makemeasong | Open post/meme overflow 💫

[ Clara expected it to feel different, her hand in the Doctor's. And it does, her skin is soft, her hands are smaller. But the warmth and the way Clara feels when they're connected is the same: sure, safe, and like always, wanted.

It isn't as if she's been separated from the TARDIS long, but it still feels good to see her again, a relief. Just like the Doctor is a relief to see in this place. Everything will be alright now.

Laughing softly, Clara only lets go of the Doctor's hand to dig in her pocket and pull out her key. ]

Didn't change the locks on me did you?

[ Her eyes dance because she already knows the answer, and she moves to the door, looking over her shoulder for persmission. ]

[The Doctor releases her, only lifting an eyebrow at the question. As if she would. No, that key would always open this door, in case whatever forces of chance and fate and other mysterious workings in the universe ever brought Clara Oswald back to her door.

Which, she supposes, they have.

So she hangs back, ducking her head in a quick nod of 'go ahead' as she watches Clara let herself in.]

We did do a little redecorating. [Well the TARDIS had, specifically.]

[ When the key slides into the lock, Clara has to grin to herself. Even seemingly orbiting around one another in the universe, she can always come back. Or so she thinks.

The Doctor's casual warning isn't enough to prepare her for how different it looks when she steps into the doorway. Now it's her eyebrows that raise, walking further inside and trying to think of something to say. ]

...Oh my stars.

[ Nailed it, thanks mum. After a few more seconds, she wrinkles her nose. ]

Is the TARDIS okay?

[ This is what shocks her the most after the fact that the Doctor regnerated at all. Not that she's changed genders. That the TARDIS is apparently going through an orange-y glowing rock phase. ]

Oi. Hey.

[The Doctor wrinkles her nose at Clara, pulling the door shuts the door once they're both inside and leaning back against it.]

Everyone's a critic. Of course she's okay. She's trying something new. I think it's brilliant.

[It's a style choice for certain.] I don't critique your outfits. [Except she is well aware she absolutely one hundred percent has done exactly that on more than one occasion, and not always kindly. Oh well. The Doctor lies.]

[ That lie makes her laugh, one hand reaching out to lightly stroke one of the odd columns. ]

Blatant lie. Didn't even try that time. But you're right, I concede. I'm sorry.

[ The apology, she says back at the TARDIS, patting the column again before walking around the console slowly. As she does, that same twisting feeling of something happening between them knots in her stomach, and Clara looks up at the Doctor again, pushing the feeling away. ]

D'you like it? This go 'round. Other than not being a ginger, I mean.

[There's no stopping the smile breaking over her own face as she's summarily called out. She pushes off from the door and makes her way further into the console room, up towards the center so she can lean back against the console itself, watching Clara.]

Not that blatant.

[She mutters. But no, yeah pretty blatant nevertheless.

Clara isn't the only one trying to ignore that familiar, inescapable pull. She should be better at this by now, but new regeneration or not, it's still a weakness. And she wouldn't change it even if she could.]

I do, yeah. Took a little getting used to at first. All the 'madame' this and that. And it's a different perspective. Lots of people are really ready to underestimate me like this. Or just plain ignore me.

[It is absurd is what it is. She'll tell Clara about being tried as a witch sometime.]

What do you think? [She gestures down at herself. Go ahead, Clara, give her the truth.]

Welcome to the wonderful world of womanhood. It's maddening, is what it is. Now you understand why I'm so bossy.

[ It's not an insult in Clara's opinion by any stretch.

When the Doctor asks what she thinks, Clara walks to stand directly across from her, head tilting this way and that as she appraises. There's always been something about the Doctor's she's known: the chin she wanted to kiss, the salt and pepper hair she wanted to push her fingers through. Still could, still wants to when she goes back to the right time. And now there are curves she wants to memorize.

If she isn't with the Doctor when this regeneration happens, then that means this is technically a second chance to get it right. Or a third? She has no idea. With a warm gaze, she teases first. ]

Well, you seem fit. [ Her dimpled smile melts into softer, smaller one. ]

You're perfect. You've always been perfect. Or were you looking for specifics?

It's rubbish.

[But bossy, yes, that's her Clara. It had been one of the things that she'd always liked about her, the fact that once her mind was set to something, there would be no moving her unless she chose to be moved.

She's always liked that smile though, that playful grin that made her eyes shine something wicked, that softer expression she's wearing just now that had a way of catching the Doctor's hearts into a series of tripping over themselves.]

Lots of running still, to trouble. From trouble.

[The usual really. A tilt of her head, and she reaches beneath her coat to hook into the bright yellow suspenders.] Thought you might have a comment about the braces at least.

[ Clara laughs, naturally gravitating into the Doctor's orbit, enroaching on her personal space. She feels like she's still testing it out; she's gotten quite good at making sure the Doctor sees her coming, it's habit now. ]

Your braces are about level with your bowties. And I liked those. A lot, actually. [ Every now and then, they were an excuse to step close and look up at him, fixing his bowtie when more often than not, it didn't need fixing. ]

I took one. Before you figured out your new sense of style, you hated the bowties so much, thought you might toss them into the time vortex. I knicked one, kept it at home where I could see it.

[Clara is close, but this is not something to complain about. It's distracting though, has always been a little distracting if she's being honest with herself -- not something she always chooses to be lately.

It's her turn to laugh.] I'm fond of the bowties again. Styles change.

[There is a certain brightness to her now, a renewed wonder at the world around her in general. Oh there's that deep sadness, running fast and deceptively deep and dangerous as the Bolton Strid for the way she keeps it tucked beneath easy cheer and excitement.]

I'm glad you kept it. And I'm glad you stayed. I don't remember if I ever really said that properly. Think you saved me from myself. More than once. [More than twice. More times than she really can count.]

[ Right away, Clara files that laugh away as magic, one of the best sounds she's ever heard. It makes her smile with dimples on display.

Until it dims a little. She hates thinking about that time, the very beginning. That phone call shredded her heart to pieces and then everything was taken away from her at once: reassurance, kind smiles, hugs. Even grabbing his hand wasn't allowed. It hurt and she tried, tried to hide it, tried to sink into Danny.

What a mess it all was. But now she can reach out, tactile as ever, so she does. Taking her hand, Clara keeps her eyes trained on the Doctor's. ]

That's what I do. It's what I was born to do, and it's what I want to do.

[ Clara knows that's something she doesn't like, but it's already done, echoes scattered. ]

[It was a hard time for the both of them. She'd been so lost in who she was and who she would be after the way the former her had found his end. And oh her Clara, the one stable bright spot left in a world that had been turned on end, who she'd -- he'd, then -- needed so desperately, but hadn't known the shape that should take. Could take.

This is easier, even after the heartache of losing Clara, trying to get her back before losing even the memory of her, left only with a void that was unmistakable but fillable until her memory was restored.

The Doctor's hand shifts, and for a moment it might seem like she intends on pulling it from Clara's hold. But it's just the opposite, the little movement meant to lace their fingers together, only to squeeze reflexively at those words.]

You were born for so much more than that, Clara.

Maybe I was.

[ Clara will allow that, a small victory for her Doctor. ]

But then you showed me the stars. You took me to galaxies and planets, times and places I'd never even dreamed of. The second you stood at my door in that ridiculous monk outfit—[ She allows herself to smile, then steps even closer, continuing with a softened voice ]—you changed everything about who I thought I was.

[ Clara's got no clue how loaded this conversations, but she means it. ]

Made me feel braver too, than I thought I could be.

[The words strike like blows, and Clara doesn't know. Clara can't know just how dangerous all those things were. She tries to keep it out of her expression, tries to keep the smile from faltering.

It's a little easier with Clara being here, smiling at her.]

Too brave sometimes. [She admits, trying to keep the rueful tone from her voice.]

You changed who I was too. For the better.

[ It's there and gone again, something in the Doctor's eyes that causes that same knot to twist in her stomach. But it's gone so quickly there's no time for Clara to react. Instead, she smile so hard her dimples could hold water. She's glowing at the Doctor's words. ]

I did?

[ Sometimes, it's hard for Clara to believe she could mean more to the Doctor than others who were companions before her. Who was she, but a sad girl from Blackpool when she went on her first adventure? Who was she, to change the Doctor at all? ]

I find that hard to believe. [ But she's still grinning, more than pleased. ]

Do you really?

[There's genuine surprise in her voice now. Fact is, everyone she's known and loved have changed her, handprints on her hearts that shape the way they beat. Some have struck deeper, and if the way that everything in her wants to leans closer in the wake of that beautiful smile is any indication, Clara Oswald has pierced straight to the core of her.]

[ It's still an odd feeling to be able to look right into the Doctor's eyes without standing on tiptoes, but Clara finds that she likes it, and she studies her intently. There's so much hanging at the end of that question, an opening that Clara should have enough bravery to lean into.

Even now, though, she's afraid of losing her best friend because she's said something that's too much. The happiness at hearing the words doesn't falter on her face, but her words do. ]

I—I dunno, I figured I was just as or equally important as anyone else you asked to travel with you. I think you have a type.

[ It's a gentle tease while confirming she doesn't know quite how her role in the Doctor's life changed it, other than that time she jumped into the time stream. But she's told herself anyone would, any person that's wanted to be with the Doctor would've done the same.

But there's a tiny part of her that always hoped the Doctor would've seen it for what it was: the grandest gesture of love she could think of without actually saying the words.

Yes, parts of the universe were blinking out of existence, and that mattered, but she can't pretend it wasn't selfish. ]

[Clara is not wrong about her having a type. And it's such a tragic type really, too brave and too kind, a combination that so often is the reason she loses them. Clara is no exception to that. If anything, she's the pinnacle of it.]

Maybe there's just a certain type who's mad enough to come along with a mad man... woman... with a box.

[It's a gentle teasing right back. The Doctor is the one to reach out this time, her free hand seeking out Clara's, feeling a bit at drift and hoping that the additional touch would be grounding. She lives in the whirl of every timeline at her fingertips, flung in and out of time by her own choice and the TARDIS' whims, and somehow in this moment, looking into those beautiful eyes, she can't tell which was is forward.

Sometimes truths are hard, especially the personal ones. Clara deserves better though.]

You're special, Clara. If I never made that clear, then that's my fault. I should have.

[ The Doctor said it, never in words. She knows there was pride, she knows there was affection. On some level, yes, she knew she was special. When the Doctor takes her hand, Clara reaches with her free hand to press her palm against her cheek. ]

You made me feel special. Always have done.

[ Studying her eyes, Clara lets herself sink into them, feeling the pull of words she should've said, words she's still trying to figure out how to say in her own timeline. If she isn't with the Doctor in her timeline now, maybe she never has the chance to say it. Maybe she should be clear, right now, here. Another chance. ]

Did you—do you know how I feel about you?

[Thats reassurance there. The Doctor knows she's complicated, difficult in so many ways. Through all her various regenerations that's always been true. She loves, oh she loves, but she struggles to ever let her walls fall completely even when by all rights someone deserves it. Pain and its memory are funny sentries in that, guarding so fiercely places already broken and scarred. But at least Clara knows she's special to her; that's something.

The hand at her cheek is warm, soft, and she turns every so slightly towards it, the near imperceptible shift of a flower angling towards the sun.

She considers the next question, and it feels like a dangerous one somehow.]

Fond? Exasperated? On my best days, both at once.

[It's a light answer, the usual dodge. But there is something in those ancient eyes as they meet Clara's gaze that desperately wants to hear the real answer.]

[ Clara's soft laugh comes with a fond stroke of her thumb over the Doctor's cheek. ]

Yup. Exactly, that's it.

[ That could be that, this is her chance to be too frightened to say the words again. But instead, Clara pushes forward, fueled by her fear of never saying it at all. Why is it so hard? Why won't the words just come? They won't, so she pushes her body into action and after another beat of her heart, leans in and lets her lips graze the Doctor's.

Even if this is all, at least she knows how Clara really feels, how she's felt since two faces back. ]

Thought so.

[Smug at being right and ready for that to be the escape route from any truer answer, the Doctor isn't expecting Clara to lean closer.

She isn't expecting those lips on hers, soft as starlight. She can feel her breath catch, feel her hearts skip. She should let it be no more than this. It would be safer, for the both of them that way, but it's Clara -- her Clara -- and instead she finds herself leaning after those lips, chasing that kiss that feels like it has been so long in coming.]

[ A part of her heart was prepared for the Doctor to pull away, to tell her no, she's a human and she can't. When that doesn't happen, when the Doctor presses into the kiss, a wall crumbles and she closes what minute space there was between them.

The hand on her cheek pushes gently into that short, blonde hair, and she lets the kiss become firmer, surer. This is how she feels, this is where her heart is, and when she pulls back just enough to speak, her breath falls across the Doctor's lips. It isn't so hard to say after a kiss. Her voice is soft and quiet, not wanting to break the tenderness of the moment. ]

I love you, you know.

[Those are the things that the Doctor should say. That she's already taken too much of Clara from her, that she can't be so selfish as that. That Clara is human and deserves someone who won't drag her into danger, who will protect her and her heart better than the Doctor could.

But she's missed Clara so much, regrets so much that has gone unsaid. How many times has she kept those words in her hearts and can she live through the regret of letting them strangle in silence again when there's this stolen moment of a second chance? So she settles her hand at the side of Clara's neck, thumb tracing the delicate line of that jaw, lingering in the kiss until Clara speaks.

The Doctor nods, barely a movement at all. She knows.]

You shouldn't. [Her voice is just as soft, like she's speaking secrets too delicate for more.] I love you too.

[ Clara's face brightens like the sun, though there's a hint of defiance that flashes in her eyes first. ]

I don't think you get to make that call. I get to love whoever I like, and it's you.

[ It feels like a relief to finally say the words now that she's said them once, now that she knows the Doctor feels the same way. ]

All that's missing now is being able to run away with you. Because I would again. No matter what happened, if you found me, I would go with you, I know I would.

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