Sudden annoyance.
That was how Clara felt each morning when the alarm on her mobile went off. She'd grown to hate the little melody that automatically played when an alarm went off, but hadn't cared enough to actually change it.
It was only ever the briefest bit of annoyance.
Clara exhaled. The events from the previous night rushing back to her. Where was The Doctor? Was he all right? She sprung from her bed and rushed from her room to the hallway.
"Doctor?" She asked at his door.
No answer.
Normally, she believed in the sanctity of personal space and the importance of privacy. But considering The Doctor had looked near death the night before and had an arrow lodged in his side until forcefully yanked from him by her friend, she figured he had forfeited his rights to both.
So she opened the door.
The Doctor wasn't there.
"That's not great," she said aloud to herself.
She rushed back to her room to grab her mobile, dialing The Doctor's number. And then immediately heard its ring coming from the living room. Which was also empty.
"Oh Doctor, you idiot."
At a loss for what to do, she decided to call Danny.
"Clara? You all right? It's so early."
"Danny, hey. The Doctor isn't...with you-is he?" Clara asked.
Momentary silence, then a chuckle. "Why would your weird old flat dad be with me this early in the morning? Why would he be with me at all?"
Clara shook her head in exasperation. "Oh I don't know, maybe because you saved his life last night?"
More silence. "Clara, what are you talking about?"
"Last night. You came over-"
"No, after you said you weren't free, I went out to the pub with Adrian."
"Well it must've been after that," Clara said.
"I was in bits after that. Adrian's a proper ledge once you get him talking about something besides books."
Clara exhaled in frustration.
"Are you all right? Do you need me to come over?" Danny asked.
"I'm not sure. I need to find The Doctor. I'll call you back in a bit or see you at school, yeah?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just...call me if you need me, ok?"
"Thanks, Danny."
Clara hung up and rubbed her face. Where could The Doctor be? That wounded, he couldn't have gone far without assistance. She'd just assumed he didn't have any mates because he never spoke about any but he probably did. You couldn't be a complete hermit living in London, could you?
Stuck in the middle of trying to decide what to do, the door to the garden opened.
"You're up early," The Doctor said.
Clara walked over towards him and gave him a shove. "What is wrong with you?"
"Get up on the wrong side of the bed, then?" he asked.
"You're injured!"
The Doctor furrowed his brow. "News to me."
"No no no no no. No. Pull up your jumper." She pointed towards his side and made an upwards motion with her fingers.
"Clara, I'm very flattered, but-"
Tired of listening to him stall, Clara lifted the side of his jumper, revealing...nothing. Just very pale, white skin. She took several steps back and covered her face with her hands. "Sorry," she mumbled finally. Looking up at him finally, she shook her head. "I'm so sorry."
Then she turned, walked to her room, and shut the door softly behind her.
"Promised I'd bring you somewhere with a view, didn't I?"
"Danny, this is...this is amazing!" Clara looked out the window. London twinkled below, the sky clear enough that the view from the 40th floor was nothing short of magical.
"About time we had a proper date, I think." Danny smiled and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.
Clara frowned.
"None of that, now," Danny said. "What's wrong?"
Taking a sip of water, savouring the coolness of it, she shook her head and smiled. "I'm sorry. It's been a long week." Clara covered his left hand with both of hers. "This is brilliant. You're brilliant. I'm very happy to be here."
She couldn't tell him her thoughts kept going back to The Doctor. About the night before. The pain etched in his face. The fear that he could be gone from her life so soon. Danny already thought her a bit weird for living with a random old man she'd met in a record store, but she had no interest in knowing how he felt about how close her friendship with The Doctor already was. A few months ago her life had seemed so ready for someone like Danny to be in her life and now...now she wasn't sure.
But that probably had nothing to do with The Doctor.
Probably.
"Doctor, we need to talk."
It had been a week since the incident that appeared to have not actually happened. But Clara couldn't stop thinking about it. It was waking her up at night, keeping her from focusing on her students, making her mind wander when she was with Danny. She hated the control this memory had over her and needed to address it.
"It's all right, I forgive you," The Doctor shrugged, not looking up from his book. He was sat in his lounge chair, a cup of coffee steaming next to him on the side table. He was listening to some reggae-sounding record, though the sound was turned down to not be disruptive.
"Excuse me?" Clara asked.
"The incident. Last week?"
She crossed her arms. "Yes, that's exactly what I want to talk to you about."
He looked up, then took a sip from his mug.
"It's been bothering me all week," Clara said finally. "How is it possible I could have dreamed something so vivid?"
"Do you want to lay down on the sofa? I do a pretty good Freud impression, though my psychoanalysis is tragically rusty."
"Doctor, please."
He mimed zipping his lips and watched with interest as she took a seat on the sofa next to him.
"There was an arrow in your side. Right there, where you're sitting right now. I thought you were going to die, Doctor."
"This is very interesting," The Doctor said, resting his head on his fist.
"Please, don't do the Freud impression," Clara begged.
"I wasn't, honest." He raised his arms in a mock surrender and leaned back.
"I can still feel my skin crawl when I think about touching the arrow-"
"Are your parents the same? As you?" The Doctor asked suddenly.
She furrowed her brow. "Same as me?"
"Do they have your abilities?" The Doctor stood up. "I've been curious about you for awhile. You seemed to not know, so I couldn't be sure."
"You're not making any sense, Doctor." Clara felt uncomfortable with the harshness of his gaze. He seemed to be looking right through her.
"I can't trick you. Your boyfriend, no problem. But you're not the same as the rest of these pudding brains, are you? Never have been?" He turned and opened a drawer, motioning for her to come over. Inside was the arrow, the shaft wrapped in thick cloth. "You can see this, right?"
Clara nodded. "Is that...is that the arrow from…?"
The Doctor smirked. "Incredible. But you haven't a clue, have you?"
"Please, stop speaking to me in riddles."
"You shouldn't be able to see this. Take a look at the lounge chair." He stood to the side to give her room to see. "No, no. Not straight on. You can never see it straight on, no matter what you are."
He positioned Clara so that she was standing perpendicular to the chair.
"There, with your peripheral vision. Do you see it?"
Clara could make out the shape of the lounge chair. But there was something else, some extra layer over it, distorting it. She reached her fingers towards the chair and the layer rose. The Doctor watched her intently, barely breathing.
The layer vanished and The Doctor encouraged her to look at the chair again. And she saw a dark stain in the worn leather. Right where he would have bled onto the chair the week before.
"How...how did you do that?"
The Doctor seemed puzzled once again. "You did it. Unless you mean what I'd placed on it before?"
"What are you?" she asked, taking a deep breath and stepping back slightly from him.
"I could very well ask you the same question. I mean, it's only fair."
"You saw. After Danny pulled the arrow out of my side, you saw me?"
Clara hadn't realised it, but she had backed up so far from The Doctor, she was nearly against the wall. "I don't remember-"
"Oh, yes you do. Remember it sideways," he encouraged, softly.
"That doesn't help. Just tell me," she pleaded, looking at him. She reached out tentatively, turning her head so she was no longer looking at him straight on. Layers. So many layers to him. So many more than the chair. They gleamed with a golden glow. Each layer a face. The faces of eleven other men-no, a dark aberration with one more face. Twelve below. And more. Feathers. Fur. Scales. She turned so she could look him in his eyes and the layers merged back into him.
"There's no word for it in this language. But you can see me now? You can really see me?" he prodded, smiling. She'd never seen him this worked up, this excited.
Overcome, she launched herself on him with a hug. "I don't understand any of this," she mumbled into his chest. She felt him shift in her arms, his arms not folding in on her in reciprocation, the energy of tension. He was holding himself together for her and it was a terrible strain. Clara broke the hug and stepped back.
"Always the hugging with you. I can't-I'm not a hugging person." He looked ruffled. "Well, hugs from you make it very hard for me, you know. Can't maintain this form without tremendous energy to counteract yours."
He ran a hand through his hair and pulled out a black feather, then handed it to her.
"Do you want to take a trip with me up North? I think there are some folks you need to meet."