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morninginsp · 7 years ago

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ours was always a story of ghosts

following skaro, clara has some questions about where she fits in his long life. though the doctor may have found some charm, words still seem to escape his grasp when it comes to her; 1271 words; twelve/clara; set post “the witch’s familiar”

happy birthday, @veradune! i hope you enjoy one more bit of whouffaldi before the finale!

“Tell me.”

It’s evening, she suspects; time is always a bit different in the Vortex. Even her dulled human senses know that it’s more like a quiet bay with tides than the open ocean that might roar up at any moment – funny how specific points are much more like the vastness of the ocean than the endless Vortex.

“Must we do this now?” His voice is tired; they’ve only just left Skaro, and the events weigh heavily on his slim frame. He’s a 2000 year old Time Lord, and it’s only in moments that she ever feels the burden of those years.

“Yes.”

“Won’t change what happened.”

“Might change what happens next.” She tries to not rise to his impatience and grief, but it rolls over her in waves, and she’s drowning.

“Clara.”

God help her, she loathes and loves the way he says her name. Like it holds all the answers to every question she might ever ask. They never talk about that either. The way he holds her name close to him like a talisman in his fight.

“No. You don’t get to shirk this this time. That woman, who was supposed to be dead, nearly killed me today, and you seemed to know she’d just be there. You promised you’d make it up to me, while this is it, make it up to me.”

He stands from the workbench he’s been tinkering at, all metallic clicks and quiet curses, and approaches her. She’s perched on the arm of his wingback chair, and though he’s so much taller than she is it’s never quite occurred to her how intimidating this face of his is. He stops just inside a comfortable distance and stares down at her – eyebrows high and confused.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Her confession stands between them for a long moment. It sounds pathetic and human to even her ears, but she won’t take it back. They would tear across the universe for each other, and at the very least she deserves to know why; what has his past given him that makes her emotions override her senses?

“That’s a lot to know. Too much.”

“I will not be your pet, Doctor. I can handle it all.”

His face contorts at that notion. “This is not my – I’m not implying you can’t. It’s just the time to know it all, it doesn’t exist for you.”

His eyes go sad and lost – worse than she’s ever seen before. And she knows it’s not the intention, but this won’t be the moon all over again where he dictates her life without her consent.

“No, she said I was the puppy, and if you don’t try, I am. And I am no one’s puppy.”

He struggles for a moment, clearly confused by her analogy, but plows on as is his wont. “Puppy? I don’t understand? You’re not a pet.”

“Exactly! I’m a person! A person who knows you, a person who should know more than she does, but someone refuses to tell me –”

He stops her by pulling her against his chest, and it’s not until she feels the wetness of his t-shirt that she realizes she’s been crying. “Oh Clara.” His voice rumbles through her, and she wraps her arms tight around his neck.

She clings to him, feet dangling inches from the ground as he supports her slight weight as he attempts to soothe whatever heartache he unwittingly gave. “I heard you. In the sewers with Missy. I heard what you said to them about me.”

He stiffens. She knows she's said too much. That this is too much for him.

She moves one hand to his face, forcing him to look down at her. “Doctor.”

Something shifts in his gaze and his hands tighten at her waist; and all of sudden their positions are reversed, and he’s sinking down, back into the chair proper with his long legs bent at the knee over the arm of the chair, and she’s settling across his lap with her skirt flaring out to cover his narrow hips.

Grey curls tickle her cheek as he buries his face in the curve of her neck, and all rational thought flees her mind. They’re definitely doing hugging now. His lips move against her neck and sensations roar across her skin for several long moments before she realizes he’s chanting against her skin and not just leaving soft butterfly kisses at her pulse. “Can’t lose you, Clara.”

She freezes. All the moments of her day crash into her conscious, and she has to reign in a hysterical giggle. Oh god. Somewhere along the way before Skaro, they became so much more, and it’s too much.

Carefully, she sinks a hand into his curls, which are so much softer than they look. “Doctor.” She slowly pets his hair. “Doctor, please. Look at me.”

He drags his nose against her pulse point as he tilts his head up to face her. His eyes shine with unshed tears as he meets her gaze. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. You weren’t supposed to know –”

He stops, and a frown forms on his face that suggests the words keep escaping his mouth without permission.

“Know what?” she prompts. “That you care? That I’m imp-”

He stands abruptly, apparently forgetting his has a lapful of Clara, and she’s forced to cling to his neck like an erstwhile bull rider lest she fall to the ground. Momentum carries him to his feet, and gravity pulls his neck down as Clara struggles to maintain her footing.

When she’s found her footing and glances up, his eyes are closed and mouth drawn into a painful grimace. She almost opens her mouth to berate him for his foolishness, but she hesitates. The Doctor, her Doctor, could barely stomach a hug, but now, his hands have settled on her hips to steady her, and he hasn’t pulled back from her hands on his neck.

She pushes down the irritation she feels, and instead, gently slides her hand to cup his cheek. “Doctor?”

His eyes open, and there’s something startling about how blue they are when they meet her gaze. The intensity in his gaze overwhelms her, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s, they’ve, been avoiding. “I can’t… I can’t lose you.” Though the confession is same as before, his unyielding gaze brings tears to her eyes as the words wash across her.

He turns her palm to his lips, and for a long moment she cannot breathe. The lump in her throat means it’s impossible to speak, but her heart aches knowing this is as close as he can get to saying what she means to him. She’s known better than to expect eloquent speeches out of this version of him, and so for him to confess even a fraction of his feelings with her so close, it’s almost more than she can bear.

He gives her palm the chaste-est of kisses before he folds it between his hands at his hearts. She blinks away her tears, before she rises on her toes to return his favor with one of her own.

Their lips meet like a whisper, and she nuzzles his nose before she says, “I won’t leave you. Not ever.”

“Is that a promise?” His voice colored with a touch of amusement and more than a little heart-wrenching grief.

“Promise.” She assures, relaxing down to rest her head against his hands still flat on his chest.

After all, love is a promise, and she does not intended to break her word again.

#whouffaldi #twelve/clara #dw fanfiction #doctor who #otp: you know what's rarer second chances #otp: i'd know you anywhere #happy birthday veradune

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