ximilialog | open ; catch all for October

Entry tags:

open ; catch all for October

CHARACTERS: Clara Oswald & OPEN
LOCATION: Around the station
DATE: 10/17-10/21
CONTENT: Clara pops back onto the station after a canon update
WARNINGS: Mentions of death

I. Twice Returned
[Time is such a funny thing, really. In her time spent traveling with the Doctor, she's come to understand that it can be such a meaningless thing. Except for when it's important. And in the series of events that have just unfolded for her, time feels incredibly important. Vital, even.

The thing is, she remembers being on the station before. Remembers her friends there, and the missions. And she remembers the orbs. It had all been one big adventure before. But then she was sent back, gone in a blink of an eye. For those close to her, it's not likely they even will notice she's gone. For her though, time passes more slowly. Hours turn to days away, and days to week. Before she knows it, years have passed. Time spent aging and growing, developing into a different person. Clara Oswald has a home on Earth maybe, but she no longer feels the same sort of attachment to it that she once had. With the loss of Danny Pink and the intensity of her connection growing stronger with each adventure after, Clara's left more and more of her life on Earth behind.

Sure, it's fine to tap in and out of London to check in on people like Rigsy. People who are friends. People who -

Well, people who Clara's willing to die for. Her reckless streak has finally caught up to her in the form of a chronolock. One that's recently taken her life. Or maybe it took her life billions of years ago, things are a bit fuzzy at the moment. She recalls coming back, recalls learning the Doctor spent billions of years in a personal hell because of her dying. She recalls stealing her own TARDIS, recalls making the one person she loves more than anyone forget everything about her.

She had done it for his own good, and the good of the universe. It's a bit hard to justify staying together when you know an entire prophecy was written as a warning to keep you apart. It won't do to have their relationship bring on the hybrid.

Which is exactly why she's confused as she's pulled back into the station and has to try and sort things out. Is the Doctor still here, she wonders. Have billions of years passed here too? Only a few days? Weeks?

Time had started to feel meaningless for her.

That was before the raven swooped in and changed everything.

Now it feels increasingly important to pinpoint exact moments in time. Her fingers press against the inside of her left wrist as she slowly navigates the hallways. There's a heartbeat there. But there shouldn't be. When she bumps into someone as she walks she owlishly blinks up at them, her fingers slipping away.]

How long has it been since the last mission?

II. Sunlight Room
[For those that know her well enough, it's easy to tell that something is a little off. She looks a little older in her face, her eyes holding a maturity that she had previously been lacking. She's seen and been through so many things in her time away that being back here almost feels surreal. It doesn't feel like it should be possible.

But she's the impossible girl, or at least she once had been. She knows from experience that anything is possible. Usually she's the one forcing the impossible to happen. There's almost something comical about the fact that she finally was in full control of her own destiny. She had the ability to be the Doctor in her own right, traveling whenever and wherever she wanted. She could face her death when she was ready and go back to it the long way around.

She finally had all the control she wanted, only to have it torn away from her again. But she knew now she had a distinct purpose for being here. She couldn't remember her regret from before, but knew that it couldn't be as important as the one she wanted to undo now. She would do whatever it took to protect the Doctor. Even if it meant rewriting time itself.

She stands in the sunlight room, head tipped so she can peer up at the artificial light. It's almost like she's looking for something. She hears the sound of someone walking past and reaches out to grab hold of their hand. There's no words at first, no sign of what she wants. Really, she's just desperate for some kind of contact right now. A reminder to anchor her to the reality of being back and having a purpose again.]

Do you think this station had a purpose before we all arrived here?

III. Kitchen

[Apparently coming back to life and getting her heartbeat back means that the threat of being caught between her last heartbeat and death doesn't have to be an immediate threat. What is the immediate issue is that no amount of food seems to be enough. Clara's typically anxious over the amount of supplies on the station and worrying about whether or not everyone has enough. She started her hydroponic garden to help ensure the children have plenty to eat. But now that concern is far from her mind as she camps out in the kitchen and eats.

She spends hours grazing her way around the kitchen, only pausing when she catches sight of someone else entering. Her mouth is usually full when this happens, and she swallows what's in her mouth to try and awkwardly smile.]

Right, so...I can explain.

[She still thinks supplies are an issue and she should apologize for just stuffing her face this way.]

IV. Personal Quarters - closed close CR
[Clara spends as little time as possible in the room she shares with the Doctor. She finds herself not really wanting or needing to sleep those first handful of days back, only getting some catnaps here and there around the station. But when she finally feels disgusting and in ready of freshening up, she makes her way back to her quarters at long last.

After cleaning up and getting a change of clothes, she spends an extraordinary amount of time looking in the small mirror hanging on the wall by her bed. Typically her ego doesn't see any issue with admiring her reflection. Her purpose for looking today has little to do with how amazing her hair looks or how on point her eyeliner is. No, she's far more concerned about something else. It's easy to pretend like she hasn't been gone at all with the others. When it comes to the Doctor...well, she has her concerns. He'll be able to tell she's different immediately, just from the look in her eyes.

But it's the number that's tattooed on the back of her neck that she's worried about. Is it even still there? Clara gathers up her short hair to lift it up and turn in a way she can look at what she's afraid will be there. And sure enough, the numbers 001 are there, taunting her. There's no escaping the chronolock. Even here in another dimension and possibly even another universe entirely it follows her. It's a reminder of what she has waiting for her. Of what she has to hide from the man that's willing to tear the fabric of the universe apart if it means protecting her.

No matter what happens, the Doctor can never know her fate.

She's so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn't hear the door open at first. Her close friends know they're always able to just come inside, and it's likely the Doctor could pop back in as well. As soon as she realizes she's not alone her hair is dropped, hopefully masking any sign of the fact she's marked with a permanent countdown. She forces a smile, though it doesn't quite meet her eyes. She's able to keep her tone as fond and teasing as ever, which is a win. Banter is exactly what she needs to cheer up right about now.]

Let me guess. You want me to come see something you've done that shows how amazingly clever you are?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hugging. Yes, all right, hugging's good.

[ There's a different sort of energy in the room right now, the Doctor can practically taste it on his tongue, and the hug — while nice — does nothing for the way the cogs start to turn and whirl in his brain. It's all very ... hm. Strange.

Still, there's no hesitation when he pulls her into his arms in kind, squeezing her just as tightly as she's squeezing him. ]

Hello, Clara. I didn't forget the waffles, you know.

[ Because that ... must be what this is about, right? ]

Shampoo?

[ No — no, there's a reason for this. There's — ]

You smell different.

You're being weird again.

[The words are muffled thanks to her face being buried against his shoulder. She's taking in the scent of him as he criticizes the way she smells. The painfully familiar scent of tweed and jammy dodgers, mixed with spices from galaxies no one else here has ever seen. And there's an edge of stardust there too, a scent she didn't realize she recognized until just now.

She smiles against him before she lifts her head. There's no pulling away yet, because she doesn't want him to see the look on her face. She's got a big lie to pull off here, and she wants him to actually think everything is fine.

Fine. She's fine. Everything is completely fine.]

What do I smell like...exactly?

I'm always being weird.

[ At least that much is true. There's another pause as he tilts his nose to sniff her hair, very much like a puppy trying to figure out his surroundings by smell alone. He gets a scent of the stardust too, only its not from him that he's smelling it. ]

I don't know.

[ It's an honest answer as his (delicate) brows knit together in thought. Still, he won't let go of her for as long as she wants him not to. ]

You didn't pick up one of the soaps from the drop-off, did you? Though I suppose it really is all first come, first serve — found a bag of satsumas in that mess, I thought you might like one.

[Now that gets her to pull back enough to look up at him.]

Did you bring one with you?

[And realizing that she probably sounds entirely too excited about fruit, she steps back enough that she can cross her arms over her chest and try to look nonchalant.]

It feels like I haven't eaten in years is all.

[Which makes her realize that the sound of her heartbeat is loud in her ears, and she knows for a fact it shouldn't be. Her stomach is roaring with grumbles, and her hands slip down to both press over her belly.]

I didn't grab anything from the most recent drop off, though. I've been a bit...busy.

[Understatement of the century.]

Busy doing what?

[ It's said as the Doctor pulls back too, providing himself with enough space to reach into one of the pockets of his trousers and pull a perfectly orange-coloured satsuma from its depths. He presents it like it's a precious gift, and in some ways it is. They've been eating a lot of strange space-food lately, a lot of interesting cuisine on Braccia. (None of it bad, of course, just different.)

Something as lovely and Earth-like as a satsuma somehow feels ... novel. ]

I've kept the rest in the kitchens, though I suspect half of the crew will have found them by now.

Busy doing nothing in particular.

[Her face lights up with a smile, but there's a slightly unhinged quality to it. Like she really hasn't eaten in an incredibly long time and her body is screaming at her to tear the satsuma out of his hand and devour it as quickly as possible. So she does, though she makes every attempt to do it in a way that comes across as general excitement.

It's been a while since they've had some decent Earth produce, she thinks. So it shouldn't be hard to pass the way she digs through the orange flesh and into the fruit beneath as nothing more than just fondness for something from her old home.

She's having sensory overload as she presses a torn off wedge into her mouth, the taste and smell almost enough to cause her to shut down completely. It doesn't though, but she can't stop the way tears start slipping down her cheeks as she chews and eats.

No matter how hungry she is, those emotions get the better of her. She turns away to head over to set the fruit down on top of her small dresser. From there, she picks pieces off more slowly and chews them in a way that says she might be trying to commit the taste to memory. ]

How long has it been since you've seen me, Doctor?

[That question is probably a huge clue that something's very wrong. But she still isn't going to just come out and tell him. Not yet.]

[ Oh, it's not just the question that has the Doctor running every bit of their conversation back again like a tape on rewind. He keeps his hands in his pockets as Clara steps out of the small orbit they've created and moves towards her dresser to continue eating the satsuma in silence against the background of the station's soft, electrical hum.

The Doctor doesn't say anything, for once keeping quiet too, keeping watch, and he notes the way those big, beautiful eyes of hers start to fill with tears. His lips part as though there are words he's preparing for, questions he wants to ask — but nothing comes out even as he starts to hover towards her again. ]

Since this morning. [ It's said slowly, concern and curiousity beginning to work its way into his features in equal amounts. ] Why? What are you not telling me, Clara?

[ How could something have happened in his absence? Because he's convinced now that something has happened, everything is all ... wrong now, everything feels very much out of place, muddled even further than the way they've already started this adventure out of sync.

Very, very seriously: ] What happened?

[Ah, there's his serious voice. The intensity of that one had made her shiver and get goosebumps once upon a time. It still does a little now, his tone pulling her out of her thoughts in a way that doesn't give her time to try and think of a lie.]

I was sent back home. I don't think I was gone for long here, but for me it was longer. Much, much longer.

[And that being said, she peels away the rest of the skin and pops the last pieces of fruit into her mouth. This is a serious conversation but she can't stop savoring the taste and the fact that she's capable of eating anything at all.]

It's been years since I've seen you.

[Her voice is so small and lost in that moment that she doesn't feel very much like Clara Oswald at all.]

Sent back home?

[ Wait, what? In a matter of mere hours — how? Is there some kind of time-and-space equipment on this station that he doesn't know about? Oh, well that's —

That's something he's absolutely going to keep in mind to ask his future self about, see if he has any idea, and barring that perhaps he'll finally speak with this AI herself about it. Because if that technology exists, certainly there is a way to get his TARDIS back. He wouldn't stray far from the station for the orbs and the missions, but he does miss his blue box terribly.

But that is another thought for another time. Right now, he's moving towards Clara, getting right up into her space like he always does, like they've grown comfortable doing, reaching out to rest his hands on both of her arms. This time he studies her, really studies her, catches all of the strange things that he'd missed when he first burst into the room.

It isn't just the hair, though the hair is a thing. It's the smell of her, the deepness in those eyes, the heaviness in her shoulders. ]

You've caught up, then. [ To his future self, he assumes, wondering if she's gone to seek him out first. It wouldn't be a surprise. ] Past me. [ Which doesn't change anything, really, he'd always known he would have to one day die if the Cross Scotsman existed.

But endings ... oh, he hates endings. Didn't want to see one for himself, not really, not when he'd somehow managed to do the impossible and dodge it for as many times as he has thus far. ]

Do you see your regret undone?

No.

[She answers him in a soft but firm tone. It's about two seconds later that she realizes she needs to elaborate.]

My mother's still dead.

[It's easier now to freely admit that's her regret, as if it's something she needed to hide from him before. It almost feels laughable to think that she needed or even could hide anything from him. No matter the face, no matter his mannerisms, the Doctor is still the Doctor. And she loves him completely because of it.

Secrets keep you safe sometimes.

But honesty feels so much more freeing.

Her arms shift to pull out of his hold, so she can take both of his hands in her much smaller ones. She brings his right up toward her mouth so she can press a kiss against his knuckle. She's so grateful to get to have him here again that she'd do anything to just keep him here with her. She remembers her gran's words on Christmas a few years back.

I wanted everything to stop. I wanted nothing to change ever again. If he could just keep standing there, so beautiful ...

She understood those words when she had gone to the Doctor on Trenzalore, but she feels them so much more strongly now. Her left hand slips free of his, so she can gently cup his cheek. Her thumb traces over his jawbone and she finds herself smiling despite the rising emotion that she's feeling.]

I'll never move past you completely.

[Never move on completely, she means.]

[ Something complicated crosses his face, changes the way his mouth has been set, before he composes himself again. Her regret, so loud and clearly said between them, doesn't even come as a surprise. The loss of her mum had set so much in motion, made Clara Oswald the impossible, wonderful, beautiful human that she is today. He'd seen some of it for himself, of course, when he'd gone back in time to ... do a little research. He hadn't known who she was back then, and he'd had his suspicions, but he never thought —

Well. He wonders if Clara ever remembers the strange not-so-raggedy man who might have made brief appearances in her life over the years. Kept himself hidden through most of it, of course, but there was the one time with the ball ... anyhow. It isn't important just now.

He's quiet as he watches her expression, lets her hold his hands, lets her shift to touch his face, first his cheek and then the line of his jaw, and then he closes his eyes. He lets the touch become a study in itself, analyzing the very way it feels different too, and oh, it makes something inside his chest ache to know that they're so far out of sync now than they ever were. Such is the life of a Timelord, perhaps. But that doesn't make it any less devastating in its own way.

He doesn't respond to her comment, because of course he doesn't. He simply can't; he doesn't have the right to. So he lifts a hand to cover hers and squeezes her fingers gently. ]

Did you ask to go home? Just for a moment?

[ He would understand if she did. At least — he thinks he would. ]

No.

[She answers honestly, without any hesitation.]

How could I, when I have both of you here with me?

[She'd never leave either of them, not willingly. Which puts the powers that be that control this place into an even more terrifying bracket for her. What kind of power must they have, to be able to pull people in and send them away, then pull them back again?

She isn't sure that's a question she wants to figure out the answer to right away. Still, she keeps her smile soft and warm. Seeing him like this again, touching him this way, it makes her feel young again.

She's been through so much since his regeneration that she feels like an old woman sometimes. The Impossible Girl that's lived thousands of lives, each one more brave and reckless than the last.

Maybe this life here on the station will be her best yet.]

It just happened, shortly after we returned from Braccia.

[Her hand turns so they're touching palm to palm. And she slips her hold away from his cheek, so she can simply just hold his hand. For that brief second, it feels like her heartbeat aligns with his and everything's right in the universe once more.]

Oh, Clara.

[ His voice is soft, and he closes his eyes for a moment like her words have hurt him somehow — but mostly it's because the truth of it is that it goes the other way. The Doctor couldn't leave Clara — not again. He thinks she knows this, too. How could she not?

In most circumstances when faced with this sort of closeness and intimacy, the Doctor's first instinct is to flap his hands and take a very large step back, not wanting to get close. He'll fill those moments with awkwardness until the whole thing is just much too silly and he can slip away. It's easier.

He ... isn't sure he wants to do that now, not when her palm slides against his in such a way, her fingers slowly curling around his to hold them in place. He could kiss her if he wanted to. Or he could stay where he is, feeling her warmth radiating off of her like she's the sun and still feel like he's just a small planet struggling to remain in her orbit, only able to feel a fraction of that heat from where he's rooted. Because that's where they're at now, isn't it? She's moved so far beyond him that this face has become a part of her past, and there's that same cruel joke being played on him again.

He huffs a soft laugh, rueful. ]

Of all the people on this station, it had to happen to you, didn't it? The impossible.

[She still wants him to kiss her. After all this time, all the words left unspoken, the feelings left unacted on. She thinks to not long ago for her, when she spoke to his older self in the cloisters. All the things she had to tell him then. It was part of her wake up call that had her realizing the Doctor would never let her go.

Would this version of the Doctor kill in order to save her? Would he torture himself for billions of years if he knew about her inevitable death? Every move she makes is something that will likely change his future, their future forever.

She doesn't deserve him, she realizes. He doesn't know about her betrayals, about the intensity of their connection that leads to an entire prophecy being created to keep them apart. The woman she becomes is so different from the girl that he still thinks he knows. Or maybe now he's realizing he doesn't know her at all. Even unintentionally, she winds up breaking his hearts. ]

You and River get on just fine with your timelines out of sorts, don't you?

[It's a quiet, almost desperate question. She doesn't want him to pull away.]

Sometimes.

[ His voice is soft, so very soft too, but no. He doesn't move away, not physically, and he doesn't even think to separate himself from the emotional confession either. ]

Sometimes it was hard. [ He pauses. ] Too confusing. Still is, now that she's here.

[ She is, after all, supposed to be dead. And all of the times they'd run into each other had been from some time before her death, with the two of them running into each other from opposite ends of the swirling scoop of spaghetti that was their relationship. He'd seen her die; he'd been witness to it before this particular face had even met her. He'd worn a long coat then and silly shoes, and he'd watched her give up her life for them all.

He looks at Clara now and wonders if the same really is to be said of their relationship too. It'd serve him right though, wouldn't it? He never did like doing things in the one straight line going forward; it always had to swirl around, over and under and this and that and every which way in between. ]

[She reaches up, hand pressing against his chest. He doesn't know why his being here is such a big deal to her, why his very presence makes her emotional. And he can't ever know, and that's the part that's killing her.

So she does what she always does as far as the Doctor's concerned. she puts a smile on her face and is brave through those big feelings that threaten to overwhelm her. She's gotten good at lying through a smile, making him think that everything is going to be just fine.

The way she reaches up to adjust his bowtie just helps the lie move along.]

The good thing about that is she's your wife.

[Something she could never hope to be.]

You and I, we -

[His bowtie gets a little pat now that it's properly straightened.]

We'll figure this out. Same as we always do. A few timeline issues won't come between us.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

open ; catch all for October

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject