Authors Note: This chapter contains spoilers for the official Doctor Who novel 'Silhoutte' by Justin Richards which features the 12th Doctor and Clara in Victorian London. I have attempted to avoid any major spoilers or events in it but just in case (anything revealed in the blurb was fair dibs though). I have included it here because it happened to fit in line with my current AU narrative beautifully. I've also updated a little early as someone requested so nicely (normally as stated before this will continue to be updated on a 2weekly schedule hopefully). Thank you for all your reviews, I'm glad people felt so strongly about the last Chapter, that phone call scene was probably my favourite so far to write. Thanks also to the new viewers for catching up and leaving per/chapter reviews, nice to know people are still enjoying it from start to this point.
Also in this Chapter I've given my two cents on the TARDIS key question that people seemed to have such issue with in the S8 Dark Water episode and answered it as far as my understanding went – which was that when they snapped their fingers to open the TARDIS doors that was only possible because they had a key on them, it is a telepathic machine after all (the doctor keeps one hanging round his neck, Clara keeps hers... wherever, probably a keyring). As such destroying all the keys really would lock him out of his box as the connection would be severed between key holder and TARDIS. Anyway... onto the story.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The Doctor was gone when she awoke the next morning the scent of him on the sheets and on her and she closed her eyes trying to hold on to it a little longer as the bright morning sunlight streamed through the curtains. But he had gone, she'd half expected to awake and find herself in their bed on the TARDIS or under blankets on some far flung world. So occasionally the Doctor listened. Would wonders never cease.
She glanced at the chair and noticed the small box sat neatly on top of a note. Hesitating only for a moment she reached for the note first, recognising his elegant scrawl which didn't seem to change no matter what face he wore, as if he deliberately fought to keep that one aspect of himself the same, even if he had to fight his own often very different dexterity to do so.
"My Clara. If you are to remain here then I ask only that you wear this so that I may hold onto the hope that our marriage endures."
Clara frowned at the letter, the man was nothing if not dramatic, but clearly this 'space' he was offering her was coming at something of a heavy cost to his sanity. Hesitantly she opened the small box and stared at what was clearly meant to be the wedding ring she'd never received; it hadn't been a part of their ceremony after all, Time Lords had never needed anything so 'obvious'. But then there were no more Time Lords but him and she was here alone, technically 'separated' from him. She supposed it made sense for him to want to show an obvious claim to her, something that the human beings she was going to be around could recognise. Clara reached out and touched the metal, withdrawing her hand sharply as the metal sent a telepathic sting back and she frowned examining it more closely as she lifted the box to her eye line her eyes widening with mild horror and no small amount of admiration. The impossible man had found a way to turn the TARDIS key into this. Clara dropped it into the palm of her hand feeling the glimmer of power in it, her hand went to her chest to where her own key normally hung and realised with some concern that it was gone the chain hung empty, glancing down at the small metal circlet on her skin she wondered if this one would still function as a key, so long as the key had been on her person he or she had been able to open it with a mere snap of their fingers, would this be the same, the metal and the signal all that was important, the key itself nothing more than a symbol? She was certain it would, he wasn't going to leave her without a way to return to him; this damn thing could probably summon and track just like the key as well.
Clara pulled out the now empty chain that used to hold the key and slipped the ring onto it, before closing the lid and tucking the note away from prying eyes, namely Vastra's and realising that she was probably going to have to dispose of the box somewhere outside of the house. It was a compromise she supposed, she was 'wearing' his ring, just not quite where he'd intended her to, she thought given the current state of their relationship it was concession enough on her part and it hung between her breasts like a secret between lovers, thrilling and concerning her in equal measure.
So she went about life at 13 Paternoster Row as though she wasn't waiting for the Wednesday nights when the Doctor would visit her. He made no comment about the ring, but she saw him note her empty fingers with a slight tick of something she didn't care to guess at, so she'd deliberately let the chain hang loose of her top with no apology, not removing it for any reason even when they made love and he seemed to accept that for now, all be it wordlessly. Taking care to ensure she'd noted the matching band he was wearing proudly on his own left hand, a declaration it seemed that whilst she might not have been ready to claim him publically just yet, she had apparently never left his side.
The Detective work was fun, if hardly challenging, or as big league as she'd come to expect. Robbers and murderers; but on occasion something 'otherworldly' would crop up and inevitably attract Madame Vastra's attention, or that of one of her seemingly endless stream of informants. Jenny had even taken to instructing her in the fine art of swordplay, which oddly enough balanced Strax's obsession with ensuring she could build a bomb out of just about anything. It was after one particularly hairy case in which she'd put those bomb making skills to the test and was enjoying a celebratory glass of wine with them that the door bell rang. Strax disappeared like the good butler he could be on occasion and returned with a rather sheepish looking Doctor, who had even obtained a top hat for the occasion it seemed as he took it from his head and looked at them all before his gaze settled on her.
'He was early and it wasn't Wednesday' was the first thought she managed, after realising Victorian outfits really did something for his physique. "Vastra, Jenny." He nodded to each of them in turn, "Do forgive the intrusion, I was hoping I might have a moment with my wife."
Clara placed her glass of wine down carefully and approached him, surprised when he put out his arm and she wrapped hers in it as he walked her slowly towards the door. Given as he only ever visited her in the bedroom she was a little surprised. "Are we going somewhere?" she asked lightly.
He sighed, turning to gaze down at her and reminding her just how tall he was. "I was hoping you'd accompany me to dinner?" The invitation startled her still recovering psyche slightly, the last time she'd thought he'd invited her to dinner she'd been on the menu. But she squashed the memories, feeling his fingers brush gently across hers in acknowledgement of how well she was doing with that just fine.
Clara forced a smile that quickly became genuine at the softening in his eyes as it flickered across her lips, "Are you asking for a date Doctor?" she almost teased, but he was deadly serious so she curbed it into something more innocent.
He leant forward and brushed his lips gently over hers, the hint of a promise in it. "My nights with you are as fulfilling as ever my Love, but I want more, I want what we had. Dinner is a start."
Clara paused, pulling back from his kiss and wondering if she was ready for that yet, ready to let him back into her life like this. It was a bold move from him, more like the him before they'd come to Victorian London, the him that insisted not asked, but as she felt the tension beginning to pool between them and she examined the still slightly haggard look to his features she felt her resolution crumble. Her husband was suffering, he needed her, needed this he'd always wanted more from them, wanted what she'd had with his predecessor and she'd rarely given it to him. Hesitantly hoping she wouldn't regret it she nodded slightly in ascent, wrapping her fingers more tightly over his as he drew her in closer until she was wrapped lightly in his clearly relieved embrace as he led them out of the house and to a waiting carriage he seemed to have aquired, she glanced back once at Strax who had appeared in the doorway and stood there with a half grin on his face waving them off.
There date had been exactly that, a date. Romantic, quiet, just the two of them with no distractions, no life threatening events and it blessedly wasn't Italian, she wasn't sure she'd ever quite work up the courage to voluntarily walk into another Italian restaurant after what had happened to her in the last one. Staring at him across the flickering candlelight a glass of red wine in hand, she was taken back at how at ease he seemed, his fingers playing gently with hers across the table cloth as he told her about the Planet of Shrubs. His harsh accent softening as it rumbled over her and she brushed her foot along his calf absentmindedly, merely enjoying the easy contact and his presence.
"Don't be a tease." He murmured breaking her distraction, she had been so absorbed in his voice, his face alight with enthusiasm as he talked that she hadn't noticed he'd paused to change the topic.
"Oh?" she asked genuinely confused.
He brushed his own leg along hers and she looked down with a smile. "Ah, I'm sorry I didn't realise that constituted flirting." She sassed him, genuinely bemused.
"We're in Victorian London my dear, the way I'm holding your hand like this in public is practically indecent." He chuckled stroking her fingers with deliberately provocative intent that had her smirking.
"If only they could read your mind. You'd scandalise an entire generation." She laughed back, perfectly aware of the tone his thoughts had taken. "Sadly I am rather enjoying my meal, which is a novelty in this era. I swear you are going to have to get me some sort of mini-fridge that runs off batteries stocked with modern conveniences. It seems like if it's not in a pie or stewed... or gellied then it's not served here. I'll miss some things about this time period; the food won't be one of them." She tugged at her restrictive collar, "Or the outfits."
"So you're intending on being her long enough to require a more modern diet?" he asked and she heard the tension in his voice and could have kicked herself for the relative insensitivity of her comment.
"I also said I'd miss things about this time period... implying I will be leaving." She added, pointing out the more rose tinted side of the conversation he'd clearly missed and his fingers left hers, his legs pulling away, as if he was punishing her in some small way because he clearly felt she was doing the same to him, however justifiably.
Her pained expression at his response clearly softened his and she watched him almost physically shake himself out of the darker slide his emotions could have taken, as keen it seemed as she was not to ruin their evening. He cocked his head observing her, his eyes travelling over her fully covered form. "There are other establishments we could visit, those whose dress code and exploits are far less... restrained." He murmured perfectly aware what that tone did to her as he chose to continue the inappropriately flirtatious banter they'd started.
"Now who's being a tease." She laughed taking a large mouthful of her wine to finish it off and gripping his offered hand in hers as they stood. "Why Sir, how about you lead on to one of these Den's of Iniquity?"
They'd ended up in a rough seedy bar, on the back of some dark foul smelling alley where the curbs seemed to crawl with prostitutes and vagrants. But there was music, ale, greasy food and even a bare knuckle fighting ring to hold their attention. Perhaps not where a lady should have ventured, but then she had never claimed to be one and wrapped in the Doctor's rough Scottish embrace no one questioned it. Nor did they care when she'd managed to unbutton a long row of her restrictive buttons from the neckline to leave her surprising amount of cleavage in the corset on display. The Doctor had even somewhat recklessly declared he wanted to throw his name in the ring and she had in fact checked his pupils when he suggested it to ensure he wasn't drunk on the local pig swill they called whiskey. He wasn't too bad she'd concluded as he'd handed his somewhat preciously fine coat to her with a flourish and taken a meticulously long time rolling up his shirt sleeves before he'd stepped up to meet his opponent. Clara held her breath, not certain entirely what he was trying to prove but surmising that it probably had something to do with her and in her somewhat inebriated state she was almost pleased at the recognisably human emotion from him as she swayed on her feet, trying not to admit how aroused the sight of him like that was making her. But she needn't have worried the toothless brute of a man he was fighting was vicious but slow and the Doctor wasn't human, and stronger than he looked. The brute got a few licks in before the Doctor got into his stride, his lip split but his eyes were wild as he wiped the blood on his shirt with almost feral glee. She almost pitied the other man as he took a particularly hard blow to the chin and went down. Which should have been the end of it, accept the Doctor had looked at her gleefully and decided to bury the toe of his boot in the downed mans chest for good measure, earning him a cacophony of applause and jeers in equal measure. Had she been more sober she wondered if it should have concerned her, the violent display, it wasn't much like the man she had known to willingly participate in blood sports, or to enjoy inflicting pain. But she was drunk and the thoughts all but slipped out of her mind the moment they had appeared as he sauntered up to her with his bloodied knuckles and lifted her chin to kiss her soundly.
They never did make it home that night and as he thrust into her, her back against the wall in one of those same dark back alleys they'd passed through on her way here; she found she couldn't have cared less about the smell, or the drunken vagrants stumbling by. Her arms clung to him and her mouth devoured him, taking every inch of him she could into her like she could somehow keep him there, keep him with her. It wouldn't have taken much, a simple word 'stay' and he'd have moved into the Paternoster Row house until she was ready to return to the TARDIS. But even in her mostly drunken state she knew better than to mention it, to tempt such a fate. The Doctor in one place was a recipe for disaster; it would have been a cruelty to try and keep him here just because she wasn't ready, like caging a firebird.
So they had stumbled home as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the gloom and smog over London's streets and she had walked him to his TARDIS parked in the courtyard of no.13 and pushed him inside with a lingering kiss. Clicking her fingers to shut the doors on his longing features and sending a mental thought to the TARDIS to take him somewhere wonderful and safe for a little while. She'd stood watching the box dematerialise and hung her head as tears slipped free despite the soft smile on her lips, glancing back she looked up at the house that could never be a home, not without him. Soon. She conceded because she couldn't do this much longer either, not if all their dates went like this.
He continued to date her, which was surprising, they'd never really had much of that before, even with his Bow-Tied self it had been more of a spur of the moment falling into each other's arms thing from the first moment. Although that depended on whether she considered all the trips they'd taken every Wednesday in the TARDIS before she'd slept with him dates. She imagined she possibly had, somehow she suspected he hadn't, that was more like 'showing off' for him. Either way it was new and strangely exciting to be dated by your husband. To have him turn up slightly nervously at the front door, eagerly early, a flower or on occasion a bunch of them in hand. The fact that most of the species of flower he gave her she couldn't name or possibly even show outside her bedroom didn't much seem to matter, all that mattered was that he was clearly trying, the rough edges sanding away with every gesture. Even Vastra seemed to be coming around to this new him, inviting him in to share an evening meal with them on occasion, even going so far as to actively seek his input on some of her more sensitive cases.
It helped that he was being deliberately charming Clara surmised. The fact that he was apparently good at it was new and particularly as he was directing it at people other than just her. He wined and dined her and took her out to see the various attractions of London in the Victorian era; but as always she drew the line at getting back in the TARDIS and letting him take her further afield than London, or more exotic; which he even accepted with a limited amount of grumbling. It felt like she had her husband back, at least for the days he gave to her and if he seemed to drink a little more whiskey or wine than he had before she didn't comment. If his hands held her that little bit tighter she overlooked it as the actions of man desperate to reconnect with his wife, because honestly it was what she'd wanted.
Perhaps that was why after a particularly wonderful day spent doing little else but enjoying each other's company and talking about absolutely nothing and everything she'd awoken to find him gone and found the absence almost unbearable. She pulled the ring she wore around her neck out and without thinking much further about the why of it she removed it from the chain and slipped it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It glowed for a moment, assuming a perfect fit before it settled and she felt the flare of the TARDIS telepathic circuit settling somewhere in the back of her mind again. Staring down at it as she flexed her hand she couldn't help but smile, knowing the look it would bring to his face. Glancing out of the window of her bedroom she took in the snow covered expanse that had been growing steadily thicker for weeks with no apparent end in sight. The Season's had changed so quickly she realised, it had been nearly four months since she'd settled into Paternoster Row, four months of the Doctor's giving her space, whilst quietly and mostly successfully wooing her back to his side, looking at the snow covered ground she couldn't help but admire his patience.
Apparently the winters in Victorian era were brutal snow covered affairs that froze over the Thames completely. Not that it had stopped the Doctor any, if anything the cold stinging air seemed to have invigorated him as he gave his customary knock on the front door. Having now settled into his routine of Wednesdays and Saturdays that occasionally fell into additional days depending on her mood, or the particular case he might be helping them with. He always seemed to approach those extra days with glee, as if he'd somehow stolen them. Given as today was Thursday and he'd seen her all of yesterday and got a specific instruction to come see her again if he could think of something wonderful to do; then he was apparently treating today as another such 'stolen' day. Clara smiled fondly at him as he leant in to give her a kiss on the doorway, waiting as usual to be asked inside, no matter how many times Vastra had insisted he take a key and treat the place as if it were his own.
"I have something wonderful to show you." He grinned, clearly pleased to deliver as promised; but perhaps it was unfair to judge him by human standards, the man had on occasion cheated she recalled, whilst she wouldn't venture into the TARDIS to see wonders he apparently had no compunction about bringing them to her when he had need to.
Clara smiled a little coyly "Really, and here I thought I might be the one to show you something wonderful today." he frowned wondering what she meant as she reached out and grasped his hand with her left one, turning it up so he could see his ring there. The Doctor paused a moment, she wondered if he'd stopped breathing, certainly he seemed to go unearthly still, his eyes darting between her face and the ring as he hesitantly raised his other hand to brush over the metal band lightly as if to be sure it was really there.
He smiled softly and she blinked away the tears that rose at the sight of such a tender expression on his otherwise fierce face as she reached up and brushed his face with her hand. She went to say more but found her mouth otherwise occupied as he pushed them further into the house, kicking the door shut behind him and picking her up into his arms. He made it all the way to her bedroom door before he pulled back and let her breathe; his eyes wide and hopeful as she reached down for the door handle and pushed it open. "Don't stop on my account." She murmured, giving him all the permission he needed as he carried her over the threshold and proceeded to remind her just why she'd ever agreed to wear his ring in the first place.
Somewhat later in the day they had managed to make it out into the frigidly cold air, bundled up against the cold and grasping one gloved hand in his she let him take the lead as he guided them down to the banks of the Thames. "A Frost Fair." The Doctor rasped in her ear as she stared out across the ice covered expanse that now sported tents, wondrous smells and the loud raucous laughter of Londoners stepping out onto the thickly frozen water with delight. Clara turned up to smile at him, as far as wonders went, she thought it would do nicely and no TARDIS required at all.
Of course it wouldn't have been the Doctor without a simple trip to the fair turning into some adventure. The Carnival of Curiosities had certainly lived up to its name with a particular Shadowplay drawing his interest, 'impossible shadows how could he resist?' It unravelled as his little adventures always did into a bigger plot with a decidedly alien influence featuring those unfortunate Curios from the Fair. Deception had been key to foiling this particular attempt to destroy humanity only this time it hadn't been the Doctors and she took quiet pleasure in watching him work from the sidelines, his actions for once perfectly balanced, if no less risky than usual.
As they lay in bed together that night her head on his chest, listening to the solid thump thump of his hearts, she told him all of that. He snorted, deflecting the praise as usual. "It was hardly taxing." He murmured, "And the fools did think to try and distract me with visages of myself. If they'd known anything about me at all, they'd have known they'd only need show the palest imitation of you and I would have followed it heedlessly."
Clara sighed, stroking her hand against his cheek. "You need to love yourself more." She chastised him lightly, for a man capable of so much wonder, so much pride and confidence, he loathed himself more than anyone else in the Universe.
She could almost feel him rolling his eyes as he took her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. "That's what I have you for." He murmured and she glanced up seeing the laughter dancing in his eyes in that moment and there it was that confidence... the charisma as he turned up the charm, certain that he had her once more.
"Smug doesn't suit you." She kissed his chin, shaking her head at him as she smiled against his stubbled jaw. "And do me a favour husband," the word made his breath catch and she continued on as if she hadn't noticed, "have a shave. The hobo look is becoming distracting and I hate beard burn." He laughed and wrapped his arms around her rolling her beneath him and deliberately grating those sharp hairs against the softness of her throat.
"You're the boss." he offered and she pulled him closer, happy that they could have this time over, that she could learn to love him like this without feeling it had somehow been forced on her, it made all just so much more real and precious.
The Doctor traced his hand through his sleeping wife's hair, his skin almost burning from the touch and he took his fingers away, taking in long lung-fulls of air saturated with her before he left, burning the image of her sleeping form into his retinas to replay, her lips curling into a soft smile for him as she slept on undisturbed. It was torture, what she was doing to him, what he was letting her do. Worse than anything any enemy could ever devise. He felt starved of oxygen as he stumbled back into his TARDIS, the doors slamming shut and the engines ramping up in the well practiced pre-programmed pattern to get him away as quickly as possible before he was tempted to do something rash. Like kidnap his wife and lock her away where she could never distance herself from him again.
The TARDIS thrummed and he collapsed into his high-backed leather armchair, his head in his hands as he focused on merely breathing. The steady in and out as he tried to calm the shaking in his hands. He reached for the bottle he kept close by, whiskey had long since stopped taking the edge off and he was now being forced to track down ever more scarce quantities of Verdonian Ale, banned in most respected Star Systems. Guaranteed to rot your liver and your brain cells, but perfectly capable of helping you relive any memory you chose in vivid glorious detail until said memory dribbled out of your nose with the rest of your mind. If Clara was his drug of choice then this was the tonic he used to wash her down with.
He ignored the sounds of disapproval from the TARDIS as he focused on the memory of her from the last three days, the case had required that he spend more than one day in her company, and he hadn't wasted it. Savouring every touch, every glance, every word she uttered as he closed his eyes now taking a large swill of the foul liquid and tossing his head back to relive it all. Not that he'd mentioned to anyone that he had picked up some unusual energy signatures coming from the Fair and a suspicion that something was afoot that might require him getting involved in a case with them. Of course it hadn't been enough time with her; it never was and he cracked open one bleary eye before he became too addled to speak. "Activate visual voice interface, Programme 12." He instructed, the TARDIS grumbled but complied, the lifelike image of Clara appearing before him in the Victorian red dress she had actually never worn herself, but he'd always admired on her form; a smile was gracing her lips making her face seem rounder, yet more delicate for the soft dimple it produced that he loved to kiss.
"Tell me you love me?" He croaked, keeping his eyes on her whilst the images replayed in his mind.
"I love you." His fictitious version promised, coming closer until she was within reach and he forced himself to hold the armrests, not to try and reach out for her or spoil the illusion with her disembodied nature. "My Doctor." It breathed and he sighed, closing his eyes as she bent to his ear and whispered more promises to him, her soft voice calming him as the memories took him away from the crushing knowledge that the real she was not here.
The distress signal blared out and he stood blearily, stumbling towards the console and rubbing his hands across his eyes as he stared at the information streaming to him. His fingers gripped the console and he all but growled as it became apparent why the TARDIS had felt the need to rouse him. Daleks.
These particular ones seemed to be chasing down a human vessel that was making an admirable attempt to escape them, sadly they clearly didn't know enough about the Daleks if they thought they had a chance of outrunning them. Still he admired the gumption they had to try and particularly the pilots skill for making it this far. He sighed, intervening went against his instincts, but he loathed the Daleks enough to take a small measure of pity on the crafts occupants... but mostly he just wanted to rob the Daleks of this little victory.
He should have left the pilot 'Journey Blue' to rot he realised quickly as the idiotic human actually had the nerve to pull a gun on him, in his own bloody TARDIS for rescuing her but not her very dead brother. This was the thanks he got for helping, he needed to remember that about humans. He'd dropped her off with little fanfare and maintained mild interest in her little ragtag human resistance force, however pitiful it was against the Dalek invasion; if only because they had something that piqued his interest. A good Dalek. He scoffed at the notion and considered asking Clara if she would consider a trip in the TARDIS with him to see it. But the idea of putting his wife within spitting distance of another Dalek disturbed him, that and the fact that if she rejected the idea of stepping in his ship once again he wasn't certain he'd be able to keep his composure, or perhaps his temper.
So instead he let his curiosity take him inside the heart of a Dalek, where he was shrunk down to comical proportions and accompanied by a bunch of overzealous apes armed with useless weapons and barely functional cognitive resources. He had a sneaking suspicion as to the problem affecting this damaged Dalek's supposed moral centre. It had only taken him about half his team to realise that fixing the problem which turned out to be radiation poisoning had effectively proven his point. But it had given him an idea... poisoning a Dalek. He was inside one, somewhere he'd never been, it was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.
It had taken him the strategic sacrifice of the rest of his team, even the irascible Journey Blue who had died somewhat heroically even he had to admit, whilst rebooting the Dalek's blocked memories which had expanded its mind wide enough to accept his suggestion. His window of opportunity. To think that it had been beauty, wonder and the sheer tenacity of live prevailing that had so confounded and changed this Dalek. It was sickening, a Dalek didn't deserve such an epiphany, didn't deserve to know that wonder. He plugged his own mind into the Dalek's circuitry and smiled with vicious intent as it absorbed every inch of his hate, every loathed instinct he had for this disgusting species. He was making a new kind of monster, putting his own mind, his own fury inside a tin can and programming it to turn against its kind. Making a monster out of a monster. It was almost poetic he realised as he let it go off on its single-minded mission against its own kind.
Carnage was the inevitable conclusion as it struck down friend and foe with equal voracity, a Dalek blinded by a Time Lords hate and malicious ingenuity. It was quite possibly the finest and most depraved weapon a Time Lord had ever created, worthy of his people at their most malignant; one more to add to the vault of banned weapons on Gallifrey he imagined. The base was a smouldering wreck when he summoned his TARDIS and re-sized himself, watching his creation trundle away to wreak further havoc as it sought out the core of the Dalek fleet with an odd sense of pride.
The TARDIS had not been impressed as he fell into his seat and took his customary mouthful of liquid toxin, she refused to activate the visual interface and he was forced to resort to his imagination alone to conjure images of his wife. He was in no fit state to try and fiddle with her console and attempt an override, but he resolved to put a block on her from stopping him in the future. Although he genuinely didn't know what her problem was, it wasn't like he'd corrupted an innocent and turned it into a killing machine and pointed at his enemy; it was a Dalek, as far as it was concerned it had probably become the best Dalek it could be. The fact that the human resistance had needed to sacrifice themselves to let him achieve that was just unfortunate collateral damage and a call he'd make again; that one Dalek had singlehanded done more to dent the Dalek fleet than their entire pitiful resistance. If they'd been alive, no doubt the Commander would have 'thanked' him for managing to succeed where they had failed, or maybe not humans never were big on gratitude they always seemed to just assume he'd save the day for them because he was somehow obligated.
But none of this brought the image of Clara any sooner to materialising in front of him. Blasted interfering ship. He thought loudly at her as he was forced to sink into memories alone of his Clara drawing comfort from them like nothing else could give him now in the periods he was forced to leave the woman herself to her own devices.