Prompt: You give a homeless person some change and he/she knows your name.

A/N: Post Hell Bent


Just a Magic Trick

Monday – Even the Doctor sometimes had cravings. He would travel to the end of the universe just to have another taste of some alien meals he enjoyed, but he had a soft spot for Earth's cuisine. He tried all possible variations of lasagnas and chips, he invented countless silly combinations far more outrageous than fish fingers and custard, and only ate ice cream for a week once. Today, his cravings brought him back to London again, to have a proper breakfast.

He remembered a lovely coffee shop in the South Bank that had a rooftop terrace with a beautiful view of St Paul's Cathedral, the Shard, and Tower 42. A long time before he had been there with one of his friends, but he couldn't recall exactly which one. He's going to have cappuccino and scones, he decided. The only problem was his lack of money, but he had an idea to gather some change. It was a trick he already used once, maybe, his memories of that period of his endless life were a bit confused at times. He just needed to prepare for the part, so he dug in his wardrobe looking for his old jacket, the one that made him look like a magician. He took off his velvet jacket and put on the red lined one that still fit perfectly.

A few moments later, the TARDIS materialized between a surprised living statue and a violinist busking in the South Bank at the feet of the London Eye. The Doctor stepped outside to a large crowd of people clapping and cheering at his amazing magic performance. He bowed flamboyantly and collected tips from his audience, then closed the TARDIS door with a snap of his fingers to more cheers.

He walked away from the TARDIS while people were taking pictures with the magic blue box, leaving it to its fifteen minutes of glory. He strolled along the South Bank, headed towards the coffee shop, counting the money he had collected in his hands. There was more than enough for a coffee and some cake. A voice interrupted him before he could put the money inside his trousers' pocket.

"Got any spare change, mate?"

A young woman sitting on a bench in front of River Thames called for his attention. She had familiar brown hair and big eyes that the Doctor didn't recognize. If he had already seen that funny nose he would absolutely know, he thought.

"Just a couple of quids, mate," the woman asked again, outstretching her hand.

She didn't look like a homeless person asking for money, more like someone trying to act the part. But there was something in her face that attracted the Doctor towards her and made him feel an immediate affection for her. He didn't like to have too much money on himself anyway, so he picked a couple of coins he wouldn't need for his breakfast and decided to give them to the mysterious woman. He approached her and dropped the change in her hand.

"There you go," he said turning his back, about to keep walking.

"Thank you, Doctor," she replied, making him freeze.

He turned back to face her. She was staring straight into his eyes, as if she could read them like a book.

"What did you say?" the Doctor asked her, with his eyebrows casting an intimidating shadow over his gaze.

"I said, Thank you, Doctor," the woman repeated, "it'd be rude not to thank you after you've done something nice for me, wouldn't it?"

"How do you know my name?" his eyebrows tightened.

"I don't," the girl laughed, showing her dimples, "nobody knows it."

The Doctor kept looking back at her, trying to catch some detail that could make him understand who this woman was or how she knew him. But he wasn't able to deduce anything about her identity, not figure out if he'd met her before. She was probably just a silly woman on a bench. She was nobody important.

He shrugged and stepped away from her, going back to his business. He looked over his shoulder as he walked away, and saw she was still staring right into his eyes.


Tuesday – The woman he had met the day before on a bench in the South Bank wouldn't get out of his mind. She made him feel weird, and he had to know why. So he decided to go back to that same spot to check whether she was just an ordinary homeless person who usually begged there or not.

He materialized in the South Bank and repeated the magic trick with the TARDIS as he had done the previous day, gathering some change. Then he walked for a few minutes along the Thames, until he saw her. There she was, sitting on the same bench, with the same clothes on. She was probably just a normal homeless woman after all.

He directly approached her this time, walking up to face her and handing her the money he had collected.

"Why, you're very kind, Doctor," the woman said, smiling, "thank you."

The fact that she knew the name he went by was unsettling, and the way her wide face was making his two hearts race was even more unnerving. That woman was impossible.

"You remind me of someone," he said, studying her reaction closely.

"Who?" she asked in a hopeful tone that lighted a sparkle in her gaze.

"I don't know," he exhaled, averting his eyes.

"And you hate not knowing," the woman completed.

The Doctor was puzzled. Everything about this woman confused him. "You look familiar," he said, rubbing his gray hair, "but you probably just have one of those common faces."

"There's no such thing," she replied, becoming serious. "Everybody that you think you've met before, you've actually met before. When you meet someone for the first time and feel like you've known them all your life, it's because you've actually known them all your life. Memory is a mess, it gets rewritten all the time. Time itself is being rewritten every day, all around us, even now."

The Doctor half smiled, half frowned at her. That was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. And the most worrying part was that it made perfect sense to him.

The woman was now looking away at something distant only she could see, deeply saddened. He left her to her thoughts and got back to his spaceship.

Now the Doctor was sure. She was just a mad woman on a bench. And since there was nothing madder than his life, their meeting couldn't have been a coincidence.


Wednesday – The Doctor decided to go visit the mysterious homeless woman on the bench again. He got the impression that she was feeling lonely and sad the last time he saw her, and there was something about her that made him feel just the same way.

The TARDIS materialized again in the South Bank, and the Doctor reached the usual bench where he had met the woman of mystery the day before to give her some change. But this time he sat next to her.

"Hi, Doctor," she greeted him with a gentle yet sad smile, as if they were long-time friends, "I was waiting for you."

"Do you come here everyday?" he asked.

"It's a nice place, isn't it?"

"Where do you live?" he couldn't help the sound of concern in his voice, even though he didn't understand why he'd be worried about a complete stranger.

"A bit here, a bit there..." she replied, evasively, "I travel a lot, never stop for long."

"Don't you have a house to come back to?"

"No, not really," she swallowed. "I used to have a home, but not anymore."

"What was it like, your home?" the Doctor inquired, wondering why he was so instinctively interested in this person's life.

"Oh, it was beautiful," the woman said, wearing her sad smile again, "it was brand new and ancient at the same time, and so much bigger on the inside. But the company was the best part."

Something in those words made the Doctor stand up abruptly, unable to bare staying any longer. He moved a step away from the bench, looking at the woman uncertainly, not really willing to stay, but neither to go.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" she asked him, wishfully.

He hesitated for a second, then replied, "I will," and left.


Thursday – As he had promised the homeless woman the previous day, the Doctor returned to the South Bank.

He gave her his change, as if it was a ritual necessary to talk to her, and sat down on the bench next to her.

"How was your day?" he asked her, tentatively.

"Are you making conversation?" she smiled at him, raising her eyebrows.

"I thought that I would give it a try," he replied, making her grin widen, "won't be trying that again."

"Didn't your mum teach you not to talk to strange women?" she laughed lightly.

"But you're not a stranger to me, aren't you?" he said back, looking at her eyes intently, trying to grasp some answers. "Do I know you?"

"No, you most definitely don't," she sighed, "but I do know you."

"How, how is that possible?" he stuttered, puzzled, "has somebody told you about me? Have you been spying on me?"

"I just know you," she said again.

They sat next to each other in silence for a few minutes, looking at the river flowing in front of them. Then the Doctor suddenly shot up and got ready to leave. He had too many questions and needed to look for the answers on his own.

"See you tomorrow!" she shout out to him as he was leaving.


Friday – The Doctor thought to have understood what the woman had meant when she said that she knew him but he didn't know her. Meeting people in the wrong direction had happened to him before. Sometimes things would get all back to front and you'd meet with people who travelled in the opposite direction. Maybe that woman's past was his future. He needed to know and had to get some confirmation.

He rushed to the usual bench, sat cautiously beside the woman and gave her some coins, but didn't attempt to small talk this time.

"Are you from my future?" he asked her straight away.

That was the sort of query that would have made all normal people question the sanity of their speaker, yet the woman's wide eyes didn't show any sign of surprise, as if she found such a topic completely plausible.

"No," she simply replied.

"Then you lied, about knowing me," the Doctor accused her.

"I'm a brilliant liar," she grinned, "but I didn't lie this time. It's true, I know you very well, even though you haven't the faintest idea of who I am."

"You can't possibly be from my past, or I would remember you, if we were as close as you say."

"I told you the other day," the woman said, "memory is a mess. Memories are forgotten all the time."

"You're from my past, then," he considered the possibility.

"It doesn't matter," she shrugged.

He got up, run to the TARDIS, and took off. Even if the impossible woman wasn't willing to help him, he was decided to check every possible source and use any means to discover her identity.


Saturday – Every time he thought he was getting nearer to discovering who that woman was, all of the information he had gathered would just turn out to be completely useless. It felt like something was actively blocking him out. He didn't find any hint in the TARDIS that could help him, as if the machine itself was hiding possible clues. No matter how much he tried to meditate and collect his memories, he wasn't able to link her face to anybody significant in his life. The lack of information was what made him understand. Only one person could have left such a big hole.

He remember weird movable diners, a pretty employee in a blue mini-dress uniform that closely resembled the painting on the door of the TARDIS and talked exactly like the woman on the bench, a cryptic message on his blackboard inside the console room. He knew who the mysterious woman was.

The Doctor materialized yet again in the South Bank and rushed to the strange woman's bench. This time he didn't sit, nor did he give her any money. She saw the change in his behavior, and stood up to face him, leaving the bench for the first time since he'd met her days before.

"What's your name?" he asked her, panting.

"Finally he asks," she laughed, but her eyes weren't smiling. She already knew where this was going.

"Answer the question," he scolded her, drawing his eyebrows near and giving her a harsh look.

"Can't tell you. Too much time travel, the wrong word in the wrong place can change an entire causal nexus," she uttered, looking at her feet, "I shouldn't even be here. This is wrong."

"Doesn't matter, because I think I already know your name," he stared at her with a knowing gaze. "You're Clara."

"Clara who?"

"I'm terrible at recognizing faces and notice physical features, but you look exactly like the girl in that American diner, and the portrait on the TARDIS door," he continued, "and you say a lot of science nonsense which is probably something that rubbed off on you from me. You're Clara."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she shook her head, while her eyes got sad and faraway. "I'm nobody important."

"Don't give me that!" he furrowed his brow intensely, "I know you're Clara, don't deny it."

She took his hand and hold it midair, giving it a gentle stroke. "I'm sorry. I was selfish, but it was really nice seeing you again," she sighed, as tears began to well in her eyes. "Now forget me, Doctor. Get back in your TARDIS and go a long way away."

She slowly let go of his hand. His gaze softened, and he opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything Clara raised an admonishing finger and added in a teacher tone, "Do as you're told."

Then she turned her back and walked away, bringing her hand to her face, and leaving the Doctor alone by the bench this time. He looked at her until she disappeared in the crowd of people that filled up the street.


Sunday – Clara had said that he should go away and not look for her, but the Doctor didn't always listen. He had a feeble hope that he would find her sitting in her usual bench by the Thames again, so he had to take a look.

He materialized in the South Bank for the seventh time that week, and clung to that hope while he was walking to the mysterious woman's bench, but had to let go of it when he found it empty. The impossible woman wasn't sit there as all the days before.

He breathed in the breeze coming from the river. The sky was cloudy and gray and reflected pretty accurately his mood. He didn't really expect to see her again, but how could he go back to his life knowing that there was this woman out there who knew everything about him and had been on countless adventures with him that he knew nothing about?

He sat on the bench, pretending Clara was sitting next to him. He turned his face and noticed a little pile of change on the other corner of the bench, where Clara would usually sit. He slid on the bench and grasped the coins, quickly counting them. It was all the change he had given the mysterious girl in the previous days.

Under the money that prevented it from flying away in the London windy weather, there was a little folded bit of paper. He took the note and read it.

"I'm sorry I can't stay, but if I did time would probably fracture and history would most definitely collapse, and a couple of people might get angry. I'll keep an eye on you, though. You just keep running and being a Doctor. My Doctor.

- Clara."

A soft grin appeared on the Doctor's face. He bet he must have really liked that Clara person. He folded the note back up and put it into his jacket's pocket as he stood up. He felt a sudden craving for souffles. He counted out the change in his palm again, concluding it was enough for at least a couple of souffles. He waved at the bench as if Clara was still sitting there, and started walking away.

"Till the next time, impossible girl," he whispered, plunging into the crowd of people shopping, headed towards the first restaurant he could find.


A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you liked the story. It's a bit different from the previous ones, and quite bittersweet too, but I hope you enjoyed it. Please consider leaving a review, I appreciate all sort of opinions and constructive criticism.