REALLY SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT, GUYS
I REALLY AM
I was lazy at first, then my computer went wacko, then I had to do a factory reset, then my computer didn't have internet, then I got the internet, and now here we are. :) who's as excited as me for season 8? :D
again, sorry about the wait. I'll be updating regularly, whether whouffaldi or a different storyline I have going 3
W.G.2
The Doctor was sitting in the ultra-comfy chair across the room from her, reading a book. Clara looked up from her own book, Impossible Astronaut, and looked over at him. Something kept bothering her, something she hadn't had the courage to ask this new Doctor. It felt right now, to ask, when they were both peaceful and comfortable in the warmth of the TARDIS library.
"Doctor." she spoke, her voice piercing the silent air.
"Mmm?" He grunted back, turning a page.
"Why did you lie to me?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, looking over the top of his book at Clara.
"When you said you'd never send me away again, but you did?"
The Doctor was silent for a few moments, returning his eyes to his book. Clara sat there, feeling lonely for the second time since she'd met the Doctor. Was he just going to ignore her?
"Clara, why do you want to know?"
"You lied to my face!" Clara yelled, slamming her book on the floor. That made him jump, and he looked up at her with a hurt expression on his face.
"Clara-"
"You lied to my face! I just wanted to live my life with you, you'd already gone mad after three hundred years alone with nothing but a town that used you and a part of a Cyberman that you grew to love. You were already mad, I knew that much, but you were even madder. Insane. Lonely. Sad. Old. I wanted to help you. You have no idea," Clara screamed, breaking off only to breathe and wipe some of the tears off her face. Clara'd been crying while she'd yelled, standing up and pouring out her feelings, and she continued, "no idea how absolutely alone I felt, no idea how horrible, how rejected, how sad I was. I was willing to die for you, and I have a million times. What makes you think I wouldn't be willing to do so again?"
The Doctor sat there, staring at her with wide eyes. She felt self-conscious immediately and felt every single tear and felt her face go red, she imagined how disoriented and horrible she looked and ran out of the room, ignoring the pain as she twisted her ankles. The Doctor could hear her footsteps running down the hall and he slowly lowered his book until it was on his lap. He was shocked, really, truly shocked. He had no idea how much he had hurt her, how much he'd emotionally tortured her.
After what only seemed like five minutes but was actually an hour, according to the clock, he stood up and set the book down on the table next to him. He quietly exited the library and headed to the kitchen, because he could smell burning soufflés. When he got to the doorway, he peeked in and saw three ovens, one oven open and radiating heat everywhere. One was closed, and through the glass the Doctor could see a pale soufflé, obviously just put in. The third oven was closed and smoke coming off it, and you couldn't see inside of it, for all the black smoke. Clara was next to the open oven, furiously stirring something inside of a bowl. A large bag of flour had tipped over onto the counter, which had sent flour all over the counter, stoves and floor, and flour and cocoa were all over Clara's dress, apron and face, especially her cheekbones.
He smiled
. He'd always loved her cheekbones, soft and delicate.
She'd heard him somehow, made obvious by her sudden turning and glaring. He stepped into the kitchen, hands in pockets.
"Sorry." he said, and winced. That was lame.
"Sorry." she repeated, hissing through gritted teeth.
"You don't understand." he offered, hoping she wouldn't ask any more. That was a stupid hope. This was Clara Oswald, the impossibly curious girl.
"Then make me understand." she snapped, and turned to pour the mixture from the bowl into the soufflé dish, which she promptly entered into the open oven with a bang of closing the oven door. She turned back to him and raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms.
"Isn't it obvious that I did it to save you, though?" he felt like an eight year old trying to get out of something.
"Yes. But you could have tricked me at Trenzalore, first time around. You could have tricked me in Victorian Yorkshire. You could have tricked me lots of times. You didn't. Why then?" she pressed, letting her voice become a teeny bit softer to encourage him.
"Because I knew I was going to die then. I knew that was the end, Clara, Trenzalore, the place where I die. Your grave wasn't there first time around."
"We didn't look."
"Yours would have been almost as big as mine, Clara. Your gravestone. Me, then you, then Tasha, then her next in command, and so forth. We would have seen it, easily. You somehow survived, and I made sure of that. I saved you."
"I didn't want to be saved." Clara snapped back, then something dawned on her. "Me, then Tasha. What?" she sounded confused. "But you and Tasha-"
"Are nothing more than friends, and that particular regeneration kissed everyone. Seriously." the Doctor made a face. "Everyone."
Clara grinned.
"I know." she whispered, and leaned onto the counter behind her. She looked up at him. "But still, why me? Even if you and Tasha were nothing more than friends, she's the head of the papal mainframe. The church that saved the entire planet, and you."
"Oh, Clara." he sighed, taking a step closer. "I didn't want to bury you."
"Why you, than me?" Clara pressed, taking a step towards him, hands on her hips.
"I saved you. Does it matter what I said? We're safe. We're fine." the Doctor closed the gap between them and hugged her, she hugged him back quite tightly.
"It matters to me, Doctor." she whispered.
"Because I love you."
"What?" Clara pulled away a little and stared up at him, shock registering on her face. He grinned down at her. He'd always known she'd loved him, but she'd never known it was also the other way around. He brought his lips down to hers and she met him half-way, and they snogged for quite a while.