I'm writing this because I'm bummed out and my ankle is injured. I've had this idea for about a week after watching The Hunt for Red October. This story, one-shot rather, takes place after the episode "Cold War." I don't know when exactly, or how it exactly fits; the timing is a bit wibbly-wobbly, but you have a good imagination and can put this anywhere you desire. Thanks! And enjoy!
~~…~~
They landed at the South Pole, ahead of schedule. The Doctor's sonic screwdriver had absolutely nothing to do with that. Clara and the Doctor had shared a tiny room together. It felt more like a closet, and more like a prison cell at night with all the lights off. The Doctor didn't seem to mind the close quarters. Or, at least, he hid it well. Clara often found him in the control room, which had slightly higher ceilings and many gadgets and gizmos to satisfy his need to fiddle. In Clara's opinion, the tight quarters were starting to agitate the Doctor. He always looked more concerned than normal, cranky, and jumpy. Clara hadn't known the Doctor all that long, so she withdrew slightly from his presence. She spent most of her time in their room, doodling, napping, thinking. Thinking always caused her the most trouble. Napping the second most troubling. Doodling served as her gateway into napping and thinking.
Her innocent doodles of fish and lopsided mermaids led to terrifying thoughts. All of her mermaids' hands resembled those of Skaldak's that gripped her head so menacingly. As soon as she realized this, she threw her paper on the floor, gripped with fear. She talked herself down from the ledge each time it happened. But then, each time she closed her eyes for a quick nap, she would see the marred and bloodied limbs of the crewmen who Skaldak dismembered. Her eyes would snap open. Sleep didn't come to Clara the duration of the trek to the South Pole.
Clara wondered if the Doctor noticed her change in behavior like she noticed his. If he did, he didn't say or do anything about it. Even at night, he still remained in the control room. Clara wondered if he ever slept. Based on the last few days, she hypothesized that he didn't need it or didn't want it. And so she went on, without much sleep, with a slim grip of reality due to her exhaustion. Normally, she joined the Doctor in the control room. But she found it difficult to stand up and focus and process and speak and make decisions. And so, she remained in her tiny room. Without much else to do, she lay on her back on her bed, looking up at the ceiling a few feet above her. And then to the walls to her sides. So close, so confining. They never expanded, always getting closer, day after day, night after night. When she turned the lights out at night, the walls seemed to shrink and in the morning seemed closer than the day before. Clara felt like she was suffocating most of the time. She had nowhere to go, nothing to do, she couldn't see, she had no windows. She so desperately wanted fresh air and feel a breeze and see the sky, not metal pipes and plating above her head. So close to her head. She never thought she'd say this, but she wanted to be back in the TARDIS, with its expansive, infinite interior. The walls ever reaching and never seeming to squash her.
One morning, the morning of their arrival to the South Pole, Clara nearly snapped. She awoke and felt the walls to be merely inches from her face and body. She jumped out of bed, hair a mess and dress all wrinkled. "Doctor!" she called frantically through the corridors that caved in on her. "Doctor!" she called again and again.
A timid young crewmember stuck his head out of a door way. "He's in the control room, ma'am," he offered hesitantly.
Clara smiled at him, he blushed, "Thank you, mister!" and she raced up towards the gadget and gizmo room.
She burst through the door, nearly tripping on the ledge. Her entrance caught the attention of the men in the room. They all looked up from their monitors or papers simultaneously, offered her various greetings and returned to work.
"Where's the Doctor?" she asked one of the map-readers quickly.
"He went into the Captain's quarters a few minutes ago," he answered kindly, noticing Clara's distressed look.
"Do you know when he'll be back?"
"Clara! Good to see you awake!" the Doctor greeted her, not seeing how upset she was. "Wonderful news, we've almost found the TARDIS. Right where she said she would be. Got to love old reliable."
"Right. Yes. Reliable, she is," Clara quipped.
"No need to be snarky, Clara," the Doctor stood before Clara, looking down into her brown eyes. "She is reliable. When she needs to be."
Clara looked up at the Doctor, trying to look defiant, "Fine. When are we getting there?"
The Doctor pulled up the sleeve of his purple coat to reveal his watch. He looked at his watch, feigned the task of mental math, and said, "In approximately three minutes."
Clara wanted to weep for joy! She was almost out of this tin can! She would see the sky again, feel the breeze again, not have walls on every side of her. Sweet, sweet relief and freedom.
"No need to look so relieved, Clara," the Doctor chided mockingly, "think about how much the crew will miss you're… ehm, beautiful face every morning."
Clara punched him in the shoulder, smiling. He smiled back. "Good. You all packed? Right, nothing to pack, good."
"Doctor," the captain called.
And like that, the Doctor got enthralled in a conversation with the captain of the submarine. During Clara's short conversation with the Doctor, she felt safe from the enclosing walls. She wondered briefly why that was, attributing it to familiarity and warmth that brought her comfort from the Doctor. Again, she felt the walls closing in, but at the same time, a change in pressure as the submarine rose to the surface.
Instead of water being on top of Clara's head, the ceiling, and the submarine, the sky finally touched the submarine's surface. So close! Clara thought.
"Clara! The TARDIS is waiting," the Doctor called.
Clara hurried to his side. The good-byes went by in haze of head nods, hand shakes, and hugs. Finally, the Doctor and Clara could ascend the ladder to open skies with no confines and no walls.
"Ladies first," the Doctor offered his hand toward the ladder.
"Nope, I'm in a dress. I don't trust your wandering eyes," she looked at him cheekily. "You go first."
"And you think I trust you?" the Doctor leaned toward her, small smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"Yes."
The Doctor sighed, "Alright if you insist."
Clara followed the Doctor up the ladder. The Doctor paused halfway up the ladder, Clara nearly pulling his foot of the rung. He looked down at her with an indiscernible look of concern, shock, and horror. Clara looked at him quizzically. Just as quickly as it happened, the moment ended and the Doctor climbed the ladder with an extra bit of tension in this purple clad shoulders. Clara, concerned by the moment, focused again on the task at hand: climb the ladder without falling, getting to the sky and light.
The Doctor opened the hatch and bright light poured into the artificially lit tunnel. Clara came at the Doctor's coat tails to see the sky and feel the air. The air of course was frigid but at least it had no point of origin and lasted for miles and miles. The sky stretched above and before them for miles and miles. Clara smiled for real for the first time in several days.
"Ah, there she is." The Doctor pointed in the stark white landscape to a spot of bright blue only a few hundred feet from their current position.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Clara asked, a new glint in her eyes that the Doctor hadn't seen before. He couldn't decide what it was. It was either madness, joy, or excitement.
"I'll lead the way this time, no questions asked." The Doctor winked and hopped down to the icy ground beneath them. He offered a hand to Clara who seemed to float down to the earth beneath her.
When she landed, her face was full of pure bliss. She continued to hold the Doctor's hand, smiling a joyous smile at him and all around. He watched her curiously, but carefully. He did notice that something had changed in Clara, but he did not know what. Soon enough, he would figure it out, he always does.
Clara tugged on his hand, pulling him from his thoughts and towards the waiting TARDIS. They both turned to wave at the captain and his first mate who stood out of the top of the submarine. The submarine submerged as the duo sauntered across the frozen, frigid landscape. Both squinted against the white reflecting the sun. The Doctor didn't mind, though the landscape did remind him of the planet of the Oods. He shivered at the thought and memory, not from the cold.
Clara relished in the open space everywhere. The openness engulfed her. Her heart finally swelled with joy instead of fear and dread. She thought all her fears with the enclosed spaces were gone forever. She felt like nothing could make her feel that small again.
And then she came to the TARDIS doors.
The Doctor unlocked the paradoxical blue box and entered with a flourish, assuming Clara would follow. He skipped to the console and caressed nearly every button, lever, and knob. "Oh, how I missed you, beautiful," he murmured as he gazed at the center tube running through the console. He turned to speak to Clara, thinking she was behind him. His brow furrowed in confusion when he didn't see the short brunette. Then his eyes widened as he thought that the worst had happened to his Impossible Girl.
"Clara!" he yelled. He raced out the TARDIS doors, immediately seeing Clara. His two hearts seized with worry at the sight before him. Clara sat in the snow, on hands and knees, away from the TARDIS. She was shaking.
"Clara," the Doctor addressed more cautiously.
Clara let out a shaky breath, focused on the snow in front of her face. The Doctor knelt beside her, resting a hand on her small and slumped shoulders. He gently moved her hair behind her ear so he could see her clearly. Clara was pale, with tears dripping onto the snow, lips trembling.
"Clara, are you alright? What's wrong?" the Doctor asked patiently, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.
A few seconds passed before Clara responded. "I can't go in there," she said in a quiet, shaky voice. Her eyes still plastered to the snow before her.
"You have to," the Doctor answered patiently and quietly.
"I can't go in there!" Clara met the Doctor's eyes. The Doctor's hearts broke. His dear Clara's eyes were dilated, filled with fear, and tears slid down her usually cheery face. Clara saw pity in the Doctor's eyes, maybe a bit of concern but mostly pity. She turned here face away and let out a choked sob.
"Why?" he asked simply. No criticism, no impatience, no anger. Just a simple question.
"It's a box. With walls. So many walls," she answered, shamefully.
"Well, most boxes are made of walls," the Doctor offered, smiling.
Clara attempted to laugh at that, but only managed a smirk like grimace. The Doctor watched her carefully, assessing everything about her, trying to narrow down what was inhibiting Clara from entering the TARDIS. Then it dawned on him.
"Oh," the Doctor shifted closer to Clara, "you're claustrophobic." He only whispered it in Clara's ear, as though if he said that loudly, it would somehow definitely be true. By whispering, it could be undone.
Clara nodded, closing here eyes and turning away from the Doctor's steady and calm gaze. She felt so ashamed for developing this over their last adventure. This really could inhibit the future adventures they'd have and anything else that might entail close quarters.
"I am so sorry, Doctor," Clara finally said, still not looking at the Doctor, for fear of what she might see.
"Clara," the Doctor caressed her face in both his hands, turning her face towards his. Now she was forced to look into his timeless eyes. She feared she would see anger, rejection, hatred, and disgust. When she finally did look into his eyes, she saw what could be categorized as love. If you squinted. Also there was concern and worry. "Don't apologize. I'll fix this, we'll fix this."
"How?" Clara barely whispered.
"First," the Doctor stood, offering her his hand, "stand up."
He smiled reassuringly as Clara looked from his eyes to his extended hand. She took it and was pulled to her feet. The Doctor smiled and kissed her on the top of the head. "Good. Now, let's walk towards the TARDIS." Clara nodded, still holding the Doctor's hand.
The Doctor walked slowly with Clara, holding her hand and guiding her. When they got within ten feet of the TARDIS, Clara froze. She squeezed the Doctor's hand and tried to back up. He stood behind her, an impenetrable wall. She looked up at him like a deer in headlights. "It's alright, Clara, one step at a time."
Clara took a small step forward, staring at the blue box. "Good, Clara, good. Keep going," the Doctor encouraged. They continued on in this fashion, very small steps few and far between. Clara continued on only because the Doctor supported her and led her. He didn't let go and he sounded so hopeful and confident about Clara's progress that she had to keep going; if not for herself, than at least for the Doctor.
Within five feet of the TARDIS door, Clara stood petrified. Over the course of the journey, the Doctor noted how pale and terrified Clara became. They came into the position where Clara's back was entirely pressed up against the Doctor's chest. He gripped her waist as she gripped his arms, white knuckled. He wished she was her normal Clara self, so she could make fun of their current position and say some snarky comment. He wanted Clara back to normal. This current state she was in, was so far from normal, the Doctor wondered if she'd ever make it back to normal. He had to hope she would.
Now they were stopped in front of the TARDIS' blue doors. They were so close they could feel the welcome warmth issuing out of the interior. The TARDIS may not like Clara that much, but she must have assessed the situation to be a little bit more friendly and accommodating, just this once, for Clara.
"Come on, Clara, we're so close," the Doctor whispered into her ear.
She shook her head, pressing harder into the Doctor's chest. "I can't."
"Yes you can, I believe in you," the Doctor encouraged. "Please. Just one step."
After a moment of contemplation, Clara shifted her feet a mere inches towards the open blue doors. The Doctor quickly shifted with her, so she couldn't back up. "So good, Clara, keep going," he murmured into her ear, nuzzling her head. Mostly because his nose was cold. But it could be taken as comfort, which is truly what he intended.
"Can I stand on your feet?" Clara asked suddenly, quietly. "I can't do this by myself anymore." A small shaky sob interrupted the last part.
"Of course, you've done so well, Clara, I'm so proud of you." The Doctor kissed her head again, and maneuvered his boot-clad feet under Clara's.
"Ready?"
"No, but do it anyways." Clara tried to smile through the fear.
The Doctor took a normal step of his normal stride towards the TARDIS. He immediately felt Clara tense against him and shift uncomfortably. He glanced down and saw that her eyes were pinched closed and her lips were pursed. Despite the cold, a sheen of sweat smudged her features.
"Almost there." The Doctor almost hated having to do the work, knowing it caused pain to Clara. He preferred it to have Clara do all the work. But she already did so much and made so much progress, providing the last few steps was the least he could do.
Clara saw nothing, heard nothing, and thought nothing as the Doctor walked them to the TARDIS. She focused solely on not passing out and not throwing up. Both she really wanted to do. Her body had so much tension and anxiety in it she thought she might burst, or do the two things mentioned previously. She was oblivious to the steps the Doctor took. She was very perceptive to the change in temperature as they crossed the threshold into the TARDIS.
"You made it, Clara," the Doctor said, relieved. "Good job, sweat heart."
Again he kissed the top of Clara's head. She made no response and no effort to get off his feet. She still had his arms in a death grip. Worry overcame the Doctor. Clara stood petrified against the Time Lord. Speaking seemed to do little, so the Doctor wiggled, shimmied, and shifted to get out of Clara's terrified trap.
The Doctor, after a few minutes of struggling, managed to break free, but still held Clara's cold hands. He closed the TARDIS' doors and pulled Clara slowly towards the console. He examined Clara with desperation apparent in his features. "Clara, Clara please look at me." He held her hands in one hand and with the other he smoothed her hair out of her sweaty face. He gently grasped her chin to make her face him. Her eyes fluttered imperceptibly, and the Doctor hid the desperation and put joy back in his eyes. Clara cracked her eyes and met the Doctor's.
The Doctor smiled, "Hello."
Clara blinked, said hello back, and proceeded to faint. The Doctor caught her, of course. He picked her up bridal style and carried her to her room. A single tear of his own slid down his face. He truly was heart broken at Clara's condition. It was his fault. Skaldak, the submarine, the HADS with the TARDIS. All his fault. If only he had been more keen to her needs. He knew something was wrong with this Clara. Why had he never pursued his instinct? He let her get this far, he left her alone to deal with this. He abandoned her. He was sure Clara would never agree with this, making some statement that she was fine and perfectly capable and that he had more important things to do than watch out for a girl. If she only knew that she isn't just a girl. She's my impossible girl, the Doctor thought.
The Doctor turned down a familiar hallway and entered the second door on the right. Clara's room. He gently lay Clara down under the covers, the TARDIS kindly getting the room ready for bedtime. He pulled the soft yellow blankets over Clara's pale, small, relaxed frame. Her jaw was still clenched, along with her fists but other than that, she was relaxed. The Doctor kissed her head and stroked her hair for a few minutes, attempting to bring further comfort to his companion.
"Sleep well, dear Clara," the Doctor gently patted her hand and quietly exited the dimly lit room.