This is set in Paris, 1968 - forgive any historical inaccuracy - and it's narrated from the point of view of a third character. I don't know if I managed to pull it off, so feel free to tell me what you think :) Good reading **
It was a cold summer night in Paris, and the rain was falling with such determination it made it impossible to see anything - granted that any one would be mad enough to go outside with such a weather - and the sound it made echoed menacingly against the walls of the old buildings.
Henri, the bartender, was sheltered in his lonely cafe located in a deserted avenue of Montmartre.
He was standing behind the counter as he observed the storm, absentmindedly cleaning an already spotless glass. He felt like someone witnessing a shipwreck from a safe position on the beach.
He sighed at the thought of the long, lonely night ahead of him. No one would come to his cafe on a night like that, the tempest infuriating outside would make sure of that.
Not that his cafe was normally much more crowded than that, he thought bitterly.
But he was proven wrong, exactly a moment later, when the door burst open to let in the rain, the wind and, to his utmost surprise, two customers.
Standing in front of him, panting and soaking wet, were a tall, middle aged man who looked like a magician whose trick had gone tragically wrong, and a short, young woman in a summer dress.
She was trembling and rubbing her hands on her bare arms in an obvious attempt to warm herself up, clearly so cold he could hear her teeth chattering.
On the other hand, her companion appeared unnaturally still, and strangely composed for a man who had just undergone, on his own skin, a terrible storm.
There was moment of silence, filled only by the muffled noise of wind and thunder, before anyone spoke.
"I know what you're going to say..." The man started, tentatively.
"How many times," she interrupted him before he could continue, her apparent calmness making only more tangible in her voice the approaching fury. "How many times have I told you not to use H.A.D.S.?"
The man's sharp cheekbones became a dark shade of pink. "Mmmm..."
"Doctor!" She warned him.
"...many times," he eventually said. "Many, many, times."
"And yet you used it," she said, disapprovingly, with her hands pressed to her hips. "Again."
The man she had called Doctor rolled his eyes and then, without looking at her, muttered a not entirely convinced "Sorry".
There was a moment of stubborn silence, before the woman called Clara started to chuckle.
He looked down at her and she looked up at him, both grinning like idiots at each other.
"This time the TARDIS didn't go as far as last time, I promise," he said, looking at her softly. "We'll wait here in the meantime. You should try to get dry, or you'll get a cold."
She nodded, confidently, and they turned toward Henri, who hadn't realized he had been staring at them the whole time. This realization made him almost drop the glass he was holding.
They seemed as startled as he was, as if they had been lost in their own private world and hadn't notice until then that they weren't alone.
He saw them shift slightly apart, before that awkward silence was broken.
"Well," the man started, impatiently. "What are you waiting for? Can't you see Clara's freezing? For goodness sake."
Henri's mouth fell right open. He couldn't believe someone could be so rude, just like that, for no apparent reason.
Clara, who seemed to be used to this kind of behavior, punched him and shot him a warning look. Then, she turned toward Henri and gave him a warm smile.
"I'm so sorry," she apologized kindly. "He doesn't know what he's saying."
To those words, the Doctor showed her an outraged expression, but she ignored it.
"What he really meant is if you could be so nice to leaned us something we can use to dry ourselves, please. Crazy weather outside, eh?"
Henri blinked, still quite put off by the entire situation, but he eventually nodded. "It is, indeed," he managed to say, slightly embarrassed. "I'll get you some towels."
That said, he gave a disapproving look to the Doctor and turned away from them, as he made his way to the small room behind the counter.
He opened the cupboard and started searching for the towels, while continuing to keep an eye on the two of them.
They spoke perfect French, but he still couldn't understand what the hell they were talking about. They somehow felt perfectly out of place, even thought he couldn't really say how. At the same time they gave him a sensation of security and comfort and trust he was unable to explain.
With the corner of his eye he saw them shift even closer together than they had been before, as if physically slipping back in their personal bubble.
They started whispering, so he couldn't make out what they were saying, but he could see the devotion in his eyes reflecting the trust he saw in hers.
He slowly emerged from the small room and from behind the counter. "Here are the towels you asked for," he said, to announce his presence. "I hope they're OK."
The Doctor looked annoyed by the interruption and Clara herself seemed to find it hard to look away him, but she did and showed Henri a radiant and grateful smile.
"They're perfect," she said, taking them in her arms and handing one of them to the Doctor. "Thank you so much. Could I used the restroom?"
"Sure," he answered, courteously, addressing her in its general direction. "It's the door in the corner, over there."
She nodded and thanked him once again, before leaving the two man behind her as she made her way towards the restroom.
The Doctor turned away from Henri and went to sit down at one of the small tables, while Henri settled back to his previous occupation.
They both waited for her to come back in perfect silence, neither of them spearing a direct glance for one another.
When she eventually returned in the room, all cleaned and dried-up, he couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. No wonder the Doctor looked at her the way he did.
Henri wasn't a psychologist, but he had learned a thing or two, over the years, standing behind that counter. One of them, he was proud to say, was the ability to read faces - and what he could see on the Doctor's was pure, uncomplicated, adoration.
"Is it... A woman?"
"Yep."
"Is this woman a shape-shifting human?"
"No. My turn."
Henri looked in amusement at the concentration frowning their faces, as he layed their orders on the table.
"English Tea," he thought to himself, shaking his head disapprovingly. Who orders this stuff, in summer moreover? No one from Paris, that's for sure.
He put down one cup in front of Clara and the other in front of the Doctor before, lifting the tray off the table.
The Doctor lifted his cup of smoking tea and sipped it. He cursed at the bite of burning water against his tongue, while still holding the piece of paper against his forehead with his other hand.
Henri had seen that game before. "Who am I". He had provided them with some paper and a pen and now they were trying to guess each other's character through simple questions that could have only "yes" or "no" as an answer.
He was sure he had never heard such strange questions in his entire life, so by the time the young woman had asked the Doctor weather the character she was trying to guess was a shape-shifting human he couldn't have said he was surprised. He thought it was probably a code they alone held he key to.
"Did you meet this person?"
"Yes."
"And by you, I mean you you, - he leaned closer and whispered, but still loud enough so Henri could hear him - not, like, echo you."
This curled Clara's lips into a smile.
"It was me me."
"Good," he hesitated, as if it was a conversation they often had but that still managed to make him uncomfortable. "Were you with me? Or were you with the other me?"
"Only questions I can answer yes or no to, Doctor," Clara warned him.
"Oh yeah."
"Every time-"
The Doctor frowned at her with his mighty eyebrows and she stopped talking at once, but still seemed to be holding back a shadow of a laughter.
"Let me rephrase it," he continued. "Were you with me me?"
"No, the other you."
Henri felt that the best thing to do with such a surreal conversation was to just go with it, and he discovered he was could manage that quite easily. Funny the things you get used to. It was as if he had known, from the very minute they had come in, that he couldn't expect normality from these two.
"Fine, yes, of course" the Doctor stated brusquely, seemingly annoyed.
If he had to give any kind of explanation, Henri would have said he sounded jealous, but that didn't make any sense whatsoever.
In the mean time, Clara seemed fully dedicated to the delicate task of deciding what to ask next.
After a couple of minute of silence, the Doctor started tapping impatiently a finger against the table. "Could you please hurry? I feel like that one time we went to see that experimental theatrical piece - never doing it again, by the way. That was a mistake."
"All right, all right," Clara's eyebrow shot up in sign of disapproval. "Was she one of your previous companions?"
"No - well, yes" he corrected himself right away. "Mmm... It depends. Clarify what you mean when you say companion."
Clara stared at him, confused.
"What do I mean-" but than she stopped in mid-sentence, sudden realization clearly dawning on her. "No please Doctor, please don't tell me you chose River again."
His hesitation was enough to confirm her suspects, so she brought the piece of paper she had been holding against her forehead to her eyes. "Youdid chose River again," she almost shouted.
Henri inadvertently chuckled. He did before he could help himself, or at least cover it somehow, so to make it seem less obvious he had been eavesdropping.
"Sorry," he said in a muffled sound, without looking at them directly in the eye, and went back to his meaningless occupation.
Neither of them seemed angry, or offended, by the fact he had been listening to their conversation, though, but the Doctor's face did show confusion.
"Why is he laughing?" the Doctor asked Clara, making it clear that she was the one person he normally addressed when he needed help, while also making Henri's cheeks and ears burn in embarrassment.
"I'll tell you why," she replied, angrily. "It's because I did the same."
There was a moment of silence before the Doctor burst into laughter, and went to see with his own eyes the name scribbled on his own piece of paper - only to start laughing even harder.
It was such a contagious laughter that Clara followed him soon after, and Henri found himself fighting hard not to join in himself.
"Do you miss them?"
"Who?"
The Doctor stirred distractedly the impossible amount of sugar he had put in his second cup of tea.
Clara warmed her hands by rapping them around her own cup. She was looking very intensely at him.
"You know who," she said, softly. "Your traveling assistants. Your companions. Your previous... Me."
Henri pondered on her words. "Traveling assistants". So could that be the nature of their relationship? They both suggested to be much more intimate than that.
Even given their age gap, it didn't even cross his mind that they might have been related somehow - like father and daughter. They rather looked like very old friends. Actually, to be perfectly honest, If he had to guess, he probably would have said they were husband and wife. This made him feel sorry for himself. He had never felt that kind of connection, that kind of perfect understanding those two implied in every gesture, in every word.
With them, nothing was explicit - he hadn't seen them kiss or anything of the sort - but everything was subtly transparent.
"Of course I do," the Doctor said, still without raising his gaze and bringing abruptly Henri back to reality. It had taken him so long to reply that Henri had even forgotten she had asked a question.
For a while, it seemed like he wouldn't add anything to that, but he eventually continued.
"I miss them and at the same time I don't, actually."
The Doctor weighed his words, slowly. Carefully.
"It was me, and yet they feel part of another man's memory, in a strange way. It's hard to explain."
"I think I might understand what you mean."
The Doctor finally lifted his head and stared at her.
"You do?"
"Yeah," she said, hinting a brief smile. "You know - the echoes."
He grinned at her. "Of course you understand. Clara Oswald, I should have known. You always know."
Adoration was shining in his eyes and Henri saw Clara blush, slightly.
She tapped a finger nervously against her cup.
"One day I'll be the same faded memory."
His smile turned into a deep, sad, frown.
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe you won't. Not you."
She raised her eyebrows, confused. "Why not?"
"Well, because you're my Impossible Girl," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire universe and he was surprised he had to say it.
Clara didn't say anything. She just smiled the sweetest smile and they were back in their own private world again.
The sun came up soon after it had stopped raining.
Henri was finding it hard to stand up on his two feet so he had sat down at one of the tables, dedicating half of his attention to a crossword he had left unfinished a long time ago.
Clara had fallen asleep, with her head resting on her arms, on the table.
The Doctor on the other hand didn't seem like he needed any rest. Henri had glanced every now and then in his direction and had seen him reading or scrabbling on a notepad.
As the first lights of dawn started filling the little cafe, the Doctor raised his head from his book. He stared blankly outside for a few seconds and then turned to look at Clara.
He probably didn't realized he was being watched, but Henri could swear he saw the Doctor smiling sweetly at the young woman sleeping peacefully in front of him, the corners of his eyes softening, for a second, in what Henri could only describe as unadulterated devotion.
A second later, the man was stroking her hair and calling her name.
"Clara?" He said tentatively. "Clara?"
When she didn't respond right away, he started to get worried.
"Clara?" He repeated, anxiously.
The girl moaned and lifted her head, showing him a suffering expression.
"Are you OK?" The Doctor asked, the concern palpable in his voice.
"Yes," she groaned. "But I'll be much better once I'll have a cup of coffee. It's not very comfortable to sleep like this, you know? Actually, I know for a fact that you can't possibly know. I wish I had so little need to sleep as you do."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "You sure?"
"Of course! There would be so many things I could do with that spear time."
He chuckled. "Well we can go now, it stopped raining."
She stretched and turned to watch outside.
Henri stood up from his seat. "Would you like me to prepare you some coffee before you leave?"
At these words, Clara positively beamed at him.
"Yes, please."
He took away their third cup of tea and replaced it with a warm cup of coffee.
He hoped they could drink it slowly and stay a little longer. He had gotten used to their presence.
But the Doctor was obviously impatient of leaving and Clara didn't seem to want to linger for so much longer herself.
The Doctor payed and Clara gave Henri a smile so beautiful it made his heart skip a beat. She then thanked him and they both said goodbye.
"Goodbye," he said melancholy back at them, watching them make their way outside.
Just before exiting from the cafe, they stopped simultaneously on their tracks, like perfectly synchronized clocks.
The Doctor looked down at her. She looked back up at him and he smiled.
"Ready to go home?" He asked.
"Ah," she grinned, giving him a knowing look. "I'm definitely ready for a warm and comfy bed, but home was never far away."
That said, she opened the door and they walked outside and Henri had the strangest feeling he had left the opportunity of a lifetime slip through his fingers.