Out of all of the creatures under the sun, there were only two which the Doctor doubted he would ever meet. After an endless number of phone calls and attempts to attract their attention, he lost his hope to ever again meet the face he once saw in the diner.

But there she was, standing in the doorway with a combination of terror and relief in her eyes. If the situation was different, they would never have allowed this to happen – that's what he was sure of. But fate was a strange thing and forced people to do things they would never voluntarily agree to.

He was in the middle of his late night guitar session when a distress signal appeared on the monitors. The message was short but inviting and contained a set coordinates for which he waited for so long. He had no trouble identifying who the sender was. After all, there were only two options when it came to a message generated by the TARDIS communicator, and he knew instantly that it wasn't Missy who was disturbing him.

The numbers led him to a town in Brittany, France. He landed the TARDIS in the middle of something that resembled a main square. Tall townhouses with colourful shutters and flowers on window sills embosomed protectively a bronze statue of some local hero. The wind tasted like year Friday, May 11, 1984, 1:15 am, to be exact. A delicate fragrance of grass and flowers filled the air with sense of youth and new chances. Now he only needed to find the La Féline pub.

The pub turned out to be an easy spot to find, located on the adjacent street to the main square alley. It was still open. A huge, gleaming neon sign above the entrance was an attraction for moths, which were fruitlessly trying to get closer to the source of light. He pulled a heavy glass door and entered the pub. The interior didn't match the architecture of the town at all.

Dark wooden panels covered the floor and most of the walls. Furnishing had seen better days and consisted mainly of few round tables and red leather chairs. Inside, there were maybe ten people, including the crew. One person was passionately playing darts in the corner, but most of the guests seemed to have enough for tonight, silently begging to go home and get some rest in their clunky movements.

And then he noticed her, sitting by a wooden bar table with a drink in her hand. It was Ashildr. He looked around, but apparently the other woman decided not to keep them company tonight.

"So how did you do that? How did you defeat them, Doctor?" He heard her asking for the third time in last five minutes.

He hadn't deluded himself even for a second that the reason for their meeting might be any different, but it was still hard, listening to her speak to him when she was so crisply and coldly. After all, he was the one who lost most in that battle. He let them incarnate and torture him for her and never asked for anything in return. And now, when the only thing he wanted from her was an honest conversation, he was brutally denied. He didn't blame her for cutting him loose; he knew deep down that he would do exactly the same. But still, he couldn't forgive her that she didn't even find a courage to face him. Instead, she sent that ignoramus to speak in her name.

Some manners would do you good, young lady, was on tip of his tongue but he never spoke the words.

"There's that story – a rumour, to be exact, that you once encountered them. It's very important. How did you make it alive?" she kept asking him tenaciously.

He didn't answer her, nor did he bother looking at her. His attention was focused entirely on a straw inside his drink. He kept moving it in and out of the fluid in total silence. The situation in which Clara found herself was an unlucky one. Time Lords were unable to reach her in any conventional way, so they sent a herd of alien, mind-sensing spirits. However, their mission wasn't to retrieve her, but to leave a bloody page in the history of every place Clara visited. Every time Clara left her TARDIS, her mind was immediately sensed by the hunter, which then ravaged and burned everything to embers. He wasn't surprised by their vicious choice at all. They knew that if she was anything like him, the death of innocents would overwhelm her and eventually take her back to Gallifrey.

"It's not a rumour and I haven't just seen it once, but twice." He finally told her with a smirk on his face. "It's feasible. One must just know how."

Since the problem was serious, he was willing to tell her everything he knew anyway. But the entire situation was also a great and maybe the only opportunity in the near future to finally meet Clara and find out what made him choose in the way he did, four billion times in row. Now he just needed to convince Cerberus, who kept him away from her, that the best option they had is to collaborate.

"But the problem is, Ashildr, I'm not going to tell you. So either you'll experience for yourself, or let me show you how."

"You won't see her. I will never let that happen." She told him, but it was quite obvious in her voice that she was doubting her own words, too. "It's not just me. She says so, too. You know why she's not here?" She continued, "The two of you made a choice and she's trying to follow through. You should do the same."

He realised that further conversation is useless for now. It likely wasn't even up to Ashildr to make decisions like that.

After all, it was about him and the girl from the diner, and it was ultimately Clara who could give him a green light. The better idea was to call it a night and give the women some time to think about his proposition.

"Good luck with your little alien friend, then."

He was about to pick himself up and leave when her tiny hand grabbed his wrist.

"Maybe there's something I can do about it."