Chapter 13: Recognition
Time passed so slowly it felt like the whole world was dragging. With every hour, Clara's worry ticked up. Missy would not admit it, but she was worried too. He should have come out of the healing coma by now.
Clara paced from one end of the ward to the other. She had grown restless the last few days. Missy stood in the corner with her arms crossed, watching his prone form absentmindedly. It had now been six days since he had come to them. Their minds burned with questions to ask him. They were anxious to find out what had happened.
"Could you stop that?" Missy sniped, gesturing at Clara's pacing. "You're driving me insane. Well," she bobbled her head, "more insane."
Clara stopped mid-step. She did not want to incur the wrath of the Time Lady. They had both been on edge lately, walking on eggshells around each other. It was all they could do to not go at each other's throats. All this waiting and frustration was coming to a head. If nothing changed soon, somebody would snap.
Clara sighed. She approached the bed, fiddling with the monitors and pumps. She grasped the Doctor's large hand in her own tiny one. "Doctor, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand."
No response. His heart rate remained the same. There was no indication he had heard anything.
Clara squeezed harder. "Come on, Doctor, I know you're in there," she whispered. "Come back to me." Unshed tears welled up in her eyes. All the hope she'd had on day one was quickly waning.
"It's no use, Clara," Missy huffed, exasperated.
Clara whipped her head around, annoyance written across her features. "At least I'm trying," she sniped.
She looked back to his sleeping face. He did not look peaceful. He was fighting a war she would never know. She rested her forehead against his, cupping his face. She stroked the soft salt-and-pepper beard that had grown along his jawline. A single tear escaped from her eyes and trickled down her face. He had already come back to her once, he could do it again.
Missy snorted at the display of affection. Like he could feel anything back.
Deep in the void, the Doctor swam through the black. Lost and aimless, he clawed against the dark. It covered him like a thick veil. Confused, and so cold. How long had he been here? Where was he? Who owned that voice that had called his name? It sounded so familiar.
Suddenly, a small pinprick of light appeared in the distance. It grew larger, approaching him like an outstretched hand. It was warm and golden, swirling out in tendrils. It reached out to him, dancing around him anxiously like a summer firefly. He reached for it, but it darted away. It fluttered and zipped through the dark like the veil was nothing at all. He chased after it, gaining on it.
Lunging forwards with both hands, he caught it. It glowed in his hands, wrapping itself around his fingers. Touching it, he could feel its emotions. It was a living being. Unfiltered sadness, frustration, worry, and hope all broadcasted into his mind. It was almost overwhelming. He responded softly, trying his best to comfort the being.
The beeping on the monitors picked up tempo. The metronome rocked to a new tune. Clara looked up, seeing that his pulse had climbed. It was something. A sign of hope.
"Missy!" She exclaimed, "his pulse jumped!"
Clara had taken her hands off his face and now gripped the handrail. The light disappeared from his mind. His pulse slowed back down, returning to its original rhythm.
Missy's eyes widened, making the connection quickly. "Clara, put your hands on his face again!"
"Why?" Clara asked, confused.
"Just do it, trust me," Missy ordered, stepping into the room. Did she dare to hope?
Clara cupped his face again, brushing her fingers against his temples. His heart rate quickened again. Softly, she felt something brush against her mind. Her eyebrows shot up.
"That's it, Clara!" Missy coaxed. "He's reaching out to you telepathically. He's trying to wake up and needs your help."
"How do I help him?" she exclaimed, desperate to bring him out of this any way she could.
"Keep touching his face, he's a touch telepath, especially on the face. Open your mind, Clara," she encouraged. "Think of all the walls you put up in your mind and tear them down. Let him in."
Clara squeezed her eyes shut. She placed both hands on his head, pressing into his skin with her fingertips. She did as she was told and thought as loudly as she could. 'Doctor, come to me. It's Clara.'
The Doctor watched the light dart away from his hands. He swiped at it, just out of his reach. It circled around and returned, wrapping itself around his entire body. It glowed brighter than before. Brilliant shimmering tendrils like lacy sunlight brushed against his skin. It burned a little where it touched, but it was a good kind of pain. It squeezed him tightly like a boa constrictor, never letting him go again. It sparkled and he could tell it was trying to communicate with him. Was the entity friendly? Could he trust it?
The golden light grew larger and larger until it took up his entire field of vision. It shimmered and pulsated with life. It tugged on his hand again, drawing it in towards itself. Without a chance to ponder it, he decided to follow. He was weary of the dark.
Taking a chance, he lowered his defenses. It was like taking off soundproof headphones. Suddenly, he could hear its thoughts, loud and clear. It was calling his name.
'Doctor, come to me. It's Clara.'
Clara? His hearts leapt. No, it couldn't be. His Clara?
He drew back, distrustful. He hid in shame. He had done terrible things. He did not deserve Clara. He deserved this, this darkness. He waved a hand through the light, dissipating it. 'Go away, spirit.'
But it returned, radiant as ever. 'Stubborn thing,' he thought.
Without warning, a ray of light shot through his chest, bursting out the other side. He coughed in surprise, feeling its blazing hot power course through his body. He had angered it. He grit his teeth.
Pictures of himself and Clara flooded his mind. The two of them laughing in the Tardis, running from a dinosaur, meeting Robin Hood, robbing the bank of Karabraxos, defeating the mummy on the Orient Express, saving the world from Missy, saving Christmas.
And then he saw new thoughts. Unfiltered, he did not think the being had meant for him to see them. Opinions about how he looked, his accent, even his hair. He quirked a mighty eyebrow.
And then the light swallowed him up in an overwhelming emotion. Pure love. He could feel it so acutely it stung. It was blazing hot and so familiar. His skin buzzed from head to toe with its intensity. He gasped. He knew that presence. The bond that had been shattered before reforged in his mind. It tied itself to his soul in knots, growing stronger by the second.
'Clara?'
The bright tendrils danced excitedly in response. It let him go, swirling around him like smoke. It reached out like a hand, begging him to take it. With nothing to lose, he grasped it firmly. It yanked him out from the abyss, setting him down on solid ground.
Feeling came back first. He felt something touching his face. It was warm and soft. Some kind of beeping noise chirped in the distance. Brilliant white light shone on his eyelids. Was he back on that platform again? Slowly, he drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. He scrunched his eyelids tightly against the light and groaned. Blearily, he blinked open his eyes.
"Missy, he's opening his eyes!" a voice called. A very familiar voice in a beautiful posh British accent. He knew that voice. He opened his eyes fully, searching for its source.
His gaze was met with the lovely round face of Clara Oswald. He knit his eyebrows together in confusion. How did she get here? How was this possible?
She smiled at him and he found himself smiling back. He studied her face, remembering. Her eyes were doing the inflating thing again. Those gorgeous chocolate doe eyes, staring at him with a mixture of hope and wonder. His mind was still too addled to think clearly, but he knew one thing for sure. The presence was indeed Clara Oswald. His Clara. He smacked his lips together. His tongue was dry. "Clara?" he asked hoarsely.
"Yes, Doctor it's me!" She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. For once, he did not bristle. "Your Clara!"
His hearts raced. Joy welled up in every fiber of his soul. The cobwebs slowly began to clear from his mind. He knew that voice. He knew that face.
Without hesitation, he sat up and hugged her back. She pressed firmly into his chest, sobbing into the crook of his neck. Tears wet the collar of his gown but he did not care. Her single heart pounded against his skin. He closed his eyes, basking in the moment. With the touch, he could see her radiant soul shining in his mind like a sunbeam. It was really her.
He sighed into the hug, never feeling more safe. Tears threatened his eyes. He thought he would never see her again. "My Clara," he breathed, almost not believing the words passing through his lips. "You're here. How did you–?"
"I'm here, Doctor," she laughed through a choked-up sob. She squeezed him tighter. "I'm real. You're in the Tardis."
"The Tardis?" he asked. He broke the hug and looked around the room. It did not look like the Tardis. It looked like a hospital.
Something purple was standing next to Clara. He looked up and recoiled in shock.
"Missy?!"
She grinned toothily, "Yes, I'm here too, dearie. You gave us quite a scare."
He shifted his eyes back to Clara, panicked.
"Doctor, it's okay, she's with me." She took his hand and stroked the back of it, trying to reassure him. "She's helping."
Missy curtseyed. "At your service," she crooned.
He tried to speak but found the words jumbled on his tongue. His brain was still waking up. Not all the parts were fully connected yet. Speechless, he looked to both of them for answers.
A tugging sensation in his arms distracted him. They ached dully. He brought them up to his face. Six gashes had been sliced into his arms, three apiece. They were clean and scabbed over. The skin was held together with some kind of metal clips. He studied the staples with curiosity.
Suddenly, it all came crashing back to him like a wave against the rocks. The sloth-bear, the blood, the river, the scorching sun, the platform, the execution chamber. Panic gripped at his bones. His chest tightened. His hearts pounded at a feverish pace.
He felt hands on his shoulders and a soft presence in his mind. "Doctor, take a deep breath. You're safe. You're in the Tardis. You're home."
He laid back into the soft pillow, taking deep breaths. "Home?" he breathed, as if the concept was foreign to him.
"Yes, Doctor," Clara whispered. She bent down carefully and pressed a small kiss to his forehead. "Home."
A/N: He's back! Don't forget to review!
