Hello! Do you know of any good fics where Victorian!Clara doesnât die and travels with the doctor? I always loved her and thought they wouldâve been cute together but am having trouble finding fics with Victorian!Clara
I love Victorian!Clara, she was my favorite of the âEchoesâ and I was so sad that we didnât get more time with her and Twelve; they had such great chemistry. I havenât been keeping up with this side blog for a while or the tags so I donât have any recs. But, Iâll post this in case anyone following the library has any recs they can share. Hope you can find what youâre looking for!!
Summary: After the Maitland kids outgrow their need for a nanny, Clara Oswald lands a job at TARDIS Industries, the worldâs leading company for technological research. It is there that she meets a man they call âThe Doctorâ, and the next chapter of their lives begins.
Author: Rebecca (whoufflepuffsanonymous)
Rating (so far): T
Authorâs Notes: This is seriously the fluffiest thing I have ever written and I. cannot. stop.
The Doctor battled several different urges at once as he and Clara walked to the underground station after the party. He was so focused on keeping his hands in his pockets and staring at the pavement that he must have seemed too withdrawn, because Clara kept casting nervous glances in his direction.Â
âYouâre being very quiet,â she finally said.Â
âSorry,â he apologised abruptly. âI was just thinking.âÂ
Summary: After the Maitland kids outgrow their need for a nanny, Clara Oswald lands a job at TARDIS Industries, the worldâs leading company for technological research. It is there that she meets a man they call âThe Doctorâ, and the next chapter of their lives begins.
Author: Rebecca (whoufflepuffsanonymous)
Rating (so far): T
Authorâs Notes: Two POVs in this chapter (the first section was supposed to be in the last chapter, but omg so many rewrites). I shall now feign absolute confidence in this chapter and hope you enjoy.
The holiday season arrived earlier and earlier each year, or at least that was how it seemed to Jenny. She didnât mind extending the festivities, although a disenchanted part of her realised that the consumer-driven companies were just drawing in more money by marketing Christmas earlier and earlier each year. It was funny how bitter she could feel towards the marketing departments of consumer-driven companies given her position. Vastra argued that they were more research-driven and marketed their products to private buyers, but they still latched onto the holiday for the expense of marketing. Jenny wondered if anything was sacred anymore.
Summary: Â The Doctor talks to an unconscious Clara as he carries her through his time stream. Â Introspective, with hints of romantic feelings. Â Set immediately after âThe Name of the Doctor.â
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, as they belong to the BBC and Steven Moffat. The quoted text comes from âRequiemâ by Joan Baez.
clara x eleven: press my heart against your own, where it will break at last.
SUMMARY:Â He looks at her â her eyes are fixed on him and she looks at him like heâs the most beautiful thing in the world and his hands shakes a bit too, because heâs never been anything, heâs always been poor, useless John, too smart, too weird, too different. And there she is, an alien from outer space, fallen in his garden just a few months ago, and she is telling him heâs special and thatâs the moment he realizes that he has been waiting for this moment for all his life. She is there, and thatâs all it matters. AU: Clara as the Doctor and John Smith as her companion.
One day, he meets her, and thatâs when everything begins.
She introduces herself as the Doctor and sheâs mad and brilliant and perfect in every way for him and he smiles every time he looks at her, because she is a miracle fallen out of the sky â in quite a literally way, to be honest, even if heâs not sure how that blue box can actually fly in the first place. But thatâs not the matter, now.
âCome away with meâ she says, running like a little child in her blue box bigger on the inside. And heâs a bit overwhelmed and he thinks he might have a panic attack â an alien invasion right in the middle of an ordinary day and then this crazy woman just pops out of the sky and fixes everything and takes him in her absurd blue box bigger on the inside (heâs already forgotten the name, itâs too much to accept in this moment), asking him to come away with her, itâs nothing like his everyday life, to be honest. But, still, he thinks that this is the best thing that could ever happen to him.
âWhere?â he asks and she smiles and her smile is so big itâs actually scary, at one point.
âAnywhere, in time and space. Come away with me, Chin Boy, and Iâll show you the starsâ.
He smiles at the weird name she has chosen for him, then he says, without a trace of hesitation âYesâ.
(And he thinks about all the times he has looked up at the sky asking for a miracle, and yes, yes, this is my miracle, this is my chance, I will not ruin this, not this time.
Heâs always been like this â always this, always the weird, awkward John Smith, very smart, very clever, good with computers, terrible with fellows human beings. But sheâs not a human being, and she smiles at him as if heâs the reason the Earth orbits around the sun and heâs never been happier in his whole life).
*
He realizes what he has done only when they are running away from a very angry alien that probably wants to kill them â heâs not certain, but thatâs not the time to verify it, since his death will make useless all the effort.
The Doctor runs, too. Sheâs not scared at all â or maybe she hides it very well, but he feels that this is just everyday business for her â and tells him itâs okay, they are going to be okay and I promise you, nobody is going to die today.
He avoids telling her this doesnât seem very reassuring.
Itâs only when they are safe in the blue box of her (TARDIS, itâs called, he reminds himself) that he actually becomes aware of what happened. She doesnât seem very impressed about it and she pulls some levers on the console, talking about planets and stars and Have you ever been to Barcelona? The planet, not the city, of course. Even if, thinking about it, I could bring you to Barcelona-the-city. If you want. I miss good old Antoni. Last time I saw him, he was always rambling about a church he had to built, I wonder if he ever finished it.
And he doesnât know what sheâs talking about â which, he realizes, happens very often â but, instead of following her train of thought, he just let her speak, until she notices heâs very quiet â too quiet, even for him.
âAre you okay?â she asks and she stops working at the console to look him in the eyes. And he smiles a little bit, because sheâs trying so hard to pretend sheâs okay, but he can see sheâs worried and itâs beautiful, in a weird way.
âYes, Iâm okayâ he responds, quickly, and he can see the relief on her face once she hears him. âI was just wondering --â he stops, words failing him in this moment, because she is smiling with tenderness in her eyes and he thinks sheâs looking at him like heâs a puppy who stumbled upon his on paw â which itâs a little bit humiliating. âItâs always like this, isnât it? This dangerous, I meanâ.
She bites her lips, before answering. âActually, itâs worseâ.
Thatâs not reassuring at all, Doctor, he thinks, but he nods. âGoodâ.
He doesnât say I want to go home, I want to be safe, and she doesnât ask him if he wants to. She just waits for him to say something, but then he doesnât and she smiles, picking up her monologue right where she interrupted it.
(I donât want to go home, thereâs nothing there, waiting for me, he thinks, while sheâs here and she wants me to travel with her. Dangerous is okay, after all.)
*
It happens soon after they have left Renaissance Italy â and she still laughs at the fact the Leonardo da Vinci wanted to study his body and he blushes and Shut up, thatâs the most embarrassing thing ever and she smiles. You are so cute, getting embarrassed for this kind of things, she says, but then she admits he needs time to recover from their last adventure and she orders him to keep his eyes closed, while she works on the console, all happy and giggly, itâs a surprise, donât spoil it, Chin Boy.
And when he opens his eyes, the TARDIS door is open and thereâs the whole universe before his eyes, stars burning and lightening the way, planets orbiting, galaxies shining right in front of him and all of this is reflected in her eyes and he can see the universe in her smile, the birth of the first star and the death of the last one on her face, and for a moment he thinks that sheâs more beautiful than the whole perfect scene out there.
They sit there, legs hanging out, in deep space, and they stay quiet for a while. He thinks that this is the most beautiful moment in all his life â the universe, and the Doctor, right by his side.
He turns to face her with a smile on his face. âThank youâ.
She smiles too, but she looks like sheâs thinking about something and this is not the first time he sees her like this â like her mind is burning from all the thinking and he wonders whatâs like in her brain, being able to see all time and space and being so impossibly old. Heâll never know.
âI am sorryâ she says, in the end. âFor getting you in this kind of situationâ.
And then, then he does something that surprises even himself. He reaches for her hand and holds it in his own and she looks at him, shocked somehow, as he caress her skin with his thumb.
âYou donât have to apologizeâ he tells her, and itâs so weird â itâs her the one listening and him the one talking and he isnât used to this thing. Heâs always been the silent type, nothing more, nothing less, and talking is always been so difficult for him. As if he is looking for words that donât even exist. âI assure you, I donât regret coming away with you. And I wonât, ever. Not a chance. I just want you to know that Iâve never been this happy in my whole life and itâs all because of youâ.
He blushes like a kid and thereâs tenderness in her smile and his heart beats so fast when she rests her burning head on his shoulder, closing her ancient eyes.
âYou really are amazing, Johnâ she says, quietly, eyes still closed. He realizes heâs still holding her hand, but he doesnât want to let go, so he keeps on stroking her skin, feeling her heartbeat. Two hearts, she said, and he can feel them both.
âNobody ever said that to meâ he admits, looking at her, over his shoulder. She is smiling against his jacket, and she holds his hand and her grip is stronger than he thought.
She says nothing, but the way she let him hold her itâs worth thousands of words.
(And his heart is fluttering, because she thinks heâs amazing and he feels like a little kid, he feels a teenager again and he doesnât know how to act.
They stay like this for a while, and itâs the most beautiful moment in his life and Please never leave me, donât ever say you donât need me please, I donât think Iâll ever be this happy again.
Why me, he asks, in the end, and she tightens her grip on his hand, as if sheâs afraid of letting him go. I must be nothing, compared to the universe. Â Â
You are not that, John, she says, voice ancient as the world, you are everything.
He doesnât ask anymore and let the information sink within him, in his fluttering heart, and thatâs all, thatâs all he takes to him to be hers, completely)
*
Thereâs a time when he really thinks heâs going to die.
There is no running, this time, no jokes, only an army of cold Cybermen, ready to kill them and upgrade them. And, for the first time, heâs really scared â and he knows thereâs nothing they can do, the Doctor canât help him and he surely canât save her and thatâs terrible.
She is holding his hand, as they step back, trying to get away from these robot, but behind them thereâs a wall and before them stands their death, so she tries to smile, but her smile is broken and there are tears in her eyes and heâs surprised by how does it hurt. He thinks heâs more shocked by her pain than by the certainty of death.
âI am sorryâ she says and he knows sheâs blaming herself for his death.
âI am notâ he replies, quietly, and she smiles again and her smile is just a little warmer than before and she caress his skin, as if heâs some kind of fragile being, ready to break in a million pieces as soon as sheâll hold a little bit tighter.
And then â it happens.
âDoctor, is that a terminal?â he asks, pointing out something that shines very far away. It seems something really familiar to him. She frowns â You are going to die and you worry about a computer?, her face saysâ but she nods anyway, the Cybermen almost near them. âGood. Can you distract them while I try to save us?â
And heâs shocked by how sure he is about himself and what is about to do, but this is not the moment to think about him. She is shocked and he knows that she wants to stop him, but in the end she steps forward and begins to run and the Cybermen are quite surprised â and thatâs it, thatâs his moment, so he takes it.
He runs, and runs, and nothing else matters, only the beating of his heart and the terrible fear that haunts him, never leaving him â the Doctor is in danger, he has to save her, because thatâs the right thing to do. And so he runs, until he gets to the terminal â a giant computer, bigger than his house, probably â and he starts typing furiously, trying to find a way to save them, trying to show that even useless human John Smith, sometimes, can save the Doctor. His heart is beating fast, I can do it, I know I can, itâs what Iâve always done, and he tries not to think about her, risking her life to help him and please, donât die, please just make this work.
âJohn!â she screams and thereâs a Cyberman behind his back and he ducks when the robot reaches for him and kicks him even if it doesnât seem to be effective. And then, just before the Cyberman can actually take him, he presses a button and thatâs it, the whole army just crumbles before his eyes and the Doctor just looks at him, shocked and surprised and she is shaking.
Itâs so weird, seeing her like this, so vulnerable, he thinks, but then every rational thought vanishes, because she runs into him and she throws her arm around his shoulder and holds him so tight he canât breathe, but it doesnât matter, because he sinks in the silk of her hair and breathes in the smell of her skin, arms encircling her small waist, and I can hear your heartbeat and itâs beautiful, I think Iâm yours forever.
âDonât ever do it again, Johnâ she whispers, against his shoulder and only in this moment he realizes she is still shaking and his hands trails up to the small of her back to reassure her Iâm here, Iâm not going anywhere, please believe me. âDonât save my life, donât put yourself in dangerâ.
He closes his eyes in her arm, and finally thinks heâs home.
(You seem shocked, he says, when they are back on the TARDIS, and she doesnât respond immediately.
I know, itâs a soft whisper, but he hears it anyway. I just donât want to lose you, John. Is it so hard to believe?
And he doesnât say yes, he doesnât say you are so incredible and Iâm just a worthless human, so weird and terrible and Iâm not important, why are you afraid of losing me?
Instead, he just smiles and brush his hand against hers, and his heart beats fast, as if itâs a caged bird, yearning to fly.)
*
On Christmas day, she kisses him.
They are on Earth, at his place â he canât think of that as an home, now that heâs finally got one. She wanders around the house, while he just looks at her face while she frowns over something she doesnât quite understand. In this moment, he realizes how actually alien she is and how so terribly better than him.
She doesnât need him, he thinks, but he needs her and itâs quite selfish to say, but he canât leave her, not now and possibly not ever. He knows that there will be a moment when sheâll leave him behind, because sheâll get tired or she wonât need him anymore, but it doesnât matter â Iâll stay as long as sheâll want me, Iâll stay with her until she gets tired, Iâm hers, I will never leave her, unless she wants me to.
âAre you sure you want to spend Christmas day with me? I mean, sure, itâs wonderful, but shouldnât you celebrate with, you know, special people? Humans tend to do thatâ she shrugs and he can see right through her for the first time in his life â he can see how much it hurts her to say those things, how much she wants to stay with him and how hard she tries to pretend she doesnât care, and heâs surprised by how selfless she is.
âYou are specialâ he tells her and she quickly turns to face him, surprise in her eyes. Â And sheâs beautiful and itâs a quite a pleasant sight, seeing her in his kitchen, a tender smile on her face, hands a little bit shaking â and he doesnât know the reason behind that, but he wonât ask, he just accepts her the way she is, without questioning anything.
âYou are special too. You should know thatâ she replies, finally, and he smiles a little bit, blushing like a little child â and sheâs used to it and her smile grows bigger when she sees her face and sheâs perfect and beautiful and how can I not love you?
âI â Iâm really not, Iâm just an ordinary human and ââ
âJohnâ.
He looks at her â her eyes are fixed on him and she looks at him like heâs the most beautiful thing in the world and his hands shakes a bit too, because heâs never been anything, heâs always been poor, useless John, too smart, too weird, too different. And there she is, an alien from outer space, fallen in his garden just a few months ago, and she is telling him heâs special and thatâs the moment he realizes that he has been waiting for this moment for all his life. She is there, and thatâs all it matters.
âYou are special. You are the most important person in the whole universeâ she says, stepping forward, and there she is, in front of him, and thereâs a gentle smile on her lips, but her eyes are serious and firm, and her hands donât shake anymore. âI want you to know that. I know I canât change the way you think of yourself. That is up to you. But I wish you just stopped to lessen yourself, because you are worth it, John, because you are kind and smart and incredible and I just donât understand how can you not see itâ.
He knows heâs crying â he can feel the taste of tears on his lips â but he doesnât try to hide it.
âNobody has ever said that to meâ he says, trying to smile. She brushes her hand against his face and thereâs so much tenderness in this gesture and she is so gentle to him and he doesnât deserve it, he â
She caresses his skin and then everything is forgotten, and the touch of her hand seems to magically heal all his wound, even the ones he didnât remember. âIt was about time, wasnât it?â she says, cheerfully, and he laughs.
And then, she kisses him â she kisses him in his kitchen, and her hands are on his face and he is taken by surprise and his arms flail a bit, and he can feel her smiling against his lips, but then he holds her, close to his beating heart, and kisses her, tasting his tears on her lips and feeling the whole universe on her skin â supernova exploding in the space between her hearts and galaxies glowing in the hollow of her neck and I love you, I love you, I love you.
âDonât ever leave meâ he says, in the end, and she rests her head against his heart and listens to the rhythmic sound, closing her eyes, smiling against his shirt.
And thatâs the most beautiful thing in the universe.
(She is here in his arms and, for the first time in his life, he actually feels special.
You are amazing, she tells him, and, again, for the first time, he believes her.)
*
In the end, itâs very simple â sheâs dying and he saves her.
Of course, this means heâs going to die and, of course, itâs going to hurt like hell, being scattered through time and space, but, in the end, itâs really that simple â sheâs dying, so he saves her. Thatâs all, no further explanation, no tears, no fear, just the beating of his heart. He saves her, because thatâs what he wants to do, because sheâs dying and she is the Doctor, his Doctor and How could I leave her like this? Iâll save you, Iâll die a thousand times if this means youâre going to live.
After all, the universe can do without awkward computer genius John Smith, but it needs the Doctor â and all the stars are fading, and the sky is turning black and every planet crumbles into dust before his very eyes and thatâs because the Doctor is dying and so there is no turning back.
He saves her, and thatâs all.
âRun, you clever girl, and remember meâ he says, standing before her time stream. It burns and a terrible red light cast its shadow on the pale face of the Doctor â it almost seems an infected wound, full of poison.
He enters in her time stream â and in this moment, he hears her lips whisper something he has already forgotten.
âJohnâ.
(I never told you I love you, itâs his last thought, before losing everything heâs ever been.
And thatâs, in the end, what saves him.)
*
When he hears her voice, he thinks itâs a dream â a beautiful, terrible dream, because heâs dead and he saved her, but he is dead and alive at the same time, running every second just to find her, to save her, because thatâs what he is now. An echo, a ghost, real enough to save her, but not to hold her in her arms, whispering that this is not her fault â and he knows that sheâll blame herself and that her shoulder will curve again the weight of his choice and heâd like to be there, to tell her that heâs done what heâs done because he loves her, but I canât, I wonât be there, I -
It doesnât matter anymore â heâs dead, and he hears her voice and itâs just a dream, John, you dreamed it for yourself because the truth itâs just too terrible, and he wonders why all this sounds so familiar. His mind is burning for all the lives he has lived and all the memories overlaps and John, Iâm here, please, believe me, Iâm real.
And when he sees her â despite the fear and the pain and the tears, sheâs there and she seems so real and he likes to pretend she is.
Sheâs crying too and her hands are shaking, when she says âLet me save you, John, just this once, pleaseâ, and thatâs when he stops fighting.
âHow?â he asks, and thereâs a little smile on her face.
âBecause itâs impossible and you are my impossible boy!â and he doesnât know how it happened, but there he is, running towards his Doctor and then he crashes in her arms and she holds him, clasp her arm around his shoulder and tells him itâs all right, youâre going to be alright, I promise you. He buries his face in the hollow of her neck and cries against her skin and she whisper in his ear something he canât understand, but it sounds familiar.
(Only later heâll realized that she whispered his name all along, like a prayer.)
She doesnât say thank you, instead she kisses him and in that kiss he tastes her desperation and her fear, and he tries to untie all the knots in her soul by holding her close to her body, his hands tangled in her hair, and she is trembling against him and he swears that if he concentrates he can hear the double, rhythmic sound of her heartbeat matching with his own.
âYou saved meâ she murmurs, against his lips, and her eyes are full of tears. He wipes them away with tenderness and smiles.
âIâd do it every timeâ he says, gently caressing her skin. She reaches for his hand and covers it with her small one, with a broken, little smile.
âDonât do it ever againâ she demands him, but her voice shakes, so it almost seems a request. âPleaseâ.
Instead of answering, he sinks in her neck and she holds him, never letting him go, never again, never again.
(Donât ever leave me again, she murmurs, against his lips, when he kisses her again, on the TARDIS, and heâs scared by how vulnerable she is and kisses her neck, whispering word of love against her skin.
I wonât, he promises her, and kisses her over and over again).
Well, followers can definitely leave prompts they would like to see fulfilled in my inbox, and then I publish them for writers to see. Sometimes they get picked up, sometimes they donât. Also there are times where I save prompts that have been sent in to be posted on Sundays or to be added to the Souffle Sunday posts.Â
Her slightly swollen belly is resting underneath his hand, or rather; heâs resting his hand on her belly, which happens to be the closest thing one can rest their hands on. (Well, thereâs always the bed sheet a few inches past her belly, but that isnât warm; or at least, thatâs what he tells himself).
Said belly, is also the only thing on his mind â itâs a ringing, very complicated string of thought, something that continues to get tangled no matter how many times he sits down and unravels it completely.
She shifts besides him, curling in a little tighter and shifting so sheâs more on her back; and in that same moment, he fights the urge to remove his hand from her, because it suddenly seems tainted â dark and disgusting, coated with the blood of his past; suddenly, it seems as though he has no right to touch, or cradle or speak to the woman that carries his child.
Across from him; her chest lifts, and then falls in a steady beat; a gentle and caressing pace, and just like that â the feeling is gone, gone beneath and surface and tucked underneath the emotions of what heâs currently feeling; the excitement that licks and buzzes at the edge of his skin like a live wire, mixed in with the barest hint of surreal fear.
He swallows; and the excitement melts, as though a candle has suddenly been held to it â but it curves, and drips to avoid the flickering sharp heat of the flame; and itâs curving around knowledge, the fact that this is his child, something that he created â a part of him, a human (slightly-human) being that he is going to love, without question, without judgment; without a safety net, just someone he will love unconditionally for the rest of his life.
A dark thought curls at that â and threatens to spill out into his throat, but he swallows again and stops it; pushing against it, until itâs in the far back of his mind, and he draws the person before him to the front of his mind â focusing on her instead, rather than the lurking shadows of his thoughts.
As though his demons are snarling dogs trying to get into a room; something he can simply avoid, so long as he locks the door.
He can, for the moment however; and heâs happy to do so as Clara rolls onto her back, sinking into the fabric the rest of the way; and his hand glides across her skin, feather like in touch as the edges of his finger tips skim across.
She sighs in her sleep; her eyes flick underneath her eyelids, but they remained closed; and he pushes himself up slightly, digging his elbow a bit more into the mattress and shifting the position of his head from where it leans against his balled up fist.
His gaze rolls; from her face, features soft and free of pain â drifting, in some part of her unconsciousness; a murky but clean slate, to the lightly clinging shirt she wears (having switched out from the snug pajamas once her stomach had started to expand, and even now five months in it is incredibly noticeable, a part Gallifreyan, part Human pregnancy will do that), and again to the round, new center of his world â their world, and it continues to where the duvet covers them both, to the faint outline of her feet, and then his a few inches further into the darkness.
And then it flicks back up, dropping at her belly, then her face, and back again.
He finds himself frowning and his thoughts slowly churning; is this admiring, or is it a snitch of the deep, raw protectiveness that sometimes erupts and claws at the side of his chest without heed for the contents of it; the stuff that grows around his heart, and is nearly violent as far as emotions go â although, nearly everything he feels; good or bad, tends to be done with an explosion of itself, pushed to the farthest extremes.
He blinks; and his free hand curls; fingers brushing against his palm, and then slowly he uncurls them, spreading them open wide before gently laying them on the slightly exposed skin, knuckles skimming and fingers dragging as he goes, freed by the ruffle of her top.
She makes a almost snorting noise in her sleep; a half conscious mumble, the beginning of a word; and in the darkness, he can see the light dance across her eyelashes, sink against and into them as her eyes flutter open â and as they do, an apology floods to the center and tip of his tongue, his hand suddenly feels slightly dirty again, as though grime or dust has settled over his fingers and the back of his hand.
Her eyes squeeze shut though; and he finds himself unable to speak, watching silently â like a ghost â as she lifts her hands and scrubs at them, letting out the same, soft sigh, almost-mumble as she does so, yawning at the end of it all; lips parting and spreading wide.
âHeâs kicking,â Her voice is laced with sleep; and the echo of a smile, the barest taint caused by her yawn and she shifts in the bed, scooting closer; closer to him, and his propped up position, and the obviousness that heâs been like what for a while, not questioning it â and he finds himself, purely thankful for her lack of questions; for her silent acceptance, and that thankfulness only grows, and it threatens to break him â to crack his chest with raw emotion and strip his spine of its defenses.
âHe?â He whispers eventually, tilting slightly in, closer to her; his head bends and dips, and even though in the faint darkness he can hardly see a thing.
Her hair spills out against the pillow as she tilts her head in his direction; the same smile lacing her lips, âWould you prefer I say, âitâ?â She asks softly and in the same moment she lifts one hand, placing it over his and moving it slowly as she speaks; bringing it across her skin and flattening it out across the center of where the vibrations are coming from â the heart, and strongest point of those kicks.
âNo, âHeâ is fine.â The end of the sentence breaks off with a small squeak and a strangled gasp; his eyes flutter, and in the dim light, the color of his skin shifts and pales; and on top of his hand, Claraâs begins to move, her thumb begins rubbing small circles in the crook of his wrist, soft, hardly unnoticeable touches; done in hope of relaxing his taunt and cement-like structure. His eyes flutter against after a few seconds; and in the same second, his shoulders sag and his hand on her stomach sinks against the skin, as though suddenly returning to life.
A soft smile returns to her lips; her gaze flicking between him, and the hand and back to him again; where she soaks up the unadulterated awe and fascination on the manâs face; eyes slightly wide, glossed over and sparked with an entirely new brand of lightly; slack features and parted lips, and the slow, tiny movement of his shoulders lifting and falling; as though heâs afraid to breath - as if he'll break the air, or cave in the room by doing so.Â
He goes rigid against the next vibration â the next kick that settles out over her stomach in an almost ripple like sort of way and touches the palm of his hand, a square blow to the center of it. He draws himself back in, and she can watch the flip, flicker, the thoughts churning in his mind and the change in posture; he blinks, and the light is gone like a flame; a dim echo in the several shades of green along the edges of the color, tucked away between that and the pupils, now a near-black in the dim light of the surrounding room; his jaw closes and tenses, heâs alert â features sharp, ready; heâs also nervous, resigned within himself.
She fights back a small laugh; because despite the hard shell of the situation, the way he's acting is almost adorable - a afraid little boy, hiding under the bed; hiding from the caterpillar in the center of his room, a small harmless little creature; unknowing of his presence. However she does clear her throat; and puts a bit more pressure into the hand resting on top of his â just enough to draw him back from where veer his thoughts leg him astray.
It does take him quite a few seconds and a fair amount of hesitation to remove his gaze from her belly and switch to her face; and when their gazes slot and slip together again, she sees some of the hesitation and fear slowly begin to blend together and fade away, relaxation returning to it's rightful place. And it only continues to return because he scoots closer, inching his way forward, ignoring the way the mattress shifts underneath them.
Theyâre nearly nose to nose when he stops â a lazy smile forming on his features, and his hand slowly begins to move, rubbing, slipping; skidding past her skin with the feather of a touch, a ghost, an echo; but solid enough for her, just barely though. âClara,â He sighs.
He says it like a prayer; on the edge of a breath, laced with awe and humming with excitement. She watches as he swallows â several expressions flickering across his features, porcelain to clay to glass and back again; she watches as he dips his head forward, continuing the tilt until their foreheadâs are pressed together.
âYou, are beautiful.â He sighs against her lips â and his whisper fills the room, it soaks into the bed and glides, slips down to the floor, and pools outwards; bumping into the corners and walls of the room, only to be absorbed once more; taken inwards, tucked away for later days.
Sheâs got a reply on the tip of her tongue â and a tug-o-war going on inside her chest, the yanking need to say it; and the underlying concern, if she says it; if itâll somehow contaminate the surrounding moment and sheâd rather not do that â she likes him like this, relaxed; at peace, comfortable, brimming with a gentle sort of light that she finds enchanting and beautiful, and inhuman; and she loves it about him.
She swallows and the rope that had somehow rolled itself up into a knot untangles and falls into her chest; and she tilts her head up slightly, pressing her lips to his for a few seconds before letting her head fall back into the pillows, and sink against the soft, welcoming material; she lets the snarky, humorous and slick reply do the same; vanishing completely from her thoughts.
Her eyes fall shut when he returns the kiss â surprisingly damp; the liquid coats over her eyes but thankfully doesn't burn them, and as he kisses her; they only continue to do so, and when he withdraws and they flutter open, it doesn't go unnoticed. âClara?â Itâs the same whisper, but this time more sturdy; thereâs a foundation underneath it, and heâs ready to jump down from his high, from the unadulterated bliss that he's floating above, and on, if he needs too.
She clears her throat â which is far too tight for her liking, and she wants so desperately to speak; tell him sheâs alright, and that he doesn't need to worry but she knows if she speaks now the worlds will crack and shatter as they force their way up her throat and the fractured ends that spill out will only cut him; so she takes the time to collect herself, pushing past his growing concern, which thrives and insists on taking up far more much room that it truly needs, then speaks.
âIâm â Iâm fine,â She growls out; and then continues, plowing through her words and taking advantage of the ability to speak. âI donât know why Iâm crying,â One hand flutters up from where it had been resting â his side, in the center of his rib cage â and scrubs as the edge of her left eye, but before she can make it to the other, his hand is there; stroking gently, brushing away the moisture with the pad of his thumb, and then it's gone.
She watches as his silhouette shifts before her; refracting and returning to itâs original location at her side, rather than looming over her; and his silhouette blurs his features; she was to wait a few seconds before she can see it again, and when she can, she finds the results surprising and they lace her voice with curiosity.
âWhat?â She whispers â even though itâs more of a croak, and she watches as he tilts his head just slightly to one side, just a few centimeters, the lazy smile now a prized one, the barest hint of teeth and a sort of underlying giddiness and she knows normally resides within him; and she watches as that giddiness retracts as well, vanishing underneath his features as a more gentler, serious tone takes its place.
âHappy crying.â He answers just before she asks again.
His hand leaves her belly once more â she hadn't realized heâd return it after whipping away the would-be tear â and comes to cup the side of her face, and he scoots closer with the same movement; returning to the looming posture he held before.âYouâre crying, because youâre happy.â
She blinks again; and her throat is still tight, still swollen; but this time, thereâs a sort of hum at the bottom of her throat, wrapped around her collar bone, it shakes the structure but also comforts it - whispering softly that it is alright to break, to let go and be done.
Her eyes flutter when something damp splashes onto her cheek and continues to slide down it â a big fat plop, and above her; his eyes flutter a few seconds later; she watches the end of it, the clearing of the fog when she catches his gaze again; they shine in the light â dancing shades of green, ranging from the lightest to the darkest, raw and true little shards of scrap, debris of color; beautiful in the way they catch the light and entrap it. Her eyes flick away from the different shades; down to the echo of the smile on his lips, which is tucked away in the lines of his face surrounding his lips and then her gaze flicks back up; his eyes are still glossy, and she blinks; then so are hers.Â
This time, her voice does cave when she speaks; it trembles and threatens to break - but it doesn't, in the cave, it bends and rebuilds itself. âYouâre crying.â
He tilts his head back down â their foreheads leaning together; skin against skin, that sinks together without hesitation and the hand on her cheek gets a little tighter as they settle together; and with the settling, it loosens and relaxes, it loosens and as that unravels so does he.
He sighs; the barest puff of air, that fades into the surrounding area but the hum, the center of it remains - the rawness of it, of what he's feeling; the calm, the lapping of the sea that's sleep, and in the soft gentle tug of the water, in the sound of that, there is another one; his voice, and the whisper that slowly comes to fill the room; and in the darkness, she hears it realizing just then, that she had shut her eyes.
She debates for a moment on opening them; knowing what she would see, what she would find - his eyes, closed just centimeters, almost an inch from hers; but she would also see that light; that gentle hum and vibration of the Doctor in his peace, and she would see it as a physical thing; in his features but before she can make a decision, his words gently usher, and rip, that thought apart - but they do it gently and with grace as they curve and shake and struggle to remain stable; heaving underneath the weight of emotion pressed down upon them.
His tone is as though he's speaking about soul-wrenching loss - but at the same time, he speaks as a man who has suddenly found a miracle from supposed long gone God.
Rated mild T for angst with some hope of course / my take on the Doctorâs regeneration/guess we'll see what really happens :)
She wanted to wait. Wanted to see. Didnât want him to be alone. Lost.
âYou need to leave. Get out. You should go now.â
He whispered, but Clara felt herself not able to move.  Over and over she had saved him. He had saved her. Once. Twice.  Oh more than that. Saved the world. Saved planets of the universe, of multiple cosmos. Saved individuals. He did that and sometimes she came along for the ride, helping him. Because her Mum once told her when she was very frightened, almost lost forever, âYou will never really be lost. I will always be hereâŠFind you every single time.â
Never alone.
Every single time.
âWe donât walk away...We hold on tight.â
He told her that once. She echoed it then.
Now the Doctor twisted in pain, his body giving a vicious lurch, and with the tears finding her lids, Clara knew it was starting. She watched as he gripped the TARDISâs console with hardened knuckles. Her ears heard the old girlâs moan of what was to happen.Â
NeverâŠlost. I will always be here.
We donât walk awayâŠWe hold on tight.
Ignoring his protests, Clara stepped forward quickly, grasping his waist as he bent at his stomach, agonies starting to reach his face. âWe donât walk away.â  She whispered to his pained eyes, leaning forward and kissing his cheek.
She watched as the Doctor, her Doctor, grimaced a bit, his thin eyebrows lifting with question, and his fingers reaching up to touch there. They came away from his skin with the salt of her tears. And Clara felt herself crying more, but still she wouldnât let him go. âHow can I help?â She asked because she couldnât leave him. She always wanted to be here, where he needed her. Never let him feel lost. Be here. Every single time.
He shook his head, seeming to be in misery, the destruction that led to this, his new generation of life just moments away, pulling at his muscles, at his blood in his body, making his hearts feel like scratches were finding their way in. Again and again. Growing deeper and deeper to festering wounds.
âJust go Clara.â
She shook her head. âNo.â
âClara!â
âNO.â She reached up now, grasping his cheeks, her eyes fixed on his as she told him firmly, âI am not leaving you. I am not letting you go through this alone, feeling lost. Oh, being lost there is nothing worse. And you told me thereâs a moment of loss, of forgetting and I donât want you to experience that. I donât want you to feel that. So Iâm NOT going.â
His insistence wasnât vacating. âClara, you donât understand. Itâs like nothing youâve ever seen before. Like nothing I really know about honestly because Iâve only seen others, not my own. But I do know it can be violent, the golden spheres of light that will take hold of this body I have now. It can cause explosions and destruction. Itâit can be ugly Clara.â
She crossed her arms over her stomach, stating flippantly, âWell you have the ugliest alien chin and I never backed away from that, did I? Donât see what the problem is with some hideous illumination.â
That made the Doctor smile slowly as he simultaneously let out another grimace, another twist of his body, little bits of golden light flickering around him warningly. âClara.â
She shook her head once more, gripping onto his arms, trying to soothe away his pain with a gentle massage of her fingers. âYou forget Doctor. Chin Boy. Iâve been there for all your lives so far. Not the regenerations. But I stepped into your time stream. And I felt the violence of doing that. Iâm not some ordinary girl anymore.â
Smiling even more vividly, the emotion welling in his bright eyes, the Doctor shook his head. âYou never were. You always were my impossible girl. My Clara. You always will be.â
Fingering his arm, she asked teasingly, âSo now you think Iâm pretty?â
He gave a swift negative. âNo. Not at all. Too many distortions. Nose out of place, all that.â
She laughed softly, but then his hand was lifting to her face, gently painting her cheek. âYouâre beautiful. Never pretty.â
And Clara could see it in his eyes. Everything they shared together, all the wonderful moments, all the tragic, all the silly, all the sublime, and all the between.  Nothing ordinary. Not even him just hanging out at the Maitland house, being tricked by the kids or playing games with them. She wasnât pretty to him, but of another word, because what they experienced together was pure beauty. Saving the world. Saving each other.  Geronimo again and again.Â
Her echoes went back in time to save the Doctor over and over, but it happened so in Clara Oswaldâs heart this man could live, the Doctor she knew. The Doctor she cared for so much. This was her Doctor and as much as she would always hold a dear place for all versions of the Doctor in her heart, at this moment Clara did not know what depth her feeling would go for the twelfth one. She just wanted to hang onto Doctor Eleven for as many more moments as she could.
âDoctor-
Anything else she was about to say was cut off.
His lips were suddenly upon hers.Â
And it made her react because never had the Doctor full on kissed her. Oh her echo kissed him on the lips and he did show reaction, but this was the first time his hands reached out to her cheeks and his mouth touched her mouth simultaneously. His lips parted for her lips. And he tasted. And he enjoyed.Â
She knew because she could see it after he backed away much too soon for her liking. His smile came out then like so many volumes of light and pleasure.Â
âAlways thought of that. Doing that. Just needed the time.â He whispered and she started to say something, but his finger found her mouth, pressed against. âNo. Just let me remember that.â
The more violent jarring of his body seemed to be fading. He looked relaxed now, and okay with what was about to happen. Clara could feel her heart beating so fast in contrast, so urgently as he backed away and moved closer to the TARDISâs console, as the old girl gave a hurt murmur, like a sob was escaping her engine.Â
âNow go, Clara.â The Doctor told her with the gentlest most peaceful smile sheâd ever seen upon his face. For once he wasnât dancing, or spinning away, or running.
For one moment it seemed the running had stopped.
âIt will take time for you to be remembered. You can go and live your life. Forget about me. And justâbe happy Clara. Be-
âShut up.â She told him fiercely, rushing forward and before he could protest, planting her palms on his cheeks and kissing him with all the worth, all the love, all the need she had ever desired to make him feel. Soon the Doctor was gripping onto her too. His hands were pressing into the material of her dress. She could feel them warm on her back. His mouth was wrenching underneath hers, opening hers and being opened by her. It was like drinking from each other. It was like-
âI love you.â She whispered as she broke away, pain twisting at her heart. âYour ugly chin. Your snogbox. Your stupid mating dance. Everything. I-
âShhhhâŠâ He pressed his finger against her lips, smiling, crying with her, the salt now his too. âI know. I-
His hand grasped hers. She felt it keeping hold, lowering to his chest. To his twin hearts. Clara felt their fierce beating and shuddered, pressing against those hearts, crying further than she wanted to. She had intended to be strong, to let him go without all this mess of emotions. But it was too hard to contain. How would she live without his ugly beautiful face?
Her palms there, flat on his chest, a love clutch, they didnât want to let go, but he found a way around, as he wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her hair, âMy Clara.â
She knew he wasnât going to return any love admission. She didnât really need it. Touching his hearts had been enough.Â
He was experiencing something. He was glowing. More brightly than he had before. Ribbons of golden light were flowing all around and within his skin, causing paths of building hot energy.
âNow back away.â He caressed her cheek with his fingers, wiping at some of the tears. âBack away Clara.â
âIâm not leaving.â
He smiled wryly at that, nodding his head. âI know that.  Youâre impossible. Of course youâre not. But you need to back away.â He brought the TARDIS to flight, giving her a steady glance as soon they were floating in space.
âIâm going to stay. Iâm going to stay until-
Gently he shushed her new sobs because finishing that sentence was just too hard for her. âI know Clara. But at a distance. Go on.â
She pressed her palms to his twin hearts one more time, not wanting to let go, but his hands were finding her arms and so she nodded and did as he instructed, whispering though too, âWe donât walk away from the people we love, right Doctor? We never leave them alone. We never leave them lost. And even if they areâwe find them every time. Every single time.â
Tears, wet, like tiny scars upon his cheeks, he uttered with a shaky voice, âRight Clara. We never do. We find them.â
âChin Boy.â
He laughed a little at that. âImpossible Girl.â
And then Clara was gripping the wall, because it was happening. The golden trails of light had finished weaving their path through all his skin, all his Elevenâs body. And so like an explosion, it burst, making him totally encompassed, nothing more than golden light, golden flame, and golden energy, burning magnificently. It was violent. The Doctor was right about that. Clara had to keep holding fast to the wall and to the stairâs railing. The TARDIS was letting out shrieks of protest. Pieces of metal were falling, crashing.Â
But it wasnât ugly like the Doctor warned her. Instead it was beautiful, not a death, but a regeneration of life, a new force of light, a continuance of timeâs stream.Â
And into the golden light she could see his face, scrunched up with the most painful, and oddly connected to it, energized expression. It was there with the last words he uttered before the beautiful magnificent illumination took him, words sheâd never whisper aloud, hold secretly in her heart instead. Words not even her thoughts let out.
As that scrunched up face began to evolve, making her eyes widen more than they had at the start. The TARDIS was careening out of control. Clara screamed, her body being bounced with the violent force. Â
And then suddenly there was a new face. A new body. A new-
Rushing around, crazily uttering.
We don't walk awayâŠwe hold on tight.
I will always find you every single timeâŠIâm always here.
âWho-
She stopped the mad utterings, wiping away her tears and stating a bit frantically because the TARDIS was not flying normally at all. âIâm Clara. Iâm the Doctorâs companion. Yours. Iâm the impossible girl. And weâre going to crash if you donât do something QUICK!â
âBut-
âDOCTOR!â
A maniacal grin. Everything new. Height. Face. Body. All. But still that madness that she loved so much.
âRight!âÂ
And it was enough to make her smile just a little, take away a few of those tears, before she jumped too to action.
He was so new. And yet he was so old too. Unfamiliar and entirely familiar.
She gave her heart to the other. It was still clutching onto him, her beautiful Eleventh Doctor with the ugly alien chin.  Sheâd always remember. Never forget. But time never stood still either, not with the Doctor.
Would have to just see where the venture with this one would leave.
Wait and see.
*
Thanks for reading.   The quotes come from Claraâs mother and the Doctor, both sets from The Rings of Akhaten...possibly a bit modified.
I'm emotional about Matt leaving, but writing just a tiny bit of Twelve actually was kind of healing. Â Matt's my favorite Doctor, but guess we'll see what happens with Twelve. Â Going to do my best to be positive. :)
Two little lines. Two lines that are going to change everything Clara knows about travelling with The Doctor.
 Denial. Head to toe, Clara was filled with it. Questions and thoughts racing around Claraâs head as if it was a racing track. This canât even be true. The Doctor said we weren't compatible for something like this. âSomethingâ This isn't just âsomethingâ though is it? This is huge, this is a baby. Growing inside of me every second of every day, with its time travelling mummy and daddy, who are totally and utterly oblivious to this child, our child. Until now.Â
âI canât tell The Doctor. How can I even tell him?â Â
âClara? Are you okay in there? Itâs been what, 324 years now? What are you doing?â The Doctor asks worryingly.
Clara smirks. Heâs so stupid, but he knows how to make her laugh. â324 years? That doesn't count, you've been travelling while I've been in here. Donât worry, Iâll be a few seconds.â
Clara turns towards the mirror and analyses herself. Her face has completely lost its entire colour, from the fact she canât stop throwing up her stomach every hour. But on the positive side of things, her hair has grown a lot. As well as her boobs and bum. âI doubt The Doctor has even realized. Oh well.â The thing that worries Clara the most is that she doesn't know how far along she is. And the fact her baby is half time lord could mean anything. What if it comes out with three arms or something?
Clara comes back to reality and realizes there is persistent banging on the door.
âClaraaaaa! Come on! Winston is waiting.â
Clara sighs and walks over to the door and opens it. She takes a deep breath and smiles at The Doctor. He stands there oblivious of the information Clara just found out. Heâs going to be the father of their child and he doesn't even know. Claraâs heart drops. She has to tell him but doesn't have the faintest idea on how.Â
A/N:Â The Doctor's final battle before his regeneration into his 13th body. This follows the rumors that John Hurt's Doctor is the lost forgotten 9th regeneration/9th body, making the 11th Doctor to be in his 12th body. This is my venting out on the news that our beloved 11th Doctor is regenerating this Christmas.
Summary:Â The Great Intelligence has returned in to take his revenge on the Doctor. The Doctor and the Great Intelligence battle each other out in a sword match on the top floor of Big Ben. The Doctor must be able to defeat the Great Intelligence who has taken Clara as hostage. The Doctor defeats the Great Intelligence through using the legendary, Gallifreyan Sword of Time, but at great cost. After rescuing Clara, the Doctor finally confesses his feelings before his next transformation.
"You think you can defeat me, Doctor?" screamed the Great Intelligence in his current body as the mad doctor, Walter Simeon.
The Doctor stood, facing the Great Intelligence on the top floor of Big Ben. Their swords are drawn with both hands clutching the hilt of their swords. They walked slowly around in a circle thinking of their next move.
"I have beaten you once before and I can beat you many times again," The Doctor said to the Great Intelligence. The Doctor and Great Intelligence swing at each other with legendary swords of the cosmos. The Doctor wields the great Sword of Time forged in the Eye of Harmony back on Gallery. The Great Intelligence wields the Sword of Infinite, also forged in the Eye of Harmony.
The Great Intelligence parries the Doctor's attack and with the tip of his sword, slice across Doctor's his right arm. The Doctor stand back and used his left hand to cover the wound. He then switches hands from his right to his left to wield the Sword of Time.
"You have underestimated the great knowledge I possess, Doctor. Your Clara may have temporary defeated me back at Trenzalore, but I am still information itself. I have gathered great knowledge of fighting, various techniques, and various weaponry. Some forgotten in time, some preserve in the lore of myth and legend, and some hidden in plain sight. For this time and this time only, I can finally thwart every move you make for I wield the Sword of Infinite," said the Great Intelligence as he points his sword in a fencing posture at the Doctor.
"Really, oh, Mr. G. Intelligence. You may have the entire knowledge of the entire Universe in you, but I am a Time Lord. I exist outside of time and inside time. I exist outside the Universe and within the Universe. I have been to the beginning and to the end of the Universe. For everything, including information will have its end."
"Enough talk, just die!"
Looking far away is Clara, tied up next to a railing with a gag put over her mouth. She watched in anxiety as the Great Intelligence throw several fencing maneuvers from various angles at the Doctor. The Doctor dodge and deflect all of these attacks. With one swing of the Doctor's sword, the Doctor cut right through the Great Intelligence's Sword of Infinite and pierced right into his chest.
"That's impossible. How could you beat me?" The Great Intelligence kneed down in defeat as he feels his life force is draining away.
"There are some things about the Sword of Time that you never knew," replied the Doctor with the Sword of Time still penetrating into the Great Intelligence's chest.
"The Sword of Time gathers its great power from the user that wields it. If the user obtains great power from the beginnings and ends of the Universe, then that very same sword can use that power can absorb and deflect back the power of your sword of infinite. That's why your sword is taken down and that's why I am going to end you. You took your revenge on me. Now, I shall do the same."
The Doctor with all his might pushed the Sword of Time further into the Great Intelligence's chest. Beams of life energy beams out through the eye sockets and every part of the Great Intelligence body, encompassing his entire body before the Intelligence explodes into thin air.
The Doctor turns his attention to Clara and ran over her with the Sword of Time and the Sword of Infinite. The Doctor uses the Sword of Time to cut the ropes loose and free Clara from her bondage.
"Clara, my Clara, are you alright?" The Doctor asks after deactivating these power swords and putting them aside. Clara immediately hugs the Doctor for saving her life. Tears rain down on her face as she back away and slap the Doctor across his face.
"Why did you do that for?" The Doctor responded.
"What took you so long?" replied Clara with her arms crossed and in her pouting face.
"Clara, I was busy trying to find the Sword of Time. Then, I have to spend time with the Sontarans warrior who specialized in sword fighting. Then, I have to pinpoint the coordinates in the TARDIS to find the Big Ben. Then I have to fight the Great Intelligence not knowing if I could win or not. But, before that I did have a plan. You see, I planned out my 11th dimensional fighting strategy to beat the Great Intelligence at every turn, from different angles in the perimeter and I calculate the odds of winning through each strategy. Then I showed up and then I..." Before the Doctor finished his last words, Clara went up to the Doctor's face and kissed him tightly.
The Doctor caught off by surprise, gave in to Clara's kiss not knowing that this would be his last real kiss.
"Okay, that was new," Doctor responded back before he felt a sudden painful ache in his stomach.
"Ahhhh..." the Doctor screamed.
"Doctor, what's wrong?"
"Clara..." the Doctor collapses on the floor. With his back on the floor, Clara reach over him.
"Doctor, Doctor!"
"Clara, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"What's happening?"
"I lied about the swords to the Great Intelligence before ending his life. You see...ahhh..." The Doctor painfully aches again as he feels the regenerating energy is ripping through his chest.
"These swords, the Sword of Time and Sword of Infinite were self-execution swords, created back on Gallifrey as a way to bring capital punishment to its criminals. These were forged for the gladiatorial fights back during Rassilon's' era, made from the fiery power of the Eye of Harmony. Criminals were forced to fight to the death with these swords. The swords were designed to kill those who wield them. They both drained the life force of both users, weakening them both. The more the life force is given into the Sword the more the sword has. That's why the Great Intelligence was beaten. His sword weakened him as much it has weakened me. But, with my great power of time on my hand, I channeled all my power into the Sword of Time to overwhelm the Great Intelligence. But even if one finished off the other, the one remained standing would succumb to the sword's final sanction in draining its entire life force away."
"No...No...you can't say these things. There is something I should do. I can't lose you again."
"Clara, don't worry. I am regenerating. You know what this is back on Gallifrey when we first met. It's way for Time Lords to cheat death and be reborn again. Oh, Clara...my sweet Clara, watching me before I finally go never knowing who would I become or even I could recognize you again as who I am now."
"It's all okay, Doctor. I understand and I know. But, no matter what happens I would always stay with you. Even if you changed everything about who you are, you are always be my Doctor."
"Even if I have turned into something that you would despised?"
"Knowing what regeneration is and knowing who you are...you would always be you yourself no matter shape or form you take. Deep inside is the good Doctor I always knew. As my mother once said to me, life can be tough. It can shaped us for good or worse, but as long we have good intentions to be the person we want to be, we should always be that person we choose to be. Doctor, if you want to be my doctor, always choose the doctor that you always want for me."
"Clara, you are so wise. Wiser than an average Time Lord as I am. I have lived for over thousand years never knowing the true meaning of humanity. But, after meeting you, you brought me back from the dead, make me love again, and make me the Doctor that I promised to be. You would always be my impossible girl and before I go...I would like to whisper something in your ear."
Clara moved his head closer and placed her right ear over the Doctor's mouth. Then, the Doctor said four words, "Clara...I love you."
Clara turned her head away looked at the Doctor's face and kissed him for one last time.
Doctor raised his head up and put his arms around Clara to return his affection towards her.
Then, just out of nowhere the Doctor finally collapses back on the floor. His eyes closed, his brain dead, and his two hearts stopped beating. Clara pulls herself tightly to the Doctor's chest, crying in tears that her doctor is finally gone until seeps of yellow energy starts flowing around his body.
"Whoa!" Clara surprised. She stepped away and then a bright burning flash of regenerating power burns through the entire body of the Doctor's body like a volcano of bright energy bursting through the Doctor's head and limbs.
The regeneration did not last long as the Doctor's new appearance came through. When the regenerative energy dissipates, the 12th Doctor emerged. The Doctor sits up and examine his new body.
"Whoa...that was exhilarating. Felt renewed and energized. Now, let's have a look here. Legs, check. Feet, check. Arms, check. Fingers...ahhh...looks like I have still have ten digits, good. Eyes, nose, ears, ahh...that's an improvement. Chin...yes...oh no...blimey...my chin...it's not big anymore...oh that's a relief. Hair...I can't pull it down! Yes, and one last thing."
The 12th doctor turns his head around to see Clara. Then, the 12th Doctor finally stands up, looks around, and walks over.
"Oh my...What a marvelous lady in a nice dress? You must be, hold on, hold on. Don't tell me...you're Clara, Clara...Clara Oswald."
"Yes, and you are the 12th Doctor..." replied Clara, astonished by the new look of the 12th Doctor.
"That's right. The 12th Doctor, but my 13th Body. But, anyways, how do I look? See anything distinguishing about my appearance like anything about my face?"
Clara begins to giggle and laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"Doctor, you're a little shorter than before. Here's a mirror. Look at your hair."
The Doctor pulls Clara's mirror in front of his face and noticed that his hair has changed color. The Doctor steps back in astonishment and in heap of great joy.
"Oh my Gallifrey...I'm ginger. I'm finally ginger!"
POV: Written in 3rd person limited POV, alternating between Doctor limited and Clara limited.
 ((Clara))
Clara's heart jumped when she heard the sound of the doorbell. It was Wednesday morning, and Wednesday was a very special day. It was the day she got to run away with the Doctor. She moved towards the front door as quickly as her dignity would allow her to, and flung it open with a grin. The Doctor was standing at the door in his usual attire; among other things he wore a purple tweed jacket and a ridiculous bow tie.
"Good morning, Clara," he chirped, straightening his bow tie, "ready to go?" Clara could tell the Doctor was extremely excited about something; he was more energetic than usual (if that was even possible).
"Yes, I am!" Clara replied with equal enthusiasm. The Doctor grabbed her hand and whirled around, practically running to the TARDIS with the tails of his jacket flying behind him.
"So, Chin boy," she teased, hopping up on the bars that lined the console room, "What have you got for me this time?" She saw the Doctor's eyes light up in excitement as he started telling her about an intergalactic ball he was taking her to. She only caught bits and pieces of the story â the Doctor had a bad habit of talking way too fast.
"Okay, okay! Calm down Doctor!" she giggles at him, and the Doctor stops talking, a big goofy grin plastered on his face. He starts flipping switches and turning knobs at random, humming to himself.
"You need to take off those clothes," he mentions absentmindedly, still punching various different buttons on the console.
"Down, boy!" says Clara with a pointed, but mischievous look at him. The Doctor, realising what he said, looks up with wide eyes. Blushing, the doctor said,
"No! N-n-not like that..... it's just..... shut up!" Clara laughs.
"Okay Doctor, I'll go change into whatever crazy outfit the TARDIS picked out for me." She hops down and skips off down the TARDIS's corridors.
((Doctor))
The Doctor considered his favourite skirt on Clara as she headed off to the wardrobe room. As soon as he realised what he was doing he gets angry with himself. Snap out of it Doctor! he scolded himself, she's human. You're a timelord. It's not going to happen. He distracts himself with the console of the TARDIS to keep himself from thinking about her like that again. Not going to happen, not going to happen... he chants to himself, desperately trying to get her out of his mind. But it was no use. Clara was always on his mind. She was his beautiful, impossible girl, and he was very, very much in love with her, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. He sighed in defeat and went to go change into formal attire himself.
When he returned, Clara was there waiting for him. He almost ran up and kissed her, she looked so beautiful. His impossible girl was dressed in a floor length gown that was skin tight around her curves with a skirt that shimmered and rippled as if it was made of water. Her hair was in some form of updo, held there with a gorgeous glittery pin that matched the dress perfectly. As he moved closer towards her, he couldn't help but notice that the dress was a bit more revealing than her normal, conservative high necked attire. That was a hard thing not to notice â he towered above her short, petit figure. He makes a mental note to thank the TARDIS for choosing this dress for her.
"Oh my stars... Clara, you look amazing!" Clara giggled, a soft blush highlighting her cheeks.
"Thank you. You're looking sharp yourself." The Doctor glanced down at his simple white tie tuxedo, and could not see how he could even compare to the radiant sun that was Clara.
"Thank you!" he grins, holding out his arm to Clara, "Shall we?" Clara smiles her cute little dimpled smile and snakes her arm around his.
"Let's go!"
The Doctor watches Clara's face carefully as he leads her out of the TARDIS. This is a moment he doesn't want to miss â she looks her most beautiful when she first steps out of the ship. The familiar mixture of awe and excitement lights up Clara's face as her gorgeous brown eyes drink in the ball room.
"It's beautiful!" she exclaims. The Doctor found himself nodding his head in agreement, but he wasn't thinking about the beauty of the room.
"Care for a dance?" The Doctor was gesturing towards the dance floor, where aliens and humans alike were dancing to a strange but interesting song. Clara grins at him cheekily.
"Well, I hope that you've got centuries more experience than me like you say you do, Chin Boy, because you're gonna need enough talent for the both of us. I'm complete rubbish at dancing!" she confesses. She laughs, but the Doctor knows her well enough that he can tell she's actually nervous.
"Don't you worry, my Clara, I won't let you fall." He grabs her hand and tows her to the dance floor, savoring the sound of her laughter behind him.
((Clara))
They dance well into the night, the Doctor fetching drinks until the both of them were tipsy. Throughout the night, Clara kept noticing how the Doctor glanced her way every so often with a funny look on his face. For some reason it kept giving Clara butterflies in her stomach, and she tried to convince herself it was because of the alcohol. Remember to do the trick, Clara, she said to herself, don't fall in love. She found it was getting exceedingly hard to do her little trick, especially with all the drinks, and the man in question being so close to her. But somehow, she was able to keep her little "just friends" act going strong the whole night.
((Doctor))
He didn't have as much luck.
Oh, he tried. He tried so hard that he thought he would get heart attacks. But it was no use. It was partly because of all the drinks, partly because of that beautifully torturous dress she was wearing. But most of all, it was because Clara was just being her beautiful, cheeky, fiery self â and he loved her.
They stumbled back onto the TARDIS later that night, both of them exhausted, but jubilant.
They were both out of breath from the dancing. Clara's chest was heaving, and the Doctor glanced down to watch for a millisecond, before he realised what he was doing. Clara grew a bit uncomfortable, and the Doctor immediately turned away to the TARDIS console before Clara could see his brilliant rosy cheeks â she had caught him red-handed.
When the awkward moment ended Clara asked the Doctor to turn around. He was so surprised at how close Clara was to him that he took a small step back.
"I had an amazing time tonight, Doctor." This small remark had the Doctor's face light up like a kid on Christmas morning.
With a soft smile, Clara stood on her tiptoes gave the Doctor a kiss on the cheek. As she pulled away, she looked into his eyes cautiously, measuring his reaction.
The Doctor's eyes widened, his mouth forming into a little "o" as his hand fluttered up to touch the spot where she kissed him. Overcome with emotions, the Doctor bent down and smashed his lips upon hers.
((Clara))
Clara was so surprised that she didn't react at first.
"Sorry." The Doctor immediately pulled his mouth away. Clara suddenly realised that the Doctor's soft, perfect lips had just ruined her little trick. Her walls were knocked down, and there was nothing she desired more than to have his lips on hers again.
"Shut up, Chin Boy." She said, and she pulled the lapels of his coat down so that she could meet his mouth again. The kiss was soft at first, but it quickly got more passionate, each of them letting loose all of the love they had been holding back for months. And the Doctor smiled into the kiss, making Clara smile, and they both giggled like the idiots in love that they were. There was nothing to hold back anymore, and Clara felt a strange relief as a weight left her shoulders that she hadn't realised was there before.
"Goodnight, Doctor." she said, smiling at him before turning her back and walking to her room in the TARDIS.
((Doctor))
Goodnight, my beautiful Clara. He called after her in his thoughts â he was a bit speechless at the moment.
She kissed me. She kissed me. Clara kissed me. It was as if he was flying and falling at the same time; his heart was racing, his cheeks were flushed, and he felt nervous and ecstatic at the same time. The feeling was a familiar one, but he had never felt it quite like this before, not even the 500 some years ago when he fell in love with Rose. No, this was different. He had never felt this way about somebody. And he found that he quite liked this feeling, in fact.
His heart still racing, the Doctor wandered around the TARDIS before collapsing onto the bunk bed in his room. He hadn't gotten sleep in a week; it was about time he got some.
That night the Doctor dreamed dreams of Clara Oswald: a beautiful, cheeky, fiery, impossible girl that he had loved from the beginning, and had finally, finally fallen for him.
Description:Â I decided to write to help cope with the news of Matt's upcoming departure. This is Eleven's regeneration if I could write it. Doctor/Clara pairing.
âI donât want to be alone this timeâ, He tells her. âI was alone last time.â But she already knows that. She nods understandingly. Tears start to form in her eyes, and she feels selfish for it. âItâs okay, Clara, itâs going to be okay,â he whispers. She knows itâs going to be okay; sheâs seen it so many times before, she knows heâs not dying, she knows heâll still be there with her when itâs done. But it wonât be him- it wonât be the silly, ridiculous Doctor she fell in love with. Soon, those eyes that looked at her in such adoration would be replaced by two new ones. The hands that held hers and caressed her face would have a new, unfamiliar feel, the clumsy, lanky body that fit so well wrapped around her in a hug would be shifted to a foreign physique. She canât pretend sheâs okay with it- but she knows she will accept it no matter what. Whatever shape or form he is, was, or will be, he is still her Doctor, and nothing will ever change that.
She takes this secret vow as he stares at her curiously. Time is running out. He can feel his body stirring, shifting. Soon he will look upon her with a fresh view, and he wants to take in her beauty, to savor it through the lenses he first saw it with. He takes the few strides to reach her from across the TARDIS console and entwines his hand in her hair, pressing her tear stained face close to his.  âClara Oswin Oswald,â he says breathlessly, âyou are beautiful.â She manages a slight laugh through the downpour soaking her cheeks. âShh, donât do that. Itâs not goodbye. Iâm still here. I always will be, no matter what happens next.â He strokes her hair soothingly. âDonât comfort me,â Clara says. âDoctor, Iâm not the one whoâs regenerating here-â He closes his eyes, willing the chaos beginning to ensue in his body to hold off for just a few more moments. He is far more concerned with her at the moment than the hell that was starting to devour his body. âAre you okay, Clara? If youâre okay, then I am. Tell me youâre okay, and I will accept this wholeheartedly. Give me the strength to get through this again.â Clara nods in response. Without warning, he Doctor takes her face firmly in his hands and kisses her lightly, quickly on the lips. When they break apart, Clara laughs lightly.
âIâd hate to say I told you so at a moment like this, but I knew youâd rather die than say it,â She breathed, remembering the Cyber Planner. He smiles down at her. Thatâs exactly what he needed to hear. Clara still remaining now herself was the ultimate comfort; he hoped it would stay that way, after. âItâs starting,â he noted, removing his hands calmly from her face. They were shining a vibrant yellow now, as if a golden dust was floating all around them emitting a soft, beautiful glow. Clara wiped her tears away and took a deep breath in an attempt to prepare herself. He was backing away from her now, and glow was increasing all over his body and would continue to increase until his whole body was as if it were aflame. He fixes his bowtie one last time as the gold dust completely conceals his hands. He looks over at her with an overly reassuring, but genuine, smile.
âRight then, Clara Oswald,â He says, âDonât forget to remember.â He looks oddly content considering the hell he was about to go through, which worries Clara. âRemember me, you clever girl.â He winks at her. And as the flames consume him, memories flash before his eyes uncontrollably. He sees little Amelia Pond gazing at him in wonder in her garden. He sees her as a grown woman, her flaming red hair flowing over a police costume. He sees Rory in his nurse uniform, his face so young and innocent and utterly baffled by the sudden appearance of the Doctor. And he sees them sometime later, dancing on their wedding day, and River is there, teasing him relentlessly in the garden of all the things he doesnât know about her. He sees them all on the golden sand and shimmering lake in Utah, and he sees little Amelia standing next to grown up Amy in that hotel room as he tells her that itâs time we saw each other as we really are. And there is Amy again, standing with her back towards him, fiery hair billowing in the wind as she faces an angel that will determine her fate forever. She turns towards him like she had before, saying her last farewell. And then came Clara, his Clara. She walks on the clouds and falls from them to her death all over again, and he can feel the way hope and happiness were restored to his hearts when she agreed to come away with him as she layed on her deathbed. And he sees modern Clara as she fulfills that promise, he sees her face trying to conceal its fascination at the vast universe that unfolded in front of her eyes as he guided her through the wonders of time and space. He sees her jumping into his timestream just to save him, and then jumping into his embrace, and he can feel the relief of having her safe in his arms and his face buried in her hair.
His body isnât his own anymore. Itâs changing. The last thing he remembers is Claraâs soft lips pressed against his, his final moment of fleeting ecstasy before the casualty begins.
Rating: K+
Words: 4,457
Summary:Â "I love you. I wantedâI wanted this face to say it. Because this is the face that fell in love with you. My next face is just the face that gets to love you the way I wish I would have gotten the chance to." This time, the Doctor doesn't regenerate alone.
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It was never as grandiose as she would have imagined.
But then, dying was hardly ever grandiose. It was sad, weak, and ultimately quiet. Quiet inside, and sometimes, quiet out.
It was just that he had been such a grandiose man. His personality, his fashion sense, and every single emotion he'd ever experienced were huge. He was whimsical and powerful and larger than life in every way. And so when she wrapped her head around what was happening, she couldn't believe it for a moment, because surely this wouldn't be it. Surely he couldn't fade away like this, right here. Shouldn't the world come to a complete standstill? Shouldn't everything stop?
She'd learned with her own mother that the world was harshly and coldly uncaring when it came to death. She'd just assumed that it would care more when it was its savior's death.
It had been largely insignificant. When the gun went off, she honestly believed for a moment that it'd missed him somehow. She stood absolutely still, her body shielded behind his, and even when he stumbled back, she waited for him to laugh it off.
"Oh," he had said, his voice almost completely nonchalant. His arms had been thrown out to his sides, shielding her with everything he had, but now they were moving and pressing to his front. "Oh."
And she waited, her face pale and her legs shaking, for something to happen. She watched blood drip in small circles into the snow, and as it melted small craters, she felt the horror begin seeping into her.
No, she thought, and she figured if she just held onto that thought that she could save him again. No, no, no, no!
"Doctor!" She said, and once she said that, everything slammed into her. The horror, the realization, and torment. She grabbed his shoulders from behind him and stared at the snow beneath him, where the blood was steadily dripping.
Her hands slipped from his shoulders as his knees gave out from underneath him. He fell down slowly, as if letting go of control over one muscle group at a time, and when he was on his knees in front of the aliens, Clara was left staring into their faces. Her maternal instinct was to fall down beside him, to cradle him to her chest and take him somewhere where they could fix it. It wasn't too late, wounds like that could be fixed. Even humans could recover from that. But the creatures were advancing once more, and Clara knew he wouldn't survive another wound. When she stepped quickly in front of him, her eyes already burning and her heart heavier than it had ever been, she felt his hand on the back of her leg.
"Clara, please, no!" He begged her, but she wouldn't let him die, didn't he get that? After all she had done for him, she wouldn't let him go like this. They weren't even supposed to be involved in this. They had just travelled to this planetâthat now Clara couldn't even recall the name ofâto celebrate Christmas, only to get swept up in some sort of civil war. And now her Doctor was on the ground, possibly severely damaged, from taking a blow that wasn't even meant for him.
She had no weapon, as weapons weren't the Doctor's style. He'd attempted to negotiate with them, but she had been who they'd chosen to take their distaste with that idea out on. And the idiotic man had jumped in front of her, and Clara was certain her heart was shattering beyond repair.
She had nothing left to do but plead. Pleading was not her style, it never had been. Just like falling in love wasn't her style, and being vulnerable was off limits, but the Doctor had a way of changing up everything you thought you knew about yourself and the world.
"Please," she said, and she couldn't do anything about the way her voice was quivering. "Please, don't. He's already hurt, can't you see? He just wanted to help you. We don't even belong here. We were justâwe were just celebrating Christmas!"
She pulled at her hair, suddenly almost hysterical with panic and pain. What if he couldn't be helped? What if he regenerated?
The creatures seemed to falter a bit at her words.
"I don't even know what you are, I don't know what this war is about, I just want to take him back to the TARDIS!"
When she began openly weeping, they dropped their weapons to their sides, and it didn't make any sense to her.
"I'm sorry!" She gasped, but she had no idea what she was apologizing for. She didn't know what they had done wrong. "JustâŠleave him alone, please!"
The tallest blue creature in the front appeared to be the leader. He inclined his head at her once, sorrow flooding his face. It transformed his features so completely that she felt for a moment that he truly, honestly felt her pain.
"We recognize your gesture of respect and reciprocate it. You are free to leave."
She didn't stop to question it. She barely even registered the rush of relief. She turned her back to them immediately and bent over, gently grabbing the Doctor's upper arms and tugging with all her strength.
"We have to go," she told him, and she couldn't stand how pale his face was. His lips were quivering and his eyes were glazed over with tears. The more she tugged, the more he winced in pain, but she couldn't leave him here in the snow. She couldn't sit here and watch as his blood colored the earth.
"Doctor!" She yelled, but suddenly she couldn't even make him out through her tears. She stopped tugging for a second, weakened with sorrow, but then she felt him rising slowly. When he was to his feet, he stumbled over and leaned heavily against her, his breath coming out in pain filled gasps.
The walk to the TARDIS was horrifying. She spent the entire journey practically carrying the Doctor and pleading with the TARDIS in her mind to somehow find them. She didn't know if she listened, because she didn't even remember where they had put her in the first place, but the walk was shorter than she had anticipated.
Clara pushed her hip into the door and it swung back freely. That chilled her and made her even more aware of the severity of the situation.
When the Doctor collapsed back to his knees once they were in the console room, she fell down with him.
"Doctor, what do I do?" She pleaded. She hovered her hand over the small hole in his vest, now surrounded by a sea of blood, unsure whether to press her hand to it or not. She had taken first aid classes when she first started nannyingâjust in caseâbut she couldn't remember anything now. "Please, what do I do?!"
Her vision was blurred by tears once more. And then she felt the Doctor's hands, soft and somehow still warm, cradle her face. He swept his thumbs almost soothingly over her cheeks.
"You have done enough for me, Clara." He told her, and she didn't like the tone of his voice. It was final, it was tired. It was the voice of a man who had given up.
She shook her head frantically. She could feel tears spilling down her face, but she couldn't stop them. She remembered enough, briefly, to know that she needed to apply pressure to it. When her small hands pressed over it firmly, he let out a gasp of pain that made her immediately recoil in horror at what she'd done. But then the TARDIS made an almost insistent noise above her, and she pressed her hands back quickly. But the blood kept coming, and she couldn't accept his previous words. She hadn't done enough.
"No! It wasn't enough! It wasn't enough, because you're hurt, and I have to save you. Please, Doctor, tell me what to do!"
She began gasping for air, her sobs practically suffocating her for a moment. When she met his eyes, he was smiling at her with that young, ancient smile that she had fallen in love with, no matter how many times she reminded herself not to.
"I'm afraid there's nothing to be done." He told her simply, like that was that, like it was okay.
"There's always something to be done. Always." She argued. She blinked her tears away, her hysterical sadness giving way to a determination she was much more accustomed to dealing with. "Tell me how. Tell me how to help you, and I will do it. I don't care what it is. If you need a lung, or-or, something! I don't care! Tell me a doctor to call, or a hospital to take you to!"
The tears filling his eyes were the only sign of sorrow she could see at first glance.
"I know you would, Clara. You have proven that to me thousands of times. But it's too late; regeneration is going to start very soon now. But it'll be okay, I'll still be me."
He should have known better than to lie to her. She stared at him, her stomach turning. The world was crashing down around her again, but like always, it showed no physical signs. She just felt it in the way she could hardly see or think straight, and her body was filling with pain like some sort of cursed cavity.
"It's not okay. You'll be you, but you won't be you." She whispered.
When he brushed her tears away, she almost felt guilty when more took their place.
"No, I won't. We both know that. But everything has to end at some point, Clara. And I don't regret this. If anything was worth dying for, it's you."
"No, I'm not! I'm not, I'm just a girl from Lancashire, Doctorâ"
His eyes were burning with intensity. He reached down and set his hands gently on her shoulders.
"You are not just a girl. You are my Impossible Girl, my Clara. You are the one who brought me back to life and the one who kept it that way. You are the only one who could get me to love anything again. Those creatures back there, do you know why they attacked me and not you?" His voice was beginning to tear, his words stretching further and further apart. "I figured it out, while I was on the ground back there. They see pride as an insult and an attack. When I talked to them, all they could hear was my pride. Humility and vulnerability is what they measure respect in. I never would have understood the value of that before you, not really. But I understand it now. When you allow yourself to be vulnerable, you gain so much more than you lose. You taught me that."
He let out a sudden gasp of pain, and Clara let up a bit of the pressure on his wound.
"Doctorâ"
"No, Clara, I want to say this before I'm not me anymore. I want to be the one to say it. I'm tired of running, I'm tired of hiding from the things I feel, I'm tired of nursing my stupid pride." He forced out.
And like she knew who he was each time she saw him in her echoed lives, she knew what he meant. She knew what was coming, and she knew how hard it would be for him to say it. She knew it would be harder than dying. So she withdrew her hands from his and quickly pulled her jacket off.
"At least let me dress the wound a little. So you can lie down." The last sentence was incredibly painful to push past her lips, because she suddenly got the mental image of him lying motionless in front of her. She choked back a sob and tried to find her brave face, but she knew it was in vain.
His face slipped for a moment, letting his true amount of pain show.
"Lying down would be good, I think." He admitted.
Her hands were shaking as she tied the jacket around his waist as tightly as she could. She knew it wasn't perfect, but at least it would absorb some blood. She helped him lie back on his back and then sat beside him, pressing her blood-stained hand back over the jacket. It was already blooming with red.
"Claraâ" he began, his voice aching, but she stopped him.
"You don't have to say it. I know what you're going to say, and I love you too. So much. I love everything about you, Doctor, I don't want you to go." She gasped. She pulled her legs up to her chest and pressed her forehead against her knees, her entire chest aching. He lifted his hand and began to rub soothing circles on her back, and it was all so wrong. He was about to die, and he was comforting her.
She tried to move away from his grasp, but he merely lifted his arm for the sake of running his fingers through her hair.
"I want to say it." He said.
His voice was so weak. She turned back to look at him, uncertain, because she didn't want him to ever do anything that hurt him worse than he already was. But he was smiling at her so sadly and peacefully that she couldn't do anything but smile back, even though she was miserable.
He touched her face, his fingertips gentle and loving.
"I love you." He told her, his eyes warm and filled with an all-consuming love. "I wantedâI wanted this face to say it. Because this is the face that fell in love with you. My next face is just the face that gets to love you the way I wish I would have gotten the chance to."
Her entire body ached as violent sobs ripped through her.
"Please don't go," she wept. "Not yet!"
"I'm not leaving you. Not really." He promised. Before she could respond, his hands reached down and grabbed hers. He pulled them away from his wound, ignoring her protests.
"I'm going to regenerate, it doesn't matter." He assured her. He held her hands in his. "Will you lie with me, just until regeneration fully starts? I miss you."
Anything, she wanted to say, I would do anything for you. But instead she slid down and curled up against his side, her head resting on his chest and her arm thrown across his middle in an almost-hug. She gripped him tightly and he gripped her just as closely. He pressed his face into her hair, and it was then that he cried.
"I meant it, I did. I love you, I love you, I love you." He repeated. She wondered how long it had been since he had actually, properly said those words. That thought only made her hold him tighter.
"What if your next face doesn't love me?" She wondered, but she knew it was a pointless question the minute she said it. If he didn't love her, and didn't want her there, she would leave. Simple as that.
He shook his head.
"Never."
She could hear the pain growing stronger in his voice.
"I'm scared, Clara. I don't know who I'm going to be. It feels so much like dying." He admitted.
"What if you don't love the new me?"
And because she'd had plenty of experience dying, she felt qualified to pass on the only advice she knew that worked when dealing with that all-consuming feeling of terror and emptiness. Love and acceptance.
"I will always remind you who of you are. And I will always love you, no matter who you are, or what you do." She reached up and touched his bowtie, trying not to remember that it might be the last time she ever did that. "Or what kind of fashion you take to."
When he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, all she could taste was salt from all their tears. But she kissed him like they were happy, because she knew that that's what he needed.
When he pulled back, she could see a golden glow beginning to emit from his hands. She wouldn't let go of him, not even when he was murmuring for her to leave him into her hair, his voice pulled tight with pain. She knew all about regeneration. She knew the burst of time energy would kill her, but she didn't want him to be alone.
"I need you to be alive once I regenerate, Clara. Or I don't know what I'll do." He pleaded, and it was only that that convinced her to move. She was always saving him, after all.
She backed up until he told her she was far enough, and then the golden glow began spreading at an alarming rate. He offered her a terrified smile.
"Geronimo, my Clara. Remember me."
She cringed back into the wall and covered her eyes as the blinding light filled the console room. His screams tore through her, and just when she thought she wasn't going to be able to take it, it stopped. Her palm covering her eyes was slick with tears, and she was panting and shaking out of fear and sorrow, but she couldn't lower her hand. She wasn't sure she could take seeing another man in his clothes, standing where he should be. She wasn't sure she could ever learn to love the man who'd taken his place.
The voice that filled the room was entirely foreign.
"Blimey," he breathed. Clara thought that this whole ordeal must be so easy to handle when you don't actually know what's happening. She lowered her hand but made no attempt to open her eyes. He continued talking. "Well, it appears I'm still not ginger. But I've got legs and arms and, really, what more could a bloke hope for."
Clara was still shaking.
"Blimey!" He repeated, and this time she could hear a smile in his voice, somehow. It made her happy to know that he could smile after dying and being reborn. There was an amazed quality to his tone, like he was seeing something extraordinary that he just couldn't fathom.
"You're gorgeous, Clara. You're stunning."
It wasn't what she was expecting. In fact, it was near the opposite. She opened her eyes without even making a decision to, more out of surprise than anything. She peered at him, her face shining with tears and her lips parted in shock, and she felt her heart lighten, just a little. He wasn't her Doctor, no, but he was the Doctor. She could see him dancing in this man's dark eyes. She could see the love, the passion, and the bravery of her Doctor. That never changed.
She crossed her arms and sniffed a bit, eying him. He was certainly attractive, but she wasn't sure in the current moment if she'd ever get over missing that chin. But then he smiled hugely at her, his face lighting up, and she couldn't help but smile back.
"Are you a smooth talker this time, then?" She found herself teasing. It wasn't up to her normal par, because her voice was quivering and tear-soaked, but it came naturally without thought. Like it did with her Doctor.
He blinked at her, his eyes so honest and loving that she couldn't help but feel even more warmth fill her.
"Am I? I'm not sure. I haven't had time to get to know myself yet." He admitted. He took a tentative half-step towards her. "Clara, I really think my old body had eyesight problems. Because I remember thinking you were beautiful, butâŠyou'reâŠwow."
He offered her a sheepish smile. Clara was uncertain how to deal with his open affection, because it was so different from before. She felt herself blush.
"Definitely a smooth talker, you can jot that one down." She replied.
He fidgeted for a second, and it was so close to a habit the previous Doctor would have done, but so far at the same time. Clara found the entire experience to be nothing short of traumatizing.
"I miss you already." She wanted to say, but saying something that vulnerable in front of him felt odd when she had only just seen him. She knew he was still him, and she still felt affection towards him, but it had taken her such a long time to let down her walls with his previous personality. She hoped it wouldn't take long this time. If he even wanted her around, that is. He had said he loved her, but that was before. And this Doctor said she was beautiful, but maybe he just meant from an objective point of view.
Her heart was feeling heavy once more.
The Doctor took a few experimental steps and then spun in a circle.
"Better sense of balance." He noted. "Better eyesight." He smiled at her. "Around the same physical age. But I'm a little shorter, I think. Am I?"
She walked towards him, a little slower than normally. When she was right in front of him, she rose up on her toes. She didn't have to stand as far up on her tip toes as she did with him before.
"Just a little." She affirmed.
He smiled. "That might make it easier for you to hug me, right?"
She felt a rush of pleasure at those words, and it made her remember what the Doctor had said to her fears of him not loving her anymore.
"Right." She agreed, and then she smiled at him.
He accepted the smile graciously and mirrored it with one even larger.
"Do you think I'm handsome?" He asked her, and he looked so anxious, like he desperately wanted to hear yes.
This made her smile grow.
"Very." She said honestly. Everything about this Doctor was darker, except his smile, which seemed to radiate such warmth and openness that it was almost like feeling the sun shining on you.
He nodded.
"Good, I guess that makes up for the fact that I'm still not ginger."
When he took a tiny step closer to her, she felt her skin tingle, like the air around them was electric. She looked up at him, a little more certain. She slowly reached up and set her hand on his cheek. She rubbed her thumb over it, her lips pulling up in a smile.
"You're still you, aren't you? My Doctor."
He set his hand over hers.
"My Clara." He said, affection practically leaking from his words, and somehow it was understood to be an affirmation. "I'm not going anywhere."
She smiled, and her eyes were filling with tears again, but this time it was in relief and happiness.
She let out a watery laugh, and when she reached up to push away a tear that began to spill over, his hand beat hers to it. She stilled as his fingers brushed it away, and when he was looking at her, she felt like she was the most important thing in every universe there was.
"Are you okay with this? Is there anything I can do to make it easier?" He asked softly.
She bit her lip. Her first instinct was to say no, because her Doctor couldn't come back, but maybe that was okay. She knew it would take a while to stop feeling like someone had died, but she hoped she would get there.
"Will you hold me?"
She hadn't made a conscious decision to say the words, but they left her mouth anyway. She was still shaken over what she'd witnessed, still aching over her loss, and still very lonely. She missed her Doctor, but she wanted to know this one. She wanted to know him because she knew she loved him still, even though she didn't know all his quirks yet. She still knew who he was deep down, and always would.
His arms were steadier and stronger than her other Doctor's had been. He pulled her to his chest without any hesitation or flailing and held her so securely in place that, for a moment, she forgot that she belonged anywhere else.
"There's nothing I'd like more." He admitted.
She gripped him close and closed her eyes. She listened to the double-beating of his hearts. His tweed was still blood-soaked, but underneath that metallic scent, she could almost swear he smelled the same.
"I'm scared, too." He told her. She thought about what his eleventh face had said about pride, and she noted how openly this Doctor spoke, and she realized that maybe he was going to be open like this all the time. Maybe he would be open because he was born right when he finally let down his barriers.
Because it felt so right and so safe to be in his arms, she couldn't stop herself from standing on her toes long enough to press a kiss to his cheek.
"Don't be scared. I'll take care of you." She promised.
And she knew by his honest and loving gaze that he would do the same for her.
An optimistic one shot take on the regeneration news...
Summary: Eleven regenerates from Clara POV
Length:Â 1010 words
Rating:Â um, K+? It's my first fic...
My heart jumped into my throat as my stomach plunged to my feet. I couldn't quite believe was I was seeing, my Doctor. My Doctor. He just lay there on the TARDIS floor, limp and lifeless. There were no little pranks now, no giddy smiles or childish teasing. Â My fingers crumpled into fists to stop them shaking but it didn't help. My hands just shook more intensely. My entire body rejected what my eyes were seeing, sickness swelled in my stomach and blood thundered through in my veins. My heart beat echoed through my head.Â
I drew closer, slowly, whispering to myself it was just a joke. Just one of his silly jokes... And he would get up and grin his stupid adorable lopsided grin at me and we would just run off again, together. But the closer I got the more unlikely that seemed to be. I kneeled beside his body, wrapping his fingers in mine and running a hand through his thick black hair. It was soft on my skin, like silk. Then his eyes open just a little, which I didn't like at all. As soon as he looked up at me I could see the pain he was suffering, the terror inside him ripping him apart.
"M...my...Cl...Clara." He croaked, his stomach crunching violently with each syllable.Â
I hushed him, squeezing his hand. I couldn't bare it. Part of me wanted to run, just run and never stop running. How could I live after the best part of me is gone? I knew there was a chance.. I knew but... I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe it would be the same. My eyes lined with tears as I stroke the side of his face. I knew every inch like my own, his deep set eye, his funny nose, his big silly chin. I didn't realised how much I was crying until I saw the dark patch on his shirt. I tried to rub them dry, I don't know why... but he stopped me. His placed his hand on mine, wrenching with each movement.
"Stop it, you muppet you're hurting yourself." I sniffle, smiling squinty. My face his twitching, I couldn't stop it.
"It...s...oh...kay." He mumbled.Â
Crouching down to his level, I cradled his head in my arms, rest my forehead on his.
"I know."
"I...mm... going.. t...to change."Â
"I know."Â
His chest ruptured beneath me as he spoke. I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch him die. Not the man I...
"...I- I love you, chin boy." I wept.
 My tear drops rolled down my face and dropped on to his. They followed the line of his cheekbones and down the sides of his face, dripping on to grated floor. The TARDIS is grieved quietly, watching me hold her closest friend. How the TARDIS survived that eleven times I will never understand. I couldn't breathe, the air just got stuck in my chest and I trembled with each gulp. I felt the Doctor's smile rather then seeing it, his cheek moved shakily upwards against mine.Â
"I..I..."
He tried to say it, he tried, but then a surge of dark fury struck his body as he crumbled in my arms. I recoiled, still holding him but gagging on my cries. Then he went limp. He just stared at me, the most disillusioned look caught in his eyes. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know. I leant down again and stared into his eyes so close my vision was blurred. I pressed my lips against his, softly. The tension eased in his body, I felt the pain in him melt. He lips worked against mine, fighting for his life, saying the words his body would no longer let him. He needed me, just as I needed him. I broke away, scared of causing him more pain, but not moving any further away from him. Our lips brushed together as he last few breaths fell on my face and neck. He shakily raised a hand to head and brushed my hair away from my face. That's when the light appeared, circling his hands and face. His grip on my hand grew stronger and the light danced around him, swirling and bubbling, mending and healing.
"You... You might want to take a few steps back." He grinned, his voice more supported.
I backed away, still emotionally shaken. I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch him change. It won't be the same. He got up, slowly, until he stood square in front of me. My head was spinning with a thousand words, a million memories and feelings I wanted to say before he left. But then he just smiled at me. My Doctor. As the glow surrounded him completely he threw his head back and his chest was drawn forward as if he had been grabbed by his hearts and pulled into the next life. My hands tightened as I watched his face change, my Doctor, slowly fading.
Then it was over.
A new man looked at me, smiling apologetically. The suit was a little tight on him; the buttons had already popped off. My stomach churned. I would never see him again. My Doctor. My eyes filled with tears again, my breath catching in my throat.
"Hey, hey, it's okay.." said the new man, rushing forward and taking my hands in his.Â
I backed away from him slightly, unsure, even a little scared. He drew his mouth to the side of his face in a little half smile.
Author's Note: This is my first Whouffle poem dedicated to the 11th Doctor and The Boss, Clara Oswald. So, forgive me on my first attempt in paying tribute to this great pairing.
An Ode to the Doc and Boss
A Whouffle Poem, by The Doctor's Altar.
He traveled across space and time to cope with his pain.
She traveled across the world to seek what she would gain.
He became a father-figure to those who lost their fathers.
She became a mother-figure to those who lost their mothers.
They both meet time and time again, but no memory in between.
He is the Father of Time, going forwards and backwards.
She is the Impossible Girl, going forwards and backwards.
He goes left. She goes left.
He goes right. She goes right.
But, never in the right place nor at the right time.
No matter where all the roads go.
They all point to the same place called home.
A home for the Doc and the Boss in their magic blue box.
 Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. All characters are under the ownership of the BBC and their respective creators.
