The Guardian Angel
Summary: Because now he sees her. All of her. Clara in every form, shape, and echo.
She had always been there, hovering about, not that he had noticed. (He could be oblivious that way. A sad trait, really.)
He regrets it now. Ignoring her. Forgetting about her. The girl who had always chased after him, protecting.
The Soufflé Girl.
She was the recipe to everything. Perfect for him in every way. Made the way he needed her. Born to be there for him. Born for his sake and his alone. Sacrificing herself again and again. Never complaining.
But he does regret it. (He knows he has hurt and he hates hurting anyone.) And he does search for her once he realizes. Realizes he has seen her before. Known her before. She has been there with him. She has lived and died. They have dance this dance multiple times.
She is the Impossible Girl.
They tell her she isn't. She believes she isn't. But he can see it. Clara Oswin Oswald is as far from average as one can be. She is perfect. She is brave. She is funny... oh, so funny. And always there for him. All those echoes, all those copies, always there.
She guards him. She protects him. She guides him. And the fact is that he has long remained ignorant of her importance in his life. In all of them. In each regeneration and to each self. It kills him. Because he knows. He is aware of the hurt he has caused her. And yet, she hovers like she has always done. She is a perpetual presence in his life. Almost as much of a permanent feature in his life as his beloved TARDIS (the one that Clara introduced him to). And as always, she is a small hand on his shoulder, softly guiding.
Like the Guardian Angel she is.
He knows that she would believe it absurd. She would state she is nothing special, worse of something so celestial. She will say she is more of a sentinel than anything else. And she is. His celestial sentinel and he will always believe so.
Because now he sees her. All of her. Clara in every form, shape, and echo. (Finally.)
A mystery wrapped in an enigma squeezed into a skirt that is just... a little bit... too tight.
Clara the one that protects him. The one aids him in very step of the way. The one who lives many lives and dies many deaths. All for him. Always for him. (Undeserving him.) Because that was what she was born to do. Every version of her was born to save him.
And it hurts. Because he will loose her. Again and again. And he does not want to. He wants her to remain alive, by his side. Because he cares. Because... because he loves her. And he can't loose her. Not her. Because she is she. She is his and his alone. And simple perfect in every way.
My Clara.
"Clara, no."