*See end for Author's Note

Clara smiled warmly at him. "Hello! Sorry – I didn't realise we had company. We've never had company, and no one told me we were going to." She shot a glare in the direction of the lower level. "I've never met anyone who could take him down like that – and especially about his ship. I'm definitely impressed." She smirked at him in approval.

The man just stared at her, unblinking, for several moments. "Ohh." He closed his eyes, sounding like he'd discovered the solution to a particularly vexing problem. "You still haven't."

"What?"

"Met anyone who could."

Clara gave a nervous laugh. "Um – okay."

"And you're certainly a lot less clever than I thought," he remarked, sounding slightly disappointed.

Clara couldn't help gaping at the insult. "Sorry?"

"You should be – I mean, I know you're clever for a human, but here I was thinking you'd sorted it out from just one look at me. You still haven't got it, though, have you? You didn't have it before and you certainly don't have it now."

"Have what?" She folded her arms defensively. This was why they never had guests on the TARDIS, then. "What did I have? And – okay – you're an alien, got that – and you're a bit of an arse, but I don't think I got your name?"

Without missing a beat, he let out a sharp laugh. "No, and you're not getting that, either. I took it away, and I've no plans to return it. Though…I suppose you could have found it again. But if not, it's little wonder that one memory didn't survive." With that, he swooped in on the console, flicking switches haphazardly and turning knobs.

Bewilderment quickly cycled through to indignation as she hurried to stop him. "What are you doing? You can't just – hey!"

He brushed her off easily, using his height to his advantage, even letting out a disdainful snort as she tried to prevent him from fiddling with the controls of the Doctor's beloved ship.

"Aren't you going to stop him?" She appealed to the TARDIS, one arm positioned between him and the console. "Doctor!" She tried to call over her shoulder without taking her eyes off the madman in front of her.

The man continued to laugh as he evaded her, slipping from her grasp and poking at the knobs, spinning levers. "Oh, Clara – you really wouldn't make the best guard, would you? You're certainly feisty, but it wouldn't take much to get around you, you pint-sized thing!" As if to emphasise his point, he grabbed her under the elbows and lifted her away from the console.

She continued to fume at him, watching as one long finger flipped a switch from off to on. He raised an eyebrow in obvious challenge.

But now she had regained her cool, determined he would not gain the upper hand. Goading her like this could only last so long before she recognised it for what it was. Angie had given her plenty of practise in that department.

So she took a step back, resorting to her deadliest "calm" voice, as Artie had dubbed it. "Okay. So clearly you're an alien, you know something about the TARDIS, and you can throw around childish insults and be an arse." A quick search of her memories and she found a name. A name that fit the profile of the madman in front of her. A name that she dared not utter because it would mean her nightmares come to life.

A name that meant one thing and one thing only: the Doctor hadn't replied because he wasn't here…and was in the worst danger imaginable.

"I know who you are," she said evenly, hopefully betraying no fear.

He smirked at her. "Do you?"

"Yes."

"You've worked it out, have you?"

"Yes. And I know you have the Doctor somewhere."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise before drawing together in a look of intense contemplation. "Do I?" He rested his chin in his hand, stroking it thoughtfully. "I suppose I do. Bit of a philosophical question, though, innit? 'Where do I have the Doctor?'"

Okay, so he was even more slippery than she recalled, hazy though her memories were. "Exactly." Her hands went to her hips as she tried to draw herself up to her fullest height. "Are you going to tell me?"

A smile was playing over his lips, one that was far too easy for Clara's liking. "Hmm…." He swept his hands elegantly around the console before bringing them in front of his eyes and studying them, his lips pursed. He continued to hum as he did a further exploration of the rest of his body, pointing his toes, flexing his wrists, patting himself down, whilst Clara's heart dropped further and further into her stomach. She knew he was a nutter, but this…

Swaggering over to her, he started appraising her with a curious eye, hmming all the while. Suddenly he seized one of her hands, bringing it towards him and placing his against hers, palm to palm.

Clara steeled herself for his touch, keeping herself rigid and unflinching during his inspection.

Shaking his head, he let out a chuckle. "God, you're a wee thing." Then he patted the top of her head fondly like you would a pet.

But she'd had enough. "Okay, I get it – you don't want to tell me. And you know who I am, got that. But I'm not leaving until you tell me where he is. So I'm going to ask you again. Where is the Doctor?"

He heaved a great sigh. "I really didn't want to do this because it's so cliché, but…" He placed his hands over his chest. "I suppose you could say – he's here." He smiled.

Clara bit back on her noise of frustration, breathing it out through her nose, on her last nerve. "Like I said – I know who you are, so you can stop pretending. And I also know that you're supposed to be dead. So, then…" She took a steadying breath, ensuring her voice didn't shake. "How about you start with how you broke the Time Lock and escaped the Time War."

His face lit up in amusement. "You think I'm the Master?" He chortled, clapping his hands and throwing his head back. "Oh, you poor child – I didn't realise you thought I was in danger – ohh, no wonder you've been in your stern Clara mode, using that 'no-nonsense' tone of yours. Though your interrogation tactics need a bit of practise, I'm afraid. Or maybe you just need to stand on a box or – one of the steps." He waved a hand to indicate her stature. "You're really not that intimidating from down there. The Master would've just laughed in your face."

Clara blinked, momentarily thrown. "What do you mean you're in danger…what are you saying – that you're…you're the Doctor?"

"And she finally gets there!" He called to no one in particular, eyeing her disapprovingly. "Referring back to that bit where you prove that you're a lot less clever than I've always thought."

"Right, yeah – good one." She scoffed at him. "No, you're not."

"Why?" His look was piercing. "Because I look older and I'm not fawning at your feet, Clara?"

She stared at him hard. "Because he'd never talk to me like that."

"Well, he just did. Best get used to it." He informed her in a clipped tone, turning from her.

She shook her head. "No – you're not fooling me." She followed him as he started flipping switches again, ignoring her. "Okay, fine. If you're the Doctor, then prove it."

He whirled on her. "Prove it? Like when you asked me to prove it when the Cyberplanner was inside my head, and he mistakenly told you that I was thinking about how funny and pretty you were?"

Her mouth dropped open. "What? But –"

"Or the last time you didn't know me when I showed up on your doorstep dressed as a monk from Cumbria in 1207. Because you knew absolutely nothing about the internet, and so you required the best help in the Universe, apparently. Then, once I'd found you, saved your life twice and offered you the chance to come with me, you laughed in my face and turned me down." He pulled the main lever down, and the ship lurched, then sputtered as though protesting. His expression was thunderous. "And why are you in such a strop?"

Clara stood frozen, reeling from too many emotions to even name. All she could do was stare. "Doctor?"

He looked up at his name, a flash of…something darting across his face before it darkened again. He braced himself on the console, suddenly looking his age, his shoulders sagging.

She approached him slowly, carefully. "What's happened to you?" She swallowed against the grief that threatened to cloud her voice. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Maybe I've been re-evaluating. New body, new thoughts – time to look at big picture." He shot her a sour look. "Like traveling with a companion. I mean – why do I do it? Hmm? Why do I…hold onto you?" His question could not have sounded more bitter.

Her insides twisted. "Because you need someone."

"Yes, I keep hearing that, but I've been thinking – why is that? I mean, I suppose I do it because otherwise I'd get lonely. But even then, I could always just visit someplace and make new friends. I've always made friends quite easily."

She couldn't help her muttered retort. "Yeah, and with this new regeneration's winning personality, I'm sure you'd have no problem."

That earned her a quirk of his mouth and a look her way. "Well – I guess you're still funny, then. That can be useful." He considered something. "Though – I could always find someone else funnier. And someone a bit stronger and bigger than you." He gave her another once-over.

This time it was her heart that clenched painfully. "You could," she agreed. "Except that you won't. Because whatever's going on here, whatever happened to you – I don't know what it is or what it was, but you need me more now than you ever have before." She walked a step further towards him. "So unless you actually pick up my pint-sized body and set me outside those doors – I'm not leaving." She stopped in front of him, arms folded, chin raised defiantly. "So what's it gonna be?"

His eyes bored into hers. "You still want to go on that date?" He asked mockingly.

She didn't even blink. "What's it gonna be?"

He placed his hands on his hips, which had the effect of puffing his chest out. "Things are going to change," he informed her.

"I don't doubt that."

There was some new kind of fire sparking in those ancient eyes. "No more running about aimlessly, going where the wind takes me. I've lost my sense of purpose somewhere along the way. I used to travel for a reason."

"And that is?"

He started in surprise. "To help, of course," he replied, smiling.

She frowned at him. "But you've always helped."

"No – not like that. I mean – yes, I have – things I've stumbled across, as I've bumbled my way through, but…I'm talking proper help." Drawing himself up to his full height, there was something almost regal about him, a kind of majesty and – power. "I feel like I lost that connection to the sense of balance in the Universe, but I've finally regained it. I can do more good by finding more evil. And putting an end to it." Then he redirected his attention to the console, starting to fiddle with the knobs. "But neither of us can go anywhere as long as someone's still having a hissy fit!"

Clara ran a hand uneasily along the console. "Never seen her act like this."

The Doctor sighed and ran a hand through his hair in a way that made Clara's heart jump. "She's refusing to take me anywhere else except for an hour into the future on the…moon." He pronounced the location distastefully. "It sounds like her engines are phasing, but they're fine – I've checked. I've even reversed the polarity of the neutron flow, but..." He turned to her. "I might just have to come back tomorrow because I literally can't take you anywhere right now."

"Well, I wouldn't mind a quick hop to the moon." She patted the console affectionately, brightening as she considered something. "Never seen it, bet it's got a great view of -" She stopped short, eyes dropping at her slip. "Sorry," she mumbled, shaking her head.

They stood in awkward silence for a minute. "Well," he finally said. "There aren't any restaurants there, if that's what you're thinking. And it's a pretty rubbish place for a picnic – everything would get dust on it."

Clara folded her arms around herself. "I didn't mean…I know we've got more important places to go."

He gave a very put-upon sigh. "The truth of it is – I'm actually not certain it's completely safe to even go to the moon now, so…." He motioned at her vaguely.

A corner of her mouth lifted the tiniest bit. "You saying you actually want me safe?"

His head swiveled back and forth in what looked like reluctant agreement. "Not everyone is as funny as you. And though I might be able to find one funnier, it could take a while. And they might not be as small as you – which…I suppose can be useful when you're trying to be inconspicuous." He grimaced. "Unless I took Strax, but I really don't want to travel with a trigger-happy potato dwarf." He patted her once on the head. "You'll definitely draw less attention."

Clara scrunched her face into the closest she could come to a smile. "Thanks."

The Doctor turned, heading for the lower level again. "I'll get this sorted soon enough – we'll just make Thursday our new day."

"Doctor?"

He turned around. "Yes?"

If there was one emotion she could name, one emotion she'd let him see, she would. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For what happened. That I couldn't be there...that you died. Alone. That…could I have stopped it?"

He seemed to be chewing on a thought. "Yes," he said carefully.

Clara couldn't help closing her eyes at that.

"But…then you'd be dead." He pronounced it like a fact in a history book.

She had to look away, his blank expression too much. "Sorry," she repeated.

"Don't be." His voice sounded casual, like he was telling her not to worry about forgetting the milk. "I think we just established that I prefer you to be safe, didn't we?"

Clara could only nod. "Yeah…right."

"Clara?"

"What?" Her eyes met his warily, braced for another cutting remark.

But a series of entirely unreadable emotions flickered across his face as he stared at her again. He didn't speak for several seconds. "It was enough," he finally said, his voice laden with emotion. "In the end."

She frowned, opening her mouth to reply, but he'd already disappeared from view. So she turned, walking stiffly back to the doors and pulling them shut behind her, the materalising sounds starting almost immediately.

Entering the house, she wasn't even cognizant of removing her jacket or dropping her things until Angie's voice shook her out of her reverie. "Hellooo? Did you guys get in a fight?"

"Something like that," she mumbled, starting for the stairs.

"Well, Nina's mum said that you should never take a bloke back unless he shows up with flowers to apologise."

Yeah, but Nina's mum never dated an alien who can –

She turned sharply. "He's not my boyfriend, Angie. He never has been. He's just a…friend." The word got stuck in her throat, an empty label for whatever it was they were to each other now.

Angie whistled low. "Wow, didn't realise it was that bad." She raised her hands in defense, backing away.

Clara didn't have the energy to protest. In fact, she probably didn't have the energy for much else than climbing the stairs to her room and crawling into bed.

So, of course, Artie bounded out of his room right as she passed it.

"Clara! I found it!" He exclaimed happily, knapsack clutched in his hand. "I'd been looking all over my room, but then I remembered that I took it to school because the Doctor said he wanted to come to the Science Fair to see the project he helped me with." He started rummaging around in the bottom of his knapsack, withdrew his hand and thrust at her –

A bowtie.

"Here!" He piped cheerily.

Something snapped, plunged from a great height and shattered inside of her.

She may have stared at it for several seconds before she found herself reaching for it, her fingers closing around it tightly. "Thanks," she rasped, her voice ready to betray her. Clearing her throat, she forced a smile at her young charge. "I'll make sure he gets it."

Artie's exuberant grin melted instantly. "Clara? Are you okay?"

Her nod was a bit too jittery, her voice too high-pitched, but she didn't lose her composure. "Mm hmm. Fine. I'm just going to go…lay down for a bit. You all right here?"

Artie nodded, wide-eyed. "Okay, well – I hope you feel better."

She forced another smile, ready to lose her battle any second. So she turned and trudged up the stairs, the bowtie crushed in a white-knuckled grip. Closing the door, she sagged against it, unfolding her fingers to inspect the one remnant of…her Doctor.

It was the grey one, with the blue circles on it. The one he'd worn when they went to Trenzalore, but also the one he'd been wearing when he was teaching Artie about how to make a volcano. And she remembered how he'd removed it, afraid of soiling it, and how she'd cajoled him about making sure to protect Artie from any explodey-wodey-ness, and he'd saluted her with a You're the boss!, but then he'd marched himself and Artie over to her for inspection of their safety goggles. And then he'd grabbed her hand when she tried to tap on his goggles to see if they were actually safe, and she'd thought…just for a second as his fingers stroked the inside of her wrist…that he might lean in and -

She slid to the floor, shoulders heaving with sobs, cradling the bowtie to her heart like it was…like it was…well. She was cradling it like it was him.

There's an awful lot of one, but there's an infinity of the other –

There are millions and millions of unlived days –

All the days that never came –

She was curled up in a ball, head pressed between her knees, when –

"Clara?"

Her head shot up, and she gave a shuddering gasp at the sight of her Doctor, perched at the end of her bed, light eyebrows drawn together in obvious concern. "Are you okay?" Then his features softened. "Sorry I'm late…did you miss me?"

*Author's Note: So this was my take on Twelve, based on where I think Moffat might be going with it, and based on the few things he's said about him: "older, fiercer, trickier" and who makes things "difficult" for Clara. The rest is poetic license, of course. :-p Thank you for all of your wonderful feedback and follows – I hope that you all continue to enjoy! : )