Open post/meme overflow 💫

[makemeasong]

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cross canon, assumed cr, and ocs welcome. Please check out Clara's permissions post for more info.

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[makemeasong]

She's tucked close to him, eyes closed as she listens to him read. She doesn't seem to be having flashes of memory the way he is, but it's as if she's folded herself back into a life with him that she'd thought she lost. She's curled close, able to feel the warmth of him and the timbre of his voice through him, into her.

When he pauses and asks for her thoughts, she looks up at him.

I'm here, aren't I?

Her words are soft, almost shy - which is rare, for Clara. She's still semi-afraid she'll spook him, and she goes still, waiting for his reply.

[twelfthsong]

[Her response gives him hope, but it's mixed with surprise at how she replies. It softens him in response and he reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.]

Impossible and yet here you are.

[The question is on the tip of his tongue again but he can't bring himself to ask his question yet.]

Hungry yet? Thought I saw something about baking.

[makemeasong]

[ She's only here because of him, but Clara holds onto his question instead of saying that, looking up at him. ]

You never ask anything for no reason. Why d'you ask now?

[ She assumes just because of the book and the nature of it. ]

[twelfthsong]

It came up on the screens, didn't it?

[Of course he counters the question with another one of his own. Time and experience had made him kinder but no less infuriating to interact with. Really though, it might just be him avoiding having to ask her the question that had been jogged through the depth of his memories.]

Seem a waste to have it just sit there.

[makemeasong]

Do you believe in soulmates, then?

[ She's just as stubborn as he is, and so the question that was answered with a question is answered with yet another. ]

[twelfthsong]

[Oh they were doing this now, huh? But he relents in his own way.]

You know I'm not a romantic, Clara. Romanticism is for people that also like embarrassing bowties. But I said you were here, didn't I? Impossible yet here you are.

[makemeasong]

Do you think if I say I did believe them, that'd be silly of me?

[ Clara looks up at him, her wide brown eyes looking into his cool blue ones. ]

You made your way back to, in the diner. Literally hours before I...

[ Before she was going to have her heart beat that one last time. ]

[twelfthsong]

Why would I think that's silly? Just because you like embarrassing bowties it doesn't mean that you're silly. It just means you believe in soulmates. You're a romantic.

[His blue melt for a moment as he reaches for her hand.]

One of us has to be.

[makemeasong]

[ She smiles softly and laces her fingers together. ]

It wasn't just the bowties, you know. I like sunglasses and hoodies and watching you play guitar. Just as much as I liked your floppy hair and big chin.

[ Clara can only laugh softly now because he's here with her. ]

My only regret is not kissing that chin when I had the chance.

[twelfthsong]

[That gets a bit of a gruff laugh out of him.]

He would have loved that. And if that's the only regret you right now I'd say we're doing well, aren't we?

[makemeasong]

I like to think so.

[ She's going to get up but as she looks around, something catches her eye and she gets up instead after squeezing his hand, walking back to the bookshelf. But her eyes look up and she reaches up on her tiptoes, picking up a postcard. Running her fingers over it, she feels something tug in her chest that hasn't in so long. ]

I've been here. But...I can't remember. Have we been here?

[ She fips the postcard so he can see it, watching him. ]

[twelfthsong]

[His first instinct is to bound up from his spot on the couch to follow her but is instead rooted to his spot on the couch by what she finds. It appears that the moment has come before he can instigate it himself.]

We might have. I had a similar feeling when I walked through the door.

[makemeasong]

Like deja vu?

[ Clara steps closer, holding the postcard of Gallifrey before its fall and handing it to him as she sits back down. ]

I didn't say anything, I just thought I'd been so many places things were starting to blur together.

[twelfthsong]

Like a memory. An echo.

[He takes the postcard from him, turning it over in his hands similar to how he had with the silver leaf.]

That tends to happen when you've been through all the when's and where's of time and space.

[He stares at the postcard, recalling for a moment Gallifrey in its glory.] Is there anything specifically about this place [He motions around them.] that you remember? That book we read? The kitchen? The feel of the sweet grass on your legs?

[makemeasong]

[ Clara slowly looks around at the cabin, walking through it and trying to think. ]

Is this yours? Your cabin, I mean.

[ She's made her way into a bedroom and the quilt draped over the foot of the bed looks so familiar that she sits and lets her fingers trace the pattern. It's there, on the tip of her tongue, and she blurts out words before they go away. ]

You bought this for me in a Caprican market. I liked the colors, you hated it.

[twelfthsong]

[It's only when she starts to move that he gets up the couch to follow. He buries his hands in his pocket out of habit and in order to not fidget.]

It's ours. [There's no point in hiding it when he remembers it now himself.] It's been a while since I've been here though. Or no time at all. Depends how you look at it.

[His eyes crinkle slightly at that.]

To be honest I think a lot of the decor was decided that way. The only thing we both liked was the cabin.

[makemeasong]

[ Clara's eyes flick back up to his. ]

Ours? I don't understand.

[ At the edges of her mind, she feels the beginning of a storm, the crackling at the edges of her memory. She sees him, but not him. Another face, a younger one, and eyes that are happy. Eyes that dance when they look at her. Memories begin to cleaver their way through a life that was manufactured, made to keep her safe, to hide her. Moments are snatched away and replaced.

It hurts and she brings both hands to her head, leaning over with her head between her knees. ]

Doctor, what's happening to me?

[ Her voice is muffled when she speaks, memories of red grass swaying in the breeze, holding hands and having picnics under the trees, their silver leaves sparkling in the twin sun's light. When Clara looks up again, the recognition in her eyes is completely different. She sees him for who he is now. When she says his name, it's in a way she hasn't in so long. It's the way she remembers saying it in a dim room while sitting on his lap, his face cradled in her hands, breathing it out into the air. ]

Doctor.

[twelfthsong]

[Panic grips him when she doubles over and he immediately reaches to steady her.]

Clara, Clara, it's okay this is just a [He can't be fully sure but he suspects.] jog in your memory.

[He's trying to keep a steady timber to his voice but his eyes betray him. He's worried. He's cursing himself inwardly because maybe they shouldn't have come here. He should have turned around the minute they passed the door and left good enough alone. Started new.

But when she utters his name there's a difference to it. The panic stills - but isn't entirely gone. He needs to be sure first.]

Clara?

[makemeasong]

[ This life that she hasn't remembered comes crashing back and now she keeps seeing a life playing out that was hers and theirs. When he says her name, she stands and then, the truth of everything is laid bare in front of her. Her next whisper is his true name, before he was the Doctor, before she shared him with so many so often, he was only hers. Stepping toward him, she says his true name again, tearfully, standing right in front of him. ]

We used to lay in the sweet grass dreaming up a future.

[ Clara's voice cracks as she looks up at him. ]

My husband. I remember.

[ She's shaking and reaches up to ghost her fingers over his cheek. ] It's really you.

[twelfthsong]

[Hearing his true name has always sent a shockwave through him. There are some days when he's convicted he's forgotten it himself, but hearing it from Clara's mouth is like hearing a song he hadn't heard in a very long time.

This isn't Gallifrey, but seeing the look in her eyes and the love behind his name feels like coming home. He leans into her touch, eyes fluttering closed as his hand goes to cover her hand.]

My wife. [He smiles, eyes opening.] It's been a while hasn't it?

[makemeasong]

[ Clara's forehead presses to his and she feels a tear slip down her cheek. Everything they've been through together only to wind up here. She's speechless and all she can do is nod, her other hand curling around the edge of his shirt. But then she realizes something and steps away just enough to be able to meet his gaze. ]

I couldn't before, because I didn't remember, but Doctor. [ She hesitates but then swallows her fear because there's always a chance she's wrong. ]

If I die, now, I should be able to regenerate.

[twelfthsong]

[The realization hits him like a truck. Up until now, up until she says it, he had forgotten too. It's as if he feels the last barrier fall away, unlocking the rest of their time that they had together.

Being linked intrinsically, on a molecular level, he knows what she's thinking. And he senses the fear. But there's something in his gut telling him that she's speaking the truth.

He grasps her hands pulling them to his lips.]

Clara you're brilliant. You might be right. It could work.

[makemeasong]

[ She closes her eyes at the feel of his lips on her skin, over the ring he gave her long ago. They'd gotten married in a haste and now, as it turns out, it was only the universe attempting to correct a mistake. ]

I don't want to go all the way to Gallifrey. I don't want The General or...anyone else there.

[ Clara wants to make the attempt at regenerating here, in their home. If she dies, it will be here. But it means she needs to die somehow, and her eyes meet his. ]

[twelfthsong]

And you think I would? [The very thought is enough to make him roll his eyes. He wants to go home but not to them. Time hasn't made his opinion of them change.

His wide eyed gaze turns into a furrowed one, quickly realizing what she is too.]

We'll find a way to kick start your regeneration without going to Gallifrey. [His gaze flits immediately to out the bedroom door, the wheels in his mind already running a million miles a minute.] There has to be something in the books. Possibly something we overlooked.

[makemeasong]

[ Clara's quiet, biting at the inside of her cheek. Dying is the only way she's ever known, but maybe he's right, and she takes his hand, kissing his wrist. ]

We'll find something. Together, we'll find something.

[ It would be their fucking luck if he had to actually kill her, but she knows it's a possibility. Her mind is already wondering what the gentlest way would be because she doesn't...she couldn't ask him. She never would. ]

But later. We have time now. I want to look at you.

[ She's looking at him through a new lens, her husband, his 13th face, and she lightly ghosts her fingers over his skin. Her face is is different now too, with hints of the same features. ]

I knew I recognized those eyes. Always, your eyes were so...I dunno I just always saw you.