*So this is it everyone! The final Oswin Oswald AU chapter. A huge thanks once more to whouffletothemax for the prompt, for everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited and of course to Steven Moffat and the Who crew who own the rights to all the characters. Anyway, I really hope you've enjoyed this story and you like the last chapter, where I answer the lingering question in all of your minds, was Oswin an echo or not? TPD*
P.S: Scary side note, Chapter 13 in Transitions was also called The Cloud (I hate weird coincidences and this is one of them).
Madam Vastra was worried about the Doctor. Ever since he had crashed into their lives again, alone, looking close to death, a shell of his former self, she didn't know what to do. Things were different now, he barely spoke to them and when he did, he spoke sharply, barely giving them a moment to speak but he cut them up with harsh words. It didn't bother her, nor Jenny and Strax, they were not the type to bristle at harsh words, but it made her worry about what had happened to lead him to this cloud. He had been up there for years, she knew that much. It hadn't been that long for them, but his TARDIS was in a phase loop, so he could live fifty years up there and only three years had passed for them down below him. He occasionally down off of his cloud, to walk the town, reminisce about old times and grumble to Vastra about various things. He never said her name, but Vastra knew he had lost someone close to him. She'd asked him about the Ponds, but he had merely frowned and told her they were long gone. This new wound was fresh. It was different somehow. And Vastra was determined to get to the bottom of it.
But Vastra had bigger problems, like the insane Doctor Simeon. She didn't know exactly what he was up to, but it wasn't good. He had been collecting snow from all over the city, patches of snow. And the men who had collected the snow for him hadn't been seen since. This stunk, and Vastra was attracted to things that stunk like a moth to a flame. What she needed though, was the Doctor. And there was no way to get him off of his cloud. Jenny was insistent on such a point, telling Vastra that this was something that they'd have to handle themselves. Vastra was reluctant to agree, but it seemed that they had no choice. They would just have to do without the Doctor.
The Doctor didn't pretend that he wasn't a stranger there. But neither was he about to rob himself of this chance to say goodbye. He owed her that much. The cluster of people surrounding the coffin was small, but meaningful. Oswin's father was sobbing, Nina and various other friends gathered around it, unable to contain their upset.
"I've already mourned her once," her father was saying. "Now I have to say goodbye to my daughter for a second time." The Doctor stung with guilt.
He was stood just behind them all, unable to bring himself to come closer. He had to, though. He had to say goodbye, even if nobody else wanted him there. He had known her better than anyone this past year and it was his fault she was dead. His own selfish bloodlust had cost Oswin her life, when it should have cost him his. He would never forgive himself. He cleared his throat and took a step forward.
"I just wanted to say a few words," he murmured, earning him poisonous looks, but nobody protested. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. "The last year of my life with Oswin, has been one of the best. Certainly for her, but also for me. I didn't realise how much I needed her, but I became reliant on Oswin, she was my rock." He paused. "And I got her killed. She died to save me, because I was so determined…" He trailed off. "I should have protected her and I failed."
He leaned in and kissed the top of the coffin. There were more words he needed to say, but couldn't. It wouldn't matter, Oswin couldn't hear them. Never would hear them. She died, not knowing that he was still in love with her. His own choice of course, but a tragedy nevertheless. The Doctor had lost people before, but this just felt like the last straw. He still missed Amy and Rory, now he had Oswin to add to the list of people who had died at his hand. He always blamed himself of course, but it was rare that a companion of his actually died and even rarer that it was actually his fault. He hadn't just failed to save Oswin, he had killed her. He could have let the Daleks go, he could have got in the TARDIS and dragged Oswin with him. Instead, he had forgotten her, forgotten everything, in his pursuit of revenge.
And where had it gotten him? There were still millions of Daleks out there. But there was no Oswin. Not now. Because of him. He traipsed back to the TARDIS, stopping to take one final look around Oswin's room. There was nothing there to indicate Oswin had lived there at all. Everything even remotely personal was in the one place that the Doctor couldn't bring himself to go. Her TARDIS bedroom. So many painful reminders. He'd asked to keep the dress, that red dress he had found her in, the dress she had died in. Nobody had complained. She'd been dressed up for the funeral of course and nobody had wanted the dress. He didn't know what he would do with it, probably just leave it hanging somewhere in the TARDIS where he could see it, as a constant reminder. A reminder of what he was.
The Doctor decided to redecorate, do some jumbling about. Despite the overwhelming temptation, he couldn't jettison Oswin's room. As much as he wanted to, to get rid of everything, every reminder, he couldn't. But he also couldn't go in there. He, like the bedroom, was stuck in limbo. And it was horrifying. Horrifying to know that he was so useless, such a slave to his emotions. The person he loved most was dead, following the Ponds as another person whose life he had ruined. The cycle just kept going. How could I go on from this, where could he go from this?
He went on a Dalek killing spree, hoping to numb some of the pain of losing Oswin. Taking revenge felt so much more satisfying than sitting around his TARDIS moping, but no matter how many Daleks he blew up, it didn't make him feel better. So he decided to settle down somewhere, somewhere he could never hurt anyone ever again. Somewhere like Victorian London, where Vastra, Jenny and Strax were hanging out. There he had friends, but people that he wouldn't get killed.
He didn't treat them as friends. To him, they were nothing more than annoyances. He became increasingly bitter, sat up on his cloud, grumbling to himself, watching the universe from afar, occasionally tuning into some interstellar radio, watching the people below like ants. He wasn't sure what disgusted him more, the realisation that he had become just like his own people, or the fact that that no longer bothered him. Either way, it made him sick to his stomach. He was just another Time Lord, not interfering in the affairs of people or planets. The only way to shake off that feeling was to go down to the city. He didn't have to interact, but merely being there shook off the nagging feeling of conformity.
It was fifty years for the Doctor. So long, he had almost forgotten Oswin's face. But he could never forget the dress, still perched in the most inconvenient place he could think of, so he was forced to face it every single day. He'd stopped wearing bow ties about year 10, but that no longer bothered him either. He wasn't worthy to wear them anymore. He needed something to change, needed something to get him back into gear, not that was what he wanted. But it was what he needed. Vastra and Jenny and Strax kept trying to entice him off of his cloud whenever he went down, but that wasn't going to cut it. He needed Oswin, in truth. Someone like Oswin, someone who he could see being on the TARDIS full time. And, whilst he would never admit it, because that was exactly what he was trying to avoid, he secretly wanted it.
He told himself that he went down to the city to shake the nagging feeling he was a stiff old Time Lord, but in truth, he was secretly hoping that something would change, that someone would pop up to restore his faith, to make him believe again. And then, one snowy night, the miracle happened. Someone did just that.
He was walking past a bar, somewhere called the Rose and Crown. As he was doing so, a young woman stepped out. His first thought was shock, but he wasn't sure why. She reminded him of someone, he knew that much, but he couldn't quite pinpoint who. It had been so very long since he had seen another person. She had a nice smile and a cockney accent, her long brown hair curled in places. She was short and defensive. He had a nagging feeling in his brain that he couldn't quite grasp. Who was she?
She said her name was Clara and she followed him around, trying to get him to investigate the snow. He would've used the memory worm on her, but he couldn't, as she needed to remember how to fend off the snow. Carnivorous snow. He wanted more than anything to investigate, but he shouldn't. Not even the lovely Miss Clara would convince him to investigate. He was done. Clara would only get hurt if she followed him.
Except she did convince him. The Doctor had tried his hardest to resist, but when Vastra gave Clara the one word test, she answered Pond. And he was back in the game. He had been looking for an excuse, and this Clara had given him one. If Amelia Pond could see him now, what would she say to him? She would be ashamed. Amelia and Rory and River and Oswin, they would all be ashamed of him if they could see him now.
So he went to investigate Doctor Walter Simeon and his Great Intelligence Institute and sure enough, he found the pond Clara was referring to. That was when the other half of his prophecy came true. That was when he hurt Clara. Because they fought the ice-lady that came out of the pond and before he knew it, he was asking her to join him on his TARDIS. Then she asked him something that shook him to his core.
"Is there a kitchen? I like baking soufflés…"
He staggered back like he'd been punched. But before he could react, before he put the pieces together in his mind, Clara was gone. The ice lady had grabbed her and dragged her off the cloud. Off of his cloud. It was his fault. Another death on his conscience. But then, Strax revived her. And the Doctor had had enough. He wasn't going to stand by and lose one more person. Not one more. So he did a deal with the universe, if it was listening. He would not lose Clara and he would stop the Great Intelligence.
And stop the Great Intelligence he did, with Clara's help of course. And then, as he parked the TARDIS beside her, he knew she was dying and there was nothing he could do. So he put on his bravest face and knelt beside her, smiling despite the aching pain in his soul, the same aching pain he had spent fifty years trying to get rid of. He needed her to live, he needed her to survive. And then, she said those final words. And he realised. He realised his mistake.
"Run you clever boy and remember…"
"Oswin?" he gasped. The pieces were falling into place. He scratched his head, trying to make sense of it all. Then, the final piece of the puzzle slotted into place. He was by her grave, Vastra and Jenny by his side and he finally saw her full name. Clara Oswin Oswald.
"Oswin?" he breathed, touching the gravestone with his hands lightly. "Oswin!"
He was on his feet now, relief and insanity racing through him. It was her. It was definitely her. The soufflés, the final words and now the name. It was her. Clara was Oswin. Or Oswin was Clara. He didn't know what it meant, except that it meant something, something he had never dreamed he would have again. Hope.
"I'm confused Doctor," Vastra frowned. "Who is Oswin?"
"Oswin Oswald. She was a girl. She crashed into the Dalek Asylum and I saved her…and we travelled together…" he was blinking back tears. "And I fell in love with her and then I got her killed. She died, for me, same as Clara. Oswin, my Oswin. And don't you get it, they were the same girl. Two different Oswins. And if there's two then..."
"Then what?" Jenny frowned. She and Vastra exchanged a look which made it clear that they thought that the Doctor had lost his mind. Maybe he had, but it was his only chance to save Oswin. And he wasn't going to pass it up.
"Then maybe she's still out there, maybe there's another her. Another Oswin. And I can find her. And I can save her!" he ran off, racing for the TARDIS.
"I don't understand!" Jenny shouted after him. "Where are you going?"
"Neither do I!" he shouted back. "But I'm going to find her. To find Oswin. To find Clara."
He whooped and cheered as he crashed into his TARDIS. He stared at the red dress, the only reminder he had of Oswin. And then he did something he hadn't done in fifty years. He went into Oswin's bedroom. It was messy, as it always was, clothes and souvenirs strewn everywhere. Amongst them, a single photo, of Oswin and the Doctor, on a day where she had finally allowed to take one, because her hair looked good and he'd been insistent. He picked up the photo and kissed it once before putting it into his pocket.
"Hang on Oswin," he whispered. "I'm coming to find you."