Chapter Ten: On the Other Side

A part of her had always been a little scared.

About the road trip. About taking risks that she never would have stood by if not for The Doctor's compelling encouragement. He made her feel capable of being brave, though she was always a little more apprehensive than she let on.

His tweed coat had long since been abandoned and was now hanging on the back of the driver's seat, the keys to the TARDIS already in the ignition when Clara returned from the toilets. Two minutes, she had promised him, and was now stifling a small laugh as she found him snoring in the passenger seat. He hadn't even made it long enough to put on his seat belt. Shaking her head, the young woman climbed into the vehicle and reached over to fasten it for him, only to realize how close she was.

Either she was being watchful or just plain strange, Clara couldn't help but smile at how peaceful he looked, as if every preexisting trouble on his face had dissolved into a quiet stillness. Strands of dark brown hair had fallen into his eyes, and without thinking, she lifted to brush them back into place, her fingers barely grazing his forehead. Seven hundred miles ago she wouldn't have even considered such a gesture. Now...she didn't know what kind of distance she had crossed to get to here. All she knew was that The Doctor was one of the most interesting people she'd ever met, and she got the sense that he felt the same way about her.

"Thank you," she murmured, even though he couldn't hear. Thank you for everything.

Fastening her own seat belt and readjusting the seat to fit her height, Clara took a deep breath. She could feel the rumble of the vehicle's engines purring beneath her feet, the sheer magnitude of the TARDIS's horsepower hers to wield for the next leg of the journey. She tried not to dwell on it for too long. New York was still a ways away from their reach, and time was limited.

"Everything's backwards, like looking into a mirror," The Doctor informed her back in Nevada, his hand maneuvering the TARDIS with ease. "It's as simple as writing with your other hand! Actually no, that's a rubbish comparison..."

Everything came so naturally to him. Clara still didn't know what to make of it, or rather, how to develop that sense of ease herself. She had tread carefully almost her entire life, and often found it disquieting to see people like The Doctor, throwing themselves in front of danger while still managing to land on both feet. It made her question what the point of carefulness was. Whether it was necessary at all.

It's just a straight line, she told herself finally, brushing away her doubt without a second thought. Shifting the gear into reverse, she slowly eased her foot off the pedal and backed out of the parking space. That's all it is. And all it ever will be.

It wasn't until she finally hit the road when she realized that things were only as easy as she decided they were.

"How is it?" The Doctor asked gently, once he found his voice. Clara tore her eyes off of the dark highway to meet his gaze, and though her face was still tight with apprehension, relief soon followed suit as she saw that he was coming to. "The driving, I mean. Easy enough?"

"Yes! Fine," she nodded, her hands on ten-and-two. "At least I think it's fine. How was the drink?"

"Good. Not much punch, I'll admit. A bit fruity." He rubbed his chin and stared out the window, where rolling plains flanked them on either sides. "How long have I been out?"

Clara touched her tongue to the roof of her mouth, concentrating as she did the calculations. "'Bout two hundred miles? We passed the Utah border a while ago, and now we're in someplace called..." She carefully pried her fingers from the wheel to check his phone, which had been plugged into the portable charger so she could use it for directions. "...Bondurant, Wyoming."

"Bondurant?"

"It's French for...something."

"Trivial Pursuit?"

"Nope. Just general knowledge and...etymology. I took a class in university, scraped by with a B minus." Her expression told him she wasn't pleased with it. He chuckled, repositioning himself in his seat so he could look at her profile. The high points on her face were illuminated with the electric light of the dashboard, soft red and blue hues bending around the bow of her lips, the curve of her nose. He quickly averted his gaze towards the road.

"What did you study?"

"English Literature, of course," Clara replied, a hint of pride in her tone. "My mum said I loved it so much that I could teach it."

"...then why don't you?" he asked, the question slipping from the part of his brain he often left unattended. The part where questions took shape and slipped by like droplets from a faucet. It didn't help that he was still incredibly sleepy. Clara tilted her head thoughtfully, as if it were too a curiosity of hers she hadn't yet explored.

"Because I'd have to settle," she replied after a while. "I'd have to stop running, writing about the places I see." Looking for things I didn't know needed to be found, she wanted to say, but refrained for a reason she couldn't quite place. "Life would be normal again. And I wouldn't get to do things like this."

"Like what?"

"Like driving your arse around, that's what," she retorted, smiling. "Don't you want to know what happened to you?"

"Not particularly," he admitted, mirroring her smile. "I'd always thought I'd get asked that from a physician, or some type of security guard...what happened to me?"

"Well, after your dignified impression of The Caruso of Rock, the crowd loved you so much that you sang two more songs. You barely made it back to the car before you were out cold."

"Five more Missionaries?"

"Adrenaline, I'm guessing," Clara supplied. "Ordered take out, though it's probably soggy by now. Been holding up the TARDIS since you've been gone."

"So you just taught yourself how to drive on the opposite side of the road?"

Her lips drew themselves into a thin line. "Like you said, its as simple as being ambidextrous." He recognized the humorous edge to her voice, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I've managed well enough," was all she followed with. She didn't tell him about her near-collision with a fire hydrant, or how she circled the building twenty-seven times before she decided that 'getting the hang of it' was just a euphemism for 'getting over it.' But perhaps that was a story for another time.

The Doctor sat up in his seat, suddenly concerned. "Clara, why didn't you wake me up? Are you alright? I could have helped you!"

Clara mashed her lips together, though her eyes glinted. "Trust me when I say that you were out like a light. Not even Led Zeppelin could wake you up."

He slumped back in his seat, sniffing out the food in the back. It smelled fried, and most certainly unhealthy. All the more appealing. He may have studied twelve years to become a doctor, but it didn't mean he had to follow his own advice. They were sharing a cup of fries not a moment later, The Doctor extending the ketchup packet for her to dip as her eyes remained locked onto the road. It was the same concentration she used when reading her book, or writing an article.

"What's this?" he asked, toggling with the volume dial until the music was loud enough to be heard. "'Dancing Queen' by ABBA? This isn't on my playlist."

"No," Clara agreed, eyes flicking to the aux cable connecting her phone to the TARDIS speaker system. "It's on mine."

His face immediately widened into a smile. "I didn't know you liked seventies' music."

She shook her head in denial. "I don't really."

"You can dance...you can ji-ive!" The Doctor sang under his breath, Clara laughing as she nudged him gently with her elbow.

"My mum and I just really loved watching 'Mamma Mia!'" she explained. "It was the perfect pick-me-up film. Helped me get over my first heartbreak."

"You should've sang it back in Utah, unleashed your inner Meryl Streep," he suggested, bobbing his head in tune to the beat.

"No thanks. I think Salt Lake City's had enough karaoke for one night." A sigh of incredulity escaped her lips. "I still can't believe you did that. At the perfect time, too—I was having the strangest conversation with this guy, didn't know how to end it without sounding like a complete arse."

"Really?" he asked, his voice traveling an octave higher than usual. He hoped she wouldn't notice. "How so?"

"I dunno, I guess I just wasn't in the mood for small talk," she answered honestly. "His name was William, and he was a middle school math teacher with a vegan food truck."

"He sounds like well-rounded bloke," he said, trying his best to act casual. Clara merely shrugged.

"Would I have gone on a road trip with him? Probably not." Her face reddening, she added, "We just couldn't find common ground. Except for the fact that I once dated a math teacher, which is a trend I don't wish to continue."

"Was he the reason behind 'Mamma Mia?'"

"That's the one," she said behind a forced smile. "Six reruns, fourteen hours, and one hundred and twenty-six songs—thirty-six of them performed pathetically by me. It was the sing-along version; I was in a very bad place at the time."

"Ouch," The Doctor grimaced. "I presume it didn't end well?"

"He was my first love," she admitted, surprised at how leveled her voice was. "And keeping that in mind, you can imagine how infatuated I was. I thought we were meant for each other. He liked Agatha Christie. I liked Agatha Christie. He liked running. I could pretend!"

He laughed, offering her the last fry. She shook her head. "What happened, then?"

Clara grew quiet. It wasn't a question she faced often. In fact, whenever anyone mentioned Danny Pink, her face grew hot with resentment. Seldom did she ever get the opportunity to clear her emotions from what truly drove them apart. It was almost as if everyone back home knew who he was, the man attached to the young writer's novice heart. The source of her anger and grief. Here, sitting next to The Doctor, was like breathing fresh air for the first in a long time.

"He had a negative outlook on life," she finally said, choosing her words carefully. "His trust was difficult to earn, and not in a good way. It was as if all he saw in people were the damages they could inflict onto others." She was surprised to find that the indignation in her voice was no longer there, that familiar ache in her chest now gone. "I thought I could change him. And it wasn't until he broke up with me that I realized that you can't love someone and try to change them. You love someone and you...accept them."

It was the first time she had admitted that aloud. And for once, she got through it without crying. Or shouting. In fact, Clara couldn't help but feel proud of herself, a mix of triumph and relief alleviating the tension in her chest.

"Plus, he didn't want children," she included nonchalantly. "It wouldn't have worked out."

The Doctor's smile was infectious. "So you want children?"

"Three. In an ideal world, triplets. But it's a lottery, genetics."

The two shared a small laugh. The Doctor considered his words before saying, "Well, my previous girlfriend didn't want kids either. I tried getting her to change her mind, but she refused. Said a domestic life was never quite her style."

Her soft smile paralleled his. "That's your goal, then? A family?"

"Are you kidding?" he asked, surprised to find that she hadn't yet learned this about him. "It's my ultimate goal! Yes, aside from the impromptu sojourns and getting into trouble occasionally, I am set on the rest of my life being dedicated to bulky strollers and height marks on door-frames, and a minivan. God, Clara, I want to drive a minivan so badly, everyone thinks I'm mad."

"With how you're describing it, it seems she'll be missing out." Clara let out an amused chuckle, glancing over at him in this new scope of light. The Doctor, a man who jumped from continent to continent, unafraid of anything so it seemed, wanted to be a father when he grew up. It made sense in a matter of seconds—the sincerity in his voice, his kind nature. He was a doctor, after all. Caring was his first and foremost responsibility.

"Yeah," The Doctor shook his head, reaching into his past, rather nervous about what he'd retrieve. "I saw her once or twice after university—she had graduated in archaeology and disappeared to go wreck havoc on ancient burial grounds world-wide." He let out a small laugh. "She was always on the run, never in the same place twice. She admitted to having other partners while we were together."

Clara grew silent, her stare turning solemn. The thought of anyone treating a relationship like that made her stomach churn.

"I'm so sorry."

The Doctor shrugged, as if to indicate that he had moved on. "It's okay. That was her, that was how she chose to live her life. Like you said, you can't change the other person, you can only accept them. I chose not to, in this instance."

Clara nodded, and upon hearing the next song on her playlist, turned up the volume and asked, "Did she at least like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain?"

Her passenger, caught off-guard by her question, began to laugh. She couldn't help but laugh along with him, Rupert Holmes's voice singing to them as they navigated the pitch-black terrain of Wyoming State. Perhaps being on the other side wasn't so bad, after all.

"What if I don't get it?"

The Doctor looked up from the road map, Clara's beat-up touchscreen illuminating the paper terrain like a searchlight. He wore a pair of round spectacles and an incredulous look on his face. The young writer licked her lips and continued.

"The Wayfarer partnership, I mean. What if I don't get it?"

He turned off the flashlight and stared at her in dubiety. "Where's all this doubt coming from?"

"I dunno," she replied. Her voice was meek. "That part of me that knows I'm not an actual writer."

His stare grew steely behind the rims of his spectacles. "That's a load of rubbish and you know it."

"No, I don't!" she exclaimed, the confidence in her credibility wavering. "I mean, I started my website when I was sixteen, with no formal knowledge, no beta editor, no accolades—what if Wayfarer just sees me as some sort of a joke?"

"What, so you actually believe that Wayfarer, an internationally recognized media company, is going to invite you half-way across the world just to poke fun at you?"

It was a ridiculous, agonizing thought, but the more Clara focused on the details instead of the big picture, the more she doubted herself. 101 Places to See was a beloved website to its readers, but Wayfarer wasn't looking for its next place to go on holiday—it was looking for a partnership. A lucrative and reliable one. Why on earth should they be interested in someone who knew and had so little? The only other jobs on her résumé were a waitress position at a churrasacria, where every menu item was impaled with a barbecue stick, and a role as a theater camp director. She called herself a traveler and a businesswoman, but felt as if she lacked the formal credentials. That nuance, she believed, would be the deciding factor in tomorrow's interview. Tomorrow.

Dear god.

"Okay," The Doctor prompted, tossing his spectacles and road map into the back of the TARDIS. "Pull over."

Clara balked. "What?"

"I said pull over!" he repeated firmly. "Clearly, the driver's seat has granted you an unlimited access to your thoughts—most unfortunately the bad ones—and I will not tolerate you and your petty self-deprecation." Clara's expression hardened as she kept her hands on ten-and-two. But her passenger was relentless. "What you need is some fresh air, a few minutes to stretch. A nice stroll."

"It's four in the morning!"

"It's a morning stroll! Now pull over, please!" The Doctor beckoned, ushering her to the side of the road. Clara eventually obliged, releasing a heavy sigh as she turned the steering wheel and felt the gravel crunch beneath the tires of the TARDIS. They were in the middle-of-nowhere Wyoming with a deadline fast approaching, and he wanted to stop and smell the roses. The fact that it was pitch black outside was no consolation.

"I don't know why you're doing this," she said, parking the vehicle and unbuckling her seat-belt.

"Because I'm your friend, Clara Oswald, and quite possibly your only friend on this entire continent. And as your friend, it is my duty to tell you when you're being absolutely absurd." And with that, the young man unbuckled his own seat-belt, and got out of the car. She had little choice but to follow him.

It was brighter than she had expected, the moon casting a ghastly white glow over the arid grasslands and low-level mountains. The Doctor took all of this in with a smile and leaned against the hood of the TARDIS, whose headlights still carved a pathway through the night. Clara kept her distance a few feet away, shifting uncomfortably on her feet as she observed the still, barren landscape.

"We're going to be eaten alive out here. By coyotes."

The Doctor scoffed. "Nonsense! Everyone knows that coyotes have adapted to city life due to countryside urbanization. It's a pity, really. And besides, what we really have to look out for are the wolves."

"Wolves?!"

"Don't worry, Clara," he soothed her. "Despite your well-intended wishes, I shall assume responsibility of our protection."

"What, with your laser pointer?" she asked dryly. His heroic expression fell. "You're not getting me to call it a sonic."

He clicked his tongue, shooting her a wounded look before patting the spot next to him. Clara hesitated, thinking about their deadline, when she realized that she'd been driving for hours on end. Any further and she might have been petrified enough to turn themselves around. Self-doubt manifested itself deep within her own thoughts, and it was times like these that alleviated that pressure. She was grateful that The Doctor had stopped her when he did. Drawing herself to his side and perching on the dusty hood of the car, she followed his gaze, and was met with a mesmerizing sight.

She had never seen so clear a night sky.

"...the stars, there are so many of them," she said after minutes of silence, the only noise the chirping of crickets and the hum of the TARDIS's engine. The Doctor merely hummed in agreement, crossing his arms and leaning towards the sky as if to better inspect them.

"Now that's a sight you won't get anywhere else but here."

Clara had seen paintings of open spaces like these, had read about them in books, but she never quite understood what it was like to have her breath taken away until this moment. It saddened her to some degree that the stars she saw here were but a rarity to places like New York and London, where the overwhelming lights of iron-rod buildings caused the night sky to fade into the background. How could a view like this be sacrificed for something so pallor in comparison?

"Have you read any Emily Dickinson?" The Doctor whispered, so not to tear her attention away from the spectacle. Clara let out an amused breath.

"Have I ever," she murmured back. "I wrote a semester paper on her once, went six hundred words over the limit. My professor was furious with me."

"Her bonnet is the firmament, the universe her shoe, the stars the trinkets at her belt, her dimities of blue," he recited under his breath, the young woman's gaze flicking to his in surprise.

"Look at you, being all poetic," she drawled, nudging him in the elbow. He grinned sheepishly.

"It's the only thing I recall from Literary Interpretation. I slept in there most days," he admitted with a frown. "Even so, I still don't really understand what she was trying to say—something about the moon. Which is silly, if you think about it, because the moon is just a tiny fragment of sediment compared to the entirety of our solar system, and with the science of entropy and all—"

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Your point?"

"My point? Ah, yes!" he exclaimed, scratching the back of his head. "My point is, I didn't know Emily personally, but something tells me that she focused little on what other people thought of her writing but rather how passionate she was about it. And evidently that passion did her some good, if English Literature students are exceeding word counts just to praise her work." The corners of Clara's lips tugged upwards into a small smile, before he leaned in close and said, "You are a writer. And please, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Perhaps it was the sincerity in his green eyes, or the shards of light that dangled above them, but a sense of bravery overcame Clara as she closed the space between them and pressed her lips to his. Because he made her realize that she more than capable of being brave.

In fact, he made her realize that she had been brave all along.