Chapter Nine—Coping

Doctor

The Doctor went a bit mental after that. He threw whatever his hands touched at the walls, scattering shards of glass, books with their spines broken flopped helplessly on the ground. He screamed. He cried. He kicked the wall, and swore as his toe throbbed sharply.

The physical pain was nothing to the turmoil inside of him.

He leaned against the wall and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor, his legs pulled up against his chest. His forehead fell on his knees as he sobbed and shook.

It might have been minutes. It could have been hours or even days. He cried and cried until he had no tears left. His head was throbbing and he felt sick. He looked up, his eyes dull and red-rimmed, and realized that, somehow, the universe was still intact. The world continued to spin. He continued to breathe and his hearts continued to beat. That meant he had to find a way to move on…somehow. He cringed at the idea, repelled at the thought of going on without Clara.

He had to, though. Clara would have been furious with him if he fell apart over something so "trivial" as her death. Sucking in a deep, ragged breath, the Doctor lurched to his feet. His bleary eyes were drawn to Clara, and he felt them prick once more as the reality of losing her hit him all over again. He scrubbed at his face, sighing wearily. How long until he could function again? How long would he continue to wake up and not desire to roll over and pull the pillow over his face, shutting out the universe?

He could feel the TARDIS reaching out, trying to touch him, comfort him. He pushed it away brusquely, the sentiment only reminding him of all the times Clara had been balm to his aching hearts. Remembering Clara hurt almost as much as losing her. The Doctor shuddered and took all the memories, all the feelings, everything crowding in his aching head distracting him and making him miserable, and shoved it all into a box in his head. Then he shoved that box into a safe, which he promptly locked.

He felt numb, but the numbness was bliss after the pain of losing someone you love.

There were things to be dealt with, he knew. Nothing he looked forward to.

Things like Clara's funeral. Explaining what had happened, how it was his fault.

They would tell him not to say that, of course it wasn't. He knew it was, though. Clara had sacrificed herself to save his life. Of course it was his fault.

They would tell him that blaming himself wouldn't accomplish anything, but he needed someone, some tangible entity to blame, to be angry with, to scream his pain and sorrow to. Who better than himself?

At night, when he was unable to sleep, he would open the safe and pull out the box. He would let the feelings flow through him, let the memories haunt and torment him. He let his mind do what it wanted because fighting it down was like fighting back a tidal wave. He just wasn't strong enough.

Grief slammed into him, made his hearts heavy and breathing difficult. Grief was always followed quickly by anger. Anger at Clara, for being so stupid, for leaving him. Anger at himself for breaking his promise, for not saving her. Anger at the universe, for giving her to him only to steal her away yet again.

These emotions and thoughts circled his head in unending loops until eventually he was able to shut the lid of the box on them again, able to lock the safe, leaving him drained, numb, and sleep-deprived.

A week passed before he succumbed to exhaustion and finally slept. His dreams were haunted, people he loved drifting through grey fog. He called out to them, and they would turn to him, stare at him with cold, unforgiving eyes. He would try to run to them, to explain, to beg for their forgiveness. But the instant he got within touching distance, the specters would vanish, and soon he was alone, lost in a world of grey fog and sorrow and confusion.

He awoke with a start and shuddered, drenched in cold sweat. He stared around his room—it hadn't changed scenery at all in the last week, it still held the appearance of a meadow, with purple flowers and lush green grass, but the sky was overcast and there was no visible sun—and for the first time realized how cluttered it was. Clothes heaped on the floor where he tossed them at the end of each day, his sheets were falling off his bed, cascading towards the floor. There were books and papers scattered on the floor, his dresser, along with pens and pencils. The violin lay untouched, gathering dust on the floor by his closet.

The Doctor sighed and slowly got up, promising himself he'd tidy up later as he got dressed. He'd decided that today was the day he would finally deal with the aftermath of Clara's death, the funeral and the questions and trying to move on. He left his room, going to the TARDIS Console Room and plugging in the coordinates of Clara's home on Earth.

Time to start the process of coping.

[A/N: Okay…I know I'm awful. I sort of left you guys hanging for a while with that last chapter, and I am so sorry. I've been going through midterms and trying to keep my grades up. In the course of this month I've had three panic attacks and once I actually had to go to the nurse because I was freaking out so much I started hyperventilating and passed out. It's been crazy and I've been busy and in a funk. HOWEVER, I'M BACK! YAY! And so with the return of me comes the return of the Doctor.]

[This chapter…I actually sort of got inspired to it while listening to"Imaginary", and "My Immortal" by Evanescence. They gave me ideas for how to proceed, so thanks Evanescence! :)]

[Special shout-out to Guest and "I'm Counting the Stars", for reviewing. You guys have my love! Okay, so I'm sure you guys probably don't want to hear any more from me, so I'm gonna wrap this up now. Hope you liked my chapter. If you did, leave a review to let me know. If not, leave a review to tell me why so I can try to make it better for next time. Love and hugs for all!]

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—MakennaRoth

[P.S. OH, GUYS. I wrote this crackfic called "Egglock". Here's the URL: s/10059699/1/Egglock-Crack-Fanfic You should check it out, if you have the time. :) Shutting up for real now, bye! Ilysm!]