Hi! I was going to past this yesterday but the site had some error and whenever I tried to go on my account to post it it just said something like 'server error 503' :(
But now it's working again, yay!
So I hope you enjoyed this little two-shot. Please leave a review to tell me what you think!
Eventually, the light fades and Clara can look up, blinking fast.
Her cheeks feel uncomfortably damp with the tears she's cried and the her lips tingle with the memory of the Doctor's kiss.
She's scared to raise her eyes because she knows that whatever she sees it will break her heart.
But she has to; and she does. Slowly, hesitantly, her eyes flick upwards and fall upon the man standing before her.
Her vision is still a little blurry with a sheen of tears but she can make out a tall figure, stretching out his arms and shaking out his legs.
He's talking excitedly and seems to be checking that he has all his limbs but Clara's too dazed to pay attention. She slowly stands and rubs her eyes, clearing her vision.
The man before her has grey hair, curled tightly to his head. He's much older than his previous regeneration. She notes that he's almost the complete opposite of what he was before.
He's draped in the tweed coat and the bow tie is still around his neck and it looks so wrong that Clara thinks she might cry again.
He turns to look at her, properly, for the first time.
'Clara!' He says. 'Look. I have to ask you something...' He pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing. 'Am I ginger?'
Surprised, it takes Clara a moment to reply. She shakes her head, a slight movement that leaves her feeling nauseous.
'Thank god!' The Doctor exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. 'I was worried.'
Clara bites her lip. Her mind is flooded with memories of him, before his regeneration, complaining about not being ginger.
'Really,' He'd said, 'I don't see why I haven't been ginger yet. 11 different regenerations! You'd think that was more than enough chance to get it right. How many times will I get the same hair colour?'
She'd laughed. 'Well, let's hope you won't be changing any time soon.'
He'd ignored her, peering into a nearby window and tugging at his quiff. 'Maybe I can dye it.' He'd mused, frowning at his reflection. 'Hair dye! What a brilliant invention. You humans, eh? Wonderful.'
The Doctor now is still staring at her, waiting for her to reply. She can't find the words. Her arms still feel empty and she can still taste salty tears on her lips. This Doctor already seems so much more sombre and solemn and she's not sure how she's going to do without his usual laughter and beautiful clumsy frivolence.
'Clara?' He asks. 'Are you all right?' He steps forwards hesitantly. 'I know this is going to take some getting used to, but...' He pauses and then frowns in distaste as he notices the bow tie around his neck. Slowly pulling it off, he starts talking again before dropping it carelessly onto the floor. 'I was so worried about being forgotten, wasn't I? Just a few minutes ago.' He shakes his head and smiles bemusedly. 'How stupid of me.'
Clara's feeling something she's not used to feeling; anger.
She inhales raggedly. 'No,' she tells him. 'No. It wasn't stupid. Because that's exactly what you've done, you've forgotten him, just like he said you would.' She feels her soul splintering even further and gasps for breath as tears form a lump in her throat. 'How could you?'
'We're the same man, Cla-'
Her heart flutters violently and she doesn't think she's ever felt this kind of pain before.
'No, you're not. You have the same body and you share the same memories but you're not him. Because he cared. He always cared. About everything. And there you stand and you can't even care about yourself. So don't try to tell me you're the same man. Because the doctor, my doctor, he was the best and the bravest and the most brilliant man I ever knew. And you're – you are not him.'
She steps forwards and picks up the bowtie and clenches her hand around it, tight, before turning and running. She can't stay here; not now, not with him staring at her in silence.
The TARDIS doors slam shut behind her and she's glad because now he can't see her crumple and fall, sobbing desperately and trying not to scream out into the night sky she can hardly bear to look at because it's his sky, the skies he travelled through with her, filled with the stars and planets they saved together.
It hurts, hurts more than anything has ever hurt her before, and she looks at the bowtie lying limply in her hand and slams her fist into the ground.
She tries to speak, to send out a prayer to the glittering night, but all that comes out is a weak, tired whisper. 'Please come back.' She begs. 'Please.'
If he was here, he'd have wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her towards him and kissed her forehead and just let her be comforted by his presence.
But he's gone and the air around her waist is cold and empty and she thinks that he's torn a fez-shaped hole in her heart that might never fill.
/ / / / / / /
She's not sure how long she's been sitting there, crying, with the bowtie clenched loosely in her fist, but the snow she sits on has soaked into her clothes.
She doesn't care; she barely feels the cold despite shivering violently as a gust of wind blows.
She stands wearily and faces the TARDIS doors. She's not sure if she's strong enough for this. She doesn't know if she'll ever recover.
But she pushes open the doors and the TARDIS lets her in without a hitch as it has for quite a while, now. She wonders absently if the new Doctor will change the interior. She hopes he doesn't.
She pauses a moment to tuck the bowtie into the pocket of her shirt. Her hand feels the absence painfully. The last time she'd touched the bowtie was as she kissed the Doctor.
The Doctor is waiting for her as she walks in. She doesn't know if he's heard her crying and pleading but she finds she doesn't have the energy to care.
He stands silently, waiting for her to say something.
'I'm sorry.' She tells him. 'What I said earlier...About you not being the doctor.' She pauses, collecting herself. 'I take it back. I know you're him, and he's you. You're just...not my you. Does that make sense? And-' She swallows hard. She thinks she ought to have run out of tears by now but she can feel them rising up again. 'And I don't know if I'll ever really be able to see you as the same person, but...I'll try my best.' And she offers him a weal, watery smile and it feels like the first time she's smiled in a very long time.
He steps towards her, and smiles back. 'I know. And it's okay.'
/ / / / / / / /
She dreams about him almost every night. About her Doctor. Sometimes they'll be memories playing in her mind and sometimes she dreams that they're together again. She wakes up with tear stained cheeks, a lot. But more often than not there's a smile on her face, too, and she'll turn over and open the draw on her nightstand and take out a bowtie.
And then, in the morning, after drifting back to sleep, she'll step out of her house and into the TARDIS and she'll go on a new adventure. Because, she concludes, her time with her floppy-haired Doctor was an adventure all on it's own. And she's accepted that, now.
She keeps little reminders of him around the house and imagines his voice every day so she won't forget it, (not that she thinks she ever could) and she lives. And she does it the way she knows her Doctor would want her to; majestically, beautifully, and wonderfully.