Annexed IC Contact 💫

[makemeasong]

{ text | audio | video }

Comments

[twelfthsong]

[ It's as if he can read her mind. Or maybe it's because he clues in that maybe this might be a good time as any to hug someone that needs one. He might not be Bowtie anymore but he's still got parts of him that will likely never leave even if it annoys him to think about it.

There's a moment of internal hesitation for a brief moment before he pushes through it and he moves from the chair to the bed to pull her into an (awkward) embrace.

The Doctor knew that if Tech had been hurt he would have felt guilty too. But dwelling on the past and all the what-if's had never served him well. What mattered was right in front of him. It was that thought alone that makes him hold her closer. ]

[makemeasong]

[ The hug is so unexpected that at first she doesn't hug him back, but that confusion only lasts for seconds before her arms are around him the best they can be. There's something about actually being in his arms that makes her cry harder, her tears soaking his shirt. She hasn't cried in front of him like this since Bowtie (as the Doctor now unaffectionately calls his former self).

When Clara finally gets ahold of herself, she's already apologizing as she sniffles and wipes at her eyes. ]

Sorry. Those tears should wash right out. [ She tries to make a joke and takes a deep breath, swallowing down words that are dangerously close to the tip of her tongue. ]

[twelfthsong]

[ The Doctor could be insensitive at times to others' tears but his body had such a noticeable reaction to Clara's sobs and the way it wracked her frame. He had seen her eyes tear up, and hold them back since their arrival here but it wasn't like this. Thankfully his face isn't facing her as she apologizes and when they do eventually part, the expression on his face doesn't betray anything of what he had felt. ]

Ah well I've had worse.

[makemeasong]

[ Clara sniffles again and huffs out what's supposed to be a laugh before looking at him again. ]

I really did it, you were able to blow up the tower?

[ It's all so fuzzy after she was shot, all she remembers is using the sonics on the missiles. ]

[twelfthsong]

We were, thanks to you. A pudding brain wouldn't have been able to do that.

[ When he pulls back his hand lingers there for a brief moment as if searching for any remnants of warmth. ]

That was you, Clara.

[makemeasong]

[ She hasn't asked in such a long time, not since the Russian sub, because she'd never needed to ask from that point forward - the Doctor was never short on praise, telling her that she'd done well, was brilliant and beautiful with that brain of hers. But he says it less now, and Clara realizes she didn't realize he was still proud of her.

All she can do is nod and try not to cry again, leaning into him. ]

I did alright then, I s'pose. [ There's an attempt at a smile but she closes her eyes instead, soaking up whatever attention he's willing to give her. ]

[twelfthsong]

Better than alright. All the Witches kept going on about was how difficult that spell was to learn and you managed to do that.

[ He wanted her to know how genuinely he meant it. Even if she wasn't the Clara from his memories, it didn't diminish her light. ]

That just tells me you're a fast learner. I bet the kids you teach are lucky. They might not all grow up to be absolute pudding brains.

[makemeasong]

[ She laughs softly at his comment, the sound still a little wobbly from crying. Her hand squeezes his before she confesses quielty: ]

I always want to make you proud of me.

[ For some reason she can't look at him after saying it, her cheeks turning red. She's never admitted it out loud, she's never even wanted that so badly with her parents. But him? What the Doctor thinks is important. It means more than anything to her. ]

[twelfthsong]

[ Clara's statement draws a look of genuine surprise across his face and his brows furrow in thought. ]

Me? I'm just a daft old man without a blue box.

[ The surprise doesn't come from not knowing her; he'd be surprised too even if he did. Of course he thinks he's a genius and that sometimes it isn't recognized enough but, for someone to want to him to be proud of them is another matter entirely. ]

[makemeasong]

If you say so. [ She says that with no malice, just a soft smile at him. It doesn't make any sense to tell him the truth of it until he's ready to hear it. ]

When can I go back to my flat? This isn't exactly screaming homey.

[twelfthsong]

[ The puzzled look on his face remains for a brief moment before he glances around the space. ]

Probably whenever you feel like it. The only person in charge seems to have left a while ago.

[ Probably a good thing too. They hadn't been exactly pleased to see him bustle back through the building after he had rudely told them to get out of his way. He extends a hand towards Clara. ]

Need an escort?

[makemeasong]

[ Clara takes his hand. ]

Always. And not that I need a babysitter or anything but...would you mind staying for a bit? Maybe show me more things on the sonic.

[ She isn't ready to be alone yet, even if she knows the seconds she's comfortable again she'll likely fall asleep. ]

[twelfthsong]

[ His fingers curl automatically around hers helping her out of the bed and making sure she's steady on her feet. ]

Well if it's to tutor you on the sonic...

[ Even though he isn't saying it he's reluctant to let her out of his sight too. The memory of her shaking body still hasn't faded from his mind and the effect it had on him still lingers. ]

[makemeasong]

[ Both hands rest in his for a few beats before letting go to hold onto only one. She doesn't let go as they walk and without saying anything at all, she lets her fingers interlock with his. It's a statement, that she's here and solid and with him.

Letting them into her one-room flat, she's decorated with a few plants and pieces of artwork. There are already more books scattered about than anything else. And there, right next to her bed, is the little bird. ]

Don't mind the books. Working on recommended magical reading.

[twelfthsong]

[ When he feels her hand grip hers, he lets her. There's no desire to pull away. No sense of creeping discomfort that usually comes from someone encroaching on his personal space. Just security and warmth.

He follows her obediently back towards her flat, leaving the day of mission behind them. Despite noting the mechanical bird he doesn't say anything although his eyes linger before moving towards the books to examine them. He looks at titles recognizing several that Obi-Wan had been reading. ]

Did you ask someone for a recommended list?

[makemeasong]

There are classes, so I picked up a list and looked them up at the library. Did you know I started working there, by the way? If I'm not going to be chipped I'll need to make more money to accommodate this lavish lifestyle.

[ She smirks and tugs her sonic out of her pocket, sitting on the couch and sitting cross-legged, facing him. ]

Alright, show me what this bad boy can do. Actually, she. I've named her Pheobe.

[twelfthsong]

You paid for all of this?

[ He suddenly realizes how kitted out her flat actually is. The Doctor hadn't necessarily put a ton of effort into decorating his flat so much as he had simply accumulated things by bartering or making use of things that the Witches had discarded. Another man's trash was a Time Lord's treasure after all.

The Doctor cares less about the money and more about Clara's newly christened sonic screwdriver. He sits down beside her, lips twisting. ]

Why Pheobe?

[makemeasong]

[ Clara gives him a small smile as she examines it proudly. ]

Mother of the moon and stars goddess, granddaughter of the goddess of witchcraft. I dunno, seemed appropriate. I think it works, don't you?

[twelfthsong]

[ The explanation suddenly does make sense and delight lights up his gaze. ]

Very fitting. Hopefully she watches over you. [ He motions to it. ] What do you want to do with it? Give me a scenario.

[makemeasong]

[ Clara bites at her lip, thinking of a time he's used the sonic. ]

Oh, someone's locked up who shouldn't be and we're trying to break them out. What setting? [ Clara's leaning close to him, maybe unnecessarily close. But unless he moves, she's staying. ]

[twelfthsong]

[ Clara’s boldness doesn’t go unnoticed. His eyes flicker to her briefly but he doesn’t say or move away otherwise. He’d rather her close than hurt and not there at all.

He pulls out his own sonic, demonstrating the motions. ]

Press that one and that one. Bit easier to show you with an actual lock. But it also depends on the lock. The one I showed you will do the trick for most of them, but if you get one that’s a little bit complicated it’ll take a little bit more finesse.

[makemeasong]

[ She knows better than to push it, and for now, she'll take this and be happy. ]

This one does do wood, right? [ She has to tease him gently, turning her head and smiling at him, which is when she realizes she may have gotten too close to him. She doesn't want to set herself up for failure, but she doesn't want to make it awkward either. So she simply carries on. ]

Who makes a sonic good on everything except wood?

[twelfthsong]

[ A bit of an annoyed look passes his face at the mention of his constant forgetfulness to make that a setting. It's more aimed at himself than at Clara since he knows it's just good natured ribbing. ]

There are other important things to consider than just the wood setting. But it's also more complicated than that. Anyway what next?

[makemeasong]

[ Clara goes through a few different settings with him, trying them out when they can, before she begins to rub her eyes, a sign of her tiredness creeping back after the brief short wind. ]

I think I've learned all that my brain can handle for today. Need to turn it off for a while again after...everything.

[twelfthsong]

You did well. It gets easier with more repetition - but also your brain might kick in a flight versus fight moment.

[ There's a moment where he sits there, wondering if he should leave. It's really written all over his face and he's likely to keep thinking about it unless Clara says something one way or another. ]