A/N: This chapter turned out to be a little bit longer than I expected, so bring tissues for the next! The next one is the climax of the story of Asterix XII. This is setting everything up so I don't need to explain later on. (See bottom note for more details.) Thank you, thank you, thank you to castlefringereader, Guest, Neonluminosity, 11DoctorWhoFan10, ImpossibleClara9 (you're far too kind. And as for that, I think it would make an interesting storyline for series eight! Clara can always come back to the show, long after she's gone. But I always think of that myself, what do you think?), Son of Whitebread, Guest, Guest, ThePotterDoctor (you're too smart!), OhMyStarsShiz and NoLongerAGuest.

Chapter Twenty One: Managing Memories

Everything was moving rather quickly.

The world outside of the TARDIS was chaotic, destructive – an outright war. Joshua's hand skimmed across Clara's shoulders as she looked around, slightly horrified, slightly sad. How did this happen? The town was alive with shouts and screams, people were running left and right, taking shelter behind houses and fleeing through the open gates. Soldiers from Simeon's government were shooting in all directions while the Revolutionites fought back just as ruthlessly. Clara glanced up at Joshua and pulled him back into the TARDIS, just to escape the noise for one more minute.

"I don't think this plan is going to work," she told him, walking around the main console. The light blue hue was giving her some comfort. "We need to save the Doctor, yes, but we need to stop that." She pointed in the direction of the doors. "We need something that's going to be fast and effective."

"I thought you'd want to wait until we got the Doctor back," Joshua explained, a little guiltily.

"Can't we do both? Isn't there something we can do?" Clara beseeched. She was looking at the TARDIS now, hoping to find a hint of inspiration from the impossible machine.

Cailin stepped up to the conversation. Scratching the back of his neck, he said, "Your friend – I heard him say Simeon was just a human shell full of information. So he's not really living."

"He's just an echo," Clara agreed, a small shiver falling down her spine. "The original Simeon was pure information, but this one is a mixture of human too. He thinks he's human. That's what jumping into the timestream did to us – we forgot about the original us."

"Information has to be stored somewhere, that's why he has to have technology around him. It keeps him alive. Even though he doesn't realise he's an empty shell, he probably realises his need for advanced technology. Just look at his castle," Cailin said.

Joshua leaned against the side panel, grinning. "I'll just leave this science-y bit up to you, little bro."

"What are you saying?" pressed Clara.

Cailin stared between the two friends as if they were stupid. "Isn't it obvious? We find his main source of information. The storage unit. The place he pours his heart and soul into. We take out his technology, his upper hand, and the roles reverse. He's under our control. We can take down the castle and we take over the government."

"It always sounds so simple when you say," Joshua joked.

Something flashed in front of Clara's eyes – a brief, disjointed afterthought of a memory. The throbbing pain in her head pulsed just over her brow. "That's what happened before – on Christmas Eve!" she exclaimed. "The snowmen, the ice lady… They just disappeared when the technology controlling them was tampered with! It just needed an alien element, something it didn't know how to control! That's what we have to do!"

Cailin's eyes flicked to her in interest, a soft smile pulling at his cheeks. "What happened before?"

She remembered – how could she forget? – the Doctor holding her hand as he kneeled beside her. That hazy crimson glow surrounding where she lay. Vastra and Jenny talking of how the snow was melting, and when she asked the Doctor would he go back his cloud –

"It rained," Clara answered simply.

For some reason, the memory felt heavy in her head. Like a charm too many on a bracelet. It was awkward, displaced; she didn't quite know what to do with it. Despite the worried glances being fired her way from Joshua, Clara physically shook herself and took a few steps towards the TARDIS doors. "So, we find Simeon's weak spot and we find the Doctor."

Joshua followed her. He gently scooped up her left hand in both of his own. What he wanted to do was send her back to bed, to heal, and ask if she was okay – but there was plenty of time for that later. There was no arguing with Clara when she was determinedly set on a mission. It didn't stop him from worrying, though, he would never stop worrying about Clara. For as long as he lived.

"Ready?"

Her eyes met his and, maybe it was the pain in her head and her general confusing, conflicting memories popping up to the surface, but as she looked at him, she realised: yes, she could imagine a different version of herself, living a different life, falling in love with Joshua Thompson. He reminded her a lot of the Doctor, in some ways.

"Ready."

The Doctor stood, perfectly still; eyes squeezed shut in the middle of a dozen guns, waiting for the shots to ring in the air and the oncoming bullets to pelt his body.

But nothing came.

He peeked through one eye before blinking them both open. Simeon had moved through the soldiers to stand in the middle of the circle with the Doctor. He was staring at him, his nose in the air, and his cold icy eyes searching the Doctor's very soul. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he had a disgusted expression on his pointed face, like he'd just tasted a particularly nasty treat.

"You know," Simeon said, dragging out each syllable, "that I cannot kill you."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "No matter what I do?"

Simeon's face twitched. "We need you."

The Doctor smiled a warm, friendly grin. "Good!" he exclaimed, before pulling back his fist and lunging at the Great Intelligence, with all the power he could muster from his upper body. Two guards dragged him back as his fist made contact with Simeon's cheekbone. They held onto his arms, but the Doctor didn't struggle. He needed someone to control his actions caused by his temper, just as much as Simeon needed him. All he could see when he stared at the empty man in front of him was: this was the person who hurt Clara.

That was enough rage to send the Doctor into battle.

"I need to think – I need to plan," Simeon told one of his soldiers. "I want him locked up somewhere in the mean time. Out of my sight or I'll kill him myself and then he's no use to anyone. Make sure it's basic."

"Basic?" the Doctor scoffed.

Simeon's eyes flashed with annoyance. "Put a stupid man in an advanced room, and you can guarantee he won't escape. The same is for the reverse. Put a smart man in a basic room and the simple task of escaping is suddenly blown out of proportion. You're a logical man, Doctor. I'm surprised you even understand something as simple as the emotions in which control you."

"Emotions aren't simple. Only a simple person thinks they are. They're the most complex things in life; even I struggle with them," the Doctor retorted as the two men holding him started to drag him away. As his eyes left Simeon, the Doctor was acutely aware of the heavy metal object in his coat pocket – his sonic screwdriver. Well, this was going to be simple. They hadn't even bothered to search him. All the Doctor would have to do was sonic his way out through the door and make his way back to the TARDIS.

He was almost disappointed.

Further down the corridor, on the same floor, the two guards shoved the Doctor into a completely empty room. No window. No furniture. Completely metal and completely empty. Simple. Basic. Just as Simeon wanted. Nothing but a large camera in the corner. He had his back to the guards as they locked the creaky door behind him, and as he pulled out his sonic screwdriver, he laughed to himself.

"Basic? As if basic would ever stop me," the Doctor said out loud as he spun around to face the exit. "The only basic thing that could –"

He was completely disappointed.

It was a wooden door. A wooden door. Wood.

Shoulders slumped and scowling, the Doctor finished, "The only basic thing that could stop me is wood."

Clara's heart pumped against her ribs, a little faster than usual. Her hands were sweaty as she followed Joshua and Cailin, along with a few more helpers, through the empty castle. It felt soulless in here, the more that Clara thought about it. No warmth, no heart. Just metal; cold, lifeless metal.

"Good job, by the way," Cailin whispered to her as they crept along the ground floor. "The whole secret agent thing. Finding the scrolls and destroying them. It was totally ace."

Clara shrugged. A certain memory was pulling at her mind, like a fish caught on a rod. "It was me, but technically it wasn't really me. Thanks anyway."

Cailin's eyes shone with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. "Can you remember?"

"Dying?" Clara asked numbly.

Joshua shot his brother a you-better-shut-up-right-now look.

Cailin ignored him. "Yeah. I mean, you look like you. How I remember you. But you seem slightly… different. Just slightly."

A sharp shooting pain burst across Clara's forehead. She winced and pressed her palm over her eyes. Joshua grabbed onto her elbows, keeping her standing straight, as she swayed on the spot.

She remembered.

It was like when you think you'd forgotten something from your childhood but one day you come across a certain scent or object, even the texture of fabric underneath your fingers, and it all comes back to you in a rush. The memory, why it was important, everything down to the littlest detail – and suddenly, you wonder why you ever forgot it in the first place. Yet, it wasn't really forgotten. To forget implies never to remember, never to crop up in your conscious memory ever again – like what you had for tea this time last year, on this exact date. Some memories are only replaced by immediate occurrences, they lie low until they're needed, and all it takes is one small spark of inspiration to bring them back to the forefront, where they'd previously belonged. You're consumed, in the moment of remembrance, by the emotions you felt during that time; whether it is happiness, sadness or regret. The memory may be slightly blurrier, slightly more obscure than it was the first time, but the feelings experienced are the same.

The scene in front of her was hazy, similar to a homemade video. A dark strand of hair clouded her vision. It was blowing in the wind, catching on her eyelashes, as she ran against the breeze. The crispness of the paper she clutched in her hand felt cold in her grasp. Thunderous footsteps followed her, multiple shots fired in her direction and her eyes darted in different directions as she searched for some sort of sign, any kind of giveaway that he was here.

Josh, she called out in her mind. Where is Josh?

Something hit her – with the force of a cannonball, and it sent her flying through the air until she fell to the ground, limbs sprawled awkwardly around her. There was no pain, just a short moment of panic, and she pushed herself to her feet and continued to run.

A tingly sensation started to spread across her back. Her top felt slick with something warm and damp. She pushed it to the back of her mind and continued to run. As far as she could, as quick as her legs would take her.

She did her best to ignore the pain. If she acknowledged it she risked fainting. There were more important things at stake.

Clara's eyes refocused on reality. Joshua's face was pushed up against hers, so close that she could count his eyelashes. His eyes were so wide, so blue, and shining with concern. He knew what was happening. They both did. She reached out and touched his face, like the Doctor did to her on so many occasions. She told him what he wanted to hear.

"She thought of you," Clara said in a strained whisper. "When she was running. She thought of you."

It took a moment for Joshua to realise what she was saying. When he did understand, his eyes grew misty, as if he was remembering something too. His head jerked, like a half of a nod, and he pulled away. His reaction was unreadable, and Clara glanced to the floor, not wanting to think of him right now. Her mind still felt torn, invaded, confused. She wanted the Doctor – that's all she wanted. She needed him right now, to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be okay.

Joshua knew, deep down, that Clara wasn't the same as his Clara. She was a ghost to him, her heart was longing for someone else. The memories were there – at least, now they were – but the passion behind them had long since died. Despite this, Joshua didn't turn his back on her. He didn't abandon her. He stayed as loyal to her as he would with his own Clara. It hit Clara in a split second epiphany: Joshua was a good man. There was no other way to describe him. He was good. Selflessly good.

She felt almost guilty.

"Come on," Joshua said, leading the way again. "The control room is this way."

Note: Okay, so I don't want anyone to think I'm shipping Joshua and Clara. I was trying to show how confusing this must be for Joshua – a girl who he loved, who he saw die, come back to life and love another man in front of him. It would take a loyal, selfless kind of person not to walk away from that situation. Cailin too, as we saw here, is a little less graceful and tactful than his brother. He loves science and knowledge, which are his first priorities, and then realises afterwards how he might sound. For anyone who guessed correctly, yes, Clara's mind shield set up by the Doctor is slowly breaking down after the incident with the Great Intelligence. Eventually, this will link back to the start of the story. Remember that first paragraph before chapter one? It's a-coming. Round of applause, too, for Clara being put through hell and still managing to put all her care and effort into the Doctor! Anyway, that's all I needed to say before the next chapter. I hope you have a lovely day! Reviews make me so happy, and I'd love to reach 200 before the end of this fic! Thanks for reading!