The sound of the Tardis rang the next Wednesday again, but this time it was out in the yard. The Doctor hadn't done that in ages. Clara grabbed her things and made a quick dash down the many flights of stairs, across the lawn, and pushed open the little blue door.
"What'd you park way out here for? You're making me short of breath before we've even started," she said as she entered toward the console.
"Did I park further away?" came the reply somewhere out of sight, but that voice! It wasn't the one she expected. Up the stairway from underneath the console came the chin, floppy hair, and the ridiculous but beloved bowtie. It was the old Doctor. The young man who first showed up on her doorstep in monk robes and led her to the most impossible life she could have imagined. "I didn't think it was too far," he said in the old English voice. "Oh," he stopped, looking at the monitor, "I am a few feet further than normal. I didn't know that made much of a difference for you, but I will park closer next time. Hey! I could park right there in your flat! You'd barely have to take a step. All I'd need is some space, maybe in your lou—" The Doctor stopped, seeing her face. "What's wrong?"
Clara stood on the opposite side staring at the young face. She hadn't known this incarnation of the Doctor for very long, but he had easily become her best friend. The Doctor was still with her, picking her up every Wednesday, interrupting her classes unexpectedly, and never failing to prove he was still the same man. But it was difficult to always believe it. There had already been more than enough occasions where his secretive and often brash personality gave the impression of complete disregard for her, the most significant being the first day with the clockwork men. She came to just expect his plot twist tendencies and trust in her friend, despite all counteracting evidence. But to see him, the man she knew he was on the inside standing there before her—what relief! There was no reading in between the lines, no standoffish behavior, just pure honest love and kindness in every look and every touch. The thought was overwhelming.
"Doctor—" was all Clara managed to say before rushing at him to get a long-deserved hug. Despite catching him off-guard, he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace, one she had still not ever received from the other man. When the Doctor tried to pull away after a few seconds, Clara held tighter around his neck, tears pricking her eyes. "Oh no, you don't! I've gone far too long without a hug. You owe me this!"
The Doctor began slowly, "How long have I been away?"
Clara paused a moment in a debate of what she should say, but emotions overruled logic as she replied, "You haven't been away. You changed."
The Doctor immediately pushed her away, his eyes widening. "Clara, you're from the future? You can't tell me things like that! I can't—!"
"Oh, get off! Use a memory worm or something. I know you've got one around here somewhere. I just—I need—"
The Doctor took her back in arms again, rubbing his hand quickly over her shoulder. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry." He heaved a sigh, his eyes wide in confusion. "What's happened?"
Clara stepped back, "You changed. You changed! I know you're still you, but I miss your face; this face. The future you, he's—he doesn't hug, he insults me, he's rude. And he left me! Doctor, you left me! In danger! You asked me to help him, and I am, but I feel I'm traveling with someone else, not the Doctor." Clara turned and leaned on the console, burying her face in her hands. "I miss you."
The Doctor stepped away and began circling around the center of the ship, slowly fiddling with the dozens of buttons and switches of the console. He kept his eyes on Clara though. He didn't understand much of anything that was going on with his impossible girl at the moment, but if he gained anything from experience, he knew regenerations were always hard on his companions. However, he also didn't understand how he could undergo another change. Though there were forgotten faces and only partial regenerations, he had still run out of the times he could change. This was the end of the line, or at least it was supposed to be. Clara had somehow endured the complete remake of the Doctor, same as companions before, but despite his impression that she had already traveled for some time with the new incarnation, full acceptance was still a problem. So forget about forbidden knowledge of the future. His friend was in pain, and though unintentional and indirect, it was his fault and therefore his job to help.
"Right then," he said, striking the last key, "Here go."
The Tardis engine swelled as the lights and plates of Gallifreyan writing rotated. The familiar sound paired with the old face brought Clara a sense of peace in the midst of the emotion. It was nostalgic and comforting, like a reminiscent dream. The loud wheeze soon died down, signaling the ship's landing. The Doctor jumped from his place at the controls and dashed out the doors, his fine purple coat flailing behind. The doors left open, Clara could see a bright afternoon light shining in, accompanied by the sound of distant voices and streetcars. Stepping out, Clara found herself in the middle of London just next to the steps of Saint Paul's Cathedral. The Doctor stood at a distance facing the Tardis with his hands clapped at his chest. He wasn't necessarily smiling, but there was a twinkle in his eyes, letting Clara know he had a plan.
"Come on!" he said. Feeling lightened already, Clara jumped from the Tardis and joined the Doctor. As the two began down the street, he decided to speak up. "So what am I like—in the future?"
"Well, you're older."
"Oh, great!" exclaimed the Doctor, a scowl coming over his face. "I've been old far too many times! Why can't I just be young?"
"Well, but you're not young," Clara pointed out.
"Yeah, but I can still look it." They went quiet for a moment as they entered the main floor of a complex building before the Doctor added, "Grey and lines?"
Clara laughed, remembering his same horror on their phone call shortly after the regeneration. "Y'know, I think I even see more of them each time I see you," she teased as he rolled his eyes. "But they're not so bad. The eyebrows do give your chin a run for its money, but… I don't know, I feel I see the you underneath it all more often with the new face. There's no hiding under pretences and stuff."
The pair entered a lift, and the Doctor hit the second to top floor. "So what's the problem then?"
Clara sighed. What was the problem exactly? She missed the young face and the joy and comfort it gave her with every look. Knowing the Doctor in the future, however, she seemed to be able to read him through and through. That's a huge part of growing a close friendship. But seeing behind the veil, no more pretending… the lighthearted innocence from before no longer existed. Instead, it was replaced with the weight and pain she now saw he carried with every look; the pain of what was, what is, and what is still to come.
The bell rang, and the doors opened. She turned to the Doctor, "I know the burdens you carry. I see the old man be completely real with me every day and I miss the lighthearted spirit you used to have. Your young face, dashing about, and childish games. But is this—are you—just a facade? Is there never anything really there behind the curtain? Am I now just seeing the Doctor for who he really is?"
The Doctor heaved a sigh before stepping from the lift with Clara following behind.