Chapter 3—Truce

Clara

She hurried down the hall and turned to the left, pushing open the warm brown maple door with a sigh. She didn't like keeping things from the Doctor. He was clever, and her best friend. But this new Doctor—he unsettled her somewhat. The way he looked at her, like a puzzle—no, that was the way her Doctor, the last one, had looked at her. This Doctor looked at her more like a lab specimen he was dying to dissect to discover how it worked. He looked colder and harsher and…and it kind of frightened her.

But she couldn't tell him that. She couldn't hurt him just because he had changed. She would never be able to forgive herself if she did that.

To herself she could admit that she was afraid, though. Afraid not only of the Doctor, but for the Doctor, for his life. This was his last body—he was going to die, and he seemed to run through his regenerations. She couldn't lose him. She just…couldn't. She needed the Doctor. She couldn't go back to normal life after life with him—it was unthinkable! Well, visiting occasionally—sure that was fine. But being stuck there? She was repelled by the thought.

There had to be a way to save him.

Right?

He was bound to figure out what was bothering her soon. If he hadn't already. She cringed at the thought and shook her head. He couldn't possibly know. He was clever but, as he himself had said more than once, he was incredibly thick sometimes.

But he also always gets there eventually, her mind whispered to her.

Shut up, she told it irritably. Then she frowned: Talking to herself. Not a good sign. She was losing it for sure now.

She sighed heavily, shutting the door softly behind her. Her room was simple, a basic earth bedroom with a bed, a desk, and a closet. There was a full-body mirror propped up next to the desk that she loved because it seemed so classic and antique, it was truly beautiful. The closet was smaller outside, of course, because the TARDIS loved to show off and remind Clara of her insignificance. It wasn't too tidy, with clothes scattered helter-skelter and pictures from their various adventures strewn across the desk, waiting for her to find a home for them, but to her that just gave it a comfortable, homey feel.

She sighed again as she dropped on her bed, crooking an arm over her eyes.

"Right. Okay. So, I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen for once," she said aloud. She always felt awkward and silly speaking to the TARDIS. It didn't come to her as naturally as it did for him. Then again, she hadn't been doing it for two thousand years, so that probably made sense. Clara shook her head, telling herself to focus, opening her eyes with a sigh.

A message appeared in cursive on the mirror by her desk. She tilted her head to look at it.

Why should I listen to a single word you have to say to me? –Sexy

Clara felt her jaw tighten. The TARDIS also loved to shove that little pet name in her face frequently, and it always rankled. "Because," she spoke to the message tensely, "you and I have a common goal. We both want to save the Doctor."

I have tried to do so many times. What makes you think you could do better than I?

"Because I have succeeded many times, throughout his timeline I have saved his life time and time again. It's only because of me that he even chose you," she said smugly.

The TARDIS chose not to reply to this, but she could sense its annoyance.

And its sadness. She sighed.

"Look. This animosity between us…it's not helping him. I just want to offer a truce, an alliance. If we work together, we could save the Doctor." Her heart pumped at the words. Save the Doctor. Save the Doctor. She heard the words constantly in her head now, like a mantra, always there in the back of her mind. It's what she was born to do, it's what she always did. She was the impossible girl, and she was born to save the Doctor. I have to save him, she thought to herself, closing her eyes.

When she opened them again, the cursive was fading. She barely caught the message.

A truce, then.

Clara nodded in relief and sat up, crossing her legs and resting her elbows on her knees, propping her chin in her hands. "I know you have an idea. You know how we could save him."

What makes you so sure?

"Because you're the TARDIS. The whole of the universe stored in a convenient little blue box. Biggest brain ever, clever and innovative. If you don't have a single idea, then I'm a purple pickled toad." Clara rolled her eyes.

Fair point. I do have something, but the Doctor has already rejected it.

"What do you propose? Tell me. I might be able to help convince him."

Why should he listen to you if he won't listen to me?

"Do we really have to go through this again?" Clara sighed exasperatedly, pointing a finger at herself. "Impossible girl. Saved his life. Multiple times. Besides, he loves me." Feeling her face turn red, Clara hastened to add, "As a friend, I mean. It's not like what he had with Professor Song. We're just best friends." She sincerely hoped the TARDIS didn't know her well enough to discern her lies as easily as the Doctor could.

She and the Doctor had an odd relationship. Clara admired the Doctor. He dragged her around, he showed her the universe, he brought her on adventures wild beyond her dizziest daydreams. They ran, they laughed, they hugged, they cried, they held hands, and—a precious few times—they had even kissed. Companion, he called her. So many different meanings, and she wasn't sure which one he intended with it. She often wondered why he had even chosen her to run with him. She wasn't especially pretty or clever. She was a bit bold, but that usually just brought them trouble, so she didn't think that was the reason. At times she wondered if he even had a reason for choosing her, or if he was just desperate and lonely and asked the first person he saw on the street to come away in his snog box.

"I never know why. I only know who," he had told her when he asked her to come away with him. Maybe that should be enough to satisfy her, but she still wondered sometimes.

And then, there were times she caught him looking at her. Just looking, when he thought she wouldn't notice. There was something in his eyes…it was a bit sad, a bit happy, and a bit of something she couldn't quite interpret as anything other than intense. She saw a lot of moods on the Doctor.

She'd seen him angry, and his anger was terrifying and brilliant, burning hotter than a thousand suns.

She'd seen him happy, where he would laugh and grab her hands and drag her around the room in an attempt to dance until they were both laughing and stumbling like intoxicated people in a club, stumbling and doubled over, faces flushed and eyes bright.

She'd seen him sad—he always seemed a little bit sad. Even when he was smiling and laughing, there was something in his eyes…something not broken, exactly...but more like breaking. He was hurting, always. He carried around so much guilt and sadness and pain that at times she was impressed that he even found the strength and will to get out of bed and face the universe that had caused so much pain in his hearts.

But there wasn't any mood she'd ever seen him in made her feel the same as that look did. It sent shivers up her spine and had her praying desperately that she wasn't blushing as badly as she felt she was.

She always pretended not to notice these looks, because as soon as she turned to meet his eyes, the intensity was gone and he was pretending it had never happened.

Clara had to wonder what those looks meant. But she was distracted again by the next message from the TARDIS.

Well I'm his Sexy girl. He never doubts me, never leaves me. We've been together almost all of his life. This only served to irritate Clara. Now the TARDIS was being just plain petulant and downright irritating. She was in no mood to deal with this kind of thing.

"Do you really want to make this into a competition? This is beside the point! Tell me how we can save the Doctor," Clara said exasperatedly.

There was a deep groaning noise from the walls, the sound Clara usually associated with a sigh. Very well. Try to keep up.

She outlined her idea about the Doctor lying low as a human for a while, explaining to Clara how it would work, and as she listened, Clara couldn't quite help thinking that this plan they were concocting was hardly fool-proof.

It was, however, the best chance that they had. She had to take it. For the Doctor, she would do it. He may have changed—he was different, not quite as soft and warm and cuddly-looking. And yes, that might unsettle her a bit. Quite a big bit, actually, but that was all beside the point.

He might not be her Doctor anymore, but that didn't change a single thing. He was still the Doctor, and for the Doctor, she would do anything.

"Let's do it," she said grimly.

[A/N: Again, snow day so I had time to write all this. Hope you guys like it. Happy Christmas! How did I do with telling it from Clara's POV? Did I suck? Did I do really well? Did you like the Sexy-Clara interaction? Did you guys catch what Clara's secret was? Leave a review to let me know, please! Keep it real, guys.]

[By the way, I discovered the most horrible yet epic parody ever and am sharing it with you in the spirit of Christmas. It's to the tune of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" and the title is "Sherlock Holmes Jumped Off Of a Building". Here's the chorus:

'Sherlock Holmes jumped off of a building

Said "Goodbye John" and tried to deceive

You can say Moriarty wasn't real

But as for me and Watson

We believe!'

If that didn't make you cry, you're not a proper Sherlockian fangirl. Happy Christmas, everyone! See you all on the next update! PUT WORDS IN THE LITTLE BOX DOWN THERE AND WRAP IT IN A BOW FOR ME!]

Love always,

—Makenna