This chapter was written while I was high after having my wisdom teeth removed. I don't really remember writing this...just kinda found it :P
But it works! Enjoy!
Back to the present time- Clara is inside the time ship after the attack of the Vilroushka.
Clara has materialized onto the floor of the TARDIS control room, the metal grates her feather bed and familiar bedroom ceiling. She lay on her back, still completely out. Her mind was blank, and for these moments, she did not exist.
Scarlet tales twirling, the Doctor entered the room with a quick snap of the lock. He couldn't have the other humanoid bursting in on any moment; all would be screwed up, to put it plainly. How a timelord can be…he'd nearly forgotten his heritage. Sighing, he pressed his head against the interior of the door and shut his eyes. A tiring day…Clara and he had been on 2 other adventures previous to the industrial-agricultural feats of a lavender-world-with-twin-suns field trip. The adorable white-striped panther kits the size of black bears were certain to lighten the mood. And they had…for a bit. The first trip was peaceful, the second, not so much—which is why they had to come here (to end on a good note). A good note indeed. "An earsplitting, mutli-octave yowl, to be precise,"the Doctor mumbled bitterly. To real her back in, in a sense. To get her appreciating the wonders he had to offer not that I actually own anything. Oh Clara. He just wasn't ready to lose the first face this face saw. He needed her to want to stay, to need as he needed.
Waaaait a minute.
I'm forgetting something…something ridiculously important—
CLARA!
Pale gray eyes snapped open, and the 2000 year-old man whipped around with hearts leaping in anxiety. Breaking into a strange, sprint-waddle of questionable balance, the Doctor was at Clara's side in a flash, hands outstretched in concern. Kneeling by her side, he was overcome.
His stinging eyes couldn't take all this in at once. Clara.
The first he could take in was the scarlet. Dripping from a sharp gash on the side of her head, coating her earthy hair in a sickening reddish slick. Surface cuts along her once-porcelain face were now encrusted with blotchy redstone dust, more red covering harsh bruises. His breath whistled through clenched teeth as he delicately traced the outline of the next wound.
Her right arm and leg glistened with raw, shining flesh- skinned from some horrific, sliding fall. Further pools of scarlet rose from this fragile human's being. A cringe creased the timelord's face…a hand rested on Clara's shoulder gently.
The grip tightened to unintended clawing as his eyes locked themselves on her forearms. Both consisted of sickening, thready strips of skin…he located strings of muscles torn from their pairings like licorice, a glint of pale bone could be seen through the deepest gash. White scratches framed the horror. He couldn't let it go.
Transfixed, traitorous memories began to inch back into his mind…not forgetting anymore…his eyes grew unfocused and his hand fell to his side. He could physically feel the memories flooding back in a rush of cool, tingling blood up his neck. Blood trickled slowly from the defeated human's feebly clotting flesh, running down through the grates of the floor. A drop fell beneath, onto the heated, living TARDIS' column skirt beneath…...hiisssssss
The Doctor straightened up at the sound, clearing his head with more urgency than this regeneration had ever mustered before. Non-too gently, the Doctor thrust two fingers just below Clara's jawline and against her neck. A single throb was felt beneath still, steady hands. He heard another hiss of a blood droplet dissipating at the heat of the TARDIS core. Another slow, sluggish, struggling throb was felt beneath his fingertips.
With mounting dread, he leaned over Clara with long legs on either side of her torso, wielding the grace of a wounded sparrow. Patting her cold face, he stooped further and further with his own. His nose was now less than an inch from her battered face, slick with cold sweat and a sickly gray that weighed down his hearts. Her complexion reminded him of Danny…a comparison adding to the weight in his hearts and the urgency of his actions.
"Clara Clara Clara Clara Clara! Can you hear me? You need to wake oop!" he hissed, patting her face all the while. His wide eyes inflated as hers have so many times before. Her slick head merely lolled to one side, her face now resting against the grated floor. "Noonoonoonoo Noo you're not supposed to do that! Stop doing that!" Leaping to one side of her, he seized her hand roughly and began patting it. What was he doing…he didn't know. He didn't know what to do; I'm not that kind of doctor. Had she been poisoned, fine; he was a chemistry genius. Something wrong with the mind, also fine; he had the telepathic relays of the TARDIS to help, as well as his own inherent abilities.
But physical abrasions? Especially wounds this serious…hiisssssss
The putrid scent of burned blood assailed his nostrils, the hiss startling him into action once more. The TARDIS column shifted and whined loudly. "I know, I know! I'm doing…something…" he reached a milky hand to his grayed head, scratching absentmindedly…he began pacing in quick strides, knowing that time was ticking for his Teach. The stress of the situation and mixed, unattended emotions began to barricade himself from his hearts. "Although, there's bound to be more copies out there-"he reasoned. The TARDIS lights flashed in anger and he threw up his hands in mock defeat. "-but I know that there is a limited supply and no other copy would be quite like this." The lights dimmed back to their usual lighting, though the TARDIS seemed to be growling. With a reapproving glare, the Doctor continued to pace, panting in shallow breaths. His attack eyebrows softened and knit into the strangled, overwhelmed expression of being trapped within his own mind.
Under his breath, he muttered "It's not like I'm going to dump her here; I'd take her back home first. She'd be in hospital and I'd say it was a rogue tiger or some nonsensical story those daft pudding brains would believe. Her people would stitch her up the best they knew how…" his head cocked to one side as he reconsidered the possibility, his stressed persona melting into one of unperturbed calm, "…or not." A manic, satirical grin stretched across his face as he continued nonchalantly, stopping with his hands comfortably in his pockets. "And I could go hunting for another copy. Start over at my leisure. Or simply go off on my own again. No dates, no boyfriends, no students, no arrogant little-"
And he stopped dead, realizing he was standing on something soft. Looking down at his beloved Teach, he saw vibrant cinnamon eyes inflating viciously at him, and a gray complexion flushed with the heat of anger and disbelief…Clara Oswald had awoken. The Doctor stared at her in shock as he withdrew his boot from over her outstretched hand.
