I'm happy today. Don't know why, don't care why, I'm just happy. :)
I'm all filled up with nervous energy because around the time I'm supposed to receive my PSAT score, I'm supposed to find out if I won the 1989 Swiftstakes. And on top of that, I've got a performance at the local music cafe on the 21st. Add Thanksgiving preparations and Christmas shopping to that - well, I'm just full of it. And a month is NOT that far away. So...yeah.
Anyway, this chapter goes out to a certain someone who, in her own words, wanted me to "MAKE THE TWO MAKE OUT NOW PLEASE". "TWO" means the Twelfth Doctor and Clara. So, since I was in the mood for some Whouffaldi myself, I decided to make her wish my command. Enjoy! ;)
"He's so tall and handsome as hell, he's so bad but he does it so well."
It was two in the morning, and Clara Oswald hadn't slept a wink.
Ever since she'd stormed out of the TARDIS, she'd been crying. All her anger and betrayed feelings were channeled into her tears as she slumped into the armchair in the living room, curling into a little ball. Her sobs only got worse when she heard the TARDIS dematerializing. Her old Doctor wouldn't have listened.
He would've come to apologize.
But then again, her old Doctor wouldn't have left such a horrible decision to her alone.
So Clara continued to cry. She cried for the old Doctor and what they once had. She cried remembering the kisses on cheeks and playful banter they'd shared. Then she cried for this newer, darker, Doctor, who was ready to let the human race trip and fall over one girl's mistake. She cried for the lack of her hand in his during their recent adventures.
Then she cried over her own foolishness. She cried over the horrible things she'd said to him. She cried over the memories of insults and dry humor at his expense. She cried over her initial skeptical feelings about him.
She cried because she was sorry for never even giving him a chance.
Soon enough, Clara had cried out all her tears and was left as a miserable lump on the armchair, her chest tight with sadness. Her eyelids drooped, all the crying having taken most of her energy.
The TARDIS engines in her bedroom were enough to wake her back up.
"Clara?" The TARDIS door creaked open, followed by the Doctor's voice. She heard him shuffling around her room looking for her. "Oh, please tell me you didn't go out with that pudding-brain again."
Clara raised her head. "I heard that," she called softly, mustering up any teasing she had in her at the moment.
The Doctor's head poked out from behind the door. "Clara, are you in here?" When he opened the door the rest of the way, the moonlight in the bedroom enhanced his silhouette.
Clara looked up and did her best to wipe the mascara from her face. "I'm right here, Doctor."
"So I see." In a few long strides, the Doctor crossed the room to the armchair.
Clara stood up to face him. They stood there for a minute, staring at each other until, at the same time, they both said, "I'm sorry."
Clara had to let out a dry giggle at that. "No, it was all me," she told him. "I should've been more supportive, more understanding..."
"I should've been more sympathetic," was the Doctor's response. "I should've told you what I knew."
They regarded each other for a moment before Clara spoke again. "I was scared, Doctor," she breathed. "I was really, truly scared."
The Doctor gazed at her for a moment. "I'm sorry." He closed the distance between them, and one more tear escaped Clara's eye before their lips clashed. This one, however, was a grateful tear.
For the moment, everything was fine. Clara was encased in the Doctor's arms and her hands were tangled in his silver hair. He loved her, and she loved him, and she was perfectly content with that arrangement.
When they finally broke apart, the Doctor pulled Clara against his chest and placed his other hand on top of her head, gently stroking her hair. Clara breathed in his scent, feeling more secure than she had felt in a long time.
The Doctor's next question surprised her. "Why were you scared? It takes a lot to scare my Impossible Girl," he murmured, his Scottish burr rumbling against her ear.
Clara stepped back a little to look up at his face. "Because I was afraid to disappoint you," she admitted. "I never want to disappoint you."
"Clara," the Doctor said, a small warning tone in his voice. "My Clara, don't think you will. You could never disappoint me." He cleared his throat. "So...are we, erm, good?"
Clara smiled. "Yes, Doctor. We're good."
"Good!" The Doctor released Clara and took her hand, leading her toward the TARDIS. "Now, where do you want to go? You look rather nice-we could go to a Broadway show. I don't think we've done Broadway-"
"Doctor?"
The Doctor stopped his ramble. "What?"
"First of all, it's two in the morning and I'm tired, so I think Broadway can wait. Second of all, it's dark. I could be wearing my nightie for all you know," Clara chuckled.
The Doctor raised an eyebrow, then smirked. "Maybe I think you look good in the dark."
"Down, boy!"
I REGRET NOTHING.
So this was based on "Wildest Dreams", a song off 1989. :) And no, it's not on Spotify yet, but I got the plot bunny, it wouldn't leave me alone, and this story was born. THERE WERE TOO MANY FEELS THOUGH
Anyway, if you like it, hate it, or want to light it up and watch it burn, review and let me know! :)
