You Can't Hide From Me, Clara

by IAmTheImpossibleGirl

This is a series of plots and one-shots that revolve around the 12th Doctor and his Impossible Girl, Clara. What will happen when the Doctor has to face down a horde of angry squirrels? When he gets sick and Clara has to take care of him? When he and Clara investigate the Hindenburg? Come find out! Whouffaldi-ness increases with each chapter. Skip to chap. 9 if you want oneshots.

25. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

First of all: yes, the name of this chapter is totally a Phantom of the Opera reference:)

Secondly: HI, I'M FINALLY BACK! And I'm back with my longest chapter yet! Sorry for the long wait! After our exchange student left, I was really busy catching up with school and stuff, so I hardly had any time to write. Anyway, here is the thanks-for-50-reviews chapter that I've been promising for a while! It took a while to write, mainly because I really wanted to get it right. I'm both nervous and excited about sharing this... the situation I wrote about is the kind of situation that has to be handled really carefully, and I'm not sure I did it right. Also, this chapter is probably a bit more lovey-dovey than the others - in fact, if you don't ship Whoufflé or Whouffaldi, you probably won't read this.

Oops. Spoilers, sweeties. Better just keep my mouth shut and let you get on with reading. Thanks for reading my stories, and please review to tell me how I did! (And thanks to all of you for fifty reviews!)

"No peeking," the Doctor murmured. "Don't forget."

Clara rolled her eyes, despite the fact that the Doctor was covering them with his hand. "Okay, first of all, you've already told me that four times. And second, I couldn't peek even if I wanted to. Your hand is over my eyes, remember?"

The Doctor's curly grey hair brushed against her cheeks as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Hush," he breathed. "We're going out now."

Clara stifled a laugh into the crook of her elbow as the Doctor began to guide her out of the TARDIS, a protective arm wrapped around her petite frame so that he could steer her around obstacles. A gentle creak sounded as the Doctor nudged the TARDIS door open. "You can open your eyes now." There was an eager smile lurking in his voice, and Clara knew that he was excited for her to see what he had to show her.

But there was something else in his voice too, something sad and wistful. Clara had learned to read the Doctor's voice, every aspect of his low Scottish brogue, like a book. She could tell exactly how he was feeling just by listening to the low, rich tones of his voice. And right now, he was in pain.

But before she could help him, she had to know where she was. So Clara slowly cracked her eyelids open, expecting to see a stunning beach or a planet with ten suns.

Instead, she found herself standing in her very own living room.

Clara's mouth dropped open as all her romantic fantasies of an oceanfront dinner in front of the sunset vanished. "My flat," she stated in a voice slightly hoarse with shock.

"Last time I checked, yes," the Doctor countered, stepping out next to her and placing his elbow on her shoulder.

Clara quickly shook off his arm and whirled around to face him, her dark hair curtaining around her face. "Oi!"

The Doctor's smile quickly melted. His hedgy eyebrows drew together. "What now?"

"Why the bloody hell have you brought me to my flat?" Clara demanded in a clipped tone. "You actually told me to dress up, okay? You said you had a surprise for me!" She indicated her flowing red dress. "I thought we were going somewhere nice! And you just brought me to my flat?!"

Realization dawned in the Doctor's eyes. "Clara, it's not where we are that's important, it's when," he told her soothingly. "And I do have a surprise for you. Come on now, what day is it?"

Still grumpy, Clara crossed her arms and turned away. "How should I know? Just cos you have a freakishly good sense of time doesn't mean we all do."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, it's October 6th, 2013."

"Wow, what an exciting day," she fired back snarkily. "Just brilliant."

"Will you keep your voice down? You'll get caught. Also, don't eat any pears; they're squishy."

"By whom, the police?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

All of a sudden there was a loud sniffling sound from the bedroom. Clara froze and slowly turned her head towards the direction of the noise, a vague memory surfacing in her mind. October 6th... hadn't she been sick that day? "Doctor," she murmured, "is that... me? Making that noise?"

No response was forthcoming. She glanced over her shoulder.

The Doctor was gone, and the TARDIS door was closed. Clara muttered some choice words under her breath - he'd left her on her own again. She jiggled the door, but it refused to open. "Doctor, let me in," she hissed. "Right now."

The TARDIS's engines hummed with amusement, and Clara gave it the evil eye. "Shut up, you," she snapped. "Just because your owner is being an arse doesn't mean you have to be."

It was no use. The Doctor evidently wasn't going to let her in.

She growled in frustration and slumped against the blue wood. Great. Now she was trapped in her own flat with a past version of herself. And what was his warning about the pears for? Some surprise this was.

And then the doorbell rang.

Clara froze again for the second time in as many minutes, internally debating whether or not she should answer the door. Wouldn't it break the laws of time if she did so when her past self was supposed to be sick?

The problem was suddenly decided for her as the person outside began to hammer on the door with their fists. "Clara, open up, I haven't got all day," an impatient but strongly familiar male voice shouted.

Clara gasped, and tears welled in her eyes. That voice. She knew that voice. She know it so well, although she hadn't heard it in a very long time.

All of a sudden the events of October 6, 2016 came roaring back into her head. He'd planned to take her somewhere special, she'd been too sick even to get out of bed and answer the door, and he'd gone away disappointed.

But now Clara had a second shot at things. Now she had one last chance to see her beautiful Chin Boy, one last evening. This was obviously why the Doctor had dropped her off in her flat and left her. For someone so surly and grumpy, the Doctor was surprisingly perceptive: he must have known that Clara wanted to see her first Doctor again, and had taken it into his hands to do something about it.

So that was why his voice had been so sad. Perhaps the Doctor felt that when Clara looked at him, her gaze was clouded by memories of the man he used to be.

That was true, in many ways. And it was so, so untrue, in many others.

But Clara didn't have time to worry about the Doctor. No, she'd just been given one last night with her clumsy, floppy-haired Time Lord, and she was going to use it wisely.

So she flattened her hand against the TARDIS and pressed her head to its smooth blue wood, allowing her silky bangs to fall around her forehead. "Thank you," she murmured, hoping the Doctor could hear her. "Thank you, Doctor. This is..." her breath caught as a single tear of bittersweet joy trickled down her cheek. "This is the best gift you could have given me."

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor bowed his head, his eyes red with unshed tears. He had made Clara happy, and her happiness was the most precious thing in the world to him. Now she could see her first Doctor one last time.

But this new body, this new regeneration, loved Clara in a way that the last one never could. And the Doctor sometimes doubted whether Clara would ever know that.

He sighed, his lanky frame suddenly bent beneath the weight of countless troubles and sorrows. He had made Clara happy, yes. But now he was doomed to be broken by his own pain.

Back outside the TARDIS, Clara pressed a quick kiss to the wood and then walked over to the front door, unable to stop her knees from trembling. She reached out a shaking hand and quickly opened the door, not allowing herself to hesitate.

The Doctor was standing on the doorstep, whistling a cheery tune as he waited for the door to open, his hands crossed behind his back. He beamed widely at Clara as she swung the door open. "Ah, Clara! There you are!" His wide-set green eyes, overshadowed by his thick forehead, twinkled happily at her. His thick, dark hair flopped over his forehead in the same unruly fashion as Clara remembered, gelled to perfection, shining in the light from outside. The Doctor's eyes widened as he took in Clara's outfit. "You look... erm... lovely," he complimented her uncertainly.

A lump rose in Clara's throat as she stared at his purplish bow tie, and her eyes swam with tears. He was back. Her Doctor was really back.

The Doctor's grin faded, and he stepped over the threshold and placed a warm hand on Clara's cheek. His hand, which was unusually large against her small body, felt familiar and comforting. "What's wrong?" he asked, his deep but surprisingly soft voice resonating through the air. His intense gaze bored into Clara's very soul as he leaned closer to her, his square nose brushing her petite one. "Are you alright?"

Clara reached a trembling hand to his face and pressed it against his skin, the tips of her fingers trailing along his barely visible eyebrows, along the traces of stubble that lined his wide, angular jaw, along his smooth quiff and large ears. "You're here," she murmured. "You're really here." Before the Doctor could say anything she threw her arms around him and leaned hard against his chest, the comforting beats of his two hearts pounding against her ears.

The Doctor awkwardly flailed his arms in the air, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched for an escape route, before resigning himself to the hug and somewhat embarrassedly sliding his arms around her back. He forgot his misgivings as he breathed in the sweet vanilla-and-raspberries scent of her hair. "My Clara," he sighed, the tips of his bowtie tickling her neck as he planted a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "Where else would I be but here with you?" His eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her.

Clara suddenly pulled back, her eyes alight with reckless excitement, her wistful sadness having vanished in the face of her happiness. "Tell me, how long has it been since you saw me last?"

The Doctor counted on his fingers. "Two days. Give or take a few weeks."

"How can you take a few weeks from two days?" Clara countered, already back to her practical self. She was surprised that she still remembered her playful habit of bantering with this Doctor. The Twelfth Doctor didn't approve of bantering at all. She thought she'd forgotten how to do it.

"Quite easily if you're me," the Doctor answered, the corners of his mouth turned up in a grin as he spread his hands out in a slightly self-satisfied manner. "Think of it this way: it's like taking a few inches of height off a person who hardly has any."

Clara recognized this as a jibe and swatted the elbow of his dark purple, knee-length tweed jacket. "Oi!"

The Doctor held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. How about I make up for it with... these!" With a flourish he reached into his pocket and pulled out his sonic screwdriver.

Clara stared at it in bewilderment. "What?"

His cheeks flushed. "Wrong thing, hang on." Stuffing the screwdriver back in, he rooted around in his bigger-on-the-inside pocket for a while before finally producing a bouquet of red flowers with a pleased "Aha!"

They were wilted and drooping. The Doctor's smile faded. "They were fresh when I got them, really."

"You sure know how to treat a girl," Clara told him sarcastically.

Seeming ashamed, the Doctor rocked his feet back and forth and twiddled his thumbs, his hair falling over his eyes. "Clara..." he began.

She placed a finger to his lips and looked deeply into his eyes. "Shh. It's okay. I appreciate the effort."

His playful, childish demeanor returned in an instant along with his signature wide smile as he tossed the bouquet over his shoulder in an effort to pretend it didn't exist. "Then shall we move along?"

"Always," Clara grinned, sliding her arm into his.

The Doctor adjusted his bow tie, cast a quick glance at his reflection in the mirror on the wall, and beamed at himself, liking what he saw. "Snazzy," he complimented himself, wiggling his nonexistent eyebrows. "You handsome devil." There was a tiny smile on his lips as he brushed imaginary flakes of dust off his jacket.

Clara rolled her eyes and tugged him away. "You look fine. At least you made the effort to look nice by wearing something other than tweed, though I do wish you could've ditched the bow tie. Now come on."

"Geronimo," the Doctor agreed, winking at her as the two of them walked out of Clara's flat.

Neither of them noticed a pair of soft blue eyes watching them from behind the curtain in Clara's flat.

The Doctor and Clara approached the TARDIS hand in hand, beaming at each other. As the Doctor came to a halt in front of his beloved time machine, he pointed a stern finger at it, his forehead crinkled adorably. "Now, you be nice to Clara, d'you hear? And you, Clara, be nice to the TARDIS. I don't want you two fighting tonight, eh?"

"Got it," Clara confirmed. "I'll be nice if she is." The TARDIS emitted a groaning sort of noise, and Clara frowned at it. "Enough of that."

The Doctor shook his head fondly and pushed the door open. "In you come," he said to Clara, smoothing his hair back over his forehead.

She lifted up the hem of her dress and followed him in.

Tears rose in her eyes. This TARDIS was so familiar, and yet so different. There was the same angular console she remembered; the same blue-orange lighting... she's forgotten how much she missed this.

Clara was shaken out of her reverie as a warm hand brushed against her forehead. "Clara, are you sure you're all right?" the Doctor asked, his deep-set eyes wide with concern. "Have you got a fever? Or, you know, some... womany thing?"

She blinked. "Some what?"

His cheeks were bright red. "I don't know, never mind, forget I said it. I was just worried."

"I'm fine," she promised him. "I was just a little sad."

The Doctor's eyes nervously darted from side to side. "Why, was it something I said?" He was bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, like he always did when he was worried that he had made Clara either mad or sad (although mad was more worrisome, because it was usually rather dangerous for his face).

A soft smile touched her lips, not quiet enough to dent her cheek inwards. "No, don't worry. I was just thinking."

"Always a dangerous pastime. Well, if you're me, anyway -" He spread out his arms. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Clara lied.

The expression on the Doctor's face didn't change at all, but his demeanor seemed to soften. "You know," he murmured in a low, halting voice, "our time together won't ever end. Not ever. We'll always be together, you and me, traveling through the stars. We're seared onto each other's hearts now. We can't be separated." Something undefinable and indescribable glinted in the depths of his eyes, something powerful and so, so sad. "You and me, Clara," he continued, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You and me."

Clara couldn't help but marvel at how incredibly perceptive he was, when he wasn't being incredibly childish.

Then, suddenly, the Doctor squeezed her hands and spun around, his tweed coat flying behind him. "So... let's get a move on!" he shouted, his voice ringing with flew around the TARDIS console, toggling various switches and pulling buttons. "Come on, Sexy!" he bellowed. "Do your thing!"

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Why, thank you."

The Doctor's immaculately styled hair seemed to quiver with indignation. "What... I wasn't... I was talking to... Ugh! Stop it!" His face was wrinkled with disgust.

She giggled. "Make me."

He flushed even more. "I said stop it!"

Clara darted over to him and grabbed his arm. "Where are we going?"

Relieved to have something else to talk about, the Doctor slammed his hand down on the final lever. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Clara knew where she was as soon as she stepped out of the door.

She was standing on a cobblestoned street, surrounded by horses and people alike. The Eiffel Tower rose in the distance, silhouetted by the setting sun. A jumble of low buildings with sloping roofs stretched as far as the eye could see.

Clara's breath hitched. She had always wanted to come here.

Behind her, the Doctor grinned to himself at her stunned reaction and leaned against the doorframe. "Paris, 1894," he announced. "Half an hour from sunset. And..." he held up a finger, allowing the breeze to wash over it. "September 29th."

Clara's eyes were twinkling with excitement. "Can we go explore?"

The Doctor shrugged, his shoulders rolling beneath his jacket. "If you like. But we're mainly here to eat. There's a lovely place here called... well, I don't quiet remember. Don't know where it is either, as a matter of fact," he added as an afterthought. "We'll have to find it ourselves; that should be fun." He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

Clara seemed dubious. "Is the water even clean? Is it safe to eat food from the 1800's? Isn't there, like, a rat problem or something?"

"All of those are very good questions which I don't have the answer to," the Doctor beamed.

"You should maybe do you your research a little more often," she chided him.

He deflated. "I should, shouldn't I."

"That would be nice." Clara started walking away, her vibrant red dress swirling around her heels. "Now come on, let's go find that restaurant! I suppose the TARDIS will be fine over here?"

The Doctor waved a hand airily. "She's blending right in. Don't worry about it."

The TARDIS was sticking out like a sore thumb.

His smile faded a little bit. "I think."

He caught up to Clara and began walking at her side, taking in all the sights. Various smells wafted through the air and his big nose absorbed all of them. He sniffed appreciatively as he scented crepes. The Seine's surface twinkled invitingly in front of him, its surface painted with streaks of orange and red from the sun. All in all, it was a pretty picture.

"So tell me," Clara muttered in his ear - or, at least, as close to his ear as she could manage with her limited height. "The TARDIS makes everything we say come out as French, yeah? So what would happen if I tried to speak French?"

The Doctor laughed. "I had a friend who tried that once. She tried to speak Latin to a Roman. It came out as Celtic, apparently."

Feeling emboldened, Clara marched up to a vendor sitting on the curb, cleared her throat, and said, "Parlez-vous Francais?", which was the only thing she could remember from her high school French class.

The man eyed her up and down. "Bloody English tourist. With one of those bloody Scottish accents too. Sorry, luv, I don't speak English," he grunted.

Clara smiled doubtfully and beat a hasty retreat. "So, French apparently sounds like English. With a Scottish accent," she related to the Doctor.

He beamed delightedly. "Really? That's brilliant, really brilliant. Almost makes me want to start speaking to them in Judoon or something."

"In what?"

"In Judoon."

"Clarification, please."

"They're - they're like -" the Doctor flailed his hands helplessly as he tried to find words to describe them. "They're like big great space rhinos. They're sort of like an intergalactic police force."

"Like Buzz Lightyear."

"Yes, like - what? No, not at all! For one thing, Judoon can't fly. And their weapons are actually real. Very real. You don't want to be a criminal when they're around."

"I'll bet you have been," Clara countered mischievously.

His lips curled in a sly smile. "Of course."

The Eiffel Tower stayed to their right as they turned left onto a street that seemed to be hosting an open-air marketplace. Clara giggled delightedly, pointing at an artist with a beret and a curly mustache who was drawing the Eiffel Tower. "Oh my stars, look. You read about people like that all the time in books, but you never think they're actually real..." Her teeth gleamed as she laughed.

The Doctor studied her inconspicuously, his mouth smiling, but his eyes narrowed. Two other faces identical to Clara's flashed through his mind. Oswin, and Victorian Clara, had laughed and smiled very much like this before they'd died. He wouldn't give up his time with Clara for anything, but... he lived in constant fear that she was going to die like her lookalikes had. It could come at any time. He hated not knowing what was going to happen to her. He hated not knowing anything about her life.

More than anything, he hated not knowing who she was.

Little did the Doctor know that the Clara who was with him had already become the Impossible Girl; had already stepped into his time stream; had already known everything that the Doctor was currently wondering for over a year.

Time was wobbly-wobbly that way.

Clara suddenly tugged at his hand, jolting him out of his thoughts. "Come on, let's go take a look at all this stuff!"

The Doctor smiled and patted her hand. "Of course."

Clara attracted many admiring looks from passersby, but she didn't notice any of them. She had eyes only for the Doctor (and vice versa, though he never would have admitted it). Hand and hand, they strolled through the marketplace, peering at whatever caught their fancy.

The Doctor beamed as he caught sight of a table selling hatwear. His face fell slightly as he saw that there were no fezzes, but lit up again as his eyes settled on a black beret.

Clara sharply smacked his hand away as he reached for the beret. "No. No berets. You'll look ridiculous."

"But Claraaaaa!" he whined, his expressive green eyes seeming hurt. "I haven't had a good hat in so long!"

"The bow tie's enough," she assured him. "Now come on."

He cast a sorrowful glance back at the beret. "Sorry," he whispered furtively to it. "Clara's being mean."

"Stop talking to the hat," she ordered him, wrapping her hand firmly around his tweed coat.

They soon came to the end of the marketplace. The bottommost tip of the sun was just sinking behind the buildings across the river. "Now what?" Clara wanted to know.

"Well, we're still on for dinner, aren't we?" he asked nervously. "Or - do you have something at home you need to get back to..."

Clara threw her head back and laughed heartily. "God, you're so paranoid. Of course we're still on for dinner. I was just alluding to the fact that your failure to do your research is now requiring us to scour Paris until we find the restaurant."

The Doctor held a finger in the air and nodded, his eyes facing thoughtfully upward and his mouth slightly downturned. "There is that," he conceded.

"Have you remembered the name yet?" Clara asked hopefully, feeling a sense that he probably hadn't but deciding it was worthwhile to check.

Her suspicions were confirmed as the Doctor slapped himself on the forehead and groaned. "Stupid Doctor," he berated himself. Then his brightened. "Wait, maybe I can try anyway..."

Before Clara could call him back, he adjusted his bowtie and swaggered over to a grocery-laden couple. "Excuse me," he greeted them brightly, bounding on the balls of his feet as he always did when he was excited, "do you know where I can find a restaurant? Probably a brick building somewhere, in Paris, with a neon sign? Ooh, that would be good. I like neon signs; neon is good. Also, it probably has really good food..."

Clara facepalmed and hurried over to his side in an attempt to steer him away. But the Doctor would not be deterred. "It's on the Seine somewhere, with a view of the - the - whatever that weird curvy building is called," he finished lamely, pointing vaguely to the right.

"The Eiffel Tower," Clara supplied helpfully, smiling at the man and the woman.

"Yes, sorry, that. There are so many like it if you've been to all the places I have; it's hard to keep track... Anyway, it has a view of the Eiffel Tower, and it's probably called 'Gustave's' or 'Claude's' or some other French thing... any idea?" he concluded, his eyes bright with cheerfulness, completely ignorant of how rude and stereotypical he had just been.

Both of the people seemed to be getting more confused by the minute, but the woman seemed slightly more on top of things. "Yes, Gustave's," she answered after collecting her wits. "You can't miss it. Take a left and two rights and there it is." She hurried off with her husband without a backwards glance, evidently put out by the Doctor's odd behavior.

"Thanks!" he called after her. "Cheerio!" Turning to Clara, he beamed and said,"Did you hear that? I guessed it! On my first try!"

"Well done," she replied good-naturedly. "Great. Now can we please go get a bloody bite to eat?"

"Language!" he chided her, horror-struck.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. Your snogbox has been more badly behaved than that before."

Fifteen minutes later, the Doctor and Clara were standing in front of a vaguely triangular brick building with a curved front. Candles glittered cheerfully in all of the windows, since the sun had, by now, fully set. The Eiffel Tower was visible across the river in the distance, looming over the slanting rooftops that surrounded it.

"See, Clara?" the Doctor beamed, proudly smoothing his hair over his forehead. "I'm great at finding things."

"Sure - you only need a couple of directions and then you can find things all by yourself," Clara smirked, guiding him over to the front entrance.

A mustachioed man was waiting by the door, clutching a stack of menus. "Table for two, please," Clara announced firmly.

He smiled at them. "Yes, a table right on the river for this lovely young couple, eh?"

The Doctor blushed and opened his mouth to say, "We're not a couple", as he had said so many times before, and then thought better of it. After all, what other word could be used to describe him and his Impossible Girl?

Clara was evidently thinking the same thing. A soft smile touched the corners of her lips. "Yes, please," she replied, unobtrusively squeezing the Doctor's hand.

The waiter led them upstairs and gestured to a table at the edge of the rooftop balcony. "All yours." He deposited two menus on the table and left after pulling out the two chairs for them.

"You know, this is really nice," Clara sighed, staring out at the twinkling lights of Paris and the rippling water. "No monsters. No aliens."

The Doctor's eyes scrunched up as he grinned at her. "Except me," he murmured.

"Except you," she conceded, smiling fondly, her cheek dimpling.

The waiter returned a few minutes later. "May I get you anything to drink?"

The Doctor opened his mouth to say 'no' and Clara firmly cut across him. "Two glasses of wine, please," she answered firmly.

He dipped his head and strode away. The Doctor stared at Clara in horror. "Clara!"

"What? Being a little tipsy never hurt anyone."

"But I hate wine!" he complained, his rounded chin becoming square as he pouted.

She giggled. "I know. I only got you a glass so I could drink yours after I finish mine."

He wagged a disapproving finger. "You're disgustingly devious."

"I learned it all from you," Clara replied brightly, picking up her menu and scanning it.

The Doctor tutted (with just a hint of pride) and scooped up his own menu, flipping it open and jamming it right up to his nose as though he couldn't read it from a distance. A tuft of floppy hair poking over its edge was all that could be seen of his head. "Hmm... snails," he read. "Delightful. And let me see, we have lamb, and - what's this? I can't read it... am I reading upside down again?" The Doctor swung the menu downwards and peered at it again. "Nope, it was right way up the first time."

Clara was too absorbed in the menu too pay him much attention. After several minutes of deliberation, she settled on a salad.

The waiter made a smooth reappearance just as she set down her menu. What a well-timed waiter, she thought admiringly. The man deftly poured her and the Doctor a glass of wine. "What can I get you two to eat?"

They quickly placed their orders. The Doctor, being the Doctor, had decided to order the thing that he couldn't read. He always did love a mystery. Soon the waiter left, leaving Clara and the Doctor alone with the sprawling entirety of Paris and the gentle rushing of the Seine.

The Doctor smiled at his petite companion and placed his large fists on the table. Clara wrapped her small hands around his and squeezed them, looking into his deep-set green eyes. Her eyes lingered over the little arrows at the corners of his lips when he grinned, the faint wisps of hair that made up his eyebrows, the blocky, handsome, well-defined nose that dominated his face, the square chin that had been the inspiration for so many nicknames, the floppy quiff that gleamed in the light, the ruffled edges of his bowtie. These things were so, so familiar, and she had missed them all far more than she'd realized...

And then all of a sudden there were three plates in front of them, along with a glittering candle that hadn't been there before but somehow made the atmosphere much more romantic.

Their food was already here? Clara felt slightly disturbed by the fact that she and the Doctor had apparently just spent at least twenty minutes gazing into each other's eyes.

He evidently felt the same way, because he spent a few seconds dubiously chewing on his lip before dropping her hands and clearing his throat. "Erm. Dinner." His tone made it evident that he had been just as starstruck by Clara as she had been by him.

Clara unobtrusively glanced around the rooftop terrace. No one else as there - the two of them were alone.

The Doctor beamed at her, picked up his napkin, and tucked it into the collar of his jacket, making sure it didn't touch his bow tie. "Bon appétit," he proclaimed, rather louder than necessary.

Clara stared dubiously at the Doctor's meal. "... If you say so," she responded uncertainly. His food looked completely inedible - some thin hunks of mystery meat swimming in a thick sauce.

"I do say so," he answered smilingly, not picking up on the doubt in her tone. The Doctor carved himself a slice of meat and placed it delicately in his mouth. His face then turned a delicate shade of green. Eyes popping, he opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and allowed the food to dribble back onto the dish with a wet slurp. "Ergh!" He smacked his lips, revulsion written all over his face. "I don't know what that is,but it's disgusting!"

Clara couldn't resist a small giggle. "I could have told you that was going to happen."

His face still scrunched up in disgust, the Doctor hastily reached for his glass of wine and downed it all in one gulp. Then his eyes went even wider, and he spat the wine out all over the table, narrowly missing Clara's hands. "Ugh! I forgot how much I hate this stuff."

Shaking her head reproving it, Clara picked up his glass and placed it next to hers. "Doctor, I can't take you anywhere nice."

Muttering darkly about French food, the Doctor reached for a slice of the baguette in the middle of the table. He stuffed it in his mouth and nodded approvingly. "Now thish ish good food," he drawled, gesticulating wildly as he ate.

Clara groaned at his lack of table manners, and the Doctor determinedly ignored her. He pleadingly eyed her artfully arranged salad. "Could I please have some?" he asked hopefully, giving her poppy-dog eyes.

She very maturely stuck her tongue out at him. "If you must."

The Doctor grinned widely and deftly swung his chair around the table so that he was sitting right next to her, his long legs sprawled on the ground. "Thanks, Clara!" The tip of his square chin brushed her hair as he bent down to eat.

Between the salad and the bread, the two of them finished their meal in ten minutes. Clara leaned back into her seat and rested her head against his firm shoulder. "What do you think?" she murmured into his tweed coat. "Dessert?"

"Always," the Doctor responded warmly, his deep voice vibrating through the air. "D'you think they've got fish fingers and custard?" He entwined his fingers in her thick dark hair, marveling at how well it reflected the light.

"No," she answered bluntly, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Shame," he sighed, tipping his head sideways so his floppy hair curled over Clara's forehead.

The waiter reappeared and smoothly gathered up their plates. "Will you be having dessert?"

"Absolutely," Clara responded. "Doctor, what do you think?"

"Banana bread," he said without hesitation. "Banana bread is good."

She cringed. "How about something a little more... gourmet."

The Doctor pouted. "Whatever."

Clara's eyes lit up. "We'd like a chocolate soufflé, please," she told the waiter firmly, recalling that soufflés had been listed in the dessert section of the menu.

The waiter winked. "A good choice."

The Doctor patted Clara's head. "That was a good choice! This will be my first soufflé."

"What do you mean?" Clara demanded. "I've made you soufflés before."

His face fell as he realized he'd said the wrong thing. "I meant my first good soufflé," he explained, trying to dig himself out of the pit he had created but inadvertently digging himself deeper in.

Clara's face clouded like thunder. "You, sir, are heading into dangerous territory."

He winced. "I am?"

This probably would have become a full-fledged argument if the waiter had not reappeared at that very moment with a steaming chocolate soufflé. He set it on the table with a flourish, paused to rearrange the flickering candle, and bowed. "Enjoy."

Clara stared at the soufflé, her mouth a small 'O' of surprise. "It's perfect," she muttered.

"Well, we are in France," the Doctor replied. He picked up his fork and cut the soufflé into two very uneven halves.

Clara swatted his hand as he proceeded to drag the larger half into his plate. "Oi! Be fair." She drew the plate back and sliced off a portion of the large piece. "There. Much better."

The Doctor stabbed a small piece of soufflé with his fork and proffered it to Clara. "I want you to have the first bite," he murmured, his voice low and loving. He placed three fingers under her chin. "Come on." Touched by his sweetness, Clara opened her mouth and allowed him to slide the fork inside.

She had to admit that the soufflé not only looked but tasted perfect. It was just like her mum's. She closed her eyes as the last morsel slid down her throat. "Mmmmmm."

The Doctor watched her anxiously. "Was it good?"

"The best," Clara promised, cupping her small hand around his cheek and tracing her fingers along the very faint stubble that covered them. "Thank you."

He grinned, happy to eat now that Clara had given the soufflé her stamp of approval. "Great!"

And then, to Clara's horror, he picked up his piece with his hands and took a huge bite, smearing chocolate all over his prominent chin.

Five minutes later, the Doctor let out a huge groan. "That was delicious." He held up his chocolaty fingers, inspected them for a second, and then shoved them in his mouth and began to lick them earnestly.

"So. Money," Clara stated, watching him wipe his newly-licked fingers with a napkin.

"Ah, yes. Have you got any?"

"What?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Well, you know..."

She gave him a death glare.

"I'm a time traveler!" he protested. "I don't have money!"

Clara groaned and banged her head on the table. "And how am I supposed to have nineteenth-century French currency?" she snapped acidly.

"Good point," the Doctor conceded. "Wait, hang on..." He fiddled around in his pockets and produced his sonic screwdriver. "There's a setting on here somewhere..." The sonic emitted various beeps of different pitches as the Doctor began to adjust the settings. Finally a low-pitched hum rang out. "Aha! Found it! Never used before, I just make everyone else pay for me..." The Doctor pointed his sonic at a napkin, which rippled briefly and then faded away, only to be replaced by a jumble of coins and notes.

Clara stared at the heap of money in bewilderment. "What just happened?"

"Glamour setting," the Doctor explained proudly, jamming his device back in his pocket. "Makes things look like what they aren't."

"And... how long does the illusion last for?" Clara inquired practically.

His smile faded. "Good question. Erm, I have no idea, really. So we should probably get out of here now."

They tiptoed down the steps, using the shadows to conceal themselves, and were fortunately able to make their way out of the restaurant without getting caught.

The Doctor eyed Clara with new appreciation. "Did I ever tell you you look lovely?"

"You did, but I don't mind you saying it again," she smirked, smiling mischievously.

He laughed and fondly draped an arm around her shoulders. "So where to now? We could go trick-or-treating," he suggested hopefully.

Clara giggled. "Firstly, it's not Halloween. Secondly, do they even have trick-or-treating in the 1800's?"

"We could find out," the Doctor replied, his eyes bright and hopeful.

Clara's smile faded. Another face flashed through her mind: blue eyes, gray hair, an aquiline nose. A harsh face, but a beautiful one. A harsh man, but a beautiful one. And that man was waiting for her. "Actually..." she cleared her throat. "Actually, I should get back to my flat."

The Doctor's voice was uncharacteristically soft and subdued, as it always was when he knew someone was hurting but didn't know how to fix it. "Home it is, then."

Fifteen minutes later Clara was standing just inside the doorway of her flat, regarding the Doctor, who was leaning against the doorframe. "What time is it? You haven't brought me back a month late again, have you?"

Flicking his hair out of his eyes, the Doctor checked his watch and beamed. "Nope. In fact, it's about ten minutes after you left."

She sighed with relief, knowing that she hadn't kept the Doctor - the other Doctor - waiting too long.

A pang of fear clutched at Clara's heart. As unobtrusively as possible, she glanced behind her. The Twelfth Doctor's TARDIS was still there, humming softly. Now Clara felt silly. Why would the Doctor have left her behind anyway?

"So..." the Eleventh Doctor twiddled his thumbs, hopefully gazing into her eyes. "I could come in, if you like? We could -"

"No!" Clara yelped, instinctively closing the door a few more inches.

The Doctor drew back, seeming hurt. "Why? Have I got spinach in my teeth?"

A lump rose in her throat as she stared at him. There were too many things fighting to emerge from her mouth; too many things that needed to be said. You can't come in because it's too dangerous for two Doctors to be together. Because I don't want you to see his TARDIS and realize you regenerate again in your future. Because I don't want to see you be sad. Because every second I spend with you makes my heart break a little more. Because I love you too much.

But Clara couldn't tell him any of those things. And so she simply said, "I'm tired. I should be getting to bed."

The Doctor hesitated, his eyes roving over her squarish nose, her downturned mouth, her graceful eyebrows. His eyes were dark. He knew when his Clara was lying.

And he let it go, not wanting to hurt her any more than she was already hurting. "Okay," he sighed, working his jaw. "That's fine. No coming inside. I've got things to do too. There's a supernova scheduled to happen in the Mercion Galaxy in ten minutes; I've got to hurry if I want to make it, eh?" He smiled at her, just a little too widely.

Clara sniffled. "Yeah."

He took her hand in his. "See you next Wednesday?" he asked gently.

A single tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away before the Doctor could see it. Answering this question would be the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life. And yet she must be brave, for herself, and for the Doctor - both Doctors.

"Yes," Clara replied calmly, her voice far steadier than her mind. "Next Wednesday."

The two of them scrutinized each other for a while, green eyes against brown ones: the Doctor was trying to figure out what was bothering Clara... and Clara was just trying to memorize every detail of his face, because she knew she would never see it again.

All of a sudden, in a flash of inspiration, the Doctor knew what needed to be done. He steeled himself. This was going to take nerve.

Still holding Clara's hand, he leaned down to her height, closed his eyes, and kissed her softly on the lips.

Clara's self-control, which she had been firmly keeping a hold on all evening, rapidly vanished. She slid her hands around his cheeks, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him back, the low thrumming beats of his hearts pounding against her chest. In that moment, nothing else existed for her - just the Doctor and his love and her love, combined into something beautiful and fragile. She focused on the feeling of his skin, the point of his nose as it pressed into her forehead; knowing this moment would pass too quickly and never come again.

And it did. All too soon, the Doctor pulled back, his eyes wide, gasping for air. His hair flopped over his eyes as his mouth hung open. "I just..." He ran his shaking hands through his hair, ruffling it even more than normal. An ecstatic grin spread across the Doctor's face. "Did you see what I did?"

"Yes, and I felt it too," Clara answered dryly, amused despite her misery.

The Doctor beamed, gleefully rubbing his hands together. He looked both embarrassed and proud at the same time, as if he couldn't believe he'd had the nerve to do such a thing.

Still grinning, he turned around to leave... and Clara rushed forwards and threw her arms around him, clinging to him with every fibre of his being. Instantly the Doctor turned around and hugged her back, his bowtie tickling her nose. "Go back to Clara," Clara murmured, far too quietly for the Doctor to hear her. "Go back to your Clara, Doctor, and show her the stars. Please."

It took every bit of willpower she had, but Clara finally managed to let go, reluctantly dropping her hands away from his tweed jacket. She stepped back inside her flat, watching the Doctor with rapidly reddening eyes.

He smiled at her one last time, his green eyes flashing with joy, and disappeared inside the TARDIS.

Clara slowly shut the door as the vworp-vworp of the engines faded away, feeling hollow and empty. Having a taste of her first Doctor's company had just made her yearn for him more.

And then the tears came. Her knees trembling, Clara leaned her head against the doorway and began to cry. The front of her dress was quickly soaked. Her limbs felt like mush; they couldn't seem to support her properly.

Clara turned around and slid to the floor, burying her head in her hands. She continued to sob - real, heartbroken, painful sobbing; the kind of emotion that only someone who has seen too much sorrow can feel. The only other time she had cried this hard was when the Doctor had regenerated.

After a while Clara got up and staggered over to the TARDIS, not wanting to wake up her past self, who was hopefully resting. Red-eyed, mouth trembling, she placed a tentative hand on the TARDIS door.

It swung open immediately. Wiping away tears and hiccoughing miserably - she was sure she must look a mess -Clara stepped inside and closed the door behind her, assailed right away by the gentle hum of the engine.

The Twelfth Doctor was pacing around the console with his hands behind his back, crossed over his velvety waistcoat. He glanced up with a birdlike movement of his head as she entered. "So?" The word hung in the air like a broken promise.

Or like a broken heart.

"It was fine," Clara answered, surprising herself by how nonchalant she sounded. She walked over to the Doctor, her gait still slightly unsteady, and met his gaze. "Just fine."

His sharp blue eyes took in her red eyes and cheeks and the tears that still dribbled down her face. Suddenly he spun around and pulled a lever, setting the TARDIS in motion. "You're crying," he noted, not deigning to look at her, his Scottish brogue low and pronounced.

Suddenly Clara was angry. Very angry. Not at the Doctor, but at the universe in general, for making life in general. And, like all angry people, she chose to take out her temper on the person closest to her. "Yes, I'm crying!" she shouted, her angry Blackpool accent ringing through the TARDIS. "And do you know why? It's because I'm sad! Do you know what 'sad' means, Doctor?" She knew she was being unfair, but she couldn't stop. "Sadness is what happens when you miss someone. And sadness is what happens when you get to see someone you miss again, and then they're taken away from you." She glared at him, her chest heaving, and then continued her tirade. "Why? Why did you let me see him again?! How could you?" Her voice broke. "How could you..."

The Doctor had been watching her silently the whole time, his thick eyebrows creased and his mouth a thin line. Now he began to pace again, not looking at Clara as he spoke. "I knew you'd been thinking about... him... a lot lately," he stated, his voice ragged. "You were looking at pictures of him when you were cleaning your flat. I saw you. I know you miss him, Clara. And so I thought you might want to see him again." He suddenly swung around to face her, his eyes burning with passion. "I knew you loved him more than you would ever love me. It was supposed to be a treat for you - a way for you to see him again! And it wasn't just for you - it was for me too. I wanted you to stop seeing him whenever you looked at me. I'm not him, Clara! I can't be him! I can't love you the same way he did! I just... I just wanted you to see that."

Clara's mouth hung open. She'd had no idea the Doctor had felt like that.

Very slowly and deliberately, she walked over to the Doctor and punched him on the shoulder.

"Ow! Wha-"

"Listen to me," Clara interrupted, her voice low and fierce, but firm. Her tears had dried now. "You great stupid stick insect, if you ever thought I loved him more than you, you're wrong. How dare you accuse me of that! How dare you!"

Stunned, the Doctor opened his mouth to retaliate, but Clara placed a finger on his lips. "Be quiet! You idiot! If I didn't love you, would I still be traveling with you? Would I still put up with your grumpiness and antisocial behavior?" Her eyes flashed. "You listen to me, Doctor, because I'm not saying this again." She paused, and her voice suddenly became far more gentle. "I didn't love him," she whispered, tears shining in her eyes again. "I never did. And I don't love you either. I don't love him or you. I love the Doctor."

Then, impulsively, before he could react, Clara firmly shut her eyes, placed her palms on either side of the Doctor's weathered face, leaned in, and kissed him gently with as much love and feeling as she could muster.

The Doctor's eyes popped and his arms hung limply by his sides as he stared, cross-eyed, at Clara's head. He had dreamed about this moment so many times, and now that it was actually happening, he didn't know what to do.

Abruptly Clara stepped back, looking anywhere but at the Doctor. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

The Doctor steeled himself. He couldn't let this opportunity get away from him. He felt his chance slipping away from him, and knew it was time to finally act. So he grabbed her chin and tenderly turned it towards him, looking deep into her beautiful eyes. "Yes," he answered quietly. "Yes, you should have." And, before he could convince himself that he was doing the right thing, the Doctor bent down and kissed her back, his aquiline nose pressed against Clara's forehead.

Clara sank into the kiss, her hands clutching folds of his waistcoat. Suddenly elated, the Doctor picked her up and swung her around, holding her tightly, kissing her all the while. Her short legs rubbed against the hem of his jacket as he hugged her close.

Finally he set her down and pulled away. Clara staggered backwards, her mouth flapping. "Oh," she said weakly. It was the only thing she could think of to say.

The Doctor laughed softly. "I've been wanting to do that for a very long time." To a stranger, the Doctor would look downright grumpy right now, with his thunderous eyebrows, stern frown, and wrinkled forehead. But Clara could read his face. Clara alone could pick up on his emotions just by looking into the depths of his blue-grey eyes. And right now, right now, he was the happiest he'd ever been.

They sank onto the floor, leaning against the TARDIS console. Clara slumped against the Doctor's chest, tracing patterns on his waistcoat, unable to stop smiling. Breathing in the scent of her hair, the Doctor murmured quietly, "You know, I tease you a lot about your eyes and your height, but... I think you're beautiful."

Clara nuzzled deeper into his chest, her legs curled up over the Doctor's knees, by way of response. She didn't want to ruin the movement by speaking.

The Doctor stroked her French-toast hair, his eyebrows creased as he stared vacantly at her rich brown locks. "I'm old, Clara," he continued haltingly, looking both at her and beyond her at the same time. "Old and grey. You deserve more - so much more." An observer would have noticed that his eyes were red and moist.

But there were no observers, save for the TARDIS. Just the Doctor and Clara and the universe. Which meant that it was the perfect time for them to say to each other the things that they had left unsaid for far too long.

Clara cupped his chin with her palm, shaking her head slowly. "Not to me. Never to me. Doctor, you are so much more." The mischievous dent in her cheek reappeared as she smiled warmly. "You have more kindness in you, and more love, than I've got in my little finger," she whispered, tapping his chest with each word, her eyes roving over every inch of his solemn face. "You are beautiful. And handsome. And wonderful." Clara began to stroke his thick grey eyebrows, her lips slightly pursed. "Never say I deserve more, because I deserve far, far less than I've got. I..." she paused. "I'm honored that you chose me to travel with you."

"I couldn't have chosen better," the Doctor replied in a low voice.

Clara's crimson dress fanned out around her heels in vivid folds as she rested her head on the Doctor's lap. "Do you know," she murmured drowsily, "I've wanted to kiss you for a very long time."

The Doctor's mouth twitched in a smile. "I know the feeling," he responded, idly placing his palm on his companion's forehead. "But don't think this will change my behavior in any way," he added hastily. "I'm still not going to obey your bossy commands or let you have the run of the TARDIS or give you permission to make me soufflés. Do you hear?"

But Clara was fast asleep, her lips curled in a tiny smile and her fists still clenching the Doctor's waistcoat. Adorably, soft snores were emanating from her mouth. Her trip with the Eleventh Doctor must have been exhausting. Knowing his whirlwind personality, it was no wonder she was asleep.

Sighing, the Doctor rolled his eyes. "What," he demanded to thin air, "is the point of asserting one's authority if no one is around to listen?"

For a while, he watched the rise and fall of Clara's chest as she breathed. Then, abruptly, he gathered her in his arms and rose to his feet, her small body curled against his chest. She weighed almost nothing.

The Doctor began to walk towards Clara's bedroom. "Make this easy for me, Old Girl," he murmured. "Please. No corridors or mazes."

The TARDIS followed his instructions (albeit with a disapproving, slightly jealous hum). Clara's bedroom door was the first door on the left as soon as the Doctor left the console room. He nudged the door open with his foot and carried Clara to her bed, rolling her gently out of his arms.

Her eyelids opened just a crack. The dim light from outside was reflected in them, turning them a starry gold. Clara stared at him sleepily, her vision slightly unfocused.

The Doctor tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear. "Rest," he ordered softly, planting a tender kiss on her forehead. He turned to leave.

Memories rushed through Clara's mind; a bowtie, a gentle caress, a kiss from different lips that belonged to the same man...

No. No, he was gone now. Now her love belonged to someone else - the same man, and yet so, so different. No more reminiscing about the past. She was in the present now. She had made her choice.

"Doctor," Clara called after him. He stopped with his back to her. "I love you." It was the first time she had said those words to him. And it wouldn't be the last.

The Doctor hesitated and glanced over his shoulder, but didn't respond. He slipped through the doorway and closed the door behind him.

Only then did he allow the tears to flow freely, the tears of joy that he had been waiting to shed for such a long time. Now, finally, he had someone to love again.

The Doctor pressed his hand to the door and said the words that he hadn't been able to say since Rose had left. "I love you too, my Impossible Girl."

Well? What did you guys think? Was Eleven written okay? He's my favorite Doctor, but I've never tried writing him until now. I tried to stay true to his personality in the show, so please tell me if you thought I did a good job. Also, can I just say: SQUEEEE! That Whouffaldi kiss was so fun to write. I feel like this entire story has been leading up to that moment for a really long time. I hope all you Whoufflé and Whouffaldi shippers enjoyed:) And I hope I wrote that moment as delicately as it deserves to be written.

Two more things: First, sorry about the lack of Doctor/Clara banter. That will be back in the next chapter, I promise! And I know I have two prompts waiting, don't worry, I'll get to them as soon as I can. This brings me to my second point: Updates will be pretty sporadic from now on, due to visiting family and loads of schoolwork and testing coming up. Just warning y'all.

Okay, I lied. One more thing: really, all of you, thanks so much for sticking with this story and reviewing. I'd really appreciate some reviews on this chapter, so I know how I did with writing Eleven. It might inspire me to write some more about him in the future:) Thanks again, and GERONIMO!