AN: this was definitely my favourite chapter to write, it's cute and sad and fluffy and is my headcannon. I don't ant to spoil it my rambling on and on so enjoy and review my dear whoufflepuffs
"What? Why? Clara? Please don't say that..." he trailed off, tripping over his words, pausing to find the correct words to say, but she was racing ahead, her mind working like clockwork.
"But Doctor, look at you. Look at what they've done to you. You are a ghost, an ancient ghost running away from other ghosts who you used to know," tears were leaking from her eyes as she looked up at him. He couldn't read her face. It was full of everything.
"No please, Clara no,"
"But it's true isn't it? We make you into this sad man, this tired broken old man who has nothing left. I...I don't want to...I can't hurt you like that." Clara said "And then when I'm gone, when I've added to your pile of bad things...I don't want to be a ghost. I can be replaced, Doctor, trust me. But I can't take the responsibility to cause you so much pain. Or any more pain, you already have far too much for one man." She spoke calmly, her voice a perfect mask for what was written on her face
"You can't leave me. Clara please, my Clara. You're my impossible girl." He was pleading with her, his hands reaching out, but she leapt off the sofa like his touch had burnt her, and turned to face him. He saw the hurt on her face, the confusion, the desperation, the insecurity.
"Why am I this impossible girl? You're always talking, muttering about how I don't make sense, saying these things and I don't understand. I'm ordinary, I'm average. Normal Clara Oswald, 24 years old from Lanarkshire, England, Planet Earth. That's who I am, not an enigma or a puzzle to solve. Completely and utterly ordinary."
"Clara, you don't understand. You are not ordinary. You are so far beyond ordinary, completely extraordinary." He spoke with such certainty, a flicker of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"Then make me understand! Come on. It's just you and me now. No time or space to get in the way. Explain Chinboy, because I can't think why I am any different from every other person back home. Tell me, why am I impossible?" she spoke quietly and with such helplessness that he grabbed her hand, pulling her down to his level. He held her head in his hands and smiled. It was a smile filled to the brim with scars and wounded recollections and burning so bright with every ounce of hope he had within his brilliant mind. It was a smile of such truth and comfort that as he held her, crying in front of him, she smiled back, a wan smile that crept slowly with uncertainty along her lips. But it was brighter that the Gallifreyian sky.
"Clara, you're the impossible girl because you came to me when everything was dark and made the stars come out again. You rescued me from drowning in the blackness and waited until it passed, watching as the night faded and the sun rose. You made me see in colour again, reminded me how to be good when everything else is so bad. You brought back the moon and painted it silver. You are the impossible girl because; in spite of everything, you make me better. You made me better when it was impossible to. You took my broken hearts in your hands and stitched them together with the essence of you. You made me whole again by doing nothing at all, but being my Clara. I need no-one else, just you. And as long as you're here my life can be a pile of good things," she fell into his arms sobbing, wrapping her arms tight around him. He held her there, trying to ignore her nails digging into his back through his thin shirt and the damp patch which was spilling out across his shoulder.
Clara pulled back and shook her head, her tear-stained eyes meeting his, "Just a pile of good things eh? Like crashing the TARDIS into a pocket dimension and losing power?" She gave a small smile, "I don't know how long I'll stay, maybe forever, maybe just until you don't need me anymore, but know this, you are the best friend I could ever have, and don't you dare hold in all this...sadness from me. I don't want you to be haunted by ghosts in your own head or have them eating you alive, because I've been there remember? With my mum. And perhaps that isn't the same as 900 years of loss, but it's a loss all the same. And don't treat me like a ghost or a memory just yet, we're not done with this, Chinboy, but I'm not here to stand-in for anyone or try and replace any of them."
He cupped her cheek, smearing her dried tears along her face with his thumb. She reached upward and touched a strand of his hair above his forehead, rolling it between her fingers. He leaned down; eyes closed and pressed a kiss on the space above her left eyebrow. He rested his head against hers and they're eyes met, deep green against arcane hazel, "you are not second-rate Clara; you are beautiful and brilliant; stop acting like you're nothing. You are the only mystery worth solving, the sole reason for the sun to come out. So very alive and so full – of everything so good and golden."
Clara tilted her head upwards tentatively, slowly pressing her lips brushing against the slightly rutted surface of his and waited. "but you're still so sad." She whispered softly.
"Yes, but the sad man and his impossible girl in a mad dash amongst the stars," He breathed warm against her cheek, "it's not a sad story, don't you see? It's a love-" She caught the last word with her lips and they pushed together. Gently at first, pulling each other closer, kissing deeper. Lips against skin, hands wrapping around, pulling nearer, holding onto whatever they had left. Her lips tasted like tears and his like tea and crumbs and it felt like all the sadness in the world stopped in the small moment of elation. Clara felt the drumbeat of his hearts against her chest and placed her hands over each one, "you're here as well," he said, "You're the very centre of me, holding it all together, written right into the sky itself." He closed his eyes, spilling more silver tears from beneath his lids. Clara wrapped her arms around his neck, catching his tears on her hair so it glistened like dew. He gripped at her tightly as though scared she would crumble away in front of him. There they stayed, holding each other together, clasping hands and wiping away teardrops.
The Doctor paused, hesitating and them his lips reached down, balancing themselves on hers, supple and light and then he pressed in. Tentatively, slowly, like a child learning to read for the first time, and then he pushed harder, pulling her into him, caressing her cheeks, her arms, her shoulders and finally her waist. Clara peered at him through half-closed lids, the tears had dried on his cheeks, the only trace a silver shimmer by the dim light. And then, with a nip of her lower lip, he retreated slightly, lips parted. The Doctor rested him head against her forehead, and then everything was still.
Everything stayed motionless, like it was stuck, locked in a moment until Clara spoke, shattering the silence, "tell me a story," she said and rested her head on his lap and closing her eyes. The Doctor held his arms in the air, unsure of where to put them until Clara reached for his hand and held it between hers, "tell me a story about the man who fell from the stars."
He patted her head, "did I ever tell you about Barcelona? The planet, not the city. The dogs there have two noses, imagine, two noses! They tell that joke about four times a day there and everybody still laughs. I made a joke about me having two noses once, and one about me having no head. Or two heads. Imagine me with two heads now, eh? But Barcelona, they don't even speak Spanish or any language really. They just sort of grunt. The sky is always pink and the grass is..." as he spoke her felt a draught against his knee and peering over at the figure curled up against him, he saw that she'd fallen asleep and was breathing deeply against his leg, her small body rising and falling with each inhalation.
The Doctor smiled at her and gently moved her head off his lap and onto the sofa, wrapping her in a blanket. He watched her for a moment, captivated by her simplicity and complexity that made her exactly what he needed, and then slowly, but resolutely leant forwards to kiss her forehead. He had always wondered why he was so drawn to showing his endearment by resting his lips there, on the space above her eyebrows. He lingered breathing in the smell soap and apple shampoo, and muttered, "it's always been a love story, you know. Soufflé girl and Chin boy off to see the world," he muttered and raised his sonic screwdriver at the lamps lining the room, dimming them to candlelight.
In the faint glow, the sleeping figure smiled.
