Laws of Attraction
12/Clara
T
A/N: Many thanks to all for the reviews, favorites and follows, you wonderful readers! :-)
Chapter 11
"You were crying in your sleep," he said softly, and she shook her head to clear it. "Are you alright?"
She wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to fly out of the bed and into his arms. Not even when facing death countless times, had she ever needed him more. But instead she swallowed, and wiped the tears from her face.
"I'm alright," she whispered. "Weird dream."
He frowned, his face full of concern, and she noticed then that he hadn't even put on night-clothes yet. Which meant she hadn't been asleep for very long.
"What time is it?" she asked, trying to catch her breath.
"Midnight," he said gently. "I was just going to bed, myself." He gave her a wan smile. "Took me awhile to convince Strax that acid wasn't the best way to remove the mud on my coat."
She gave a small laugh. "Good thinking."
The Doctor swallowed awkwardly. "So…do you need anything?"
You. I need you so much I can't breathe.
Clara shook her head. "No, just… just a dream," she cleared her throat. "Fine, now."
He peered at her, then sighed. "Well, if you're sure…" he began, turning to leave.
"Stay," she whispered, before she could stop herself.
"What?" he asked, turning sharply. But she knew he'd heard, and he probably knew that she knew.
"Please."
He stared at her, so she slid to the edge of the bed, leaving a Doctor-sized empty space beside her. She couldn't look at him, couldn't face it if he simply patted her on the head like a child with her nightmare and left the room. So she turned over, facing the wall, still leaving the space for him, and closing her eyes.
And after what seemed like years, she heard him remove his shoes and jacket, then slip into the bed beside her, his back to hers. The back of his hoodie brushed against her hair, and he was so close she hardly dared to breathe. And it seemed he was feeling the same, because the Doctor's body was stiff, as if he was straining to hold himself in check.
As it did so often, the contrast of the way he used to touch her, so easily and with such warmth made her heart constrict. And it was only when she sniffled out loud that his hand reached back for hers. She clutched at it gratefully, holding tight, and after a few moments he spoke again.
"Clara, it's going to be alright," he said, but somehow the words, the sound of his voice, only opened the dam.
In a flash, she flipped over, pulling him on his back and burying her head in his chest, letting her tears fall because if she kept them in one more moment they were going to consume her. He was still as stone, letting her cry, the only movement the thumping of his hearts. And the thought that her clinging, her tears, were something he probably hated only made them come faster.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled into his chest, and something in her voice seemed to finally dissolve his armour.
He groaned suddenly, a noise of surrender, and suddenly his arms were around her, holding her close. "Clara, I'm sorry," he said, clinging to her as though she might disappear at any moment. "I'm so, so sorry."
She clung back, never wanting to let go, knowing she must.
"My brave-heart girl," he whispered, and more tears came to her eyes. She felt something that might have been his lips brushing against the top of her head, and it was a feeling so unexpected, and yet so familiar, she thought it would break her heart.
She shook her head slightly, because she knew she had to be stronger than this, better than this- for him. How would she ever help him find his home again if she did nothing but hold on? The thought that she really had cursed him by trying to keep him for herself only doubled her resolve.
Clara squeezed her eyes shut, even as the Doctor still held her tightly. "Doctor, do something for me," she whispered.
"Of course."
"Tell me about your home," she pleaded, wiping her cheeks, her head pressed against his chest. "When you were happy, and had…. someone by your side, tell me what it was like for you."
She needed to hear him speak of Gallifrey, to remind herself of why she was paying the price of losing him. She needed to hear of his happiness, if she was ever to have the courage to let go.
His breathing slowed, almost to the point of stopping.
"Clara, don't make me remember."
"Please," she whispered. Because it wasn't just for her. Maybe if he remembered what he was searching for, it would bring him some peace, as well. "Please," she pushed again, and he looked away, the battle won.
His fingers curled against her arm, tightening, then finally he took a deep breath and sighed. "What do you want to know?"
She sighed, too, relieved. "Just tell me what it was like for you."
He paused another long while, then finally spoke. "It was dark most of the time," he said slowly. "Always on the brink of war."
The Time Wars, she thought, and then felt like a fool for not remembering.
"Were you afraid?"
He seemed to consider. "Sometimes," he said, and her heart lurched again because she remembered the scared, lonely little boy whom she'd comforted under the stars of Gallifrey.
"Was it the dark?" she asked, remembering how he'd trembled on his bed, her fingers soothing his hair.
"No," he whispered. "I never feared the dark because…..I suppose because I had all the light I needed in the person who was with me."
She bit her lip. "Someone you loved."
His fingers tightened again. "Someone I couldn't live without."
Clara swallowed, because his voice sounded wistful, almost reverent as he spoke of his wife. It was a sound that washed over her, bringing her comfort. "And were you happy, Doctor?"
His breathing came faster. "I was more than happy. I was whole."
Her eyes squeezed shut, and now it was her fingers that curled around his jacket. She would give her life if it meant giving that back to him.
"I know you'll find that again," she promised, but it only seemed to make his body shrink, as though she'd said the wrong thing.
"Clara…" he said, clinging to her hand, even as he turned his head away from her once more.
"Yes?"
"Do you know the worst part about being a Time Lord?" he said slowly. "It's never being able to tell people of what we know is coming."
Clara sighed a bit. He was right. It had happened to her so often, standing among people from the past, people who were ghosts, who didn't know what horrors their future would bring: the nice woman she'd met at a tea shop in 1905 San Francisco, who would die the next year in a massive earthquake, the RAF pilot who had gallantly picked up her scarf when it blew away outside a Cambridge pub in 1943, and whom the Doctor informed her would die in his mission the next day, and the ancient tribe of nomads who had shared their fire with Clara and the Doctor, telling them about their preparations to migrate to the other side of a mountain pass, one that, unbeknownst to them, would collapse under the weight of an avalanche, killing them all.
She sometimes wondered why the Doctor had so often brought her to places where she had had to learn to hold her tongue, to battle down the will to scream out the truth. It almost seemed he'd done it on purpose, and she still hadn't been able to figure out why.
"You want so much to tell them," he said, his voice full of the weight of his species.
"I know," she whispered back, because she did. He'd made her understand the price of time travel, ground it into her so that it was as instinctual for her as it was for him.
"But lies aren't easy, no matter what anyone says," he said, looking down at her finally. "And worst of all, is having to lie to someone you love, to have to pretend you don't know things that are going to happen to them, or that you're still learning about them when everything they are was written into your bones over a lifetime."
Her mouth was slack, her eyes searching his, because she still didn't understand. Of course his wife was part of him. Was it hurting him because he would have to lie to her, once he found her again, to keep from telling her that one day, she would die and he'd spend centuries flitting around the galaxy, running from the hurt?
"And Clara, if you ever have to do that yourself, it will be so hard not to tell them. To not say what you know, how you feel. You have no idea how much it'll burn." His face held such torment that it wracked her, a physical pain that rose from the deepest part of her.
So she raised his hands to her lips, pressed a kiss against them, emboldened by her determination to comfort him.
"Doctor, don't think of that now," she whispered, wishing that she could stroke his hair the way she'd done when he was a little boy, instead allowing him to stroke hers. It seemed to comfort him, either way, she realized. "I know you're scared," she said softly. "I know it hurts. But pain isn't…." she paused about to say "forever", but stopped as a sudden memory filled her.
"Isn't what?"
"Pain isn't…..the point," she said softly, brushing her cheek against his fingers.
"What?" he asked, his voice breathless.
She found herself smiling, a soft, gentle smile as the memory became clearer. "It's something my Gran used to say," she whispered. "When I lost my mum, she used to tell me that when you lose someone you love, it's so easy to give in to the pain. But then you start to realize that pain isn't what matters, because it's just the other end of joy." She raised her eyes to his. "The trick is, not to run from pain.. but to make joy the point. To concentrate on that. Hold on to that." She remembered his words to her from another lifetime. "And don't let go."
His eyes were anguished. "Does that work?"
She thought of him on Gallifrey, with the woman who must have loved him as much as Clara herself, if such a thing were even possible. She could see him so easily, safe, and , in his own words, whole. She saw his smile in her mind and the pain ebbed for the first time.
"Yes," she whispered, surprised. "It does." She held him closer. "And I promise you… you'll find joy again. I swear it, Doctor."
"Clara…" he said, clinging to her hand, even as he turned his head away from her., "… if I don't find it again… would you do something for me?"
"Anything."
"Would you come away with me?"
Her heart beat faster, because she would run with him forever, if he'd only let her. "Yes."
"You'll save me again?"
"Always."
They lay together silently then, and Clara listened to the twin beatings of his hearts, thumping away in his chest. She inhaled the sharp, leathery scent of him, and for a moment, could have sworn that he also smelled like…. Pink marshmallows. She frowned because once again she felt they had done this before- not just once, but hundreds, thousands of times.
Gathering her courage, she asked him. "Why does it feel like this?"
"Like what?" he asked, his voice above her head as she lay against his chest.
"Why does this feel so familiar?"
He was silent a long while. Finally, he whispered, "Maybe you just know me very well."
She sighed against him. Perhaps, all those moments when he'd been a whirling, bow-tie-wearing man, when he'd held her in his arms at every opportunity, those were the moments that had been written into her bones. She would always feel at home in his arms, no matter what body they were in.
She buried her face into his shoulder. He seemed to know, or at least understand, because in moments his hand raised to fall against her hair, stroking her, caressing her fears away. And once again, that feeling of déjà vu crept over her. But this time, it calmed her, and after a long while, she felt her eyes growing heavy, her breathing coming slower.
And just as sleep began to claim her, she heard his voice, soft as the beating of fairy-wings, caressing against her hair.
"My Clara," he whispered, so softly she wasn't sure if he was really speaking or if she was already dreaming, "when you threw the coin into the fountain, what did you wish?"
She pressed her head closer into his chest. "To get to keep you."
Her muscles relaxed against him, safe, warm in his arms, and just before sleep drifted over her, she was sure she heard him murmur, "Wish I could keep you, too."
To be continued….
