*See end for Author's Note
Clara flew off his lap like it had burned her, breathing hard. "When did he…?"
Of course. The sudden need for a handkerchief. She closed her eyes, shaking her head. She should've known.
"Why did he…?" Her eyes filled again.
The Doctor made some sort of apologetic gesture. "I…he thought it'd be easier this way."
"John thought it'd be…but I didn't even get to say goodbye…" Her tears threatened to spill over, and she bit her lip hard, not wanting to cry in front of the Doctor. "Wait – he – that means you…remember being him?" Her eyes widened, and she swallowed. "How much do you remember of the last two months?"
He still wouldn't meet her gaze. "How much do I remember?"
"Yeah," she went on, heart speeding up for a different reason. "You know – like – flashes? Days here and there? Or…maybe nothing? Complete blackout?" She may have sounded hopeful with the last idea.
"Um…" He swallowed, gaze darting back and forth across the floor. "Everything?" He winced.
Clara's mouth dropped open. "Everything. Everything as in – everything everything. As in everything including – this morning everything?" Her voice slid up in alarm.
His hands were getting restless. "Um – you'll have to be a bit more specific – a lot happened this morning. Do you mean the Family taking me hostage for the watch or the uh…before that?"
"Before that?" she practically squeaked.
"Oh…well…yes. I remember everything, including…that."
Her mouth went dry, her hands flying to the edges of her dressing gown, pulling it tightly shut. "Okay." Her voice sounded shrill to her ears. "Okay, that was…well, that was him, that wasn't…" Her throat constricted. "That was because he…"
Thought he was my husband. Thought we were married. Thought I was his wife because he –
"Because you…"
Bollixed this up. Made me fall for him because you bollixed this up. And now you're wearing his face and none of this would've happened if you hadn't -
She was still breathing hard. "Because you – you…" She couldn't finish, she was so livid, and she wanted to jerk him up by the collar of his dressing gown and shake him and –
His head snapped up, meeting her eyes at last, his hands in a defensive posture. "I know – I know. I'll explain everything, I promise, Clara, but – but – seventeen minutes!"
"What?"
The Doctor shoved the – open – fob watch towards her. "The Family is returning in seventeen minutes, and we need to make sure we're ready for them. So -!" He finally stood up, grimacing as he did so. "Oh – well…" A flush crawled up his neck, finding its way to his cheeks. It looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. "Some – musclesthathaven'tbeenusedinawhile. So – what do we have, then?" He dashed about the room, his face lighting up as he collected items in a whirl. "Laptop! And…" He ran back to the living room, scooping up the radio. "Um - radio! Excellent! Now…" He opened the laptop, his fingers scurrying over the keys. "That was a brilliant stall tactic, by the way – loved that! HADS – Hostile Alien Defense System, ha! Though of course, it stands for something completely different, and it's actually a way for the TARDIS to protect herself; not the other way around, but they didn't know that, eh? Oh – do you have the sonic?"
Clara reached into her dressing gown pocket and handed it to him wordlessly, slapping it into his hand.
The Doctor recoiled a bit, then brightened as he palmed his beloved device. "Oh, how I've missed you!" He cooed at it, stroking it and kissing it loudly before aiming it at her laptop.
"What are you doing?" She couldn't keep the slight edge out of her voice.
"Calling the TARDIS," he replied. "You were right – I wouldn't have left you here completely defenseless."
"I wasn't," she insisted, quick to defend John's honour. "You held your own. I mean – he did."
"That was me." His voice was quiet. "I wouldn't have survived this long if I hadn't known how to break a chokehold." He considered something. "Mainly through distraction and – luck."
"And how about – killing that alien? Was that you, too? Or him?" She really couldn't resist goading him at the moment, especially if it kept her anger at a simmer.
He sighed, bowing his head. "That was me. They were threatening you, Clara, and I knew they'd be ruthless. I don't regret it." He continued typing, his voice dropping to a mumble. "One of the only things I don't regret from the last two months…"
Clara let out a noise like she'd been punched in the stomach. It felt like she had.
His head shot up, panicked look in his eyes. "I didn't mean - !" He squeezed his eyes shut, fists closing. "I didn't mean I regret everything else – I'm not saying that –"
"No," she cut him off, shaking her head, her ire freezing over. "No, it's – it's fine. It's better that I know. Now I…know."
That nothing was real. That it had been a sham. That it had all been a fantasy, exactly as she'd thought.
Exactly as she'd feared.
He was waving his hands so fast they were almost shaking. "No! You don't! That isn't what I –" Her laptop beeped, and he looked torn between attending to it and her. "Ah – fourteen minutes. I've got to complete this so the TARDIS can lock onto our position, but we will talk about this, I –"
"Actually, I think I'd prefer if we didn't," she said quietly. The Doctor gave her a pained look as she headed for the stairs. "If the TARDIS is coming, then I should change and…pack." Then she shot up the stairs, ignoring whatever his protests might be.
Entering her room, her gaze was drawn immediately to her bed, sheets still rumpled from their -
No.
She wouldn't do this. She wouldn't sit on the bed like she was doing now and trace the imprint his head had left on her pillow. She wouldn't bring the pillow to her nose and breathe his scent in, eyes falling shut as her hot tears spilled over. She wouldn't wrap herself up in the sheet, pretending she could still feel John's arms around her. She wouldn't torture herself, and yet…
This was it – all she had now. This bed and her memories.
The sound of the Doctor's footsteps on the stairs roused her and, wiping the tears off, she set about to busying herself with rifling through the contents of her 1940's wardrobe.
She heard him skid into the room. "Ten minutes," he informed her back.
"Okay. I'll be ready."
When he didn't leave after a few seconds, she finally turned and saw –
John. No – the Doctor. Eyes raking over the bed like he was viewing the scene of a gruesome crime: something horrific and confusing and sad. When they finally met hers, there was the briefest flash of…something before he pressed his lips into a thin line. "You'll be ready?"
Clara folded her arms. "I said I would."
He nodded once, turning and fleeing the room like it was the scene of a crime.
Clara ripped off the closest dress and quickly changed into it, her teeth clenching. Then she surveyed the rest of the dresses, fingers brushing over them until she came to the red dress that had made John –
She closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. Thank God she was leaving this place.
Her fist bunched at it, and she yanked it from the hanger, quickly rolling it into a ball and tucking it under her arm. Then she knelt at the side of the bed, pulling out the satchel and stuffing the dress inside. Slinging it over her shoulder, she took one last look before closing the door behind her.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw that the TARDIS was now standing in their living room. The Doctor had changed back into his normal clothes and was sat with the radio on the sofa, sonic in hand.
Clara approached him. "That's already fixed – remember?" She refused to talk to the Doctor like he'd been John. Made it easier somehow.
"For sound quality, yes. I removed all of the Cantrapalladian parts that interfered with the sound, but now - I'm replacing them because we're turning it back into an alien hoover!" He beamed at her.
Clara frowned. "Sorry – what?"
He was twisting wires again, making her heart writhe at the image. Good job he was in his tweed and bowtie or she might have had to retreat to the kitchen to keep from crying. "I returned to the shop with the intent to purchase the one you'd admired, but I didn't – I purchased this one instead." He patted it affectionately. "Something about it appealed to me, though I didn't know why, of course. But it was because there was a Cantrapalladian device inside! Which is sort of like a magnet. Well – not really a magnet. More like a hoover. Though - not really a hoover, either. But the point is – we can re-insert it for when the Family comes back and draw out the alien entities from the human bodies." He gave her one of those wide dopey grins that she used to love.
She crossed her arms again, arching an eyebrow at him. "And – that won't be a problem for you?"
"I'm not human." He was looking straight at her. As though she needed reminding.
Her jaw tightened. "I know. But – alien hoover. Won't that affect you?"
"I'm putting it on a timer – five minutes. We'll be gone by then."
She considered this, fingers digging into her arm. "How do you know they'll be back?"
"Because I do. You heard him – he's bringing the entire Queens Police Department with him to throw me in prison and clap you in the madhouse." There was a slight edge to his voice.
Now her fingers drummed. "What if they come back but don't come inside? Will it work then?"
He fixed her with a look. "No, but – I know they'll come inside."
"What if they don't? They come back but see we're not here."
"Clara –"
"Will they follow us again then?"
"No, I'll make sure they –"
"Will we have to hide again?"
"Of course not, I wouldn't –"
"Have to do this all over again?"
"No, I would never make you –"
"Will this all have been for NOTHING?!"
She was breathing fast, furious tears pricking her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. He would not see her cry.
The Doctor clapped his hands together in prayer position, raising them to her. "I know that you don't trust me right now, Clara, but –" He pressed his forehead to his hands, letting out a sigh. "I'm begging you - just give me five – no – four minutes. Four minutes, and then you can ask me anything you want. Anything at all. I promise."
She stared at him hard, willing the tears back into their ducts. She nodded once, turning from him and moving towards the kitchen, to give her some space if nothing else.
"Are you going to take that with you?" He asked, falsely cheery.
Her typewriter. She might've considered it, but his exuberance was a bit much at the moment. "No," she decided.
"But it was your constant companion! And it was there for you all those times when I…wasn't," he finished lamely.
Her hands balled into fists at his mention of the days of their Cold War – no, not theirs- hers and John's. She could've shouted something at him about never referring to things they'd done together using any first-person pronouns, but it would've come out all jumbled and she didn't trust herself to speak at the moment anyway. So she bundled up the stack of carefully typewritten pages from the last two months and stuck them in her satchel. Her fingers brushed over the keys of her typewriter, and she found herself sitting in the chair as she had on so many a night, when the only sound had been the constant stream of music from the radio. Like that night John had asked her to dance to his favourite –
"If you're worried about space, you can keep it in the TARDIS." He stood by its open doors now, with that eager-to-please look on his face, her laptop tucked under his arm. "As a souvenir."
She was losing her battle fast, and so she distracted herself by grabbing the typewriter, its heft cutting her wedding ring into her finger. "Done?"
"Yes, everything's ready." His wringing hands betrayed his nervousness.
"Good." She breezed past him, stopping before the open TARDIS doors, her back to the rooms she'd called home for two months. She wanted to turn and give it all one last look, say a proper goodbye, but she could feel the weight of his expectant, anxious gaze on her. And she knew it wasn't from the threat of the aliens' imminent return.
"I can switch for you, if you like."
She whipped her head back at him, eyes wide. "What?"
"It looks heavy." He indicated her typewriter, arms extending her laptop. "Do you want to trade?"
She blinked at him, uncomprehending, knowing that he wasn't asking what it sounded like.
"I can take it," he insisted, as if relieving her of this small burden would fix everything. He was being chivalrous, and he was never chivalrous like this. Only John was this chivalrous, and it made her want to –
"You can take me home."
She pushed past him, hoping he questioned whether she meant permanently or not.
At this point, she honestly didn't know herself.
*Author's Note: Oh, you amazing readers, you – 41 reviews for the last chapter?! :-D Holy mother of all that's good and – WOW! Just for that, I'll speed up the amount of time between when I post the penultimate and the last chapter. So again a massive THANK YOU to all who not only follow, favorite and give feedback – but also to those of you who are darlings and have rec'd this on tumblr. You guys are ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC. :D