Chapter 3 (The Doctor)

About twenty years, that's all he could say. He had decided to stop counting after a while. Tried not to pay attention to the precise number of years, months, days, hours that had actually elapsed since she disappeared. Since he lost her. It was easier to pinpoint the exact number of years he had been looking for her, away from the Earth's slow magnetic pull, yet he was not quite ready to say that figure out loud, least of all to himself. It was slightly embarrassing. That being said, facing the stark reality of the time that had been erased from her life was even harder. It was a tiny number of years for him – it just wasn't a tiny number for her. Even if he were to find her, right now, how many years would she have left? For all his assurance that she'd never look any different to him, there was one thing he couldn't look past: the cruel passing of time, and her maddeningly short human life span.

Sure, there was still the possibility that, wherever she was, she wasn't synched to her home planet time dimension. So perhaps she hadn't aged twenty something years, but less... Or, worryingly, more. What if he were to lose her simply to the end of the course of her own life? What if he were to find her only to lose her again? He didn't know what was worse: getting her back for a horrifyingly tiny amount of time before losing her forever or accepting the fact that she was gone. And move on.

But there was no moving on for him. Not until he knew for sure.

He had recently started retracing their steps, once more. Visiting all the places he had been with her in the hope that he might get a clue of her whereabouts. The first time he had done it, he had been struck by the puny number of locations they had been to. How insignificant, when he had planned to show her everything there was to see in the universe. Take her everywhere. But the fact of the matter was, they hadn't had the time. They'd never get the time, now. And never would have gotten the time anyway. Still, he could have done better, he thought. He could have made her time more worthwhile. More enjoyable.

When she had disappeared, backtracking had seemed like the best idea. He was now faced with a problem, though – he had gone back to all the planets and time periods they had visited too many times already. There was a big risk he would cross his own timeline soon. The TARDIS had been gradually less and less inclined to take him where and when he wanted. Soon, she'd refuse to go anywhere which had anything to do with his shared history with Clara.

Clara...

There one second, gone the next, trillion of miles away from her home in a galaxy remarkably known for its disinterest in any type of violence. He hadn't left her side. He hadn't wandered off. Not this time. They hadn't even been in a crowded place. No trace of teleporter. No tell tale smell of time displacement. Nothing. Simply nothing. She had vanished in the proverbial thin air without making a sound.

Christmas was a difficult period for him. Always had been. Which was why he'd tried not to spend it alone in the past, even though it had often led to catastrophic consequences. Now that he was mostly spending his time on Earth amongst schoolchildren though, it meant he had to find something else to do around Christmas. Find other people to see. Since the kids had families, and presents, and turkeys, and puddings, and crackers, and funny hats to attend to. Which was fair enough. And nothing prevented him from going somewhere else, after all. Or visit a different time period. He hadn't exhausted all Christmas dinners at Vastra's, for instance. He'd only been there a couple of times. Out of the... innumerable number of years it had been for him.

But he liked to spend the holiday during Clara's time, as he still called it. He still felt as though he should be there for her, somehow. Witness the passing of one more year in her stead. He liked to pretend that she would hold him accountable and ask him for a report on all that she had missed. Stupid, he knew. But it helped. Made her absence slightly less painful.

Which was why the Doctor found himself at Coal Hill School on Christmas Day. It was a Wednesday, as well, which made it even more of an obligation for him to be there. He had parked the TARDIS in its usual spot in the storeroom. It felt strange, walking in the empty playground. He didn't think he'd ever seen it so quiet and so still. The atmosphere tasted like snow. He could always tell.

Clara loved snow, he remembered. Cursing himself in annoyance for falling into the trap of thinking about her, he groaned and raised his head towards the sky. When he finally lowered it. He noticed something. Someone. Standing by the school gate. A boy, he realised, approaching. No need to hide from a boy, after all. And not just any boy, but one he knew. One who had been puzzling him for a while, now. One who'd probably keep on puzzling him.

"Nils."

"Hello, Doctor," he replied, clearly just as surprised as him to see him there.

"Did you get lost?"

"No. Just got bored. I didn't know you would be there," he said flatly.

"Bored? On Christmas Day?" the boy nodded, non plussed. "So you came to your school?" Another nod.

"Peculiar choice."

"Not really," he grumbled, on the defensive.

The Doctor observed him more closely. He was almost completely invisible under the jacket he had given him and a woollen hat. But he could still see his defiant eyes staring at him reproachfully. He didn't need to be directly inside the boy's head to know that he wished to be on the other side of the gate. Funny how he'd always been able to read him like a book, except when it mattered most. The Doctor still felt guilty for not having foreseen that he would have a problem with the Oods. He'd gotten so used to the boy's consciousness lingering at the periphery of his mind that he'd forgotten what it meant. He was getting rusty.

"You want to come in?" he asked Nils, who shrugged. "There won't be any trip, though."

"That's alright," the boy replied quickly, more eager all of a sudden.

He realised his mistake only when the door was opened thanks to his sonic and they started roaming the empty corridors. They would have to go past the room. Her room. The room he had tried very hard to forget. The room he had not entered ever since that day. The day she confessed she was in love with one Danny Pink.

"What are we doing here, Doctor?"

It hadn't changed much. A platform. Chairs stacked in the back. But he couldn't ignore the commemorative plaque. Or the picture.

"You're still using this room for assembly?" he asked Nils, unable to take his eyes off.

"Yeah. We come here every day."

"Good," he replied, meaning it.

The Doctor must have lost sight of time for a while because when he finally turned back, he noticed that the boy had set up two chairs so that they were facing the plaque. He was sitting quietly, hopeful but unthreatening. He wasn't expecting anything from him, he could tell. Any explanation for his behaviour or any apology. There was some compassion he could perceive in him, yet it wasn't oppressive. It felt like... understanding. A perceptiveness that didn't require him to hide anything. For the first time in a long time, he felt at ease. Which was why he didn't hesitate and sat next to Nils, who had finally removed his hat and kept on scratching his scalp.

"Did you do anything to your hair? It is longer?" he asked, frowning.

"No, I got a haircut," the boy replied, smiling slightly. "Didn't have a choice, really."

Silence. Clara kept staring at him. With her impish smile and her impossibly wide eyes.

"What happened with the Oods? I mean... Why did I react that way? What makes me so different?" Nils asked in a rush, his scratchy hat back on his head to better hide himself from the Doctor's inquisitive look.

He couldn't remonstrate the boy for his questions. Especially since they prevented him from thinking too much about Clara.

"You're not different, not really," he started, "just a bit special."

"You said that already," muttered Nils, making a face at the word. The Doctor had detected that he didn't like being reminded he wasn't like the other boys. Like Chris or like Jordan, who were frankly typical – though bright – teenagers.

"It's not a bad thing," he pointed out, although he could tell that Nils wasn't really listening.

"Listen," he pressed, reaching out to the boy in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.

Fear, disgust and self-pity. The feelings assailed him instantly although he had barely touched him on the shoulder. Nils' reaction was also immediate, and he turned towards the Doctor quickly.

"What was that?" he asked, awestruck.

"That was what made you special. Your gift, if you like," the Doctor replied, trying to hide his surprise.

He hadn't thought a simple brush of his hand would cause such a reaction. But then it made sense: he'd forcefully entered his mind once to sever his connection with the Oods' consciousness. He now had a better inkling of what was going on in his head at all times. Although he desperately wanted to ask him where his fear was coming from, he settled on trying to explain to the boy what was happening inside him with words, rather than simply showing him.

"You were born with a low level telepathic field. An extra synaptic engram, making your mind more receptible to certain feelings and thoughts. Especially those coming from other telepathic beings, like me, or the Oods."

Nils stayed silent, digesting his words. The Doctor could tell that he was thinking about various instances when he'd been the victim of his "gift". They were probably not happy ones. He would have been able to feel things. To hear things he wasn't supposed to hear. Human beings afflicted with this extra engram were rarely thrilled, since they couldn't understand it or control it without external guidance. Alien guidance, as it were. Picking up on his clear yearning for approval, he tried to convince him that he wasn't alone.

"I met a boy like you during my travels on Earth. He was called Tim, and he was very brave."

The Doctor was greeted by a sad smile. "So there's no way to fix it, then?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"No. As I said, you were born with it. There's no getting rid of it,"he replied, frowning. Couldn't he see how lucky he was? How unique? He should revel in the discovery.

And yet he could also understand the boy's reluctance to be different. His wish to be accepted in a world where he was considered a stranger because of his singularity. Yes, he could relate to that.

"Does it mean you can tell what I'm thinking all the time?" Nils suddenly asked, flushing, much to the Doctor's satisfaction. There was still a normal fourteen year old inside of him. He just had to prove it to him.

"Not all the time, no. Only when you're projecting what's in your mind too strongly. When you're very scared or very emotive, for instance. I'm not that good a telepath, and I'm out of practise. There's not that many of us around."

The boy wasn't convinced, and still tried to avoid his gaze. He should perhaps tell him that he wasn't literally reading his thoughts by looking inside his skull.

"Like when?" he wondered instead.

"Like when what?" the Doctor retorted, lost.

"When did you hear my thoughts? Apart from on that planet two weeks ago, obviously."

"That jacket," he decided to tell him, "I could tell you really wanted to keep it."

Nils pursed his lips, his hands coming to rest on the lapels of the green parka. He adventured a furtive look towards him and seemed startled to see that he was smiling. The boy looked straight ahead once more, but lowered his shoulders, thankfully more relaxed.

"It's a very good jacket," he argued, half in jest.

"I know. It went to the North Pole, that jacket. Well, it kind of did," he amended.

They were dangerously circling back towards Clara. Which was a bit hard not to do, when she was staring patiently at them from her picture on the wall.

"She's really beautiful," braved Nils quietly.

The Doctor sighed, wondering if he was projecting his thoughts or simply the same open book to Nils as the boy was to him. Probably the latter. He hoped, at least. Although he vowed to try and teach him how to control his mental capacities.

"Can you tell me about her?" he asked, once a whole minute of silence had gone by, "What is she like? She must have been an amazing teacher for them to name this room for her... I mean is," he quickly added, blushing at his slip.

The Doctor didn't mind. In fact, he didn't really mind his questions, either. Nils hadn't bluntly asked him what had happened to her or where she was. Or worse, what he had done to her, which was the only question he deserved. It'd been a while since he had discussed Clara with anyone. And the boy was the perfect candidate: he knew of her but didn't really know her. Who knew, she might have even become his teacher at one point. He'd robbed a whole generation of children from her genius and influence. In a way, that was probably one of the reasons why he kept coming back to Coal Hill. Kept coming back to those kids. His guilt regarding Clara was all-encompassing. But his biggest regret was this. Her place in the world as a teacher. Her ability to shape young minds and bring them to their fullest potential. The Doctor was but an impostor, hoping to matter in some small way in her place.

"That's okay," he eventually replied, "tenses can be tricky, especially for a time traveller."

Nils turned towards him, plainly stunned that he wasn't dismissing his questions. When he sat sideways on his chair to show him he'd listen to whatever he had to say and wouldn't take his eyes off him, the Doctor knew that he had the boy's utmost attention, and that now was the time to tell him everything.

So he told him about Clara the nanny and Clara the young teacher. About Clara the Taekwondo fighter and Clara the soufflé maker. About Clara's kindness and devotion. About Clara risking her life to save the whole world. About Clara risking her life to save only him. About Clara's love for Danny Pink and Clara's sorrow over his death. About Clara's running. Always running. About Clara's wide face that required three mirrors and Clara's tiny legs that required ridiculous and unpractical heels. About her big heart and her short temper. About her persistence in giving hugs and not taking 'No' for an answer. About her second chances. About his second chances.

There were some things he had to leave out. Some things that he simply couldn't face talking about ever again. With anyone. And not just because Nils was only a boy.

Instead, he told him about that day. About her being there one second and gone the next. He didn't tell him about the emptiness she had left. About his anger and his despair. About his reckless behaviour and the danger he had put himself in for a good long while afterwards. About the guilt and the pain. After all, he just had to look inside him. There was no need to hide.

"She could be anywhere," the boy said after a few minutes. He wasn't trying to cheer him up with misplaced optimism, he was only pointing out facts.

"I know. Which is why I've been looking for her for 187 years," he replied. It had been strangely easy to own up to that number, in the end.

There were no words that could be used to reply to that, and they both knew it. Still, when the boy tentatively put his hand on the Doctor's forearm, he received a different kind of answer.

There was still fear, yes. But also faith. And support.

"You'll find her," Nils said resolutely. And in a moment of weakness, the Doctor decided to believe him.