Chapter 23- Blood on Our Hands
I had been wrong before. This was the hardest part to write about. Describing just how I watched Clara die mutilated me. It absolutely wrecked me. Clara was the only person I'd thought would make it out of this alive. Turns out, she was the only one to die.
I immediately jumped towards Clara's falling body, but River and the Doctor held me back, pulling me into the TARDIS.
"Clara!" I screamed desperately, over and over as they dragged me inside the ship and halfway to the console. "Clara! Clara, no!" I fought my way out of their grip and back to the doors, but the Doctor caught up to me and roughly pulled me back. "Let go of me! We have to get Clara!"
A powerful explosion, the grenade's doing, suddenly shook the TARDIS, sending all of us to the floor and inducing a strange wave of vertigo in all of us. I was on my feet first and running to the doors before anyone could stop me. I yanked them open, foolishly hoping for the best.
Destruction. Utter destruction. The TARDIS had been blown clean off its base and now lay on its side—it must have some internal gravity system or something that kept us from falling through its depths. I clumsily climbed out and observed the rest of the room: the nanogene diffuser had been blown to smithereens, the Daleks were now destroyed hunks of metal, and…and Clara's blood spattered the wall. That was the only sign of human presence in the room—the explosion had destroyed her body, blasting her into slivers of tissue.
The Doctor and River climbed after me and assessed the damage. I heard them as if from far away, the Doctor asking if the explosion would cause the room to collapse and River saying that the room had once been a bomb shelter, that it was built for explosions. Built to protect against them.
I stumbled toward the blood on the wall, horribly numb. It was my fault Clara was dead—I'm the one who pulled her into this. She didn't need to be.
I understood why the Doctor didn't want to bring her along: because her blood now dripped from my hands.
I had killed her.
Tears falling from my eyes, I tripped over my own two feet and fell, but the Doctor had come from nowhere and caught me. He lowered me to the ground carefully, cradling me like a hurt animal. His arms were a steel cage around me, holding me together as I cried. He rocked back and forth, trying to soothe me, but it didn't work. I kept whimpering Clara's name, reaching out for her, as if she'd magically appear from thin air.
"C-Clara," I choked out. "Clara, I'm so sorry." The Doctor stroked my face, trying to turn it away from the blood on the wall, but he couldn't tear my gaze away. I wouldn't let him.
It was the most that was left of Clara.
If it weren't for me, she would be whole.
The Doctor held me and rocked me until all my violent grief leeched out of me as tears, exclamations of denial, and pleads of forgiveness, and I was left as a limp, exhausted mass of guilt, too tired to cry. The Doctor pulled me to my feet and led me into the TARDIS, and only then did I take notice of River, watching us stoically. Guiltily, I remembered that not only had I lost a friend, but she had lost a student.
"I'm sorry, River," I said, my eyes and heart heavy. I had so many things to apologize for.
"Me, too," she said, her voice filled with sadness. We slipped into an embrace, saying everything we needed to without saying anything at all.
Together, we climbed back into the TARDIS, the Doctor piloting on his own as River watched him from one of the chairs in a daze and I wandered into the ship's depths, looking for my room. Without knowing how I got there, I found myself in my shower, sitting on the floor and crying.
It took me a long time to convince the Doctor to go to Clara's memorial. It took me a while to convince myself I could. I sat in that shower for ages, wondering if I would be able to hold it together enough to make it through the service. But in the end, I realized it didn't matter if I could take it—it was the right thing to do.
The Doctor kept trying to convince me that it wasn't my fault she died, that the Daleks were to blame. I had a feeling that he didn't believe his own words, but he didn't believe it was my fault, either. He blamed himself, by extension. I'm pretty sure River blamed herself, too; everyone in the TARDIS was playing one giant blame game.
I'd asked the Doctor if he could bend space and time to save Clara, but he'd said we couldn't change it since we'd seen it happen. I would've asked again, but I saw in his eyes that he wanted to, badly—if it wouldn't have destroyed the universe, he would've gone back in an instant. This ordeal hurt him as much as it hurt me.
The Doctor was extra careful with the TARDIS, making it appear right in the back of the courtyard where Clara's memorial took place. Out of respect, the Doctor took the brakes off, allowing us a silent entry. For the occasion, the Doctor had donned a somber, dark purple coat; and I a simple black dress, uncomfortable and stiff. I'd thought to bring flowers; I held a rosemary bouquet, ready to place at the grave. We saw River giving Clara's eulogy, hesitating for just a moment when she caught sight of us, standing at the back of the crowd. I hadn't seen River leave the TARDIS—I came back, swathed in a robe and pajamas, and the Doctor told me she'd gone. She looked back down at her notes and carried on with the speech, acting as if her student's killer hadn't just shown up at her funeral.
Clara's death had drawn quite a crowd. Scores of teachers and students occupied the stone courtyard, everyone having a story from when Clara Oswald had come up with a simple solution to a complicated problem. Listening to those stories, I learned that Clara had really been a caretaker—she knew what to do, how to do it, and why it needed to be done. That's why she had had no qualms about sacrificing herself.
They couldn't find enough of Clara to necessitate a casket, so the university had put up a memorial in her honor. While mourners milled around, chatting, I approached the memorial, adjusting the bouquet in my hands. The university had really come together to give Clara a befitting tombstone: a clear glass star, inscribed with her name, stood in a corner of the courtyard flourishing with roses. I set the rosemary bouquet down, clashing horribly with the rest of the flowers, and began my apology.
"It's my fault," I said. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have been dragged into my messy life. I asked for help and you gave it. I shouldn't have involved you at all.
"You said you wanted to see the universe, even though you knew parts of it were ugly and evil. Well, this way, you can do what you wanted: fix it. Now that you're part of the universe, you can make it better.
"I did my research. For the flowers, I mean. Rosemary means forgiveness. I hope you'll forgive me, Clara. You shouldn't have died. But…but I hope you know that you made me better. I'll always remember you, clever woman. I'll always remember, and I'll always run."
Wiping my tears, I stood up, brushed myself off, and melted into the crowd, trying to blend in. I truly understood the Doctor now, why he hid his heart so often: pain like this shouldn't be remembered. He's had other friends before; he sees them in me whenever I do or say something. And every one of those friends he's lost. This man's suffered through heartbreak over and over again, always knowing how it would end. Why?
Because of the shining moments before the darkness. For the short time I'd known Clara, we'd been a team, something that couldn't be torn apart easily: we stuck through Daleks, dread, and awkward one-sided affection. Only the touch of death had separated us.
Thank you, Clara Oswald, I thought silently. You've taught me so much.
I found my way back to the Doctor, who'd met up with River alongside the refreshment table and begun chatting. They held glasses of apple cider, neither drinking it. When they saw me coming over, the Doctor plucked another glass off the table and handed it to me.
"You'll want to drink that," the Doctor invited. "Best cider in this time."
I took a sip: it had a sharp, sugary taste. "Very good," I agreed.
"River was just telling me that she'd been appointed headmistress," the Doctor said.
I turned to River, her proud smile restrained by grief. "Congratulations!" I exclaimed.
River wasn't her usual chaste self; her smile didn't quite reach her eyes as she ducked her head humbly. "Thank you, Erica," she said. "They handed the job to me when everyone realized Professor Okras was actually a Dalek robot."
Suddenly, the Doctor's hand shot up into his inside coat pocket, pulling out his sonic screwdriver. Flicking out the clawed tip, he checked the readings and quickly excused himself, muttering something about static electricity. As he pushed his way through the crowd and away from us, River and I stood together awkwardly, neither one attempting pleasantries.
"Erica, listen to me," she said, plowing straight to the elephant in the room. "What happened to Clara…that wasn't your fault."
"I'm the one who brought her along," I explained. What use was lying now?
"Erica, I knew Clara well," River began. "Well enough to know that whatever she did, she did because she wanted to. No one could threaten or pressure her into doing something—or not doing something. Even if you'd followed the Doctor's orders and waited in the TARDIS, Clara would've found a way to come after us all on our own."
"But if I hadn't asked for her help, she wouldn't have known I needed it." I appreciated River's efforts, but the guilt weighed heavily on me. Too heavily to easily evaporate.
"But Clara was at the gala with us," River replied. "She saw us get marched away. She would've come after us anyway. And besides: if you hadn't brought her in, we might still be fighting the Daleks." She paused and took my hands in hers. "And I don't blame you for her death. It was the Daleks' fault, and theirs alone."
I met her eyes at last. For some reason, her words meant more than the Doctor's for this. Maybe because the Doctor was just some higher being, hopping through time and space at his whim. River and I had responsibilities and lives—we were more connected to reality than the Doctor.
"Does it get easier, knowing who to blame?" I asked. It really was the Daleks' fault, I knew, but part of me would always blame myself. "Is it easier to understand whose fault it is?"
River smiled. "Not really. But travel with the Doctor long enough, and you'll start to understand. The Doctor blames himself for everything, even things he had no hand in; it's our job to show him that he's wrong."
I smiled for just a second. "How are you doing with all this?" I asked. "I mean, she was your student, after all."
"Well, it's not much different than every graduation," River said. I got the sense she hid something—maybe that fact that it was way different than a graduation. "We say goodbye to students, most of whom we never see again. But Clara's not really leaving, is she?" She glanced toward the memorial. "No, whenever I pass through, I'll see that statue."
"Who knows?" I said. "Maybe her ghost will haunt the university."
River smiled half-heartedly, a bit of mirth returning to her eyes.
The Doctor suddenly appeared at our side, sliding the sonic screwdriver back into his coat pocket. "Sorry about that," he said. "Just making sure everything around here checks out."
"Is Luna University safe?" River asked jokingly.
"Safer than ever," the Doctor replied.
"Lovely," River said approvingly.
All the mourners began moving towards the ballroom, the very same one that held the inauguration ball for Professor Okras. "It looks like it's time for the dinner to begin," River said.
"Will you be going?" I asked.
"Oh, no," she replied. "I can't handle large crowds for long, especially if they're sad. No, I'm going to go back to my flat- it's right here on campus- and have a quiet meal to myself."
"Well, then," the Doctor said, glancing at me. "We'd best be going, then."
"Right," River said halfheartedly. She looked up at the Doctor, sending him a message he couldn't see. I picked it up, though—nonverbal signals at a funeral had become something of a specialty for me.
"Would you like us to eat with you?" I asked.
"Erica, don't be rude," the Doctor reprimanded under his breath.
But River was far from offended; in fact, she seemed rather thrilled. "I'd love it," she said. I knew by her military compartmentalization that she was used to having adventures with the Doctor; but seeing the way she looked at him now, she missed a lot of time she could spend with him simply as her husband.
"We don't want to impose, River," the Doctor said. While his words said that he didn't want to dine with her, his eyes told a different story—he missed those moments when she was simply his wife.
"You won't be imposing at all," River replied. "We're married, for God's sake. Come on, my flat's just across the road."
We broke away from the congregation and made our way to River's flat. Well, flat doesn't really describe it: it was the penthouse apartment in the student housing building. It was lavish and huge, fit for a headmistress. Coffee tables made of glass sat alongside couches made of the softest velvet and bizarre modern art hung from the walls. The kitchen, fit for Gordon Ramsay, was the picture of elegance and functionality. After a quick re-heat of leftovers in the state-of-the-art microwave oven, the three of us gathered on the couches, too emotionally exhausted to care about manners.
As in the matter of all post-funeral luncheons, we began to tell stories. River started with a story of when Clara once finished a nearly-immaculate essay in half the time she'd assigned, only to realize that she hadn't given it a title; somehow, story time spiraled into the Doctor reducing River and I to giggling schoolgirls by telling us how he'd once deactivated a Dalek simply by pushing it onto a cloak.
"Oh, that did not happen!" I exclaimed. "There is no way a Dalek can be stopped by a blanket. Not even by you, Doctor."
"I swear it happened!" the Doctor pleaded, inducing guffaws from River and I. "Daleks run on static electricity—at least, they used to. As long as you stop the electric current, they're powerless!"
I took a swig of my champagne: that might've explained why we were laughing so hard. "Well, maybe the university can install carpeting everywhere if the Daleks invade again," River said. "Would've saved us a hell of a lot of trouble."
"Will the university be doing anything in case the Daleks come back?" I asked. "Like security, I mean. There's got to be enough Dalek material left to analyze it and look for weaknesses."
"They can't do anything," the Doctor answered, "because they don't remember it."
"What?" I exclaimed, nearly spilling my drink because I wasn't paying attention. "What do you mean, they don't remember it? They were all nearly killed!"
"The cracks in time throughout the universe," the Doctor explained. "You know the story, Erica. I sealed them up, but enough raw time energy leaked out to make everyone forget about the Daleks and anyone else who traveled from one part of time to another. Unless you're a time traveler yourself, you forget that time travel has happened before."
I remained silent after his explanation, processing it. It all made sense, in a roundabout way, but wrapping my head around it was difficult.
"So, we can't remember the Daleks because they jumped from one time to another?" I summed up.
"Basically, yes," the Doctor said. "But now that you've all traveled in time, you'll see things differently. You'll remember this."
"So no one will know how Clara died," I said. "How she died to save the world." Could Clara's sacrifice have been for nothing?
I felt a gentle hand on my arm and found River gazing at me sympathetically. "You underestimate me as new Headmistress," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. "They may not know about the Daleks, but they do know what I told them: that we were all trying to fix a gas leak, and Clara bravely sacrificed herself to fix it, but it smothered her before she could get out."
"A gas leak?" I questioned. "Would they really believe that?"
"You can blame a gas leak for anything," River said. "Hallucinations, memory loss, unexplainable deaths…anything can be attributed to something in the air that shouldn't be."
"But people won't think of her like the hero she is," I said desperately. "They'll only see her as someone who spent too much time near a boiler!"
"Erica, the important thing is that you remember her like the hero she is," the Doctor said. "River will, and I will, and the Daleks most certainly will. As long as we honor her properly, she will be remembered."
His words triggered a memory: Clara's last ones. "Run, you clever boy, and remember me," I repeated softly.
"I promise I will," the Doctor vowed.
After a few more hours, I said goodbye to River and left for the TARDIS: I needed some alone time, and River and the Doctor deserved some together. As I slowly walked back to the ship, alone with my thoughts, I passed through the courtyard that had served as the venue for Clara's funeral service, now completely empty. I stopped by her glass star, decorated by my flowers, one last time—I had one more thing to say.
I drew closer, preparing my short, simple speech. "Your last wish to the Doctor was that you'd remember him," I began. "I hope you don't mind if I do, too. Let's be real: there's no way I could forget you. It's impossible." I blew the glass memorial a kiss. "Thank you, Clara. I'm glad I met you."
A tight, heavy chain uncoiled from around my heart as I walked away, my shoulders feeling a little lighter. I could finally start healing now—I'd accepted that the Daleks had caused her death, but I would always remember that I had had a hand in it. Well, I would take the guilt I felt and use it to make me a better person. It's better than wallowing around in self-pity all day.
I finally found the TARDIS, hiding away in the same shady corner River had parked her in when she'd brought me to the ball. I wrapped my fingers around her handle, reflecting. "Thanks for everything, old girl," I said. "I don't know where I'd be without you."
With an appreciative chime, she let me in.
As I trudged through the TARDIS, I thought about how I'd truly come full circle in the Doctor's role. I made a friend under bizarre circumstances and then lost that friend because I'd dragged her in. This had to have happened to the Doctor—he's over a thousand years old, he's had to have made and lost some friends in that time. But he still forges on, unafraid of heartbreak. That just shows how brave the Doctor is—and how brave I can be.
I learned a lot on this adventure: from River, from Clara, from the TARDIS, from the Doctor. Hopefully, I'm a better person because of it. And as I slipped into pajamas and crawled into bed, I thought to myself that we had actually made quite the team. I don't know if I'll ever find a bond quite so strong with so many people ever again. I am still glad to this day that I met Clara Oswald. She showed all of us a better way to be.
Clara, I promise that the Doctor and I will always run, and always remember.