(Clara), the Doctor said, clearly in her mind. (You can hear me, yes?)
Making herself tune everything else out—even the feel of his hands on her face and the touch of his forehead against hers—Clara responded to him in her mind.
(yes)
(Good, good…now try to project your thoughts directly into my mind, as opposed to just answering me in your head.)
(how….how do I do that?)
(Concentrate. Picture your thoughts pushing past my forehead and into my brain.)
Imagining her consciousness as a kind of cloud, she pushed it forward towards the feel of the pressure of his forehead against hers. She giggled a little at how silly she felt, trying to do something so impossible for her as opposed to how easily he had drifted into her mind.
(Clara…keep concentrating.)
(i'm trying)
Squeezing her eyes shut tighter and wrinkling her own forehead, she gave a mental push.
And found herself falling into a void, a spinning, ever changing vortex of whirling shapes and sounds and colors. Disoriented and dizzy, she felt nausea rise in her stomach. She tried to extricate herself from the maelstrom, but was caught in its swirling tide pool. A horrible feeling of losing her own identity to it crept over her.
At that moment, she heard the Doctor's inner voice.
(Sorry….I'm so sorry, Clara. I forgot. Don't panic—let me help you.)
The bewildering whirlpool disappeared, and she found herself back in her own mind, quiet and serene. She could sense the Doctor's mind still there, but with a lighter touch. Then it withdrew. She felt a distinct emptiness at the loss, but a profound relief at being back in her own head, the nausea slowly dissipating. Her eyes flew open.
"What on earth…was that?" she blurted out, staring at the Doctor.
He had pulled his hands away, and held them palms up, as if to ward her off. His expression was one of dismay.
"That…" he slowly answered her, "was what I see every moment of my life. That is time itself, spinning out across the ages, the future and the past."
"You see that all the time?" she asked, in a small voice.
"Yes." His head hung down, and his hands dropped to his knees. "I forgot to mute it before you came in."
"No wonder you're a madman." Her voice wavered as she spoke. "I…I don't think I could look at something like that all the time and not go crazy."
"You get used to it," he smiled sadly, and sighed. He turned from her, placed one hand on the ground and then pushed himself to a standing position. Looking away from her and hanging his head, he spoke in a quiet, dispirited voice, devoid of emotion. "I suppose this means we won't be able to try this after all."
Clara felt herself tearing up at the sight of his dejected face. Seeing him so defeated after being so elated was breaking her heart. She stood rapidly up and touched his chest. "I'm not ready to give up. If you 'mute' that…that whirlpool thing, it should be alright, yeah?"
He still looked away from her, but his jaw was working, like it did when he was mulling something over. She tenderly caressed the side of his face, and turned it back towards her. "Let's try it again…okay?"
A faint smile ghosted across his lips. Clara took that as a good sign, and kissed him gently on the cheek. "All right," he replied softly. "But only if you want to."
Lovingly, Clara smiled up at him. "Yes," she affirmed. She took his hands and placed them on each side of her face once more. He tilted his head to hers, and once more their foreheads touched.
(i'll try the reaching out thing again), she thought, and started concentrating on pushing her mind across the void and into his. She could feel a tugging sensation, and considered whether that was the Doctor trying to help her.
(Yes…I'm giving you a little help in crossing over. Think of it like me holding your hand.)
(just so long as you don't make us do any running)
(Wouldn't dream of it-!)
With that, she found herself mentally in a vast place, full of Gallifreyan letters that formed like rings of fire around her as she passed through into his mind. But instead of finding them frightening, Clara saw them as beautiful, each letter like a piece of art as it shaped itself and then dimmed, another taking its place. And all around her she felt warmth upholding her. As she got used to the sensation, she realized the warmth was actually the emotion of love—she was experiencing directly the Doctor's feelings for her. It was almost overwhelming. Clara felt her cheeks grow warm under its spell.
(Welcome, Clara. Is this better?)
(oh yes…no dizzy vortex, no nausea. I like the Gallifreyan alphabet I'm seeing. What does it spell?)
(Gallifreyan…alphabet?)
(Yes…I can see Gallifreyan letters around me. They look like fire…all gold and red and orange. So beautiful…)
(Interesting. I suppose those are my thoughts.)
(You have some very colorful thoughts! And…I can feel the love…)
(Ah. Sorry. I…can't turn that off.)
(I'd be very disappointed if you did, Mister! But I have to say…if this is how you really feel…)
(It is.)
(All the time?)
(Since I met your echo in Victorian London. I haven't stopped loving you since.)
(Okay, now I want to kiss you.)
(If you do now, you'll break the link. It'll be a while before you can do something like that and maintain the link.)
(Oh my. Really?)
(Yes.)
(Now I really want to kiss you. Talk about romantic!)
(Heh. Well, if you insist…)
Clara pulled her head back, opened her eyes, gazed into the Doctor's expectant green eyes, and then leaned forward and kissed him fervidly. This was one of those moments where she felt like she'd been blessed with having an alien for a boyfriend, instead of a normal, boring fellow like all the other blokes out there. This, along with the two hearts, was icing on the cake. He really was quite special.
