"When did you start believing in impossible heroes?"
The question resonated in her head and she started to think,
When did Clara Oswald start believing in impossible heroes?
Of course, her first conclusion is that it must have been her first trip to space, her first proper trip, when the Doctor had flung open the TARDIS doors and allowed her to take in the sight before her; to watch nebulae spiral and spin into life, and to watch as the darkness of never ending nothingness comes to life with a spark, and storm clouds of reds and yellows appear across the air in an explosion of creation. As new worlds form and old worlds die. When the first page of a book is written, a new story of a new life, a new species, begins, while another sentence is ended with a full stop, another chapter ends, and another book is closed. What she saw before her was the stuff of legends, a world where mythical creatures existed, in which Humanity lived in peace and in harmony with the Universe around it. As each spiral flared, Clara felt the blood racing round her body. It was as if the sky had become a canvas, and someone had painted it with perfect tones of every colour needed, and had added life and love, death and heartbreak. As though someone could recreate every emotion she was capable of feeling through the tip of a brush. The purples richer than the silk cloths of emperors, the red's burning brighter than the hottest fires. Blues and pinks and yellows swam through a sea of crimson, diving and resurfacing in the most enchanting of patterns. Each individual star seemed to sparkle brighter than the one next to it, as if competing for attention in the ever expanding horizon. The magic was the work of an Artisan. She was frozen in time, unable to take her gaze off the sight before her. Cold, deep, breaths echoed in the TARDIS and the Doctor, her Doctor, had stood behind her await her approval. That had to be the moment she had started believing in impossible heroes.
But it wasn't. Even if Clara believed that was the moment she started believing in such a thing, it wasn't. The cliché, romantic moment had, of course, touched her heart and changed the way she viewed everything, even herself. No, she started believing in impossible heroes long after that. When the man she knew and loved left her forever, when her Doctor left her, she began to believe. Because the new man, the grey-haired shouty old Scotsman who had replaced the young, caring and protective Time Lord she loved was still the same man. He still loved her; he still protected her and showed her wonders. He still saved Universes with her on his heels, but it a new way. In essence, he was still the same man, but with a new face.
And so she laughed at the question. How ridiculous of him to even ask when she started believing in impossible heroes. But she knew that he didn't know. The Doctor didn't think of himself as impossible, and he certainly didn't think of himself as a hero. Clara knew he was both, and deep down in her heart, she knew that she always would. She never replied, and not just because of her pride (and the Doctor's ego), but because she knew that what she said would change things. The Doctor would worry about her so much more. If he knew that he was her hero, he knew what that entailed. That she would risk her life to protect his in a heartbeat, and there was no way that he would let her do that. But still, even though she had sworn herself to silence as to an answer for the question, she thought of it often. Her immediate conclusions often changed, but she always settled on the last thought that entered her mind, that she started believing in impossible heroes when the man she loved became one.
The Doctor caught Clara off guard, smiling away into the distance as she had taken to recently. He didn't mind it; he liked seeing his companion, his friend, in such a happy state of mind. But at the same time, it filled him with bewilderment and curiosity. This version of him didn't seem to recall or understand how Human's emotions worked. However, each time he asked what was wrong with her, she would shake her head, look away, and seem somehow distant from him. So, as much as the Doctor wanted to ask about what she was thinking about, he didn't want his companion to hide away in herself again – something else she had taken to recently (although, he put this down to primarily still grieving over PE).
"So…" He began, his thick Scottish accent quickly bringing Clara out of her trance. He saw her expression change in a moment's notice, as if she was thinking of something that was far happier than where she was now. It made him feel guilty. Perhaps she wanted to be at home grieving with her family. They were far more emotionally aware of what to do, how to help her, and he could only distract her. But the Doctor was selfish, and he wanted Clara all to himself. So he pushed aside his guilt, deciding to deal with that later, and continued.
"Where shall we go today? I was thinking a picnic on the Lost Moon of Poosh." He suggested, seeing that Clara's expression took a change for the worse. Only momentarily did she let it slide that a picnic really wasn't what she wanted, but it was long enough for the Doctor to notice. "Or, we could go somewhere more exciting." The Doctor mused aloud, a hopeful smile growing on his face as he watched Clara. For the first time in their conversation, he saw a proper smile on her face, one that said adventure was the cure for whatever was upsetting her. Needing no more of an instruction, the Doctor starting pulling levers, pressing buttons, and hitting his hand hard against the console to try and make something work.
"Go to your room, there are some clothes there that'll be perfect. Just get changed, don't think about where they're from. It's a surprise, cheer you up a bit… Although, Human's tend to do the cheering up with flowers and chocolates, maybe I should invest in some flowers; brighten up the console room a bit. There's plenty of chocolates, but if I were you, I'd lay off the chocolates for a while."
Clara felt a small laugh escape her lips. Even at this time, during everything that she was going through, she couldn't help but smile at his insensitive words. They were normal, and meant so much more to her than the "I'm sorry for your loss" she had been hearing for the past few weeks. It was like a record stuck on repeat and she couldn't stand it anymore. With a nod and a fidget from her fingers, which had nicely and neatly kept her arms in place, folded across her hips, she walked away. With a final glance to his companion, the Doctor pulled down a leaver and felt the machine whirring into action. Each breath ran down his fingertips and he couldn't help but smile, looking up as everything around him started to move and burst into life as the machine took them exactly where they needed to go, though not always in the way that was most appropriate.
With a judder, the Doctor knew something was wrong. But before he had time to panic, everything seemed to go wrong at once.
