Summary; As the Doctor is starting to regenerate, he remembers all that he has lost and visits Clara back in 1891 a year before she died. He is unable to find the original Clara or any other of her echoes. He supposes it would be fitting, regenerating in front of the first version of Clara he met face to face. At least he was dying staring up into the face of the woman he loved. One-shot.

1891, London, United Kingdom.

You said memories become stories when we forget them, maybe some of them become songs…

That is her voice he hears in his head, her sweet delicate voice that has always calmed him.

The Doctor stepped out of his TARDIS, touching the seam of his velvet coat, his hearts pounding in his ears. The Time Lord brushed the snow from his shoulder, his body running cold at the sudden change in temperature. It was cold, colder than inside of the TARDIS. And there was snow. He pursed his pale lips, no hint of a smile on his features. This was no time for smiling, no time for happiness. He was confused and angry and feeling so many emotions at once he couldn't quite hack it. He's alright, he knows he is. It doesn't feel like he is dying, it doesn't feel like he is on his last regeneration, it just feels like he's going to sleep for a while and he will wake up in a new body.

He has no companion to protect.

But this time, none of that will happen. This time, he will die. This time, the Doctor will return to Trenzalore and be struck down by each of his enemies. He is a legend, willing to die now that he remembers. The Time Lord remembers her, the sound of her voice, the way she smiled and it sets a dull ache in both of his hearts. Run. That was what she would do, she would run miles and miles and she would never use a gun. Like he had used a gun when protecting her from the Time Lords, he was no longer brave. His fear made him lose his bravery; she made him lose his bravery.

He had landed on Earth, United Kingdom, London in the year 1891. He remembers her name, remembers her sweet smile that curved half way up her face and completed a dimple on her left cheek. Clara. Clara Oswin Oswald, was her name. He remembers the sound of her laughter, light and deep all at once, beautiful and simple, music to his ears. And he had heard a lot of music in his time. He smiles at her portraits in his TARDIS, unable to let go now that he remembered her. The Time Lord searched and searched, his lover lost in time and space. Tell her that you're in love with her, that you always have been. Bennett's words replayed in the Doctor's head, his boots covered in the snow beneath him as he stepped through the thick snow, the air smelt of cider and urine, a pub just down the street that was lit with a single outdoor light. Tell her there's no point in wasting time, because things happen and it's too late.

Of course he wasn't going to tell her.

This wasn't the right Clara

This wasn't Clara Oswald, this wasn't the woman he had fallen so very deeply in love with.

But there she was, standing in front of him, hands on her hips as she spoke rather loudly to her manager. The Doctor remembers her, their first meeting in his other face, the first version of Clara he met face to face. She's wearing a red dress, the brown strands of her hair cascading down her shoulders. She's hypnotic, she is his addiction. She was somebody else, but she didn't know it and the Doctor would not tell her either. Clara Oswin Oswald had a year to wait before her death on Christmas Day, before the Doctor allowed her to be murdered. It was his fault, it was always his fault. It took over him, took over his whole body and ate him up inside to watch her smile and laugh, although it's a different laugh, it isn't her laugh.

The Doctor stepped forward, his blue eyes tearing up with the frustration of his emotions. He finds himself almost reaching out for her, his hand twitching. He can feel the presence of his TARDIS behind him, edging him on. He has to do this, this is his only chance to see her face one more time. He panics and almost turns to run, but she turns and smiles at him, really smiles at him, like she knows him. Like she is Clara. Her brown eyes are so full of life and he coughs, trying to breathe again as he loses it and immediately her face contorts into one of concern, her arms automatically reaching out in case he trips forward. He doesn't.

'Clara, I never thought I'd see you again…' he mutters, tears staining his cheeks but he's smiling and stumbling towards her, hands on his chest, right over his hearts.

'And who are you, darlin'?' she responds and even though she doesn't know him yet, she looks happy to see him. Maybe that was why her curiosity for him killed her in the first place, maybe she recognised the look in his eyes; the look of an old man who had seen billions of years on Earth. Maybe when she met his last face, she knew him already but couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Something else that was again, the Doctor's fault.

Clara smiles at him, it reaches her eyes, just about, 'I ain't seen you round here before…'

And with one last fleeting smile and ache of his hearts, the Doctor collapses onto the ground and Clara is immediately at his side, screaming for help. He's watching her, a smile on his face. His Clara, always his Clara. He can feel her hands over his chest, confused by the regeneration energy oozing from his body.

And then he regenerates.