Clara couldn't believe it. It was that simple. She couldn't believe it. There was no way that the Doctor was an escaped slave.
"It's true," he said, still addressing the people of the party. "When I was a boy, I was a worker in the forges. After the Time War was over, I escaped, not because I feared work, but because I feared death. We were mistreated in the forges." The Doctor lifted his finger and pointed at the Master. "This man," he shouted, "beat every single one of us every day, whether or not we had done anything wrong. Death to us was a mercy. We would lie on our thin cots every night, our backs bleeding and hearts ripped to shreds, and we would beg for death to grant us its sweet kiss. When one of us did die, we were jealous. They were the lucky ones.
"After Trenzalore, the Master and the other slave masters lined us all up and started to shove us into the fires of the forges. I broke from the line and lost my pursuers in the canyons. Shortly after, I was purchased by the Williams family. They took me in and gave me something I never had before: family." Everybody was silent as the Doctor spoke, not daring to say a word until he was finished.
"Eventually, I fell in love with their daughter, and they did something nobody else had done before: they freed me." Everyone in the room gasped. "They erased all traces of Slave 24601. They made it seem like he had died in the forges. All that was left was the man called the Doctor, the man who married their daughter. The Williams broke the law so that I could have a life. If anyone is to be punished, it should not be that man on the screen." The Doctor was silent now, his tale apparently finished. Rassilon was the first to speak.
"I passed laws before the Time War that all slaves were to be treated fairly if they worked in a way that helped the war effort. What proof do you have that you were mistreated?"
The Doctor responded by throwing his coat on the ground and quickly unbuttoning his shirt. When he finally unfastened it, he tore it off and exposed his upper torso to the entire room. Everyone gasped at the sight, even Clara.
The first thing to run through Clara's mind was how cut the Doctor was. He had chiseled chest muscles and abs, but the most prominent thing on his body was the scars. They were all over him: his chest, his stomach, and especially his back. It was hard to tell what parts were scar-tissue and what parts were actual feeling skin. It was apparent that both the whip and the rod had left their marks on the Doctor. But the worst sight of all was the brand in the upper corner of his left peck. It was a simple string of numerals that clearly read "24601".
Rassilon looked ready to pop from anger. He couldn't believe that somebody had mistreated a slave when he had done what he could to protect them.
"He's lying, Lord President," the Master shouted. "He was one of the most troublesome servants I had to deal with. Those beatings were all deserved."
"I was ten years old," the Doctor shouted back. "The forges were all I knew, I didn't resist. I had no choice."
"Enough!" It was Rassilon who was speaking now. "Guards, seize the Master." Rassilon's guards obeyed, despite the Master's objections. "Master, for crimes against human beings, I hereby sentence you to the same fate you subjected them to. You will be beaten until your body is covered in wounds, and then you will be cast into the same fires you cast your slaves into." Rassilon waved his hand and the guards took the Master away, kicking and screaming.
Rassilon looked at the Doctor. "I hereby grant you your pardon, 24601. You are no longer a slave. You are a truly free man. You will retain the Williams estate, as you did legally marry their daughter. And... as penance for my ignorance, I hereby decree that slaves no longer have to remain slaves. If their masters wish to free them, they may."
"Lord Rassilon," somebody called out, "why would we do that? Slaves are treated well enough, we don't need to give them any more."
"Look down. Look down.
Don't look him in the eye," the Doctor sang
Look down. Look down.
You're here until you die.
"These are the words the slaves sing today. I learned them in the forges, but I still here them on their lips to this day. I was once one of them, begging for somebody to look down upon my misery and lift me up from it. When I saw that would never happen, I decided to be the one who looked down.
"Look up, and see
I too was once a slave," he started to sing again. The tune was the same, but Clara knew that he had made these words himself.
"Look up, and know
I crawled up from my grave.
"I looked down, and showed
some mercy 'cause I dared.
I looked down, and gave
some show of mercy's stare.
"I looked down, and saw
the beggars at my feet.
I looked down, and gave
them all their fill of meat.
"I looked down, and stared
upon my fellow man.
I looked down, and gave
them all that they could have."
Clara's hand covered her mouth. In that moment, she knew that the Doctor was telling the truth. Only someone who was a slave could have known what he was talking about.
"It's for that reason," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "that as of this moment, I am freeing all those who work in this house." All the Doctor's servants murmured to themselves. "Any and all who wish to continue working will receive wages and may keep their jobs, but those who wish to leave may leave without question. As for the rest of you, get out of my house!" The people were too quick to oblige. The sea of people kept their distance from the scar covered man who stood in the center of the room. When the hall was clear, the Doctor sprinted up the steps and quickly walked to his study, where Clara could hear the door slam.
She was free now. She wanted to leave, but at the same time, she didn't. She didn't want to leave the Doctor. No, bad brain! she shouted to herself. You can't love him!
But you do. And you can. Clara's eyes started to water a bit. He's freed you now. You can love him. Clara could only run to her room and shut the door. Curling up into a ball on her bed, she cried. That was all she could do. Cry. She had only been here for a few weeks and in that time, she had fallen in love with the Doctor. But she couldn't. Could she?
Her door opened and Madame Vashtra came in. Clara sat up wiping the tears from her eyes, but Vashtra waved her down. "I haven't come to order you. I've come to talk as equals." Vashtra sat down next to Clara. "I want you to ask you a few questions, and I want you to answer them in one word only. Do you understand?" Clara nodded. "Are you really sad?"
"No."
"Are you scared?"
"Yes."
"Of freedom?"
"No."
"Of what then?"
Clara was silent for a minute before she answered. "Love," she whispered.
"Love?"
"Yes."
"Do you love the Doctor?" Clara didn't answer. Vashtra placed her hand on top of Clara's. "It's alright if you do. Remember, he was a slave that fell in love with his mistress."
Clara thought about Vashtra's words. It was true; the Doctor had fallen in love with Melody Williams when he was still a slave. What was keeping her from loving the Doctor? "Scared," she whispered, still giving singular answers per Vashtra's request.
"You shouldn't be scared, Clara. He loves you with all his heart. I've seen it. All you have to do is go to him and ask him. He will not hesitate to tell you how much he truly cares about you."
Clara looked at Vashtra, as if to ask permission to leave.
"Go, Clara. Go and see for yourself."
Clara got up and made her way to the Doctor's study. When she arrived at the dark wooden doors, she hesitated. He had been very upset when he left the hall. Should she disturb him like this? Quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, she knocked on the door.
"Go away, Vashtra," she heard the Doctor shout.
"It's Clara, sir," she replied. "Madame Vashtra has not sent me at all. I've come by my own choice. I would like to talk to you about something." Silence.
"Come in." Clara opened the door and saw that the Doctor had changed to his normal jeans and shirt. He stood in front of the fire, his back to the window which displayed the starry night outside. In his hand was a glass of some alcohol that Clara had noticed on the desk before. "What was it you wanted to talk about, Clara?"
"I... I..." Clara faltered. She couldn't find the courage to say the words. "Do you love me," came out the feeble whisper. The Doctor turned to look at her. For a moment, Clara wished that she could freeze time to stare at him. The firelight danced in his chocolate eyes, giving almost a mystic look to them. His hair reflected the oranges from the flames, and his shirt was just tight enough for her to see his chest muscles underneath it.
"Yes, Clara," he said. "I do love you." Clara didn't quite know how to respond to that. To hear Vashtra say it was one thing, but to hear the Doctor say it was another.
Turning, Clara was about to run when the Doctor reached out and gently grabbed her arm. "Clara, wait. Please, just listen to me." Clara obeyed, standing still while the Doctor talked. "After Melody died, I didn't think I could ever find love again, even though she had left me a letter saying that she wanted me to. When I met you, I actually thought that I had found a woman worth loving all over again. I love you, Clara. I love you so much, and I want to share every day of my life with you."
"I can't," Clara cried. "I can't. I'm a slave."
"No you're not. Not any more. I freed everyone, including you. Please, Clara. I'm begging you."
Clara couldn't bring herself to say yes. It was just too hard for her to even think that she could have a different life than what she had now.
The Doctor pulled on her arm, turning her to face him. She complied, but she refused to meet his gaze.
"Look up, and see
what I hold in my hand.
Look up, and claim
the future you can have."
He was singing softer now. Same tune, but his tone had changed. He was no longer looking to prove who he was, but tell her something important.
Clara looked up at the Doctor and saw that in his hand, he held the traditional engagement ring of the royal family. It was a beautiful thing: a gold band with a single blue sapphire, rimmed by diamonds. The ring was passed on from Williams-to-Williams, only to be given to the woman that the eldest son wished to marry.
"Look up, and see
the truth within my eyes.
Look up, and know
that now I tell no lies.
"Look up, and know
the love I have for you.
Look up, and tell
me if you feel it too."
Clara looked up into the Doctor's eyes and she could tell that this was the truth. He genuinely loved her. And in that moment, she realized she truly loved him too. The young man who had purchased her from the cruel traders at the slave auction had at first done so out of compassion, but now offered her a life she had never known out of love-pure and unadulterated.
Trembling, Clara lifted her hand and let the Doctor slide the ring onto her finger. It was a little big, but it fit well enough. Clara was struggling to find the words to say when the Doctor leaned his face down and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was light at first, but Clara leaned into the Doctor, gently taking his wrists and putting his hands on her waist while she thread hers around his neck.
To the Doctor, nothing was anything like kissing Clara. Her lips tasted faintly of strawberries and felt like silk. He ran his tongue against her bottom lip, gently asking for permission. She gave it, opening her lips further and snaking her tongue around his. They searched each other's mouths like that for a good five minutes before they finally had to part and breathe.
Clara rested her head against the Doctor's chest, listening to the beat of his heart. The steady "thump-thump" of the organ helped her to pace her thoughts, and the smell of his leather jacket had a soothing effect on her. She was perfectly content to stay there forever in the Doctor's arms.
The Doctor shared that sentiment. Her hair smelt like peaches and the way she was pressed against him made it seem like they were two halves of a whole; that they were incomplete without each other. The Doctor remembered thinking that there was something special about this girl when he first acquired her at the slave auction. Vashtra had started calling her the Impossible Girl, due to how she had survived despite the impossible odds, but the Doctor knew that Vashtra meant something else whenever she said that. Now, he knew what. She was the Impossible Girl, because she had done the impossible: she had made the Doctor fall in love all over again. That was enough.