"No, I didn't- How can it be my fault if I don't even remember it?" The Doctor was reeling, struggling to process what he was hearing.
"You truly think guilt dies with memories?" Rose shook her head sadly. "Look around. You know that's not true. It can't be."
"I won't accept it," the Doctor said firmly, lifting his chin in determination. "She isn't dead." Every bit of his being rebelled against the idea.
But Rose's look of pain and pity nearly crumbled his facade. "Doctor, this entire disaster is because of you not accepting it." She shrugged helplessly. "How long are you going to let it go on?"
She stood up suddenly, abruptly, as if unable to stand it any longer. "I, er, made some tea, earlier, when-" She stopped. "Well, I'll go heat it up if you want some." Without waiting for an answer, she hurried into the kitchen, wiping her eyes, leaving the Doctor to sit alone.
It was a long moment before the Doctor moved. With the sudden weight that had settled onto his shoulders, any motion at all felt like an unbearable effort. Clara gone? Clara dead? No. Not possible. He'd have known. He'd let Rose go, and remembered every second of it. Sometimes he wished he could forget it. Why this?
It wasn't your fault, he reminded himself. Not then. Not directly. He wondered briefly how often his mind acted against him like this.
He stared around at the comfortable living room, a setting sharply contrasting the plot. The squat lamps, the covered couch, the flickering television screen. Everything was all so normal in a world that was anything but.
Hold on a minute. The Doctor sat up a little straighter, mind whirling backwards. Something was off, something wasn't right, wasn't normal-
Oh. The flickering television screen. Flickering. Why was it flickering?
The Doctor almost ignored it - something so small, so unimportant, surely it was just coincidence. There must be a multitude of reasons for it to be happening.
Then again, he'd long said that coincidence should never be ignored, unless one is busy. And right at the moment, he badly wanted something to do, something to take his mind off what he'd just heard, even though he knew he really should focus on sorting out his mind… Wasn't every scrap of hope worth pursuing?
With a sigh, the Doctor got to his feet, pulling out his sonic screwdriver. He gave the screen one short blast of energy, almost halfheartedly, and was surprised at the response. The sonic hummed slightly, as if recognizing something in the television.
"What's going on?" he muttered, adjusting the frequency. Something was nagging at him, as insistent as the buzzing of the screwdriver, but he couldn't quite put his finger on either.
Frowning, the Doctor flicked open the sonic and stared at it intently. By all accounts, there was nothing unusual about the TV set at all - nothing visible, at least. Nothing clear, nothing obvious.
He turned away from the screen, shoving away the last remains of the hope that had flared within him. Although ever hopeful, ever optimistic, he had to admit that sometimes hope hurt more than despair.
"Doctor!"
The Time Lord froze. That voice was one he'd nearly convinced himself he'd never hear again.
Slowly he turned around, looking back at the television. "Clara?"
She was there, on the screen, her eyes wide and desperate. "What's wrong? Wake up!"
"I'm here, Clara, I'm here!" He ran back to the screen, grabbing it frantically. "Tell me how to help you."
"Doctor, please!" No recognition showed in her eyes - clearly, the communication was one-way. Moments later, Clara's face seemed to shrink, as if moving away from him, and soon the screen was black.
"No, wait..." The Doctor pounded on the display, now showing only static. "Clara!"
"Doctor, what is it?" Rose ran in from the kitchen, clutching a teapot. "Is she…" She stopped, as if bracing herself. "Are you forgetting again?"
"No, she was just here!" His movements slowed as he calmed, and he let go of the television. "She was just here… But I remember her, I remember everything you told me." Whirling back to his feet, the Doctor stared at her insistently, pleading with her to believe him. "I'm not…"
Slowly she nodded. "Okay. I believe you. But how could she have got there?"
But the Doctor was already miles away. "So she's not dead, then, that much's for sure," he muttered to himself, pacing a tight circle around the living room. "But where is she? And wake up, she told me to wake up. Why?"
"Because you're sleeping?" Rose offered hesitantly. She wasn't quite sure what to do - her Doctor, the one she knew best, had always included her in his reasonings, always helped her come to the same realizations he did. But this one talked more to himself than to anyone else, relied on himself rather than the help of others. She wondered what had happened to change him.
"No, not sleeping, I'm clearly not sleeping." He clutched his hair. "So why would she… oh." Coming to an abrupt stop with the realization, the Doctor stared at Rose, looking at her but not seeing her. "Unless I'm dreaming."
"Dreaming?" Rose let out a breath that was part gasp, part sob. "Doctor, you've been dreaming for months now. This is reality."
"No, no, that's not what I mean." Finally smiling, the Doctor turned to her, gesturing wildly. "This place, this entire universe. None of it's real!"
Rose laughed, but her eyes showed only confusion. "What d'you mean, not real, we've all been living here, it's been months!"
"It all makes sense, don't you see?" His eyes were alight, back in his familiar role. "You said I've forgotten that she died, that I always forget, but I remember what you told me, and she's still here, I still see her."
"But you still don't remember her dying." It wasn't a question.
The Doctor paused briefly. "Well, no. But it's the only explanation, isn't it? If she is dead, then how can she have shown up on the screen?"
"Are you sure she was really there?" Rose asked hesitantly. "I mean, I didn't see or hear her, and I was right in the kitchen…"
"I've never been more sure. Oh, I should have seen this," he muttered, pounding his head. "Nasty, dusty Time Lord brain, I've seen things like this before, ages ago." He waved a hand in the air, then shook his head. "No, no pixelation or motion blur, no distortion at all. I suppose not, I'd have seen it by now." He frowned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "And we're not switching around… unless there's some other universe that I don't remember where Clara died…?"
"What?" Rose had gotten lost several ideas ago.
"No, that's ridiculous, I'd know. But think about it," he said suddenly, turning to Rose, "what happens when you're dreaming and an alarm goes off in the morning?"
Rose raised an eyebrow. "You wake up?"
"Maybe," the Doctor admitted. "But if not…"
"Oh! I see!" She pointed excitedly. "It slips itself into the dream somehow, in a way you'd expect it to, like a, I dunno, a siren or something.
"Right," the Doctor said approvingly. "But with a person, picture and sound, it'd be different. Maybe coming through onto something like-
"A television screen," the Rose finished with him.
"Exactly." Beaming, he nodded, waving an arm around the room. "A lie so outrageous you've got no choice but to believe it. All of us - John and Sherlock too, we've imagined this entire universe, the entire time, none of it's been real! It's not a parallel world, it's a dream world, that's what she's trying to tell us!"
"So Clara must have woken up, then," Rose guessed, now glancing at her TV suspiciously, wondering what else might come through.
"When she went through the crack, she got out of this universe, she escaped," he explained excitedly, "and that's all we've got to do too."
"Okay, but how?" she asked skeptically. "Easier said than done, I'd think. Unless the crack she went through is still open?"
The Doctor pulled out the sonic screwdriver and examined it. "No, I don't think so. Whatever happened when she went through…" He shook his head. "We're sealed in. That way, at least."
"Alright. Then we'll have to find a different way," Rose said confidently, smiling up at him. He took her hand.
"That's my girl. Come on, let's go tell John and Sherlock." He tugged her out of the living room, grinning. Laughing, Rose let herself be pulled along.
"Why are you so happy?" she asked. "Seems to me that wasn't exactly good news."
"Ah, but now we know. I can't solve a problem unless I know what it is."
"Know your enemy," Rose added, nodding.
The Doctor beamed. "Exactly," he said, opening the door to the garden. "Know your-"
His sentence was cut off by a gunshot. The pair took it all in in a second: Sherlock recoiling, John holding the gun, both of their expressions.
"...enemy," he finished quietly. "Oh dear."
A.N: Hello, friends! Sorry it's been so long, I am abominably lazy in the summer. It's truly horrendous. Thank you for your patience, both in waiting and reading/reviewing. You are very kind to me, my friends. Thank you.
-Forever the Optimist