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drakewalkerfantasy · 3 years

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Don't fall in love (Eleventh Doctor x Clara Oswald)

A Doctor Who fanfiction for #WhouffleWeek2020

Day 1: Jealousy / “How does that feel?”

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Clara Oswald

Tagging: @choices-bound @jamespotterthefirst @the-soot-sprite @annekebbphotography

Summary: After winning a battle against the Daleks, Clara witness something what made her angry, jealous and sad. Something what she never expected to see, not when it concerned her Doctor. And the truth that she was afraid to admit even to herself, finally comes out. The silence realisation comes to both that they finally broke the only rule they were strict about: Don't fall in love.

Words: 1305

A/N: I'm not sure who want to be tagged, so tagging some people hope you don't mind. If you do mind please let me know :)

**Warnings: slightly angsty**

When the battle against the Daleks was finally won and Clara’s gaze searched for the Doctor, with sparkles of glee in them, she saw what she never expected to see. The Doctor... her Doctor locked in a passionate kiss with Tasha Lem. She could feel how her heart sunk breaking in a thousand pieces. The powerful pain she never felt before burning through her soul. Her eyes watered and her lower lip trembled, but she still kept calm gulping this new founded feelings away and turning around quietly disappearing into the TARDIS.

Inside she leaned against the console panel. Her palms spread flat against it trying to calm down, pushing away the pain that the sight of the Doctor kissing another woman caused her. She didn’t even realise that she wasn’t alone anymore when the cheerful voice of the man who occupied her thoughts broke through bringing her to reality. Bringing back the anger and pang of jealousy she suddenly felt.

“Where now?” exclaimed Doctor swirling around on the spot before pressing some buttons with ease, sliding to the next set of levers to pull on them.

“I don’t know,” replied Clara. Her usual excitement replaced by indifference and apathy that made Doctor’s brows furrow at a loss of what happened. His brains processing everything what just happened not getting a single clue what could possibly upset Clara. And he could sense that she was in fact upset by him somehow. But why? What did he do to upset his Clara... his impossible girl. His brows furrowed even more in concentration and he pouted slightly still having not a single clue what was wrong.

“Are you okay?” he asked placing his hand on top of hers trying to catch her gaze, feeling how her hand slipped under his and she took a step away. The fact that she even didn’t look at him instead focusing her gaze on the buttons and levers in front of her made him worry even more. “Clara...,” he said. His gaze completely at loss and he stopped moving focusing instead on her, trying to figure out what was wrong. His hand reached for hers but she pulled it out of his reach and turned her back on him. And her next words she uttered in a barely audible whisper breaking slightly at the end made his hearts skip a bit and his eyes widened.

“Take me home,” she said, walking away from him toward the stairs that lead to the corridor filled with lots of rooms, hopping to find some corner away from him and let her emotions out.

“Ok...kay,” he said. His voice breaking slightly feeling somehow responsible for the way how distant she seemed to be. Subconsciously feeling that in some way this was his fault and he somehow hurt Clara without meaning to. But he didn’t question it at least not now... watching her walk away, pulling and pushing buttons to bring her home.

When TARDIS finally landed, Doctor watched Clara to move across the console platform in silence, throwing him a single glance before moving down the stairs toward the exit. He could feel that something was wrong, but no matter how hard he thought about that he still couldn’t understand what... what could have possibly happen in these two-three God forsaken minutes after they won and him finally joining her in the TARDIS.

“See you next Wednesday,” hopefully asked Doctor, feeling somehow nervous while waiting for her reply.

“Uhuh...,” she replied, making a first step down the stair, when Doctor couldn’t take any more of that and ran toward her catching her by her elbow and turning Clara to face him. His face a perfect picture of confusion that occupied his every feature while he searched her eyes as if trying to decipher her bad mood.

“Clara, what did I do? Did... did I do something to upset you?” asked Doctor frowning in confusion. His eyes wide and hopeful, waiting for the instruction of how he can fix this and make her feel better.

“Doctor, I told you it’s nothing. So just leave it. Anyway, you probably want to be back with your friend... to celebrate the victory. So I will not delay you,” she said tiredly, feeling how tears brimmed her eyes. She knew that this wasn’t fair and by the look in his eyes he probably didn’t mean to hurt her or even didn’t realise he even did it, but it still hurt and she... she was jealous. There was no denying it. She was insanely jealous by the way his lips moved along Tasha’s while she herself was standing right here beside him... while she wanted to be kissed like that by him even though it wasn’t fair to him as he didn't promise her anything but she was jealous and angry and hurt... Quickly she moved toward the exit trying to get away from here as fast as she could, trying not to reveal to him her weakness.

She knew that not falling in love with him was a trick as he was brilliant, and funny, and mad... and he needed her. And she really thought that she could perform this trick successfully, sometimes even twice per day until his lips connected with Tasha's. The jealousy coursing through her, like the Daleks' blast of electricity as painful and as fast. It was at this moment when she realised that the trick of not falling in love with the Doctor has failed at last... and it seemed the same realisation caught up with him, when he looked at her back in confusion before strolling after her and wrapping his fingers around her arm to stop her from running.

“Oh... OH,” exclaimed Doctor. His eyes widened, when he caught Clara by her elbow and turned her to face him. “Clara,” he whispered. Her elbow still in his hand, holding it tenderly, while another brushed the stray tear that rolled from the corner of her eye, tracing the wet path along her cheek. “My Clara... my impossible... my perfect girl,” he murmured, while his hand cupped the side of her face in his, and he looked at her with so much adoration and awe in his gaze that it took Clara's breath away. He pressed a chastised kiss to her forehead, before pressing his forehead to hers, feeling her hands wrapping around his midsection so tightly as if not wanting to let him go... never wanting to let him go. Never... he thought, the pain shooting through him knowing that he shouldn't have this feelings for her. Knowing that no matter whether she returned them or not, he shouldn't have encourage them. Because never is a long time, and even he didn't have that. And though he came close to immortality, she would age and die... and he would be left alone with a broken heart once again.

“I know,” whispered Clara as if knowing what he was thinking. Isn't she always? he thought. Isn't she always... Gently she disentangled herself, looking up at him with a soft sad smile, making him immediately loose her warmth and closeness, missing instantly her scent of the old days and of his home. Something so distant and so close... Something she helped him to save. “See you Wednesday,” Clara murmured, standing on tiptoe and placing a fleeting kiss to the corner of his lips that lingered for a moment longer, while her hand brushed the side of his face, making him lean into her touch.

“See you next Wednesday,” he echoed her, watching her move away from him and toward the exit of the TARDIS.

“Next Wednesday, any Wednesday,” she laughed lightly, knowing that they both broke the one rule they were strict about: not fall In love. Knowing that even the time machine couldn't change that.

#whouffleweek2020 #whouffle #whouffle week 2020 #eleventh doctor #doctor who #clara oswald #eleventh x clara

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yowzah-shipper · 3 years

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Hi, I just wanted to share this one-shot I’ve read a few years ago. It’s an old one, but it fits the "Jealousy/"How does that feel?" prompt perfectly :) Enjoy!

#whouffle week 2020 #whouffaldi #12th doctor #clara oswald #clara x twelve #doctor who #whouffle

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oswlld · 2 years

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edits : all | 1K+ notes | from the archives

star wars ↳ all edits ↳ andor ↳ obi-wan kenobi ↳ the mandalorian

marvel ↳ all edits ↳ moon knight ↳ wandavision

doctor who ↳ all edits ↳ whouffle/whouffaldi ↳ thasmin

participating/prev particip. in ↳ (NEW!) Oswlld Media Wrap Up Series ‘24 ↳ Semantic Error Month ’23 ↳ Oswlld’s End of the Year Gifties ’22 ↳ Bad Buddy Week ’22 ↳ Doctor Who Apprec. Week ’22 ↳ Star Wars Apprec. Week ’22 ↳ TV Women Apprec. Week ↳ CreatorHub’s Summer Event ’21

etc ↳ #tswiftedit (see also: folklore: the musical) ↳ #theatreedit (see also: hamilSeries) ↳ #s8edit ↳ #obedit ↳ #tgpedit and other fandoms here and there

—

and a quick q&a :

q: what software/applications do you use? a: mainly VSCO and Snapseed on mobile + Preview on desktop UPDATE - Feel free to Click Here to see Before/After Coloring (Updated Version), with a more thorough explanation on ways i use the above

q: do you use photoshop? a: anything prior to 2020 (from the archives), yes I did. Currently? No.

q: are requests still open? a: as of 02/25/2022 requests are closed; will update this space and the pinned post if I decide to open it up again; please do not reach out to me in the chat for requests

[updated as of 02/09/2024]

#/do/not/re/blog/#this is for the pinned post #nothing to see here

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gnougnouss · 3 years

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Whouffle week 2020: Day 5 Missing scene

I don’t think he left her body on the street soooo... this takes place during face the Raven between watching Clara die and confronting Ashildr.

#whouffleweek2020 #face the raven #doctor who #whouffaldi #Clara Oswald #Twelfth Doctor #myart #dw fanart

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sheliesshattered · 3 years

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Time And Relative Dimension

Clara/Twelve post-Flatline AU. Part 5 of the on-going s8 AU series For As Long As We Get, but can be read as a stand-alone. 6300 words, Twelfth Doctor POV. Emotional hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, newlyweds navigating married life. A late entry for Whouffle Week 2020 for the prompt: dancing. Available on AO3 under the same title and username.

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Time And Relative Dimension

“Right,” Clara sighed as she stood in the open doorway of the TARDIS. “I need to— to look at my lesson plans for the week, and do some laundry in a machine I know won’t try to ‘improve’ my clothes as it washes them.”

The Doctor looked up from the controls he was fiddling with on the console, his mind full of a nascent idea for a modification to the TARDIS that he suspected was probably more trouble than it was worth. “So you said this morning,” he replied, confused. “That’s why we came back to your flat.”

“Right,” she said again, sounding tired. “I’m also going to have a shower, I think. Given... all that.” She gestured vaguely, evidently referring to the hours they’d just spent in Bristol and their encounter with the Boneless.

“Take your time,” he shrugged, most of his attention on the navigation system. Landing in Bristol had been entirely unintentional, and while he’d long since stopped questioning the TARDIS when she decided his presence was needed somewhere other than where he’d aimed for, it might be useful if the console could at least warn him that their destination had changed. Maybe if he rerouted the nav computer...

“Just don’t—” Clara’s voice broke in a way that he associated with five-foot-one and crying, but when he glanced back at her, her expression was carefully blank, her gaze fixed in the middle distance. “Don’t leave,” she went on, steadier. “Stay where I can find you.”

He had thought that much was obvious, but she seemed to be waiting for an answer, so he said, “Yes, boss.”

She nodded once and stepped out into her flat, leaving the TARDIS doors open. It was a habit he didn’t usually engage in, leaving the doors open for anything other than coming and going — the TARDIS was safer with the real-time envelope sealed, and picked up fewer stray cats that way — but as with most things, exceptions could be made for Clara. For whatever reason, she wanted to know where he was, wanted assurances that the TARDIS wouldn’t leave without her, and keeping the doors open seemed like a simple way of achieving that.

For a time the Doctor lost himself in his tinkering, letting his thoughts wander as he began and then abandoned several different improvements to the settings and readouts. He heard the shower start and the water shut off a while later, heard Clara moving quietly around the sitting room just beyond the TARDIS doors, papers rustling and books closing. It was comforting in a way he hadn’t expected, the small connection of sound, knowing that his Clara was just outside, engaged in her own projects while he pursued his.

He had never considered himself someone who enjoyed domestic life. He’d raised a family on Gallifrey, yes, but it was so long ago now that it felt like a dream, half-forgotten upon waking. Since then his relationships had been anything but domestic, and he’d spent so many centuries running from everything boring and ordinary that he had never thought he could want anything else. There was always more of the universe to see, more to experience, people to save and civilisations to discover, and he had never been particularly adept at staying in one place.

In many ways, Clara was a perfect match for him in that, as in so much else. After the Orient Express, they had hidden away in the TARDIS for a few days, but eventually the universe had called to them, and as often as not it was Clara leading the way out into the unknown. She was as insatiable as he was, despite her need for more sleep and frequent meals, and it had only been the realisation that they had been travelling nonstop for nearly a month that had finally convinced them to wrap up their honeymoon trip and find their way back to Earth, back to the normal life she’d left behind when they’d run off to get married.

But even in the midst of their extended honeymoon, one adventure flowing into the next, they had discovered a rhythm to their life together that hadn’t been there before, a pattern to their days and an ease with each other, existing in a dimension that belonged entirely to them. He shouldn’t have been surprised, then, to find that it continued here, unchanged whether set against the wonders of the universe or the mundanity of Clara’s flat. He still didn’t crave domesticity, would still rather skip over the boring days than experience time in a straight line. But with Clara there weren’t any boring days. Just quiet, sweet in-between days where being with her was enough.

Too quiet, the Doctor realised, pausing with his hand half outstretched for the sonic screwdriver. The soft noises from the sitting room had stopped. No more slide of paper against paper or creak of sofa cushions. He held his breath, listening for any sounds from the flat outside, but was greeted with absolute silence.

Concerned, he got up from his workbench and went to the TARDIS doors and looked out. Clara’s school papers were still spread across the coffee table, but there was no sign of Clara herself. He stepped into the sitting room, frowning, and listened more intently. It hardly seemed likely that she would have left the flat without telling him, especially after asking that he not leave, either. Maybe she had just slipped into the bedroom for something? Gone to make herself tea?

Ah, there it was, the distant clink of dishes drifting down the hallway from the kitchen. He followed the sounds, anxious to see his wife again for reasons he couldn’t quite name. There was no logic behind this feeling, this worry that nagged at him for the few short seconds it took to walk down the hall and through the doorway to the kitchen. But he knew better than to dismiss that sort of gut-level instinct.

Clara was there, of course, a mixing bowl and whisk in her hands, her back towards him. The Doctor smiled at the sight of her, but his happy greeting stalled on the tip of his tongue when he caught another quiet noise in the stillness of the flat: a sniffle, wet and broken sounding.

“Clara?” he called to her, that instinctual worry ballooning into something much more fearsome.

She startled at his voice, shoulders tensing, and turned to look at him across the width of the kitchen, her eyes red-rimmed and overlarge. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, her voice rough.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What are you doing in here?”

In one motion she swiped at the tearstains on her face and then gestured to the ingredients spread across the worktop, as though the latter would distract him from the former. “I’m making a soufflé,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe. Like she hadn’t clearly been hiding in the kitchen crying silently and hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Despite everything that had changed over the last weeks, he was still uncertain of what to do with five-foot-one and crying, unsure of how to comfort Clara when confronted with unexplained tears. But her obvious deflection only made it clear to him that the one thing he couldn’t do was leave her to cry alone. There had been points in their relationship when maybe he wouldn’t have called it out, when he might have allowed her to hide behind an excuse like that. But they were far beyond that, now.

“Is there usually this much crying involved in making a soufflé?” he asked, trying to keep his voice gentle despite his growing worry.

She huffed out an annoyed, tear-thick sigh and turned her attention back to aggressively whisking the batter in the mixing bowl. “It’s called stress baking, Doctor,” she said after a moment, not looking at him.

“I can see that. I’m just not sure I understand why.”

Clara sighed again. “Could you just—”

“No,” he said firmly, knowing what she was about to say. “No, I will not leave you alone in here to cry into your soufflé. Rule two: we don’t walk away from each other. So tell me what’s going on.”

He watched her in profile as she looked up at the ceiling, clenching her jaw and blinking back tears, and that instinctual worry snagged in his chest, growing ever larger. Whatever this was it seemed serious, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that he was going to abandon her to deal with it on her own.

“Honestly, Clara,” he pressed when she didn’t reply, “I’m not going anywhere, so you might as well tell me.”

“I was nearly widowed today!” she snapped in response, gaze back her on mixing bowl, her vehemence surprising him. “In Bristol, of all places! When the TARDIS was on the tracks, and that train came and I couldn’t hear you anymore, I thought—” She cut herself off with a sharp shake of her head as tears filled her eyes again, channelling her emotions instead into stirring the soufflé batter with more force than necessary.

Oh. He hadn’t given any thought to how that must have looked from her perspective. It had been a tense moment on his end, completely out of power, stranded with a train bearing down on him. He had only barely managed to put the TARDIS into siege mode with a fraction of a second to spare. And even then, his situation had still been dire, stuck inside the shrinking ship, life support failing, and no way to communicate with Clara. “You thought I’d—”

“It’s rule one!” she interrupted him, whisk scraping harshly against the mixing bowl in the stillness of the kitchen. “Rule one is no dying! Regenerating would be bad enough, but something like that? Could you have even regenerated through it?” she demanded.

He blinked at her mutely, finally beginning to understand the source of her tears. In the rush of defeating their two-dimensional enemy, he hadn’t wanted to consider how narrowly they had avoided disaster, but thinking about it now, he knew she was right. If her gamble with harnessing the power of the Boneless hadn’t paid off, or if she hadn’t been so quick and clever in thinking of it, those might well have been his final moments.

There in the midst of it, he hadn’t been able to face that reality, and had allowed himself only the vaguest of goodbyes to Clara, unsure if she could even hear him. But in retrospect the moment stood out vividly, a tipping point that could have just as easily gone the other way. And he had done that to her, to his Clara, frightened her and nearly abandoned her for good. There was no choice he would have made differently, no clue they had missed that would have allowed them to solve the mystery earlier and avoid the danger entirely, but he still felt the weight of the guilt of having put her through that.

“For as long as we get,” she went on, her tone sharp. “That’s what we agreed on. I just thought it would be longer than four weeks.”

Her words spurred him into action, and without pausing to second-guess himself, the Doctor crossed the kitchen towards her in a few long strides and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Clara. Clara,” he said, stilling her frantic motion with the whisk, curling his chin over her shoulder and holding her close. “It is longer than four weeks,” he said gently. “We’re still here. Both of us. We’re alright. We get longer than four weeks.”

For a moment it seemed as though she would argue the point, but then she sagged against him, leaving the mixing bowl on the worktop and leaning back against his chest. She took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “I know. I know, it’s just— If I’d lost you today, I don’t know what I would have done,” she said, tears still thick in her voice.

With his cheek pressed to hers, the Doctor caught what seemed to be the second half of that sentence, a fragment of a thought ricocheting through Clara’s mind, unspoken: I don’t know what I would have told them.

“Told who what?” he asked without thinking.

She tensed in the circle of his arms, turning her head and pulling away just enough to break skin contact. “Doctor,” she hissed, holding herself rigid.

Startled, he released her and stepped back, only just realising what he’d done. “Sorry,” he said in a low voice, shaking his head even though she still had her back towards him, her arms now braced against the edge of the worktop. “I forget, sometimes,” he said, “that you haven’t had any training in this sort of telepathic contact, that you don’t know how to shield your thoughts from me. I shouldn’t have—” He cut himself off, shaking his head again. “Sorry.”

Clara pushed to standing and swiped at the tears on her face. “You just surprised me is all,” she said levelly, turning to him. “I’m still not used to all, all that. Not used to being quite so transparent to you.”

He watched her for a long moment, wondering if she really didn’t know how much he still struggled to read her at times, even with their newfound telepathy. “I could show you how to guard your mind,” he offered, “how to block me out.”

She glanced up at him and shook her head, looking away again. “That is the last thing I want. It’s an adjustment, is all. And I won’t adjust to it if I just construct new walls to hide behind. No more hiding, no more lying, that’s what we agreed, after all.”

“You’re still entitled to some privacy, Clara.”

“I don’t want privacy from you,” she insisted. “Truly, I don’t. I want to share my life with you — my thoughts, my plans, my hopes and worries, all of it. Not just the good things, but the bad, too. And I am trying, Doctor. It’s like I have to relearn everything now, I spent so long forcing myself to hide how I feel about you.”

“Since I told you I wasn’t your boyfriend,” he said, not quite a question.

“Since long before that,” she said seriously, looking up at him and holding his gaze. “Emma Grayling said something to me, when we were investigating Caliburn House, that made me realise how obvious I was about my feelings for you.”

“You’d known me barely a month at that point,” he said, scowling in confusion.

Clara raised an eyebrow at him. “And exactly how long did it take you?” She smiled a little and shook her head, saving him from having to pinpoint the answer to that question. “If something had happened to you today,” she went on, looking away and crossing her arms over her chest, clearly struggling with the words, “I don’t know what I would have told everyone else in my life. The people I work with, my dad and my gran, everyone I know. How I would have explained my grief to them. As far as they’re concerned, I just broke up with Danny a week ago. They don’t even know who you are, not really, not in the ways that count.”

“You want to tell them,” the Doctor said. “About me. About us.”

She sighed and considered it. “I should probably figure out a way to tell my family some version of the truth,” she said, finding his gaze again. “But everyone else? No, I don’t particularly want to tell them. They’re not entitled to this part of my life, I shouldn’t have to justify myself to them. But today just made it clear that...” She seemed to weigh her words for a moment, then said, “It made the disconnect between the two sides of my life starkly obvious. This morning when we decided to come back to Earth, I had every intention of teaching for a week before joining you in the TARDIS again. Now I don’t know if I could stand it, being away from you for that long, and you out there on your own, getting into who knows what sort of trouble without me.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “I’m not going to leave you here, Clara,” he said. “If you’re staying, I’m staying.”

“But— but you hate staying in one place!” she objected, shocked. “You always have, and it only seems to have gotten worse since you regenerated.”

“It’s not just about me,” he shrugged. “The idea is to build a life together, yes? Well, part of your life is here, so part of my life is here, too. If you want to stay for a week to teach, we’ll stay.”

“You would do that for me?” she asked, voice wavering.

“Clara, the far more dangerous question at this point is what I wouldn’t do for you. Staying in London for a week at a time doesn’t even come close to making the list.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes large, tears beginning to form.

“Don’t, with the eyes,” he told her, trying to head off another round of crying. “How do you do that with the eyes? It’s like they inflate!”

“Shush, shut up,” she said, shaking her head and crossing the kitchen towards him. She rose up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, but rather than the kiss he expected, she pressed her forehead to his.

I love you, he heard her voice say in his mind, the words coming through with such clarity that he was certain she was intentionally projecting them. But behind the words, he could feel the depth of her emotion as well, layered and complex in ways those small syllables could never encapsulate.

Every good day, every bad day, he told her, backing it up with his feelings for her as well.

She took a shaky breath into their shared space. “What do we think this one counts as?” she asked quietly. “Good day or bad day?”

“Well, we saved a lot of people,” the Doctor replied, “and neither of us died, so I think we have to mark it down as a good day. The murder of your soufflé notwithstanding.”

Clara huffed out a small laugh, still tear-tinged but sounding lighter than before. “You’re right, I’m afraid my attempt at gently folding in the meringue didn’t quite go to plan.”

“Yes, well, that’s par for the course when it comes to your soufflés. It’s always something — burned or mangled or just deflated.”

She leaned back to look at him. “Someday I am going to make you a perfect soufflé, and then you are going to have to take back every unkind thing you’ve ever said about my baking.”

“And when that day comes I will,” he said with a grin.

“Can’t you just sonic it or something?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the abandoned mixing bowl, not moving away from him.

“The sonic doesn’t do soufflés, Clara.”

She shot him a cheeky look. “Well, maybe it ought to do.”

Smiling at her fondly, the Doctor leaned in to kiss her, letting his love for her seep through his skin and into hers. He could feel the open door between their minds, the connection that had sprung into existence when she had accepted his marriage proposal, but kept himself carefully on his side of the line, not wanting to overwhelm her again. Clara, it seemed, had other ideas, her consciousness barrelling through that door to meet his as she curled her fingers into the short hair over his collar and deepened the kiss.

It was still new to him as well, having Clara in his mind after so many years alone. He welcomed her in, wordlessly communicating all the joy he felt at her presence. The weeks since their wedding had been the happiest of his life, not because of the places they’d visited or the people they’d saved, but because of her. Because of Clara, and this little universe that existed only between the two of them, a dimension all its own.

When they broke apart for air, Clara settled back onto her heels, letting her hands slide down to rest over his hearts. “We get longer than four weeks,” she said, repeating his earlier words, “but it has been a wonderful four weeks, hasn’t it?”

“The next four will be wonderful, too. Even if we spend the whole time here in London, doing boring things like murdering soufflés and teaching English literature to pudding brains.” He leaned down to press a light kiss to the end of her nose. “Our life doesn’t have to be all outwitting killer mummies and defeating invasions of two-dimensional beings. We can take the time for quiet days together, too.”

Clara gazed up at him for a moment. “I have an idea,” she said, smoothing her hands up to his shoulders and back down to his hearts. “Something that will put today solidly in the good category.”

He raised his eyebrows at her in question, wondering if she was thinking what he was thinking — if she was also calculating how long it would take them to get to their bedroom on the TARDIS, or if they ought to make use of her flat’s bedroom instead.

“Not that,” she replied, laughing, “but I like where your mind is at, hold that thought for later. No, I was thinking...” She trailed off as she reached into the interior pocket of his coat and found it empty. Frowning slightly, she slid her hands into the exterior ones instead, rummaging through the contents of the bigger-on-the-inside pockets, clearly searching for something.

“Where’s the sonic?” she finally asked, up to her elbows in his coat pockets.

“I left it in the TARDIS,” the Doctor said, looking down at her with amusement.

She huffed out a sigh, withdrawing her arms. “Amendment to the rule about keeping your mobile on you: keep the sonic on you, too,” she said, as she turned and left the kitchen.

He trailed after her, down the hall, into the sitting room, and through the open doors of the TARDIS. “What do you need it for?”

“Easiest way to find the song I want,” she replied obliquely as she located the sonic on his workbench.

“Song?” he asked, blinking at her in confusion.

She gave him a playful look as she brushed past on her way to the TARDIS doors. “Mmhmm.”

“Do you not just have it on your mobile, like a normal person?” he said, following behind her. “Or have you still not figured out how to use iPlayer?”

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head. “Besides, this way is much more fun.”

The Doctor lingered in the open doorway and watched as Clara crossed her sitting room. “What exactly are you up to?” he asked.

She paused next to the wide bookshelf on the far wall, fiddling with the sonic. “Come dance with me,” she said, smiling at him over her shoulder.

“What?”

“I wanted to dance with you on the Orient Express, the day we got married,” she explained, still trying to find the right sonic setting. “There was that band doing covers of old Earth songs, and it was our honeymoon, and I wanted to dance with you. But then there was dinner, and champagne, and our private sleeping quarters...”

“And a killer mummy, and an AI with dubious moral ethics,” he added.

She laughed lightly. “Exactly. And I never did get the chance to dance with you. So—” She pointed the sonic at the radio on her bookshelf, which crackled to life and began to play something that felt like the 1940s, though he couldn’t quite place the song. Resting the sonic on the shelf beside the radio, she turned back to him. “Dance with me,” she said again, holding one hand out to him in invitation.

With his gaze fixed on Clara’s outstretched hand, the Doctor felt the moment draw out long, milliseconds stretching into millennia. So many of their adventures had begun this way, Clara beckoning him forward into the unknown, reaching her hand out to meet his. He could sense their future stretching away ahead of them, the as-yet unnumbered days that their life together would span, strung together by this one simple gesture, timeless in its simplicity but heavy with meaning. How many times had she offered him her hand, in all the days they had spent together? How many more times would she stand exactly like this, in all the days to come?

For one instant he hung there, suspended in the space between two heartbeats, and then he felt himself tilt forward, felt his body answering Clara’s call with the only response he could ever give her. It was the only truth that mattered, his hand in hers and the universe waiting to unfold before them. The birth of a star, or the death of a civilisation, or the quiet music echoing off the walls of Clara’s flat — it didn’t matter, so long as she was by his side.

Hold hands. That's what you're meant to do, he remembered telling Emma Grayling and Professor Palmer, that day at Caliburn House. Keep doing that and don't let go. That's the secret. Had he already been in love with Clara then, he wondered? Did he know that day that he had found the only hand he would ever want to hold again?

Time dilated, contracted, and his feet carried him across the short distance to Clara, the connection between their minds sparking to life as he slid his hand around hers. She smiled up at him and settled her other hand on his shoulder as his found the small of her back through instinct or some long-buried memory.

“I’m not sure I remember how to do this,” he told her, voice low.

“You’ll figure it out,” Clara replied confidently. She looked up at him, holding his gaze. “We will figure it out. The same way we do everything: together.”

He sighed. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy, Doctor. It’s just me and you, no one to impress. All we have to do is sway a bit,” she said, gently urging him into motion, as the radio continued to croon in the background. “And maybe shuffle in a little circle here — mind the coffee table.”

“Yes, boss,” he said, following her lead, careful not to step on her bare toes with his boots.

“See? Easy as that,” Clara said as they fell into a slow rhythm in time with the music. She leaned into him, resting her head on his chest, and he held her closer in response.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?”

“For not leaving me to cry on my own, earlier.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m pretty sure that’s part of the deal.”

“I wasn’t certain it would be part of the deal, with you,” she murmured. “But I’m glad it is.”

He hesitated then said in a similar tone, “I’m still not sure I’m any good at this.”

“Dancing?”

“Marriage. You said you feel like you have to relearn everything now — it’s the same for me. You are the furthest thing from transparent to me, Clara, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to handle any of this, really. I can promise I won’t leave you to cry on your own, but for everything else... We may just have to be patient with each other.”

“And figure it out together,” Clara added.

He smiled fondly, knowing the feeling would pass through his skin and into hers, even though she couldn’t see his face. “Exactly.”

They fell quiet for a time, swaying in slow circles in the small space between the bookshelf and the TARDIS. The song started again, but neither commented on it, content to lean into each other and let time pass around them unchecked. Little by little, the lyrics of the song filtered into the Doctor’s consciousness, repeated phrases catching his attention. He felt like he’d heard it before, the words tugging at a memory he couldn’t quite identify.

It’s still the same old story, A fight for love and glory, A case of do or die.

“What is this song?” he finally asked.

“It’s from Casablanca,” Clara said, humming a few bars along with the radio.

“Right,” he said, the memory crystalising in his mind. One of their Wednesdays together, early on, when Clara had insisted he park the TARDIS and stay with her rather than take her out on adventure. They had sat side by side on the Maitland’s sofa and watched the old black and white film, while Artie and Angie were asleep upstairs. “That’s one of the ones you like, isn’t it?”

She nodded against his chest. “It’s been one of my favourites since I was little. My mum introduced me to it. I love that movie, but I always wished—” She stopped, chuckling to herself, and he couldn’t quite make sense of the fragmented thoughts that flitted through her mind before she spoke again. “I always wished that Ilsa had been brave enough to choose Rick instead of Victor, at the end,” she went on, looking up at him. “Brave enough to see through Rick’s lies and choose the life she really wanted. And what do you know? When it came time for me to make my choice, I was brave enough.”

“...To be clear, I’m Rick in this scenario?”

Clara laughed quietly and rested her head against his chest again. “Yes, Doctor.”

He was silent a long moment, thinking on the comparison, on the sort of lies he might have been willing to tell Clara to keep her safe, and the lies he had told her to keep her at arm’s length. How easily he could have lost her, just as Rick lost Isla, if Clara hadn’t been brave enough to insist on the life she really wanted, and demand he do the same. How narrowly they had avoided tragedy to arrive at this moment.

“I’m afraid Casablanca is a bit too ingrained in Earth culture, both in this century and for the next few thousand years, to go back and change the ending now,” he told Clara. “But we could visit the set while they’re filming, if you like. Maybe get you cast as an extra, even.”

“Hmm, tempting,” she replied, pressing closer to him as they continued to sway to the music. “But only if you do it with me. Seems like the sort of thing that would be more fun together.”

He made a face. “Not sure I’m the acting type.”

“Oh, nothing huge, no lines or anything. Just us in the background of a shot inside Rick’s Café Américain. And then, as long as Casablanca survives, there will be a little bit of us on film. A little bit of evidence that we were here.” She looked up at him, something grave in her expression. “That we claimed this time as ours.”

For as long as we get, he heard in her voice, the open acknowledgement that however long they had together, it would always be too short. He wasn’t any more prepared to face it now than he had been earlier in the day, so he sidestepped her implication and said instead, “It might raise some questions, if anyone who knows you were to notice.”

Clara snorted derisively. “That’s assuming I’m even—” She stopped herself mid sentence, holding his gaze. He could feel the second half of that thought bubbling away under her skin, but carefully held himself back, offering her the privacy she had objected to earlier. She seemed to come to some sort of decision, then slowly and deliberately said, “That’s assuming I’m even still around for them to question.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

“I’ve been thinking about it the last few weeks and I...” She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. “I don’t want to keep coming back here.”

“Where?”

“Earth. London, my ‘normal’ life. I don’t want to waste the days I have with you on trivial things.”

“Clara, what we did today wasn’t trivial. You saved a lot of people. Might have stopped an invasion of our entire dimension.”

“I know, you’re right. And if the TARDIS thinks there’s trouble in twenty-first century London, or Bristol, or wherever, then I’m fine with stopping by. But I don’t want to have two lives anymore.” She swallowed nervously then said in a rush, “I’m going to resign from Coal Hill at the end of the term, just before Christmas.”

He peered down at her, trying to understand what she was saying without relying on their telepathy to hear her thoughts. “But you love teaching,” he pointed out.

Clara shook her head. “I love literature, and helping people, and I’m good with children. Becoming a teacher was a calculated choice, back when I thought I needed to create a life of my own separate from you. But I don’t need that life now, Doctor. I don’t want it.”

“You don’t have to do this for me, or because you think I can’t stay in one place.”

“I’m not doing it for you, daft old man,” she said, smiling at him fondly. “It’s not that I think I owe you this or that you’re demanding it of me. I’m choosing this because I want to spend this time with you. Because we only get so much time, and I don’t want to waste it on planning lessons or marking papers or trying to explain my life to small-minded people.”

“You’re certain about this?”

“I wasn’t this morning, I thought I’d try a week back before I decided, but even just being here, looking at my lesson plans, after the morning we had... I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want to spend my days away from you, or force you to stay in London for a week at a time so I can teach. I want to get in the TARDIS and just go.”

“And cut all ties to your life on Earth?” he asked in disbelief, raising his eyebrows at her.

“When I told you on the moon that my future isn’t here on Earth, I meant it, Doctor. I’ve only grown more certain of that since we got married. I belong out there with you. I want to build our life together in the TARDIS, going wherever the whim takes us — wherever she thinks we’re needed.”

“But... your friends, your dad and your gran?”

“Like I said, I’ll find some version of the truth to tell them. And it’s not like we can’t stop by from time to time, come ‘round for dinner or something.” She looked up at him, a thoughtful line creasing her brow. “Do you do that? Do you come ‘round to people’s houses for dinner?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I do that?”

“I don't know. I thought you might find it boring.”

“Is it boring?”

She laughed. “I can’t imagine anything ever being boring when you’re involved.”

From the direction of the kitchen, there came a distant trilling, half obscured by the music playing through the radio. The Doctor cocked his head to one side, listening for the sound again. “Is that your mobile ringing?” he asked. “What happened to rule seven: keep your mobile on you?”

“Whoever it is can wait,” Clara said firmly. “Everyone I care to talk to at the moment is right here.” Through their telepathic link, he felt her mood shift, plummeting like a missed step at the bottom of a staircase. “Doctor... Do you not want me to live on the TARDIS full time?” she asked before he could wonder at the direction of her thoughts.

“Are you kidding me?” he replied, his reaction too immediate to find kinder words. “You’re the one who always insisted on only travelling on Wednesdays! Of course I want you to live on the TARDIS with me!”

A smile broke across her face, relief and joy that echoed back through the door between their minds.

“Clara, this last month together — our life could be like that always. But only if that’s what you want, too. Evenings like this,” he looked around her little sitting room, her school papers spread across the coffee table, the TARDIS settled snugly into one corner. “This can be part of our life, too. There aren’t any boring days when I’m with you, Clara. If you want to stay and teach, that won’t be boring, either.”

“I know what I want, Doctor. And I know now how to be brave enough to step up and take it. I want that life in the TARDIS with you, and I don’t want to waste any more time here than I have to.”

He watched her for a long moment, trying to gauge her emotions without intruding into her mind. “I just want you to be sure,” he said finally. “I don’t want you to have any regrets. I know what happened today scared you, but we don’t have to rush into this. You can take all the time you need.”

Clara drew in a deep breath and nodded. “There’s a month left until the end of term, and I have a few commitments I made weeks ago that I should keep. But after that?” She paused to consider, her gaze turning inward. “I’m ready to leave this behind, and build a life with you,” she said, looking up at him. “Just the two of us in the TARDIS, for however long we have together.”

Pausing their slow shuffled circles, the Doctor raised her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “For however long.”

#Whouffaldi #Twelve/Clara #Clara Oswald/Twelfth Doctor #Clara and the Doctor #Whouffle Week #Doctor Who #Doctor Who fanfic #Time And Relative Dimension #For As Long As We Get #available on AO3 under the same title and username #please comment and reblog!#my writing #AUs #Clara Oswald #Twelfth Doctor #so very married #in this case literally

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anotherfrench · 3 years

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Day 2 : Nightmares and Dreams — Whouffle week 2020 ✨

#twelveclara #whouffaldi #whouffleweek2020 #doctor x clara #twelfth doctor #doctor who

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timetraveller29 · 3 years

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Worst of Both Worlds

A Doctor Who fanfiction for #WhouffleWeek2020

Day 2 - Fix you / Nightmares or dreams

Featuring the Eleventh Doctor and Clara

Snap!

That was the sound of the Doctor’s eyes opening in the middle of the night.

Wait... no, that’s not right.

Eyes only metaphorically snap, they don’t actually make – ohh no, the TARDIS’s navigatory cable was knocked out of place!

He scrambled to push a cable thick as his forearm back into a socket right under the glass ceiling... He appeared to have dozed off and, waking, knocked his head on the underside of the TARDIS controls where was supposed to be doing some maintainence...

The warning bells stopped ringing and he held out his arms for balance as the ship roared, rocked and swayed into a safer trajectory – he squinted at a meter – that was not plummeting them right into a massive star...

Phew! Close call.

Too close. He scratched the back of his neck. Why was he so groggy? The ends of his mouth drooped in confusion, mirroring his drooping lock of hair. A head appeared from the room above, chubby, and twice as confused.

“Doctor...” she moaned. “What was all that about? I fell out of bed!”

“Oh.” He attempted to grin, but it only made him look pained. He tried again, then stopped. In this regeneration, he’d learned not to force any body movements that didn’t cooperate. He sighed and covered the confusion by striding around the floor, acting busy. “I... may have made a miscalculation while adjusting the speed of the TARDIS engines, and,” he pulled at a thick ribbed pipe from the muddle of tentaculous arms that ran through to the console above, mindlessly switching hands for another, his voice fading into a mumble, “that may have almost sent us into a violent collision course...”

“Doctor! Honestly...” She came down the stairs, staring up and around her. The TARDIS looked rather gorgeous from the lower floor, if slightly on the wilder side... She smirked at him. “You fell asleep, didn’t you?”

“No!” The Doctor stepped back, the word filling his whole mouth. “No! No, of course not, I would never do that, I would never put your life in danger like that!”

“Sleeping does not put my life in danger, unless you start to fight it and end up dozy driving,” she said, arms crossed. “Admit it! You were so tired from our Running with the Stars, Intergalactic Marathon earlier that you needed a rest!”

“I did not!”

“It’s not a crime you know. I mean, at your age,” she scoffed.

“No, you don’t understand, Clara! I don’t sleep, I don’t need sleep. I only have...” He groaned. “Oh, all right, I have to give in to naps sometimes, when my subconscience nags at me.”

Clara spoke through a derisive laugh. “You have a subconscience?”

“More than you would imagine...” He had a frown on his face. “I think it was trying to give me... a dream.”

“A dream?”

“No... A nightmare.”

He sat down on the floor, letting the images flow through into his waking mind. They weren’t as vivid anymore but he could make out shapes and feelings... He shut his eyes to read them, going deeper...

When he opened them, he found Clara sitting next to him, full of concern. She was wearing a large sweater over her night shirt, and it felt soft when she placed her hand on his.

“What was it about?” she asked.

He didn’t like to worry her, but he could see no way out. Well, short of lying, but she always seemed to know when he was lying.

“I can’t fixate on the details but I know it was...”

He stopped.

“Yes?” She could tell he was reluctant to say, but that was not an option.

“I know I was alone,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I was alone and going grey and I was tired. No one was around. It was just me, on a battlefield, and I knew I was in a war, except I didn’t know...” His irises staggered rapidly, as if he was in the nightmare again.

Clara gripped his hand. She tried to complete the thought for him, phrasing it as kindly as she could: “You didn’t know which direction they would attack from?”

He shook his head.

“No... I didn’t know if the war was beginning or ending. I felt like I had been there before and I had won, but if I moved they would all find me and I would die. Either everyone was dead and I was alone, or everyone was waiting to kill me, and against them, I was alone.. And I... I didn’t know which was true! I just needed to wait there to tire them out. Only it felt like I waited forever. I guess... I didn’t know which direction in time they were attacking me from.”

Clara could hardly comprehend this. “Has... has something like that happened to you before?”

He smiled weakly. “Not too far off from some of our adventures, eh? Hah! Yes, I’ve been in a war that was a bit similar. Most of my mental energy goes into supressing those happy memories, but you know... Obnoxious subconscience,” he enunciated with spite.

“I thought we’d fixed it? We saved Gallifrey didn’t we? It feels like we did that just yesterday, give or take a couple afternoons...”

“We did. This was different though. It wasn’t Gallifrey or the Time War. What’s more... I never exactly felt lonely in the days of the Time War, not the way I do now. I guess it was the worst of both worlds,” he mused.

“What do you mean? You’re not lonely, are you? I mean... I’m here, after all.”

The Doctor melted into a smile and gripped her hand tight. “Of course you are. And I’m glad I found you, Clara Oswald!” He touched his nose to hers and she giggled. He loved watching her laugh.

“It’s just that,” he added after a moment, sobering. “I wonder if it’s a premonition of a sort. It’s like my subcoscious knocked me out while i was distracted and force-fed me a vision! What if... what if this is my mind peeping into the future and trying to warn me? What if, one day, I am left old and grey and alone, lost in time, fighting the same war over and over again?”

He felt like he had heard an echo through the ripples of the time, distorted and faint... An echo of the sounds of an image... And that image, he knew, was his.

He shivered.

“Doctor? Look at me.”

He did.

“You’re not alone. Okay? I’m here, right by your side, and I’m never going to let you get in some weird time travel war. Not on my watch! So your nightmare was just a nightmare. A silly dream. Okay?”

He nodded at her.

“You’re right. It’s just a silly dream.”

He stood up, and bumped his head on a lever, setting off the alarms again, searingly loud this time.

“DOCTOR!”

“On it, on it!”

And by the time he had fixed the engines, and put out all the fires, and finished up the maintenance with as little excitement as possible, the Doctor had safely pushed his dream to the back of his mind once again.

#Whouffleweek2020 #whouffle #doctor who #eleventh doctor #matt smith #clara oswald #jenna coleman #jenna louise coleman #fanfiction #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who fanfic #fanfic #writing #me #mine #whouffle week 2020 #writingtimes29

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nehswritesstuffs · 3 years

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Whouffle Week 2020 - Day 6

I’m part of a Discord server called Clara’s Diner, where we mostly talk about Doctor Who, ns7-10 specifically, and they organized a Whouffle Week for Clara’s birthday/the anniversary of the show! I actually prepared this time for a daily prompt session (aka: did most of it ahead of time), so here’s my contributions.

1152 words; I think I captured the essence of a fairy tale in this, I might not have, but oh well; definitely an AU, as it reuses an OC used in From Kertix to Shoreditch; it’s, again, just Twelve’s Incredibly Sexy Dad Skills in a fic interlude, and not much more; so late because of stuff and things and hey at least I’m finishing it; posting this is actually a treat for me for getting halfway through something else so pls be patient with me and the final part of this

Day 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 -

Prompt 5: fairytales/eternity

The Doctor glanced over the top of his book as he felt another presence in the sitting room. Standing there, at the foot of the couch he was reclined on that night, was the child that he and Clara had picked up in their adventures, the one who was now grounding him to a sedentary life with much fewer trips around time and space and many more down to Sainsbury’s. The Time Lord wouldn't refer to it as a negative thing—as it was a change to his life he accepted willingly if Clara did as well—yet he still knew the child was acutely aware of why they were currently in a flat in Shoreditch and not elsewhere, which he was sure made the boy nervous about the entire situation.

“What’s the matter, Neil?”

Silence.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

A nod, then hiding behind his plush moose toy; at least the Doctor knew he was now getting somewhere. He took a quick glance at the clock—just after one in the morning—and knew that he needed to handle this himself to ensure that Clara got some sleep. Closing his book, the Time Lord put it down and held open his arms, allowing the boy to scurry up and snuggle into him. He stroked the boy’s bright ginger hair and took note of the fact he had left behind his glasses—not because he needed them to see, but because it was what turned his violet skin a paler, more Clara-aligned, pink. Neil clung to the Doctor’s jumper, taking comfort in the other extraterrestrial’s presence.

“How would you like to hear a story?” the Doctor offered.

A nod.

“Once, there was a little boy, not too different from yourself,” he started. “He lived on a far-away planet, where the sky and dirt were the same dusty red. It was a hard life, and not because he was always hungry or his body always hurt, but because he was teased, he was shunned, and he was different. The other kids knew, and they saw him as trouble.”

Neil gasped, causing the Doctor to chuckle. “Most children are better at accepting those who are different than these were,” he explained. “The children in this story are ones who believed the lies of mean adults. They accepted being cruel as what life should be, and they knew the perfect one to practice their cruelty on was the little boy. No matter what the nice adults said and did to make it stop, the bullying continued, because nothing works when children see how fully their adults could be consumed by hatred, and how much those adults can get away with in the end.

“It was because of this the boy grew up very lonely, with few friends, and fewer yet who were kind and gentle as he was—even amongst his friends he was different, and it hurt because it was not something to celebrate. The years went by, and he was often tempted to become as cruel as his peers, yet he never did. He knew that hate is always foolish, that love is always wise, and that these would be truths that would comfort him in the middle of the night, when he ran away from the rest of the children to hide in an old barn where he could be safe from their taunts and abuses.

“Time went on, and he began to run further than the barn, not sure he was ever going to find somewhere to belong. Soon, the entire planet was too small and he made his way out into the stars. As he traveled, he met many kinds of people in his adventures. Some were good, others were bad, but most importantly, he found other misfits, just like him. He made them his friends, his family, and more, because he saw their worth and they saw his in return.”

“…like us…?” Neil wondered softly, breaking his nerve-wracked silence. The Doctor chuckled as he skritched the boy’s scalp.

“A lot like us, actually,” he admitted. “The boy made a lot of mistakes along the way. Sometimes it was about his new friends and family, while other times it was about those who disliked them. He made mistakes about who he let close, and he learned oh so terribly much… but you know what…?”

“…what…?”

“Mistakes are part of what makes life worth living.” He used the arm he had around Neil’s shoulders to squeeze him supportively. The boy looked at him with his large, grey eyes and his guardian’s hearts melted. “You want to know what else does that…?”

A nod.

“…the things we do very much on purpose,” he assured. The Doctor shifted so that he and Neil both sat up on the couch. “Up you go—back to bed.”

Neil pouted sadly, though trudged back to his bedroom without more protest. He allowed the Doctor to follow him, the Time Lord tucking the Kertixi lad into the bedding.

“Dad…?”

He raised a brow—although that was not new, it was rare. “Yes…?”

“…did the little boy live happily ever after? That is what they say on this planet… did he…?”

“Oh…” He paused and nodded. “I’ll have to get back with you on that. Do you want to know what I predict?” Neil nodded, with the Doctor idly fussing over the blanket and sheet. “I think it’s going to be a good ending after all. Now get some sleep, yeah? Mam wants us to go shopping with her tomorrow.” The boy giggled and closed his eyes, hugging his moose toy close.

“Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, Son,” the Doctor replied. He left the nightlight on and the door open a crack as he exited the room. Going back to the sitting room, he tried picking the book back up, though couldn’t seem to concentrate on it any longer. He put the book down again and made for the bedroom—it was probably a good idea to sleep his newfound restlessness off.

It was only within the safety of the bedroom, with the door slightly ajar and the TARDIS glowing in the corner, did the Doctor begin to shed his layers. His hoodie and shirts, his boots and socks, and even his trousers all came off, until he was standing there in only pants. He slid into bed alongside Clara, feeling the different sorts of softness that was her skin and nightie as he snugged himself against her.

“Mmm… Doctor…?” She was still asleep, though only just. “Did I hear Neil?”

“He’s back in bed now,” he assured her. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Gotcha…” She shifted in the bed so she could wrap her arms around his middle, resting against his chest. They were warm and cozy as they settled in the bed; few moments were quite as enjoyable—as indulgent—as this. “Night.”

“Night.”

#Whouffaldi #Whouffle Week #Whouffle Week 2020 #Twelfth Doctor #Clara Oswald #Clara's Diner #Doctor Who #fan fiction #I know this was supposed to be done back in like November #but what are you going to do when you can't rein in your attention/motivation bc of your ADD-addled brain?#(don't answer that)

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memelovescaps · 3 years

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Happy DOCTOR WHO DAY!

Our fantastic #WhouffleWeek2020 kicks off with Day ONE!

Share your stories on our AO3 collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/WhouffleWeek2020

Tag us on #WhouffleWeek2020 so we can see and share your content!

LET’S BASK IN THE LOVE OF THIS WONDERFUL COUPLE!

Here is my contribution to the event :)

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/WhouffleWeek2020/works/27675580

#whouffle week 2020 #whouffleweek2020 #whouffaldi #doctor who #doctor who day #doctor who fanfiction #clara oswald #twelfth doctor #the doctor #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #writing challenge #clara's diner

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timetraveller29 · 3 years

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The Nearest Intersection

A Doctor Who fanfiction for #WhouffleWeek2020

Day 3 - Misunderstanding / Bad timing

Featuring the Tenth Doctor and Clara

“Travelling with you made me feel really special... Thank you for making me feel special.”

“Thank you for exactly the same.”

These words bounced around Clara’s mind as she studied the black device in her hands. She turned it over and over, examining it, remembering.

Her living room was empty and still. She sat on the right side of the sofa, leaning on a pillow. It had a wet spot right under her cheek.

She sighed deeply.

Her eyelids sparkled with teardrops, and she didn’t care enough to dry them yet. They kept fluttering upwards so she could see the blank space ahead of her, an empty cuboidal area. She had rearranged the furniture a week ago, just to feel a sense of control, but somehow had ended up with a wide space in that very same spot...

It was where the Doctor would park his TARDIS when he came around.

Why did she leave it empty? Out of hope?

Well, she had left the other side of the sofa empty too, hadn’t she? That hardly meant she had hope of Danny ever returning…

But one person had returned unexpectedly: Missy.

Well, not in person. She was dead, after all. However, she had left Clara something, a kind of gift. She hated to think that somewhere Missy had some cronies still carrying out her work, but the fact of the matter was, the package didn’t have any explosives, she had checked.

All it had was this vortex manipulator. And there was a message.

Set to meet the Doctor at the nearest intersection of space-time, it said. In case he tries to leave you behind. No need to thank me. – Missy x

It was suspicious to say the least. But Clara couldn’t help but see it as a sign.

Sure, Missy was a murderous evil witch of a person, but she was the one who had united her with the Doctor in the first place. Whatever her motivations were, she wouldn’t have met him without her help. And, after more than a month of not seeing the Doctor, she had to admit she had underestimated just how much it would hurt.

She stared at the vortex manipulator again, dark and otherworldly and dangerous.

But wasn’t travelling to worlds of the past and the future essentially just that? It's what she needed the most… A nice dark sky, an otherworldly foe, a dangerous mission… if only to put herself in reckless risk of death! She wouldn't mind!

She needed to stop thinking about this.

Putting the vortex manipulator in a drawer, out of sight, she began to wipe her eyes on her sleeves. She was being unreasonably weak. Where was the Clara that used to be so strong, confident, and put together? She coughed out a laugh. This was unhealthy. It was like she could almost hear the TARDIS materialise right now…

It became louder and louder, then shuddered to silence.

She looked up.

No. She had to be dreaming.

The door opened and a man walked out. Long, brown coat. Stuck-up hair. Rather young.

She stared. Maybe, if she didn't react, the vision would fade away.

"Oh!" The Doctor put a hand to his crest of hair, and looked around, tongue behind his teeth. "Sorry! I must have steered it wrong… Um, terribly sorry, but where am I?"

She still said nothing.

He squinted. "Do I know you? I could swear I've seen that face…" He pulled out his silver sonic and began bleeping it in short bursts, pointing it in her vague direction. "Doesn't seem to be..." He left the sentence unfinished and waved his hand in front of her face, grinning an adorable grin.

"Hello!" he said, light and cheery.

Clara closed her eyes. Nope. Not real.

She opened them.

"You're really here?" she said tentatively, trying hard to hold herself back.

"Yup! In the flesh! So you know me, then? From the future, I'm guessing?"

"I…" she bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah. I'm Clara Oswald."

"Clara Oswald! Lovely to meet you, Clara! Sorry to intrude and everything… the TARDIS detected an alien presence in this area but, well, that's pretty standard if you're one of my companions. I suspect your Doctor's already on the case."

She frowned. "Could that be an alien device you picked up or an actual alien?"

"Either of them could trip up the TARDIS, to be honest. I like to be surprised." He lighted his sonic again and scanned the room. "Whatever it is… it's probably a misunderstanding. I hate to get in the way, especially my own. I'll get out of your skin…" And he was just about to turn back when he spotted something. The wet cushion. The red nose.

He softened. His next words were so delicately-worded Clara's resolve melted. "Unless… you want some help? I'm the Doctor too, you know. And I can be your Doctor… if you want me to be."

She sniffed once, facing her lap. Then she looked at the Doctor, steady. Here was a Time Lord, at her service, boyish, enthusiastic, and helpful… her heart soared. Of course she wanted him there!

He must have recognised the sentiment because he crouched on the carpet at her feet and looked into her eyes.

"Clara," he breathed. "I know I can be… an idiot. I always have been. And if it's me that made you cry then I want to tell you that that's never my intention. I… I do that a lot, however. I know I've ruined lives and I've made people suffer." The self loathing was so evident Clara couldn't bear it. A final tear fell off her cheek. "But Clara, you should know that I care about you, wherever I am right now. I know myself. I try to protect my companions. I tell myself I'm good at it… but I'm not.

"And I'm only telling you this because you deserve to know: I regret it. Every one of my friends I've had to leave behind or who had to leave me behind, I regret it, I always do. And I hope you can forgive the Doctor, whatever he's done. Whatever I've done. Because you're so much better than I am, than the Doctor will ever be."

Clara's eyes wandered over his face, trying to see where he was coming from, where his pain was… she couldn't figure it out. He was a mystery to her.

"It's just that, for a Time Lord, you'd think he wouldn't have such bad timing," she remarked. "Always zipping in when I'm busy and zipping off when I need him. You're the only one who's got it right!"

"Well," he said, tilting his head. "At least that's some consolation. Score one for me, zero for him, then?" He smirked at her.

She laughed.

Oh, he was the Doctor!

Clara tilted her head as well, finding herself to be cheerful for the first time in ages. She exhaled, overcome with a fondness that she couldn't quite express, that called her to do something, make something… ooh!

"I wonder if you'd like a soufflé, Doctor?"

"A soufflé? Is that what I eat these days?"

She chuckled, remembering the fish fingers and custard he would one day have.

"Let's just say they've left such an impression on you, you sometimes call me the Soufflé Girl. So, if you're up for it, I could bake you one right away. Or you could keep wondering why that is...."

"Oh, a tantalising offer! Well, then, so long as you're not trying to poison me and take some kind preemptive revenge, Allons-y!"

"Does that happen often?" she teased, standing up to lead the way to the kitchen.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe," he said, his voice fading as he followed her out of the room, launching right into one of his stories. Clara's laughter could be heard, bouncing off the walls.

The TARDIS stood right in the same spot where it had always stood and yet never stood before.

And, in front of it, a certain drawer's outline glowed and dimmed, a bright blue.

It was a clever backup functionality, really, to send a warning beacon straight towards the TARDIS. It had pinpointed the time machine through the time vortex, and found it right there…

… At the nearest intersection.

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