clara "why are you booing me i'm right" oswald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
makemeasong) wrote2022-08-09 01:01 pm
makemeasong) wrote2022-08-09 01:01 pm
Open post/meme overflow π«
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Her voice is louder than she intends but she stands there, staring at his back. "You act like it's my fault when I didn't do a bloody thing but sit there! I didn't ask for this. You owe me more than fried food." She's hungry, but she wants answers more.
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βLanguage,β he chided lightheartedly and offered a small smile which she refused. In fact she looked far from amused. If anything it seemed to make her angrier as she pressed on, and as he listened his smile faltered and he felt that sliver of ice harden.
βI told you,β he replied impatiently, βNot your fault. Temporal feedbackβthatβs my guess, my theory. Never really been able to test it out. Not on this planet anyway, itβs usually way beyond your species.β
He waved the last sentence away like an insincere apology.
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Clara won't back down, she wants more answers. Can this happen again with anyone else? Why is he so upset? Why does her head feel like it might split? She wants to ask and she's going to. At least she thinks she is.
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βI didnβt ask for this,β he said plainly, wondering if Clara would pick up on her own words thrown back. He paced up the promenade to where she stood and met her eyes with his. βOr, to put it another wayβ¦β
And his voice dropped so suddenly and quietly it felt like the whole universe took a step backβ¦
ββ¦not my problem.β
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When she's hit, the tram has stopped and she's lying right in front of it. She can't feel anything at all and she can't move. There's the taste of copper and iron in her mouth and she's looking up at stars, blinking slowly. Something in her soul feels settled, like this was the right time, the right place, for her to die.
She isn't scared, and Clara still turns her head slowly, with effort, to see if the Doctor is alright.
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And then she wasnβt, and the entire world pivoted, the cobbled floor and night sky arcing over him in a dizzying kaleidoscope of greys and blues.
For a moment the Doctor heard a distant ringing in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut but the sound persisted, and as everything blurred into reality, he realised it was a tram bell.
Pushing himself up off the floor, he quickly took in the scene.
βtramβ
βbellsβ
βpeopleβ
βcryingβ
Clara.
The last thought sharpened everything into focus and he moved fast, covering the distance as he pushed his way through the small crowd. He could hear a voice saying ββdidnβt see her, she came out of nowhere like a ghost she did! God almightyββ and guessed it was the driver.
βGive her room and get help,β he vaguely found himself ordering. He heard some babbling acknowledgment and the crowd eased, perhaps grateful or relieved for someone to take charge.
When he saw Clara, he knew it was too late. The red gently staining the cobbles, her shallow breaths, her closing eyesβ¦
He then saw her turn to look at him and took a deep intake of breath, squared his shoulders and got ready to follow his number one rule.
Kneeling gently beside her, the Doctor smiled encouragingly, βHeyβ¦β His voice was soft as he continued, βYou know itβs cheating if you throw yourself in the path of a tram just to get out of an argument.β
He pushed a strand of hair from her bloodied face, βSo how about you dust yourself off, I get us those chips and then you can continue shouting at me some more, eh?β
The Doctor smiled what he hoped was his most reassuring and twinkliest smile.
He knew she had minutes.
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One hand is trying to reach for him, fingers grazing his cheek.
"Wasn't all bad. I saw silver grass picnics...red leaves year-round. Babies laughing."
There's a wheeze from her, death rattling in the back of her throat, but she doesn't look afraid and adds another word.
"Hope."
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Claraβs words took the Doctor back to the days long since dead. He smelt grass kissed by a second sunβs dying light. He heard leaves rustle songs never to be heard again. He saw smiles lost to Time but burned into his memoryβ¦
βHopeβ¦β he echoed, his voice still quiet, βHopeβs good. Hold onto that, Clara.β
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With everything Clara has left in her, as blood pools around her head, she looks right at him, one last flicker of light burning brightly.
"And run. Run you clever boy. And remember."
In these final seconds, she knows him, and she knows exactly what she is. The corners of her lips curve into a minute smile before her hand drops away from his cheek and her chest deflates for the final time. Her eyes close, and another echo becomes stardust.
Somewhere in the world and in a different time, another Clara Oswald looks up as a leaf blows by in the wind, swirling into the sky until it seems to disappear against the sun.
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And then she wasnβt, her dying words haunting him as her hand fell away and her eyes slowly closed for the final time.
For a long while the Doctor just knelt next to her, the only sound that of the dark waves rolling and crashing against the sands.
He wanted to stay longer than he did. He wanted to stay when onlookers dispersed. He wanted to stay when the policeman spoke to the ashen-faced tram driver. He even wanted to stay when they covered her body and took her away. He wanted to stay until time ran out and forced him to forget.
The Doctor carefully stood up and turned his back, working his way through the gathering, murmuring crowd.
The sea breeze tugged at his jacket again but there was a chill to it now. Something fluttered and settled on his shoulder and he realised the first few flakes of winter snow were beginning to fall.
He had wanted to stay for as long as he could but instead he turned and left and never came back.
Until one day he did.