author's note: if you are sensitive to any kind of violent deaths, i would suggest skipping over this chapter.
CHRISTMAS EVE, ONE
(ALWAYS CRASHING IN THE SAME CAR)
December twenty-fourth, 2007 (Clara is eighteen, the Doctor is forty)
THE DOCTOR: It's a dark, winter afternoon. I'm currently hiding out in Clara's old bedroom at her dad's house. She's left me roast potatoes (which were undoubtedly made by Oswin, as Clara couldn't cook to save her life) and a lamb sandwich. I ought to be happy: this is the best meal I've gotten in my travels in my entire life. However, I am not. Clara left me a note saying that it was Christmas Eve, so she would not meet him today.
I know that right now, my twenty-one-year-old self would be in a London bar, chatting to my brother - the traitor - in such an aggressive way, before getting so drunk that I lose my virginity to some unsuspecting nineteen-year-old. All in the space of about an hour. Today is also the sixteenth anniversary of my parent's death.
I sit quietly as thoughts of them surface my mind. They - particularly my mother - were the best people in the entire universe. Penelope and Randall Smith. My mother was a doctor at St. John's Ambulance. My father was a retired military general
One of the painful things about time travel is that I get to see my parents happy and soso alive, even though I knew they would be dead in a few short years. I have even spoken to them a few times. Once, I almost told my mother who I was. Then, I left.
I see how they are with me. My mother encouraged me to fully embrace my creativity. My father stopped my head from floating to the clouds. I see her with Harold. I see how close Harry and I used to be. We walk together, smiling. We talk about how I was going to be a champion football player. She wears lots of denim and blouses with her blonde hair tied up in a knot above her head. He wears a simple white shirt with black pants and looks scarily like me when I can't be bothered to shave. We're at the beach, the four of us wearing matching sunglasses and I see myself wearing the most ridiculous hat.
I hear someone at the door and I come back to reality. Clara knocks four times and I unlock the door. There's snow in her hair and her cheeks are bright red. She's eighteen. Clara throws her arms around me and shouts "Merry Christmas, Doctor!" and I give her a kiss on the cheek trying to pretend everything's going to be alright.
"What's wrong?" she asks, "Shit, did I forget the mayo?"
"Hey. Hush." I sit down and grab some blankets and Clara squeezes beside me. "Have I ever told you about my parents?"
"No." she perks. She's always eager about any information about myself that I let drop. Perhaps so she can discover my identity - but today, I don't care. As the dates on the list grow few, she is secretly convinced that she can find me in real-time. Find John Smith, who is only two years older than her with the dead parents and the adoptive family, if only I would tell her more.
We each ate a cookie.
"Okay, once upon a time I had parents, and they were deeply in love. And they had my brother. And they had me. And we were all pretty happy. Both of them were highly respected members of our community. My mother was a doctor. We would always go out for Christmas. And one year-"
"What year?"
"1992. It was Christmas Eve. Sixteen years ago."
She swallowed.
"Harry and I -"
"Harry?"
"My brother. We were at our grandmother's house. We lived there for a about five months after...anyway, they were driving, and they were in a rush to pick us up. They didn't turn their indicators on, and they crashed."
"That's horrible."
"They didn't just crash though. They ran into a truck, full of scrap metal. When they hit it, a large sheet of steel went through the windshield and decapitated my parents."
Clara closed her eyes, "No…"
"It's true. The front end of the car crumpled up, the steering wheel went through mum's chest. Both their heads went through the windshield to the back of the guy's truck. There was an unbelievable amount of blood." My voice broke, "From that moment on, I would time travel to that point and watch it. For months, I did nothing else. I had nightmares about it, and then Gran Smith died and I was alone. Just my brother and I."
"Is your surname 'Smith'?"
I covered my mouth, but it was too late. "Maybe. Maybe not."
She smirked.
"I could Google 'Harold Smith,' since I know that's your brother's name."
"Not anymore," I told her, "After my grandmother died, e changed his surname. And don't ask what it is, you'll find out soon.
Silence.
"I'm sorry about your parents, Doctor…"
"It's okay. It was almost thirty-four years ago, for me."
She pouted, "That doesn't make me feel any less sorry for you."
She stands up and I say, almost as a dead whisper, "Sorry for putting all my sadness on you."
"It's okay, Doctor. After all, we're bestfriends, in the future."
"But Clara," I say, "You're so much more than that."
