Fragments

Four: The Forgotten Past

Clara and the Doctor trudged on through the mud and the debris, trying to creep ever closer to the source of the signal. The TARDIS, once in a far-away place, was now a monument looming overhead. On the way, Clara had counted around forty-five time fragments, forty-five places on the surface where they passed between the two separate realities.

Her ears popped suddenly as she walked down the nice cobblestone path, and gasping, she slammed her eyes. When she pried them open again, they were back in the mass graveyard. She shivered, chilled from the tips of her feet to the very last hairs on her head. The temperature had just dropped significantly, and she wasn't wearing many layers.

"Forty-six," she whispered, and scrunched her nose. She always had hated mud. Whenever possible, she'd try to avoid it.

"Still counting fragments, Miss Oswald?" the Doctor said, inhaling airily.

"Can't help it," she muttered. "What if we get to the TARDIS, and it's not there because we're in a fragment where Christmas Town wasn't destroyed? What happens then?" she asked frantically. "Why do we need to head over there anyhow? Why the TARDIS?"

The Doctor couldn't bear to look at her for some reason, and so continued to stare straight ahead into the mellowing darkness. His mouth was a taunt line, his eyes glossed over in guilt. "That TARDIS," he said, pointing, "is where the signal that pulled us here came from."

"I know that. But why do we have to follow it? Why can't we just leave?"

"It's keeping us latched to this world, this reality," he pressed, his brows threading together. "It located our ship, pulled it in... It's like the rock at the center of the shattered window. And you can't repair a window until you remove the rock."

He didn't say anything more on the matter, but Clara could definitely tell that there was something important he wasn't telling her. Sighing, she attempted to step forward carefully, because there were thick roots bursting out of the moist ground here. Her foot quivered as she lifted it up and beyond the root, but then she lost balance and slipped.

Her knee hit the tough fibers of the tree root, and a wildfire of pain instantly blossomed through her nerves. She cried out, but the sound quickly devolved into a horse rasp. Feeling for the entire world she was falling apart in agony- first the emptiness of death, and now this- she fell over on her side. Her head lolled into a patch of mud, and for a brief second she worried the stench would be what finally killed her. Clara whimpered as she felt the icky mud ooze between her hair, but she hadn't the strength to move.

A hand then roved in front of her face. The Doctor's. She accepted it thankfully, and groaned deeply as she put pressure on her right knee again. He slung an arm around her shoulder, helping as her crutch. Dazedly, she looked up at him, sensing a glint of friendly compassion in his hearts.

"Chin up," he said quietly. "We're getting close."

~8~

They plodded on together, as one unit yet separate, completely trusting yet simultaneously distrusting. The Doctor had no recollection of her, and Clara felt like she didn't entirely know him.

Yet...

There was still hope, twinkling like a point of starlight. There was still another day. Her actions- saving the Doctor- had ensured that.

Clara counted about ten more fragments on their walk. Every time they crossed one now, she would wrap both arms tightly around the Doctor's midsection and close her eyes. The experience would be less jarring for her senses. They stepped across the fifty-seventh fissure, from the remains of Christmas Town into a puddle in a graveyard. A blot of lightning snaked through the angry clouds, producing much-needed light for just a millisecond.

"Stop," Clara wheezed, her body refusing to go on any further. "I need to rest."

The Doctor helped her sit on a tombstone that seemed to have snapped in half. The stone was washed smooth from years of erosion. As he paced in a clearing to her side, she adjusted herself on the hard rock. To her great annoyance, she felt her right leg go completely numb. Fabulous. Now, on top of her midsection, she couldn't feel one of her legs. But as she was just beginning to silently gripe about it, she heard an exceedingly familiar voice in the distance. In her mind's eye, she could already see his floppy hair, his dorky bow tie, the pants that stopped just short of his ankles... Tears were at the crease of her lids, and she almost called his name.

Then she saw his TARDIS, and the brunette woman who stood next to him. And she realized suddenly that she had lived through this before.

"Doctor, get down!" Clara hissed as quietly as she could. She motioned behind a large grave marker. The Doctor seemed confused, but he did as told anyways. She ducked down herself, and peered across the graveyard to listen.

"You okay?" past-Clara asked a few meters ahead of them. "You're visiting your own grave. Anyone would be scared."

Her green-eyed, floppy haired Doctor spoke up, nervously thumbing his fingers. "It's more than that. I'm a time traveller. I've probably time-travelled more than anyone else."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning my grave is potentially the most dangerous place in the universe." With a small smile, he offered an arm to his Clara Oswald. "Shall we?"

Linked arm-in-arm, the two walked into the distance, leaving the Doctor and the Clara of the future staring at them, mouths agape.

"Is that what I used to look like?" the grey-haired Doctor asked quietly.

"Yes. We just crossed our own timelines," she replied in a hush whisper, eyes peeled open in shock. "It's still not happened for them yet."

"What's not happened yet?"

She pulled herself to her feet with a moan of pain, relying on the tombstone for balance.

"We'll have to hurry," she told him, panting.

"What do you mean?" he asked, starting to fret a little. The edge of Clara's lip turned up. It was very clear he liked being in control, and without about ninety percent of his memories, being in control was very difficult...

"I know how we can reach the TARDIS quicker," she whispered, and her gaze fell upon a nonchalant tombstone in the distance.

~8~

The two crept down the stairs at River's fake tombstone, following at a good distance behind their past counterparts. The darkness slowly began to envelop them as they walked further and further from the ambient light on the surface. Soon, she could not see anything, not even the imperfections of the rough stonewall. Her free hand reached to her side, and she began to feel around for the wall so she could vaguely know where she was going. Warily, Clara wondered if this was what the blind felt like.

If it weren't for the fact that they had basically crossed their own timelines here, then they could light a torch, but their past selves couldn't know they were there. She remembered that it had taken her floppy-haired Doctor a while to find something that would work as a torch. If they were lucky, they would have light in a minute or so. She readjusted her left arm over the steely eyed Doctor's shoulders, and wordlessly, they hobbled on.

Finally, a flickering light appeared ahead of them, and her eyes rapidly drank in the wonders of sight. That was more like it! Now they could easily find their way around without stumbling in the dark.

"Where are we?" her past self whispered to her Doctor.

"Catacombs."

"I hate catacombs."

Clara almost smirked as she mouthed her distaste for tomb-like passageways along with her younger self. Out of this whole misadventure, these moments before she had jumped into the Doctor's time stream were what had remained in the forefront of her mind ever since. They were the last memories they created together before the time winds shattered her into echoes.

"I still hate them," she muttered offhand to the man standing next to her. "Always have."

"On Gallifrey, the catacombs are where the forges burn, where the machinery is scraped..." the Doctor thought out loud, his irises glossed over in remembrance. "Only the lowest of the low work down there. I think everyone hates catacombs."

Clara had to look away when she realized he was talking about his home planet in present tense. He thought it was still out there, sitting among the stars. He didn't know it was lost in a pocket universe. In ways, she was beginning to envy him for forgetting his past. She knew she had promised herself to help him get his memories back, but her Doctor had been such a tortured soul. Wouldn't everything be so much better if he- they- could just forget?

"We haven't passed through a fragment for a while," she observed, pushing her innermost thoughts away for now.

The Doctor simply nodded. "I've noticed."

Her brows scrunched up. "I feel like you're not taking this seriously. What if we pass through one now, and this tunnel was never built in the town? We'd be trapped, and we'd suffocate!"

His lips turned into a thin line. A flash of anger rushed through his eyes. He stopped walking, and propped Clara against the wall. Her throat constricted as he grabbed her right wrist.

"You're making the assumption I haven't taken time to consider any of these possibilities," he told her frankly, "but I'm a Time Lord. All we ever do is consider possibilities! Yes, we haven't passed through a fragment in an abnormal amount of time. Yes, it would be bad if we did. But we simply don't have time to worry about those things right now. We have to reach the ship's console room if we're going to fix this."

"We can't, they'll be in there!"

"Then we'll wait," he fired back.

"To do what?" she asked then, going to great lengths to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as she tried to step towards him. "This whole time, and you haven't said what your plan is, why not?" She stared at him expectantly, arms wide. He looked at the ground, actively avoiding her gaze. "Doctor, why not?"

"Just trust me."

Clara almost snorted. "Trust you? You don't even know me anymore," she cried out. "You told me you wouldn't forget, not one day, but you lied! You've forgotten almost everything!"

"That's why I need you to trust me!" he snapped. His voice echoed off the walls. Everything became quiet. "Please. I know nothing. I feel like I can't even trust myself."

Her heart fell at this, and suddenly she felt guilty. Why was she being so selfish? Had it taken this long for her to realize that the Doctor had suffered a greater blow than her? She'd lost one persona of this Time Lord she'd grown to love, but he'd lost hundreds of years. They couldn't yell at each other like this anymore. If they were going to get out of this nightmare, they had to work together, even if it meant that secrets were not shared sometimes. Friendship did not mean that one was entitled to know everything.

"Sorry," she whispered rapidly, tears on the cusp of her eyelids. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm sorry."

Weeping, she wrapped her mud-covered arms around his body, and for the first time, he responded by doing the same.

~8~

Time passed. Corridors were crossed. Rusted doors were pried open. Clara struggled to breathe in the thin air. It was thinner here than it was on the surface. Her head lolled back on the Doctor's shoulder. By now, she was so weak that walking on her injured knee wasn't an option. Her body was curled up in his arms now. She had to rely on him.

She breathed as deeply as she could, feeling the stale oxygen rush through her lungs. The world around her was a blurred kaleidoscope of muted colors now. There were a lot of deep blues, greys, and browns, colors that were somber and moody. Every once in a while she might see a reassuring flash of white or yellow. Her hearing was muffled, only picking up occasional mutterings from the Doctor, even though his mouth was right next to her ear. The one sense that was working proficiently was her sense of touch. She could feel his double heartbeat thump comfortably against her broken and weary body, and in fact it was the only thing that convinced her that she was still conscious.

The door to the console room was locked again. Her old Doctor had sealed it as they left his tomb that first time. The Doctor of the present readjusted her in his arms, and stepped forwards without hesitation. He parted his lips, and Clara listened in wonder as a beautiful, swirling language came forth, so complicated she could never dream of replicating it. There was a dull clunk, and the passageway quickly opened.

He entered the console room, and immediately a feeling of dread came upon Clara. Her pupils could just make out the outline of the room, but her vision was quickly fading. This was a place she never wanted to return to; it was what she had nightmares about.

"So this is where I end up," he whispered.

"Used to," she managed to croak in reply. "Not anymore."

Carefully, he laid her down on the ground. She was thankful for the grass-like plant that grew like a weed here. At the very least she would have something soft to rest her head on. Her knee throbbed. She wished beyond all else she had more strength so she could sit up and check it. All she could do was look ahead at the blurry outline of the Doctor, who stood at his time stream.

"This is my entire timeline," he whispered in wonder. "Every single day I've ever lived."

A flash of pain seared through her body. She cried out in pain, coming increasingly close to blacking out. In a miracle, she managed to keep consciousness, only to see him reach out towards the hazy, swirling tendrils of light. Suddenly, she panicked, and began to sweat. He wasn't stepping into his own time stream again, was he?

...No, he wasn't. But she could vaguely see some of those tendrils of light run up his proffered arm and run fingers through his short grey hair before disappearing into oblivion. The Doctor stumbled away from the swirling pillar of time, panting.

"What are we supposed to do here?" she asked weakly.

At the sound of her voice, he hurried to her side and knelt next to her. "I'm sorry for my behavior, Clara, I really should explain."

The sight of his face became more and more distant as he continued to speak.

"This ship- my ship- in this reality, is all that is keeping us anchored here. If-" he choked back tears- "if I kill her, in the most humane way possible, then we can... we can... Clara? Clara?"

She tried to breath, but she couldn't. She tried to move her hand, or incline her neck just a tad to let him know that she was still alive, but she couldn't. She felt his arms cradle her head in desperation, but she couldn't see him.

"Clara?!"

Thu-thump.

"No, no! Clara? Can you hear me, Clara?"

Thu-thump.

"Clara?!"

Thu-