him, she thought. Someone. But not her. Particularly not tonight.
"Yes, I do, and no, I'm not coming with. Not tonight."
The Doctor cocked his head and stared at her. His expressive eyebrows knit in puzzlement. "There's something different about you. You look funny. Something about your hair. And your face. What is it?"
Clara rushed to the dressing table and stared at herself in the trifold mirror. She had put her long, brown hair in a chignon, with tiny curls artfully escaping around her face. A sparkling necklace hung around her neck, matching the earrings at her ears and the bracelet on her wrist. Makeup perfect and not a hair out of place. She sighed in relief. "I don't look funny," she said irritably. "I'm just wearing makeup. And I'm wearing my hair up."
"Is that it?" he asked. "Are you sure that's all it is? Your clothes are…"
"Are what?" She automatically glanced down at herself. Short, silky red dress, cut low and clinging in all the right places, paired with strappy, red, glittering high heels. No tears. No stains. Nothing showing that shouldn't be. "My clothes are fine. This is how I dress when I'm going out."
"It's totally inappropriate for where we're going," he said. "Go get changed. And wear trousers. Preferably waterproof ones."
"I am not changing because I'm not going. I'm going out with Danny tonight."
"You can do both," he said. "Nip out, have you back in five minutes. Still have plenty of time to go out with your PE teacher."
"Maths teacher," she corrected sharply. "And I'm not going. This is a special night for Danny and me, and I am not doing anything that could possibly ruin it."
"What's so special about tonight?"
"Nothing!" she exploded. "Everything! I promised the evening, the entire evening, to him and only him, and for once I mean to keep the promise. And that means not going with you! Not tonight!" She took a deep, calming breath. "Some things are more important than adventures."
The Doctor groaned. "What is it about him? What could you possibly see in soldier boy?"
"His name is Danny, not soldier boy, and he's nice, and thoughtful, and sweet. He's very smart. He's a fantastic teacher. He's wonderful with the kids at the school. All of them. Even the difficult ones. And he always puts others ahead of himself…" Her voice trailed off for a moment, and she got a faraway look on her face. She smiled to herself. "And he loves me." She looked up at the Doctor, who had grown quiet. "And I love him. Can't you understand that?" He didn't answer. "Haven't you ever been in love?"
The Doctor's face was emotionless. No, it was closed off. Shuttered, she thought. As an English teacher she knew the expression, but this was the first time she had ever truly seen it. Jaw tightened, eyes narrowed, but not in anger. It was more like he was looking inwardly. It was impossible to know what he was thinking, what was going on behind the mask of schooled detachment he wore.
"You haven't been, have you?" she said. "You don't even know what I'm talking about."
The mask cracked. His eyes flashed. "You think you know so much about me…" he said in a low, bitter voice. "You have no idea. I've lived two thousand years. You've just barely scratched the surface."
She raised her eyebrows. "You mean you have been in love?" He didn't answer, didn't look at her, and her eyes widened. "With me? Is that why you're so jealous of Danny?"
He scoffed. "A bit full of ourselves, are we?"
She scowled at him. "No. Relieved is more like. So who?"
"None of your business," he said. He turned away from her and stomped into the TARDIS. She followed him in.
"Come on, Doctor," she said. "You know everything there is to know about me, but even after all this time I hardly know anything about you."
He whirled on her. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe that's how I want it? That I like my privacy and that I'm not interested in 'true confessions' and heart to hearts? That I don't feel the need to regurgitate my whole life in front of everyone I meet?"
"I'm not everyone!" she said. "I'm your…"
"My what?"
"Oh, I dunno. Your friend, maybe? Friends are there for each other. Friends confide in one another. They share what's important with one another."
"I don't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't!"
She let out a huff of frustration. "You are such a bloody—"
"Language!" he warned, shaking a finger at her.
"I'll say what I like! You're a bloody twat who's forgotten what it's like to have any normal feelings, any kind of human decency…"
"I'm not human!"
"I know that! You never fail to remind me or anyone else around you! You wear it like a badge of honor: last of the Time Lords, last of your species, above all the rest of us—"
"Get out." The words came out as a low growl. Clara ignored him.
"Totally incapable of caring about anyone or anything other than yourself—"
"Get. Out."
"Incapable of loving someone so much that you'd do anything, give up anything, just to make them happy—"
"GET OUT!" he shouted. "GET OUT! SHUT UP AND GET OUT!"
"FINE!" she yelled back. She stalked out of the TARDIS and pulled the door closed hard enough for it to slam shut. "Arsehole. Bloody twat of a Time Lord."
She turned around and stared at the door, fully expecting the TARDIS to disappear with the same metal-on-metal groaning and gust of wind that had signaled its arrival. But it didn't. It just sat there, not disappearing.
She frowned.
After a minute of staring at it she sighed. "This is silly," she said to herself. "Danny will be here soon." She sat down at the dressing table. As she examined her face in the mirror, her eyes were drawn to the reflection of the TARDIS still parked behind her. She turned and looked at it thoughtfully before reaching for her mobile.
"Hello, Danny? It's me. Listen, something's come up…"
A moment later she slowly opened the TARDIS door. The console room appeared empty.
"Doctor?" she called tentatively. "Doctor, are you there?"
"Over here, Clara," he said quietly. Wearily. She tiptoed around the console to see him sitting on the stairs, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked worn down. Tired. Old, as if the centuries he had lived were weighing heavily on him.
"It's alright. I won't bite," he said, patting the space next to him on the stair.
She crossed the room and sat down beside him.
"Where's soldier boy?" he asked.
"I called and told him I'd be late," she said. "Some things are more important than dinner and dancing." She hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry about the things I said. It was uncalled for."
"No, don't be sorry. You were right."
"I was?"
"Not about everything," he said. "You were wrong about some things. But the business about not talking to you and being a bloody twat, that was spot on. You are my friend, Clara. And friends… talk. Not that I intend on baring my soul to the universe on a regular basis, mind," he added hurriedly. "But if there's something you want to know, you can ask."
"Anything?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Within reason."
She shook her head. "It's really none of my business."
"No, it's not," he agreed. "But you're my friend, and I'm letting it be your business. So, go ahead. Ask." He paused for a moment. "Limited time offer."
"Alright," she said. "You said I don't really know anything about you. What were the words you used? That I haven't 'scratched the surface'? So tell me something about yourself that no one else knows."
"I don't like Brussels sprouts."
She rolled her eyes. "Seriously. That's your Earth shattering secret?"
"Give me a little credit. I haven't really done this sharing secrets thing a whole lot," he told her. "And seriously, I don't like Brussels sprouts. Or carrot juice." He shuddered. "Began in my sixth life. I was a bit portly and a friend of mine was always after me to get in shape. Wanted me to ride an exercise bike… and drink carrot juice… and eat Brussels sprouts. Honestly can't even look at a Brussels sprout without turning green myself. Now your turn."
"My turn?"
"Yes, your turn. Tell me something that no one else knows. That's how it works, doesn't it?"
"But you already know everything about me," she protested.
"No, I don't. No one knows everything about anyone else. So tell me something I don't know. It's only fair."
She sighed. "Alright. Hmm. Well, I don't like Brussels sprouts either."
"Doesn't count. I don't believe there's anyone in the universe who likes Brussels sprouts."
She glanced at him. "Danny does."
The Doctor snorted. "He would."
"Your turn."
"Alright… I used to have a dog. A metal dog. Always beat me at chess. Personally, I think he cheated. Your turn."
"Okay, let me think…" she said slowly. "I know! I had a pet goldfish when I was six."
"Oh, yes, I remember that. You called it Goldie."
She stared at him incredulously. "How could you possibly know that?" she demanded.
"I'm the one who gave it to you."
"You were not!" she said. Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember. "Were you?"
He chuckled.
"Alright, your turn," she said.
"Um, I once lived with otters."
"That doesn't count," she said. "You told me that before."
"Did I? Oh, I suppose I did."
"For the record, I have never lived with otters."
"Just as well. Their breath smells of fish, and it gets a bit much after a month or so. Plus I'm not sure how you'd get on with them in the water with pointed shoes like the ones you are wearing right now. Now if you wore flippers…"
She laughed.
"Clara, you asked me a question before, whether or not I'd ever loved anyone before. It's a question I never really answered. But the answer was yes."
"I sort of figured that. I'm a little surprised you admitted it, but I assumed you did. After all, you were married. I assume you loved her."
"Who, River? My relationship with River was… complicated. And that is probably the understatement of the century. We were like oil and water. We fought like cats and dogs, rowed all the time. But she cared about me and I did grow to care about her deeply over our years together. But that's not who I was thinking about, because I thought you were asking about something else."
"I asked if you ever loved anyone…"
"No, you asked me if I had ever been in love. I've lived more than two millennia, Clara, and I've loved many, many people in my life. But I thought you meant had I ever fallen in love, totally, completely, head over heels and arse over teakettle. Because there's a difference."
"You're right," she said slowly. "There is a difference. So have you ever fallen in love, totally, completely, head over heels and arse over teakettle?"
"Yes," he answered. "Once."
"Who was she?" Clara asked curiously.
"Nobody," he answered. "She was nobody. To the world she was just an ordinary nineteen-year-old girl from a South London council estate. But she was… extraordinary. Incredible. Brilliant. Absolutely fantastic. And to me she was everything."
He closed his eyes. Clara, the TARDIS, his last few regenerations, even time itself fell away as he allowed memories long buried to rise to the surface.
"What was she like?" To him, Clara's voice seemed to come from a long distance, and for several long moments he didn't answer.
In his mind he saw her, tongue peeking out from between her teeth as she grinned at him, hair blowing in the breeze of a distant planet. He smelled the scent of applegrass as they lay on his overcoat. He heard her laugh ringing in his ears. He felt the warmth of her hand in his.
"She was blonde. Beautiful. Compassionate. Clever. Full of fun and the joy of life. Oh, we had such fun, hand in hand, exploring the universe together. Together we ran headlong into danger, and she loved it. She was always up for a challenge, always up for an adventure. When given insurmountable odds, she overcame them. When faced with the impossible, she did the impossible. And she loved me. And I loved her."
He opened his eyes. "It was love at first sight, though God knows why she loved me. Back then I was no prize. I was unstable, bitter. I was angry with the universe and angry with myself. I was broken… and she put the pieces back together."
"What happened to her?" Clara asked quietly.
"I lost her," he said. "Twice. Once accidentally, once intentionally. The second time, I left her somewhere with someone I believed would make her happy—happier than I could at any rate."
"You loved her enough to give her up," she said.
The Doctor didn't answer.
For several long minutes they sat together quietly, side by side on the stairs. Only the sound of their breathing and the ever-present hum of the TARDIS herself prevented the room from being completely silent.
"I'm sorry," Clara said eventually.
"Thank you," he answered. "But it was a very, very long time ago. Doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters," she said.
"Yes, it does," he whispered, so quietly that she almost didn't hear him. "Now," he continued at a normal volume, "that's enough of that. Sharing time is over. Time for you to go. Go find Danny boy. Go out and have fun. If you really love him, go be with him. Because it all ends sooner than you think it will, and you mustn't waste a single second."
She smiled. Impulsively she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. He stiffened and gritted his teeth.
"Not with the hugging. I've told you and told you, I'm not a hugger this time 'round."
"You say that as if you have a choice," she said, but she let him go. "Are you alright?"
"Of course I'm all right," he said. "I'll just jump forward a day and we'll go to the nebula tomorrow. Well, it'll be tomorrow for you. For me it will be in about five minutes. But tomorrow, trousers and sensible shoes. Waterproof. And come hungry."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know what you meant," he said. "Now remember, waterproof." He accompanied this with a shake of his finger.
She grinned. "I'll be ready."
"Make sure you are," he told her.
As he stood and walked to the console, she headed towards the door, but before she left she turned back to him.
"Doctor, what was her name?"
He looked up and met her eyes. "Rose," he said. "Her name was Rose."