bull's eyes and targets (eleven/clara)
.
Run
you
clever
boy
and
remember me.
Remember. Me.
He should forget her because when had he ever, ever done what he was told? But he couldn't, not her. The impossible girl, the girl he gave up retirement for. Clara Oswin Oswald with her brain and her wit and her frenzied giggle. The girl he has to solve.
He's not sure if he ought to run to her or from her, so he does the next best thing and spins in circles around her, mostly.
Nah, running from her wasn't an option, actually. Watching as she skipped around the console, peering at every knob and every lever until she was cross-eyed and frizzy-haired with the static electricity he should really work on getting rid of, he admits he's been lying even to himself.
He'd fallen like he always did and he wanted to keep her.
They were perfect, weren't they? Almost everyone kept saying that. He might as well have put in a personal: non-existant madman searching for genius impossibility. That was how perfect they were. Similar in all the most thrilling ways and different in all the best: she was hard where he was soft and soft where he was hard and all brown-eyed and long-haired and heart-shaped and graceful.
On Ampersand, upside down in an airlock and hanging from his ankle, the both of them, he'd felt the air leave her lungs before his last breath was sucked from his. He'd used his, once again, to say I'm sorry. When she'd facilitated their escape she'd dusted off her hands and laughed at him and said, "Those were terrible last words".
He had run every test he could think of and some he couldn't and she was human, and so alive. He keeps thinking, when she kisses him, that he can taste that spark in her.
She had changed so much; his entire life, and still she put one boot on before the other and made faces when she swiped on eyeliner in the mornings, just like the rest of them.
At the first anti-grav Olympics, he's all but sitting in her lap, because strictly speaking they shouldn't be here and space is an actual issue. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head against his side, and the warm air swirls the smell of her deodorant around and it hits him that she fought/will fight the Daleks and won/will win.
He's seen so, so very many things, but nothing quite like her.
He'd run, and he'd remember.