WHO: Ten, Clara Oswald WHEN: After this conversation a few days ago. WHERE: His room on the TARDIS! WHAT: Confessions. Dun dun duuuun. And then... uh fade to black. WARNINGS: ...fade to black.
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Human-like urges had left him pacing around the library. It felt like he had so much to say to Clara, the absence of words more silent than any actual definition could conceive. He was chalk full of words, but never those particular three, not in English, not in Latin, and certainly not his mother tongue long since lost by his recollection. Telling her she meant something to him at all split him down the middle and pulled the Doctor apart, made him exposed; and worst still, he wanted to say more.
So, he paced. He paced until he remembered what he was going to do. Run as fast as he could, or so the thought came to mind; instead the Doctor’s feet carried him to his room. Seldom ever used, the Doctor’s room was dimly lit yet filled with the warmth that his personal desktop managed to emit.
He stood several paces from the doorway, hands in the pockets of pinstriped trousers, and observed the empty space (apart from the TARDIS-blue bed, shelves, and knickknacks occupying said shelves) through the lenses of his favorite part of glasses. The space would be better with two.
Rocking back on his heels anxiously, the Doctor didn’t move an inch from that spot, and he wouldn’t until she arrived.
The door was open. Clara wasn't sure how this conversation was going to go, but she suspected there might be some tears. There always were whenever there was a heartfelt conversation with the Doctor. Her chest was tight with a heavy weight dropping into her stomach. There were too many things to say. Too many unknown variables. Knowing she mattered to him, that helped.
There was a tiny part of her that was still with her Doctor. Not the one with the floppy hair and the chin. He may have been her first Doctor, but Eyebrows. He'd been the one she'd truly loved. He didn't think of her as some impossible mystery to be solved. The puzzle that was Clara Oswald's existence had been resolved, so it was just Clara and the Doctor. And he'd gone through so much to bring her back.
This Doctor, though. This one wasn't as cranky, though he certainly talked a great deal too. He smiled more, and he was kind. It wasn't a kind streak, like her Doctor had. She didn't have to make him cards to keep him grounded with humanity. This one apologized, and it was all of those traits combined that saw her falling in love with this Doctor.
She stopped at the door, expression confused as she looked around. It was — well, it was sparse. Barer than what she'd expected, like somewhere just waiting to be moved into and filled with memories. It reminded her of her book: 101 Places to See. Full of so much potential and yet sitting there on a shelf with a dusty jacket and an old inscription from yesteryear.
"I came as soon as I could." And she had. It just took her a few minutes to navigate the TARDIS. With the old girl in minimum power mode, she couldn't help much. Clara had never been to his room — any of them — he'd never been there. "Can I come in?"
Perhaps the true reason he left the room sparsely populated was because he didn’t like to be reminded of his loneliness. The Doctor had to stay busy, never giving himself a chance to face that he was completely alone. He had no need for a room, but Mount Weather had been teaching him more than just how to sit still and experience the time of which presided over. Moreover, she had taught him how to pipe down and live a little.
Exposed though the circumstances made him feel, he couldn’t scrounge up an ounce of regret. Having Clara there when he’d first arrived against all odds brought him a sort of peace he never thought he’d find after the Time War. After Rose. And Donna.
Looking down at his shoes, a bit dusty from running around fixing things around the facility, he realized he was smiling in spite of the nerves rattling his core. The Doctor knew all about love on an empirical level. Time Lords had become distant from the principle romantically speaking, and he had certainly given it no consideration in his much older-looking youth. To say he’d never felt it all would have been a lie. He loved his children, his granddaughter, his family, and moving on from them after Gallifrey, the Doctor had come to love his companions.
Just not always in a way some of them might have wanted.
He thought of Romana, Sarah Jane, and--Rose. They encompassed a storied past, one he would never let himself forget even as he realized just how far he’d come in moving on from those he’d lost. Clara’s voice drew him around in a half circle to face her properly, the vague smile on his face instantly brightening at the mere sight of her.
Chances to say those three words had often slid through his hands like grains of sand, but not this time.
“Don’t need to ask,” he assured. “Not ever. Honest! Hello!”
She leaned against the doorframe with her hip, folding her arms across her chest. "One day, I'll get used to this." Her smile was warm and soft. "Just not today."
His grin was infectious, and despite her own set of nerves rattling around in her chest, Clara found herself returning his with vigour. Her shoulders, which she hadn't realized were rigid and tense, relaxed upon the sight of him, and Clara could feel her worries beginning to melt away. This funny, mad man had a way of putting her to rights, bringing out the best in her.
"Oh, Doctor. This room…" It lacked the same kind of warmth he had, with layers and layers of depth. "This room needs… something."
“Right, well,” he nodded briskly while ruffling the hair at the back of his head. “We’ve got time.” Granted they didn't have any guarantees, but he was confident enough. Usually too much of that led to a downfall, but he'd take a risk on her. The Doctor couldn't fathom doing anything less.
He had concerns, of course. Not being human gave rise to some potential discord. Things like labels for what they had would no doubt continue to escape him, because what they had simply existed; it needed no further declaration.
Apart from those words.
Attention drawn to his quarters, he looked up and around in surprise. “Does it? Apart from having you around, what else could it need?”
"Needs a bit more of your character. You've got TARDIS blue and a few things." She pushed off the door and strode into the room, all confidence that she didn't quite feel. Clara walked the room, along the walls, and reached out to touch a thin layer of dust on some of the objects. The only part of the room that was lived in at all seemed to be the bookshelf and — well, bed.
The inspection done, she shifted to stand in front of him. The urge to touch his face always arose and sometimes, she fought it. Not today though. Today, she reached out and cupped the side of his face. There may not be time, and having died (or about to die), Clara understood that you had to say things, you had to go out on a limb. "It could stand to see a little more you."
It should have felt like an invasion of his space. Although the Doctor watched her like a hawk, a fondness for her lingered in his eyes. She wasn't harsh in her inspection, only just. He had an immense collection of things on the TARDIS, only a handful of them ended up in his room. Living in it at all meant living with himself, and he didn't know how to do that on his own.
“Might remedy that, yes,” he responded, hands yet to stray from his pockets and feet locked in place. Was he a tiny bit afraid? Oh, yes. A little bit of fear was healthy, at least.
Even so, this wasn't at all how he normally went about things. As he mustered up the bravery to step that much closer to her, he found that it didn't bother him at all that he was breaking rules again. He'd broken them all over time and space, so why not here with a fixed point in time, too? One he needed and wanted, two very raw urges that combined into that word.
The Doctor slid his arms about her waist loosely, the combination of bringing Clara closer coupled with the touch of her hand upon his cheek collectively centered him.
“Well, I'm not hiring a decorator! Are you going to help me, then?”
"You don't need a decorator to make it look like you, and I don't live in this room. That is not my responsibility." There was still teasing in her voice. The truth was: she'd help him in any way he asked. In any way he couldn't bring himself to ask.
The confidence she felt had dwindled into something slow and comfortable, though there was a not-so-strange rumbling in her stomach. It felt like this was some sort of defining moment for them, or it would be if either of them could stop their bluster to get the words out.
Maybe a kiss, just a small one, would help. Clara pushed onto her tiptoes, pressing her lips against his. For an instant, the world was on pause and there was just him. She thought about how she'd never feel her heart thumping in her chest in a moment like this, and then remembered that he had two. That was fortunate for the both of them.
“If you're going to spend time in my room, you're going to have to pull your weight,” he teased cheekily right back. “Means getting it up to your standards!” Whatever those were, he honestly didn't care. It would only feel more like a proper room for resting whenever she turned up for a cuddle. Any place would do to rest his head, provided nothing was around that wanted to destroy him.
Then again, he had more or less admitted to missing her beside him whenever he did get around to resting. It wasn’t a lie either. As she surprised him with a kiss, the gentle grip he had about her waistline tightened with fingertips against the curves of her hips. This slow burn of a romance between them had become increasingly heavy, and the more the Doctor indulged, the less he contemplated fleeing the countryside. Or the galaxy.
A healthy dose of fear, he reminded himself, that was all. Why wouldn’t he be? Any moment, her heartbeat could start up again and take her life a second later. Any given time of the day, she might disappear right before his eyes and leave him and his other faces broken. Not for long, he knew. She wouldn’t want that, but there would be a time when all attempts at consoling him would be rudely disregarded.
The Doctor leaned down into the kiss just as it seemed like it was ending, both to give her a reprieve on her feet and to prolong it a little bit longer. The talking of losing smacked him like a ton of bricks, stirred up both his hearts enough that he abruptly cupped her face between his hands and lifted his head to regard her with the widest of eyes.
“Would you want to know?” As always, he was light-years ahead of the conversation. centering himself again, the Doctor backtracked hastily. “If you were to go and come back without any memory of this place, would you want me to tell you what we’ve…. This is all hypothetically speaking, mind you. But. Should I tell you, in those unwanted circumstances, that I… that what you said was true and evident and not at all one-sided?”
Lest the rickety planks supporting the confidence he now stood upon crumbled underneath his feet, he shifted to whisper in her ear, for fear the universe might hear otherwise, “Should I tell you, Clara Oswald, I love you, too?”
Clara inhaled a quiet sound and held her breath. Her eyes closed, she tilted her temple against his while she listened so carefully. There were no cars around. No dropped mobile. No woman in the street apologising for finding the phone, for telling her there was an accident. She waited.
He was breathing against her ear, and if she hadn't been waiting for the other shoe to drop, it might have been a turn-on. (No doubt, some day, it would.) His arms were still around her. Her fingers could travel the length of his neck, up into the hair. The tears that stung her eyes were outweighed by the tense, but happy smile on her face.
Clara's arms encircled him, as she held on for dear life. "Yes. Absolutely, yes. Tell me. If anything happens, you tell me the story of how we fell in love. You show me the pages I've written in my diary of our story."
It wouldn't breathe to life fully what they shared if ever the day came that she looked at him and only saw him as the face who helped save Gallifrey. At least, however, she'd know. He couldn't take that away, not even if he'd want to by the first time he woke up and realized he was so very close to being alone again. No matter what, he'd soldier through it.
For now, he didn't have to.
The sensation of being so close to someone, completely wrapped up in this way, had him clinging just that much tighter to her. He questioned the logic of his self-imposed isolation after Rose, Martha, and Donna. He needed someone, they were all right about that.
“Then, I’ll do that. Suppose it wouldn't be so hard to believe, hm?” The Doctor leaned up, cheeky grin back on his face despite the way his eyes appeared suspiciously glassy. “Look at me, I'm practically dashing!”
Freeing one hand from its hold, his expression mollified as he reached up to brush the corners of her eyes for any stray tears that might have escaped.
“Are you alright?”
"Not all tears are sad, you know" Clara reached for his hand, covering it with both of hers and then kissing the knuckles quickly. "These aren't. These are happy. Really happy, Doctor."
It was with reluctance that she let his hand go and moved away, even if it was just to close the door to his room. She didn't intend to go anywhere, and in fact, had ideas of how to celebrate this whole revelation. They did not involve anyone else popping along looking for either of them. Or just flat out getting lost, stumbling by his room, and catching an eyeful. Not that she was ashamed or ever would be. She just knew that companions were a bit nosy. That's why they became companions in the first place.
She was terrified. She'd promised Danny that he was the only one to hear her say those words, and here she was, a few years later, saying them to another man. The man he'd been jealous of. What would he think of her?
No, scratch that. She wasn't going to think about that now.
"I don't know about you," she said once the door clicked into place, "but I'm done talking for the evening. What about you?"
To have said those words when all other opportunities had eluded this face gradually began to daze him. Even as he saw on her face the words clearly expressed, that same old fear caused him to retreat into his mind a tiny bit. After Rose, he never thought he’d be able to find someone to hold a candle to her, not in the way that he’d--well, the way he felt about her would ever go unspoken.
What they’d found together, purely by accident, wasn’t meant for comparisons; it simply was. He was happy, exceedingly so, and regardless of the apprehension hanging like pinstripes on his very bones, nothing could bring it down. The look of glee, however, could be displaced with slight confusion.
“What?” He questioned, distracted by the sudden absence of her in his arms. Door closed, something suggestive drifting in her voice, and a suspiciously dimmer room (cheeky TARDIS) were dots he failed to properly connect on the surface. Scratching at a sideburn absently, he tried to buy himself time to put it together by doing the exact opposite of her implication.
“Did you want to go for a kip, then?” His fidgeting led to tugging at an earlobe, eyes darting every which way. “Oh, you’ve got to try the bed, Clara! It’s brilliant, best cushions in all the universe! Look!” Bounding over to it, he plopped down on the edge with a bit of a bounce for good measure, then laughed triumphantly. “Hah! Still got it! See? Soft and cozy, especially since it’s still a bit cold out, I imagine, not that it matters in particular for either of us, and I’m just now seeing the innuendo you’ve designed. Ah.”
It may have been a record for him this time. His expression turned more serious then, hands falling to rest at the edge of the mattress. Intimacy with her, to some heavier degrees of late, wasn’t so strange. And he definitely didn’t want anyone passing by to discover that for themselves.
“In that case, I think I’ve said enough words, yes.”