Chapter 6: The Guardian
A sharp light pierced through Clara's eyelids. She felt weightless, as if all the world had been lifted from her shoulders. She moaned slightly and winced in pain.
She felt around. She was on some kind of surface that was refreshingly cool. She couldn't immediately remember why, but she felt like she was just in a sauna.
She cracked open an eye, squinting against the light. She clambered to her feet and woozily righted herself.
"What."
She was in her kitchen. A frozen pizza sat on the counter, waiting to be put into the oven. Christmas music played faintly in the distance and an obvious realization suddenly smacked her in the face.
"The Angel got me again. I don't know how and I don't know why, but it seems to be intent on keeping me out of danger." she wondered aloud.
She glanced at the clock. 7:05pm. The exact time when she had decided to pop in a pizza and watch a show for the evening.
She studied her blackened hands. Her entire body was covered in soot and ash. She had to spend a few minutes hacking out soot and debris from her lungs, but she was otherwise fine. Somehow, she had escaped without even getting blisters.
"So...it sent me back to the moment it happened? But what happened, anyway?" She pondered this thought and attempted to clean herself up with a kitchen towel.
She popped in the pizza and accidentally knocked over an oil bottle, catching it deftly before it could shatter on the tile floor.
"Whoops, that would have been a nasty fall."
She turned to exit the room when she heard a faint hissing sound.
She heard a quiet, almost inaudible voice in a buried corner of her subconscious. 'Turn around,' it said, 'Listen.'
Clara turned warily, noticing the stove.
"Oh," she remarked, turning off the burner, "that would be the cause."
She silently thanked the Angel for saving her life once again and exited the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn. As far as Clara was concerned, it was impossible to enjoy a good show without popcorn.
She entered the living room and dropped the bowl. The glass met the floor and shattered into a million pieces. Shards and popcorn scattered everywhere across her floor.
Standing in her living room, its hands covering its face as if in shame, was the Weeping Angel.
"You. It's you. You're the Angel. You're here," she gasped out, making sure not to blink so it couldn't escape. "You have been watching over me for the past year. You've saved my life half a dozen times by now. Why?"
Feeling bolder, she took a step forward. "Who are you?"
'Blink,' she heard the strangled voice whisper, 'Just blink. Trust me.'
Clara gulped and felt a sudden chill run down her back. What if this was all just some elaborate game the Angel was playing on her? Was it "playing with its food?" What if all it would do was touch her, send her back to the Stone Age, and feed off her abundant time energy. She probably had a lot of that, being a Time Traveler.
But it had saved her life multiple times now.
She sucked in a deep breath, braced herself, and blinked.
A quiet rustling sound filled the room and she could feel someone right in front of her. She could hear low, panting breathing, as if strangled by something.
Goosebumps rose on her skin. She kept her eyes squeezed shut and her body tense, preparing for the worst.
A soft, warm hand clasped hers gently. It felt along her hand slowly, as if trying to recall the feel of delicate skin. The large hand in hers vibrated softly with faint flickering beats.
Red, orange, and yellow tendrils suddenly fired up to life in her mind. They had cocooned themselves in a forgotten space in her subconscious for a year, glowing softly, waiting for their chance to shine. They awoke and wrapped themselves around her soul, caressing her, whispering to her. Overwhelming love and joy poured into her all at once, and she felt herself nearly overtaken by it.
Clara gasped. She panted heavily in reaction to the sudden bombardments in her mind. All of the mental barriers she had been carefully erecting over the past year were being gently torn down one by one. She was suddenly flooded with emotion, as if someone had gathered her up in a fierce embrace and channeled out all of their thoughts into her very soul.
'Doctor?' She called in her mind, her small voice nearly echoing against the powerful one now sitting comfortably in a spot in her heart as if it had always belonged there. She felt tears of hope and disbelief slipping out from behind her closed eyes. It had to be him. She couldn't take much more without him.
'It's nice to see you again, Clara Oswald.'