The Doctor was sitting under the TARDIS console when Clara found him. She waited for him to notice her (he had extremely accurate hearing) but furrowed her brow when he didn't turn around.

"Doctor?" she asked cautiously, walking toward him slowly.

The Doctor turned around quickly, wiping at his eyes. His attempts were somewhat impeded by the round glasses (that Clara had nicknamed "the Harry Potter glasses" from when she remembered seeing them in her Victorian London life) perched on the bridge of his nose, and a tiny bit of pain pierced Clara's heart when she saw that he wasn't happy. (No, shut up, The Rule.)

Clara looked up at the Doctor's downcast eyes and took the glasses off. She knew whose they were. She had been there that day at the graveyard when Amy and Rory had– (but what had they done? Not died, not exactly. There wasn't really a descriptor for it. They had…left), or at least a version of her had been. She'd tried to get to the Doctor to warn him that a few of the angels were still left, but had been transported back in time herself by the same angel that took Amy and Rory and lived the rest of her days (or that particular life's days) out as a secretary for a publishing company. She'd met Amy Pond when she took over that branch of the publishing firm and had become a friend of hers through the years, though Clara had never revealed her true identity (and that life was one of the ones in which her memory had been slightly off, getting worse after she was cut off from the Doctor). She still hadn't told the Doctor about her memories of the previous lives she had lived, but there seemed to be some recognition in his eyes as he looked at her.

The Doctor felt a surge of (what was it? Love? No, it couldn't be – could it?) as he saw the strange look in Clara's eyes. Almost haunted, but with a sense of strength, as if there was something that she remembered that she was determined not to let anyone know of. It was almost like looking into a mirror. Suddenly, she reached up and hugged him, and the Doctor felt his hearts thudding harder than usual and encircled her waist with his arms, burying his nose into her collarbone. After inhaling her scent deeply, he pulled away.

"Let's go on an adventure," he said, and let the memories of the graveyard slip away again.

"All right, Chin Boy, but eyes front this time."

"My eyes are always front!" the Doctor insisted, starting to climb up the stairs to the console.

"Mine aren't." The Doctor turned around to find Clara staring (quite openly) at his rear.

"Stop it!"

"No."

The Doctor turned around and continued up the stairs, trying not to feel too pleased with himself.


A/N: So I meant to make them go on an adventure today, but I made the mistake of listening to indie music while I write. It always makes me feel rather melancholy, so I'll listen to something lighter when I write the next chapter.

I quite like the idea of Clara being able to remember her past lives, and I hope Moffat wrote her having to deal with it into the 50th Anniversary because it would be interesting to see how she would go about it. I think at this point in my story she's basically trying to suppress it, but whenever something seriously triggers a memory (like Amy's glasses) she gets completely engulfed by it for a few seconds.

I rewatched "The Snowmen" last night, and I forgot how much I loved the banter in that episode, especially the lines that I creatively incorporated (read: stole) into this chapter. I hope that light ending made up for the inner monologue/melancholy of this chapter. I promise (like really, actually promise, like a real, true promise thing – you can tell it's 2:00 in the morning, can't you?) to write something light and bantery for next time.

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!