"Is he always like that?" Clara whispered to Cleo, her eyes straying toward the Doctor. He was lying half underneath the computer monitor with only his legs sticking out, and she swore it looked like he was talking to himself.
"Strange?" Cleo asked. "Oh my, yes."
"So you've known him a long time, then?"
"All my life. He was there when I was born; flitting around my entire life until a few years ago. I don't suppose he told you, but I was one of the original colonists. I was on the very first transport."
"Oh!" Clara brightened. "So then you knew Doctor Song, too? Were they good friends?"
Cleo gave her a very curious look. "You could say that."
"A fellow alien, then?" In her head, Clara was sketching out a picture of the Doctor and his friend standing around whatever an alien water cooler looked like… she was picturing it as a bright pink fountain, for some reason. And Doctor Song was much like her Doctor –waistcoat, bowtie, pocket watch- but perhaps with some sort of mad, unruly hair…
"Fellow time traveler," Cleo corrected her gently. "They always met in the wrong order, but it never seemed to matter to them."
Clara nodded absently. Funny; but the way she was picturing Doctor Song made him look rather like Einstein.
"He's not been around for a long time," Cleo said. She sighed, looking at the Doctor's enthusiastically wriggling legs, one hand groping until he put his hand on the right tool to pull it back under the monitor with him. "He missed a lot here."
"The world going wrong?"
"Yes, that too. But on a personal level… for so long, he'd been around on all the important days of my life. He was like my godfather, you see. He was even there for the birth of my children."
Clara bit her lip, watching Cleo with a tiny smile.
"And grandchildren? What about any great-grans? You've got lovely eyes, by the way. Super shade of blue."
Cleo laughed. "Familiar, are they?"
"A bit. I noticed it earlier; you look a lot like Maisie, when you smile. But Matthieu has your eyes. Didn't he ever think to talk to you...I mean, if he was Erste but related to the Governor…?"
"They are the children of my youngest grandson, who was… well," Cleo sighed, "there are black sheep in every family. We were never very close, and therefore no one thought to say it. Also, they didn't trust anyone in the government; not even me.
"It's a pity though. There are far more Erste out there than they realised. Two sects, if you will. The underground rebels, and those on the periphery of power; but both needing each other to make a difference.
"And," she glanced at the Doctor out of the corner of her eye, "him. To lay the basis for change."
"It was a good idea though, wasn't it?" Clara said, helping Cleo to her feet so they could both check on the Doctor's progress. "The Verstand."
"It was," Cleo agreed. "It has an intelligence about it, a very great one to catalogue and mold human nature; our abilities and weaknesses. I don't suppose we'll ever know exactly why it seemed to turn against us; but still, I have hopes that one day it will work again, the way that it should."
"That day might be today," the Doctor said cheerfully, poking his head out. "I've added the sub-categories back in, put in codes to account for margins of error…"
And the different assessment stages, to assure that what people are –or aren't- categorized for when they're young will still work for them as they grow older?
"And I've even put something in," the Doctor added, "so that you can be assessed at different ages. Make sure that no matter how old you are, you're still working toward your best potential."
"That's clever," Clara said, leaning toward him.
The Doctor reflexively tweaked his bowtie, beaming up at her. "I do tend to be, yes."
A very clever boy, with the hair of an idiot.
He hastily smoothed his fringe back as he sat up, hearing laughter echoing in his head. Really; consciences were very overrated. Especially when they had the nerve to comment on physical appearance.
"I didn't say goodbye," Clara said, a little sadly as they wandered back into the TARDIS. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, peering curiously at the Doctor. "Are we ever going back there?"
"Did you want to?" he asked. "Check in on them, have a chat with the rebels, lead them in their revolution…?"
She hesitated. "No. I didn't mean to get involved in the first place. But I wish I'd said goodbye to Maisie. And to Matthieu. Wished them luck.
"I suppose that Cleo will tell them for me. I gave her a message for Matthieu, anyway."
The Doctor raised an eyebrow, questioningly; and a slight colour flooded into Clara's cheeks.
"I told her to tell him that maybe next time it'll be the right time to flirt."
"Ah…" He was obviously caught off guard. "Good? Flirting. Yes, there are good times for flirting… or bad times. Or wrong people to flirt with."
Clara stared at him.
"Yes," he said, fiddling with the console. "I'm sure she'll deliver the message. Anyway. We should be off. Nothing more we can do, here."
"So that's what travelling with you is like? Stopping into a place for hot chocolate and to restructure their society… are you sure we didn't have to stay and help?"
He made a little scoff of distaste. "That's not really what we do, Clara. Gave them the tools and the opportunity to move forwards themselves; and that's quite enough. Besides," he shuddered, "hanging around, talking and talking and talking to try to come to a conclusion? That sounds miserable."
"You mean," Clara asked, glancing at him slyly, "that you don't like talking? Could've fooled me." She grinned when he sputtered in outrage.
"You," he stated, "are being quite cheeky."
"You," she mocked, "deserve it. Were you really not going to help them, until I asked?"
His smile faded slightly. "I wanted to see what you'd say," he muttered uncomfortably. "If you'd care enough to find the words to persuade me."
"So… you were giving me a test? What if I'd failed?"
"But you didn't," the Doctor said.
"I suppose not. But that's not really fair, is it? Their survival, depending on if I said the right thing? Does that happen around you a lot?"
"Well…" He leaned his hip against the console, lost in thought. "Maybe. The thing with being so old, Clara, is that sometimes things get much less immediate. Or in trying not to forget, then you cause the exact opposite to happen. You forget what things are or what they meant to you."
"You're talking in riddles, Doctor. Can't you answer a question yes or no?"
"Yes."
"Yes, you can answer a question; or yes, it happens around you a lot?"
"Take your pick, Clara."
She huffed out an exasperated sigh; and he turned away, one hand resting on the zigzag plotter.
"I can tell," he answered softly. "I usually can, when I meet someone. Who they are, what they'll be like… because this, here," he waved his arm around the TARDIS, "can do your head in, if you're not careful. Time travel has responsibilities, Clara. I don't take just anyone out for a treat. I have to know them. Know if they can handle it."
She nodded slowly. "So you were testing me, to see if I could?"
It hadn't been the only reason, but he nodded anyway. "And you passed! Flying colours."
"So then…" she narrowed her eyes, "you did me understand all along, didn't you? You," she smirked, "understand what it's like to have responsibilities! Things you have to pay attention for, things you can't just ignore or walk away from…"
Suddenly sensing he'd wandered right into a trap, the Doctor hesitated. "Not like you," he said finally.
"But you do," she insisted. "Things you must do or decide when it's the right time...?"
He turned to face her, his hand stilling on the controls.
"Not like you," he said again.
But he was lying. She could tell, suddenly; and she rolled her eyes.
"You know," she said, reaching over to scoop up her coat, "you complain that I have too many rules, about travelling. But I think you've got some of your own, don't you? Hasn't anyone ever told you that lying is wrong?"
I definitely like her. Figured out Rule #1, all by herself.
The Doctor scowled.
"I don't lie," he protested.
You do.
"You do," Clara said in an uncanny echo to someone the Doctor knew couldn't be there. Someone he never even acknowledged was there, outside of occasionally –and privately- admitting that his vociferous conscience had the voice of his late wife; and maybe that was why he tried so hard to ignore it.
"Shut up," he muttered. Clara giggled, a shadowy ghost lounging in the corner of the console room laughed; and even the TARDIS let out a little hum that he just knew was amusement-based.
"So then I'll drop you back at home?" he asked quickly, looking over to Clara. "Unless, of course, you'd like to take another trip? I was thinking Las Vegas." He splayed his fingers out, shaking them jazz hands-style into her face. "You'll love it… the lights alone. Or maybe the mountains of Aylan… never thought to ask, but do you like hiking? You'll need different shoes for that. Well, I told you there's a wardrobe on the TARDIS. I'm sure there would be something you could wear. I've got all sorts of things in there…
"Ah." He finally stopped talking, realising that Clara was shaking her head.
"Angie has an exam tomorrow; and if I'm not there to make her revise, I bet she'll stay on the phone with Nina all night. And Artie's kit is still smelling up his room after his game last Saturday… so I've got to do laundry, get tea ready."
He looked slightly disappointed, but then he nodded. "Responsibility calls."
"And I have to answer. But next week… Wednesday alright for you?" She grinned at him. "Hiking and adventure can wait. I've got a new dress that would just love to see Vegas."
His face lit up. "Wednesday, then. Vegas, Clara…you'll love it."
Author's note: Aaaaand, that's all, folks! One quick note: the language here is Germanic (and yes, I know, I have butchered translations. What can I say... language shifts. Things are quite different by the 51st Century...)
However- 'Gross Verstaendlich' roughly translates to 'Great Intelligence'. (Thus tying this into the arc for series 7b…)
Thanks for reading! And if you liked it, please review!