Clara Oswald is going the long way round (alwaysbeenthere) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-04-06 13:53:00 |
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It had been going on for two weeks it seemed. Ever since she had woken up from jumping into the Time Stream. The hazy feeling, the sensation of not being all there. When she looked in the mirror, it was still all a blur, off ever so slightly, ever so faded. Never had a Dream haunted her like this one, broken up into fragments sometimes, others the entirety of it all. The life of Oswin Oswald, Souffle girl. Being turned into a Dalek, the horror of that experience. She tripped over words. She called Rory ‘Nina’. She flirted and kissed someone she barely knew. And she didn’t know what was real anymore.
Rescue me, chin boy, and show me the stars
She had been so convinced. She was alive. She had survived a year and finally this ridiculous genius with a bow tie was going to save her. She was going to be free. Only she wasn’t.
It’s a dream, Oswin. You dreamed it for yourself because the truth was too terrible.
Those words had shattered everything. The entire year she had thought to be was just a fantasy. She felt everything fall apart around her. She didn’t know where she was. She was scared and alone and then the anger…. The anger had seemed to sometimes come out in the past week. Just like the slip up with Rory’s name. Just like how she tripped on words….
What had prompted her to post what she did, who knew. Nor did Clara know why she had decided to wear the red dress that had shown up in her closet with the tool belt. She had just reached for it that morning, while she had Carmen on. But a report she had read, the way the mind handles torture, it had been her undoing. Ever since waking up from night terrors at John’s, she had tried to be more careful about letting it show that these Dreams were affecting her as much as they were, but the article. The words of the Doctor…. Of Troy.
Hyperventilating, she paced, trying to convince herself she was okay.
“You’re real. You’re real…” Yet looking at herself in a mirror, there was the faded reflection that remained blurred and she screamed in frustration, throwing her mobile at it. She didn’t stick around to see if it broke or not. She needed to breathe. She couldn’t breathe. And even though it had been years since she had gone into a closet when she felt the world closing in on her, that was where she ended up, in the hall closet with the door ajar as she held her head in her hands.
“I’m human. I. Am. Human.”
It was a desperate mantra she kept repeating to herself, as if that would snap her out of it. As if it would save her from herself. As if it would change any of this.
“I am not a Dalek. I am human.”
Troy had read the message, and he’d been told by John on numerous occasions of the fears he felt for Clara and what she was going through because of these vile, stupid dreams. These things that should be nothing more than reflections of the day’s events, filled in with faces someone knew, or even random faces of strangers you’ve seen throughout your life. They weren’t meant to be debilitating, heart-wrenching, but even if they were? Never this long. They were dreams, and Clara was brilliant, clever, funny, she should have great dreams. Yet, the evidence was clear: she wasn’t.
The post had been enough to scare Troy into action, and the car came to a dead stop on the curb outside of her apartment, not caring the slightest that he’d left the car in that slightly off centered parking job, even as he threw the door shut and rushed towards her flat. Jacket was fluttering behind him, whipping in the cool afternoon winds, tie snaking around behind him as he made way for her door and knocked on it quickly, trying to keep a calmness in his voice.
Three, four, maybe five times he’d tried to call her, and each time there was no answer. His heart beat faster and faster with each missed call, as fear lurched into his throat, a panic he really didn’t understand but knew he couldn’t shake. And so he knocked.
“Clara, Clara? It’s Troy, open up…”
There was no answer, and Troy reached into his pocket, to remove her key, and quickly fumbled with the lock before pushing through the door. The door shut behind him as he moved through her apartment, looking for any sign of her, the worst thoughts already entering his mind, when he suddenly approached her room. He saw the closet door, it was ajar, he could hear the crying. The taller male frowned, and he moved towards it.
The fear in her voice was, surprisingly, comforting. Not because he reveled in a fear that gripped her, but because it meant that she was still there, still herself, trying to fight off the fears of whatever darkness there might be. Looking through the door, Troy’s eyes searched until they landed on her. Head in hands, riveting fear binding her, and Troy fell to his knees as he pushed the door open further.
“Clara…”
The voice trailed off, and Troy lowered to reach out and take both of her hands, but didn’t remove them, he just rested his over hers and whispered quietly, “Clara, it’s alright.”
Should Clara have realised that someone would show up? Perhaps. Between her dad, John and Troy, there was always someone. She should have realised that the post she had made, so very much not like her, would have been a warning that she was falling apart but it hadn’t crossed her mind. Because the fear from when she’d woken from the night terrors at John’s were still there. That one day, she would become the monster the Doctor feared, and all three of them would team up to eliminate her. That Daniel would join in if he had dreamed and knew. That the family who had taken her in would put an end to her because they were the Doctor and she was a Dalek and that was how the world worked in the dreams.
Instead, she had just posted. Had whatever discussions had come up that she couldn’t quite recall anymore, her mind racing as she struggled to fight for her humanity, her sanity. She didn’t know what was real anymore and it was slowly tearing her apart. She was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of waking up and feeling like she was being rewritten into a species that fed off anger and hatred. Tired of trying to keep up appearances, which meant isolating herself because there were those who would be able to tell just by a look that she was hurting. Troy had always been particularly good at that.
So of course he was there. She hadn’t paid attention to her mobile and had missed any calls or texts she had received that day, be it about the post or something else. She had been lost in her mind and hadn’t heard the knocking at her door. Just her mind with the screaming of Exterminate and the sensation of being converted. People in Orange County changed all the time and even if she hadn’t, she couldn’t even tell that anymore. She was so confused, so lost. Because it had been weeks of dreaming of different lives, all Clara, all running to save the Doctor, yet Oswin was the one who pushed through the most, the one she struggled against because of what that would make her become.
Just as the physical contact had seemed to break through the haze at John’s, because if she were an oversized pepper shaker she wouldn’t have had tactile sensory abilities, Clara seemed to snap out of herself, if only slightly. Troy was there. She tried to calm her breathing, to stop the hyperventilating but it was just so hard.
“Is this real? Is any of this real? Am I real?”
The question was broken up as she struggled to control her emotions (emotions were good though, Daleks didn’t have emotions), but if Oswin had been able to dream an entire life for herself, what was to say Clara hadn’t done exactly the same thing?
Troy’s hands remained against hers, even when she seemed to begin to snap out of it, to be aware, if even slightly, of her surroundings, on where she was. His fingers slipped between her hands and her head, taking hold as he squeezed his hands into hers and clutched, letting her feel the reality of it. Panic was deeply rooted in Troy’s mind at the moment, he was no doctor of psychology, he wasn’t a therapist, he had no idea how to truly help her through any of this, but he was the one that was there now, and she was one of the most important people in his life, he had to help if he could.
Fingers clutched even as he pulled her hands away from her head and tried to get a look at her eyes, “Yes, Clara. It’s real, you’re very, very real. As real as you could ever be. All of this, all of what’s around us is unbelievably real.”
Hands drew hers down to hold them there, before lifting his right hand to rest against her cheek, fingers just lightly stroking as he watched her, “Listen to my voice, Clara; you’re lost, there are clouds and fog and barriers that are making everything more terrifying, making it hard to see straight; those are the monsters in the dark, under your bed, in your closet. Ignore them, Clara. If you concentrate on my voice, they can’t hurt you… I’m real, we’re all real, you… are real, so real. So, very real.”
Thumb slowly rubbed at the back of her hand, eyes locked onto her own as he tried to get her eyes to see. He didn’t know what she saw, what clouded her mind, but he knew it had to be part of those dreams. Those terrible dreams, the ones that kept him up at night.
“You’re real Clara, and I’m real, and that’s why I’m here. To show you how real you are Clara.”
She was shaking. She was shaking and cold and it was hot and everything was racing in her mind. Questions, fears, doubts. The terror that she was indeed turning into a Dalek. No longer hiding her face in her hands, Clara’s eyes seemed frantic as she scanned the enclosed space of her closet, trying to latch onto anything that was real.
She tried so hard to be brave. She never wanted to show the fear she felt, yet right now? That was all she could feel. So she let Troy hold onto her hands and as his one cupped her cheek she finally seemed to lock her gaze on him. He wasn’t looking at her in fear and pity like he had in the dream when he realised she was a Dalek. That Oswin was nothing more than a dream meant to keep her from being aware of the truth. Of the torture.
“Do you know how they make Daleks….?”
Because his eyes held that same look of John’s, of her dad’s, of the Doctor. The sadness. The heavy weight of who knew what. She could always tell by looking at them… he would know what a Dalek was, even if he didn’t want to. And the word would make him break contact just as it had when she had said it to John just a week ago. When she had realised she could never speak of what haunted her. Of what she feared she’d become.
“Subtract love, add anger….”
Was she losing that love? Did she just act how she felt she needed to? To act as she was expected? What if she was losing love whenever she slept? She loved her family. She knew that, yet she hadn’t said the words since Samuel had died.
“Do you know what I haven’t said in a really long time? I love you… isn’t that the saddest thing…”
Half of her felt like she wasn’t there even as Troy did all he was to keep her grounded and focused in the moment and to realise that she was indeed human. She was still so afraid.
“I don’t want to turn into one, Troy…”
Her voice broke because she was afraid. Because she was terrified that her inability to say something as simple as I love you had made it easier for the Daleks to take her. That she would become one here. And then what?
Troy stared at her, searching her eyes as she began to speak, trying to talk her way out of these dreams, back to reality, and he wanted to pull her along, help her with that. He wanted to be there for her in the only way he knew how, listening and understanding. They’d always had a special connection, he knew that; they often joked it was the adoption thing, that was likely part of it, sure. He was certain of it, but he was also convinced there was more to it, just a genuine connection that establishes between human beings.
Yet, the first thing that came from her shocked him, hit him like a brick in the heart: Daleks. There was a visible shudder, not because of her, but because it was only in the last month he’d begun to dream of those things. The moment he dreamt of them though; somehow, someway, he knew everything about them. Daleks. What horrific mind could even come up with such a vile thing. They looked like over-sized salt shakers, with plungers for hands, but yet their mannerisms, their existence, it was horrendous.
His eyes did lose focus though, as he looked down, not to think but instead grasp the realness of the moment, before looking back at her. This time both hands reached up to cup to either side of her head, to the back where he pulled to push their foreheads together, shaking his head while he watched her, “You don’t need to say it, Clara, for me to know it. I see it every time we talk, every time we run into each other. Your laughter, your smiles, every time you’re there for me… your actions speak so much stronger than any word.”
His eyes were still looking at hers, even from this angle, as he lightly stroked her hair, “You are strong, Clara. I know what a Dalek is, I know what a Dalek does, and yes… I know how they’re created. And I can tell you, right now, Clara Oswald… you are no Dalek. They’re just dreams, Clara, just dreams, and they’re pulling you away. You’re too strong for that. I’ve had these dreams, I know how strong they are, but I’m still here, as I always will be, and as you always will be. You’re real, Clara, so real. I can feel it, see it, you’ve never been more real.”
He closed his eyes and breathed as he rested his forehead against hers, then looked up, “You’re scared, Clara, and a Dalek doesn’t know fear. You’re not a Dalek, and I won’t let you become one.”
The connection really had always been there. For Clara, ever since she had started Dreaming and Troy had shown up, it had just made sense. She still felt the notion of destiny was rubbish, because had they not moved to Orange County, none of these Dreams would have happened most likely and they still would have been close and have that connection that they didn’t share with anyone else. It was why it made sense Troy would be the one to show up when she hiding in a closet, terrified of what she was (in her mind) becoming.
And then there was the revulsion she expected, though the fact Troy didn’t seem to pull away at least was comforting in its own way. Because how could one not be repulsed if they knew what a Dalek was? The mind of a Dalek was a terrible thing to experience. Even in those brief moments of the Dreams before the fantasy Oswin created took over, or when the illusion was shattered until she found her reserve again. It sunk into her blood and Clara feared it would poison her.
She didn’t care that she had started crying. Weeks of trying to figure out who she was and being afraid she was losing herself were taking their toll. The fact she didn’t know what was real or if she had tricked herself to believing this… She knew what studies said and if she had already dreamt of that happening to her, what was to say she wasn’t doing that again? It was just too much to make sense of.
There was one major difference though, one that was slowly sinking in as Troy sat there with her, forehead against forehead. Oswin had been alone. There had been no one there to pull her from the brink. She was able to live in a fantasy because she had been hiding away from the Daleks and so a lack of touch or conversation hadn’t meant much. She never had pictured a companion. Just loneliness. And souffles. Carmen to drown out the screaming of the Daleks that were all around her.
So there was really only one proper reaction, one clearly singular Clara reaction. And that was to all but fling herself at Troy and hug him tightly. To cling onto him for dear life because in that moment she was drowning and needed someone to keep her afloat. She was shaking and crying and exhausted and just so overwhelmed. But he was actually there. Properly real and there. It had to mean something.
When her arms snatched him, Troy didn’t hesitate and instead moved his own arms around her, hugging her back just as tightly as she gripped onto him, his hands clinging into the back of her dress as he just shook his head and rested his chin against her shoulder, into the crook of her neck and held her. He didn’t say anything, what could he say? What could he possibly tell her that would make everything seem alright? She needed to know it for herself, him convincing her wasn’t the real way to do it. It might keep her grounded, but it certainly wouldn’t convince her without her convincing herself.
So instead he just held her, knowing that she needed it, knew that she needed to know someone was with her in that moment. In his mind, selfishly, he cursed Samuel. Had that man never died, perhaps Clara wouldn’t have moved here, and then she wouldn’t have gotten these dreams. He knew it was wrong to even think it, and inwardly chastised himself almost immediately.
Stroking at her long hair, Troy simply sat with her, holding her in that tight hug while he let her cry, before he finally spoke up, “I don’t know what you’re seeing in your dreams, Clara, and maybe I’ll never know. But what I can tell you is that, we’re here, in this closet, in your flat, and I’m here with you. I love you, Clara Oswald, and I won’t leave you until you’re past this. You can’t kick me out, not this time, I’m sticking around until I know you’re free of this.”
He had no intention of bailing on her, not now, perhaps not ever, until he knew that she’d moved on in her dreams. Or they’d left her. That’d be a miracle, he knew it, because if she was dreaming of the Daleks then she was likely dreaming of that damned Doctor, the one that people kept dying around, the one he hated so much in his dreams because the man couldn’t leave well enough alone.
Clara really had no sense of time and thus didn’t know how long they stayed like that. What she did know was that, while she was still terrified of what she’d become, that she was calmer. She still felt wrong, but it was the sense of being wrong she’d noticed ever since jumping into the Doctor’s Time Stream to save him. The sensation that parts of her were missing, the ‘ingredients of the souffle’. And as unsettling and disturbing as that sensation was, it was better than feeling as though she would turn into a Dalek.
Would she ever be free of this? Or would the echos take on new lives and show her them. Would she continue to dream of living lives and then dying over and over for the rest of her days? In the Dreams, it was to save the Doctor, but would it have any impact here? She didn’t know what to make of it anymore. The items from the Dreams that showed up were proof that there was something more to these than just images and dreams and nightmares. People shared dream spaces. She just didn’t have it in her to investigate it.
Wiping some tears away, Clara remained as she was.
“One day you will…”
Because he had shown up in her dreams plenty of times. She hadn’t even bothered not mentioning it, though never more than what she was asked. He would understand and then what?
“You were the one who broke the illusion.”
Which..admittedly wouldn’t make sense, but it was also the first time she actually discussed this particular dream set. She had talked about it with Rory in the vaguest of terms. Enough that he knew it would work out for him and that she’d been hiding. But nothing specific. Not like this.
Troy hadn’t bothered to time it, he didn’t care, all he cared about was making sure she was okay. His only goal was to help her, even if he felt completely helpless in the matter. It was an odd feeling to have, to be so helpless but wanting nothing more than to be there, to help, and so you were frozen in time while the other searched for that help. He was glad that, in some sense, he was at least able to help her calm down. It was something at least.
Listening to her, though, Troy simply frowned at the idea that one day he’d know. She was so convinced, and in all honesty could he argue these dreams were just dreams anymore? After what he’d felt? After what he’d witnessed with her? Frowning, he looked down at her, and part of him simply wanted to tell her that he didn’t trust the man in her dreams, but he didn’t want to ruin this moment, the chance for her to just talk. To make her question all the different realities again.
“Maybe one day I will, and I hope that when that day comes, I’ll be able to understand what you’re truly going through. So I can help you better. If it comes to that…”
He just sat there, leaning against the closet wall with her as he thought and then smirked, “You know what my mom would have said during all of this? ‘Oh, that Clara, all she needs is a cup of tea and she’ll be just fine.’ Really, if I were a proper Brit, I’d have shown up with a thermos of tea, already poured in a mug, and come to the closet with its all-healing powers.”
Troy smirked, brushing at her hair before turning his eyes towards her, “How frequent are these dreams becoming now?”
Well, he didn’t argue. That was good. It was hard enough to keep everything straight on a good day, let alone these past few weeks. She had gotten verification that injuries from dreams could be a thing, but she had never let her family see that particular post. The one from when she woke up after jumping into the Time Stream and losing all sense of who she truly was. Just that she was always running towards the Doctor. Before, it was easier. Before she still had the sense of being herself.
So she nodded, and cracked a faint smile as Troy mentioned how her aunt would respond and called himself an improper Brit for not having a thermos of tea on the ready.
“Really, what were you thinking, for shame.”
It was an attempt at teasing him, so that was something at the very least. It was more than she’d been doing since waking up from the night terrors at John’s and realising she could never actually talk about what happened. She didn’t even know if she would talk about it here, not entirely. But she had revealed more than simply the word Daleks when asked what happened. It was a step.
“I don’t know… this one has been on repeat it seems for over a week. Sometimes in fragments, sometimes in its entirety…. Before that… They seemed to pick up. Different adventures, saving people, that sort of thing.” Troy had been upsetting in the one, the one she wasn’t supposed to remember. What are you, a trick?! Was she a trick? No. She knew what it was but she didn’t know how to explain it. Or if she could. She didn’t even know if the dreams would stop or continue with the constant living and dying.
It took a lot out of her.
“I wasn’t, that’s my problem, I just wasn’t,” Troy was happy they were finding just the right amount of snark in their life to be able to jest a bit, it meant that things were calmer, they were able to relax just a bit. It hadn’t passed, no, and he wasn’t sure it ever completely would, but some normalcy wouldn’t hurt her and he was certain it’d go a long way in helping her actually. Troy’s hand reached down to take hold of hers again, rubbing the back of it before looking back towards her and smiling gently.
Listening to her as she responded about the frequency of the dreams, the older cousin nodded his head and watched her, sighing, “Well then maybe I should make it a point to stay over a bit, you know, until you’re out of the storm a bit. Or maybe you come over to my flat to stay; though, it’s hardly fair, I’m sure your bed is much more comfortable to you. I can handle a couch, it’ll probably be wonders for my back anyhow.”
He smiled, and immediately brought a finger up to shush her, “And absolutely no denying me that. I won’t sleep a wink knowing you could be stuck here, in your closet, scared out of your mind. I only came this time because of the post, if not for that? I might not have thought anything of it, until who knows when. I need to know you’re safe Clara, it’s kind of my kryptonite.”
“Clearly not.”
Some level of normal, however minute it might be, was a good thing. It meant that she wasn’t completely lost in the panic and could focus enough that the more typical reactions happened. That she was more Clara than Oswin, more human than Dalek. My name if Oswin Oswald, I fought the Daleks and I am human. She wasn’t Oswin, but she was human. Maybe if she kept reminding herself of that, it would stick.
Would having someone there help? She had thought staying at John’s would do just that as Rose had been out on a flight, but in the end, it might have made things worse. Had been why she hadn’t reached out as they became worse. She didn’t blame her cousin, of course not. It was the way of things in the dreams and he had tried. She knew he had tried. But that initial reaction. The fear that one day her family would turn on her because of what she had dreamed? It had wrapped like a coil around her heart and tightened with each night.
Of course, before she could even protest the idea of Troy staying on her couch, he was hushing her. He really did know her too well at times. Still, it did remind her of that first dream when he played a major part. Not the random swing one, but the one where he’d shown up and had decided to sit outside the house she’d been staying at, the Maitlands.
“So you’re protecting me then?”
“You don’t need to keep rubbing it in, I said I’m sorry,” Troy offered with a broad grin, then cleared his throat at her next question. No, no, no, he’d not let her try and change his mind. Not entirely at least, he knew how she operated and she was a rather strong, independent woman; despite her absolute love for family, and adoration for being around family, she did seem to absolutely despise the idea of asking for help sometimes. not all the time, but enough that it really was easy for him to pick up having spent so much time with her.
“Well yes, yes I suppose I am. I will not budge from this spot,” Then he turned up a brow, “Well, I suppose I won’t unless you do, then of course I probably will because if you crawl back up into your bed, me laying in your closet might seem a bit on the awkward side. But I can assure you that I will not be leaving this house this evening, I’ll be right outside the door at all times; and, if you choose to stay in this closet, I’ll be here and restate that I will not budge from this spot.”
Troy nodded, then frowned a bit at the rather worded reply. Clearing his throat and passing it off as more of those attitude and behavioral changes frequent from his dreams, then shook his head, to clear it, “Now, should I do the proper Brit thing and bring you some tea, or water, or would you like to remain curled up in this position for a bit longer? I’m sure we can find something on your phone that’ll work in as a telly.”
Usual circumstances would mean Clara would be more put off by the idea of needing protection. But given the trust she had in the Doctor in the dreams, and knowing he’d always have her back, and the fact that was how they met officially in the dreams, she let it slide and instead just nodded.
“Right then.”
Part of her picked up on the fact that he was more wordy than usual, that his mannerisms were seeming more in line with her Doctor and not so much Troy, but she said nothing on it. The intent was what mattered, and she knew that he was quite adamant in the fact he was going to be staying that night at the very least.
“Let’s go be proper Brits. Besides, I’m the only one between the two of us built for staying curled up in the closet.” Tall lanky cousins and cramped in a closet did not mix. And now that she at least was more aware of herself, there was less of a need to lock herself in a closet to try and find herself. She had done it as a child, and even dream her seemed to stick with the closing your eyes and thinking and calming down.
That, and she had probably broken her mobile when she’d thrown it earlier. She had some vague recollection of that now. Which meant she’d need to clean up the broken mirror as well. But worrying about things like that was a step in the right direction.
Troy was happy when she decided on the tea; if only because she was right, and staying curled up in a closet would have meant a remarkable amount of uncomfortableness for him, and achy legs and backs for the next day. The professor just grinned and looked down at her, “You’re not wrong, I imagine the closet would be the death of me. Though it is a very lovely closet, I absolutely love what you’ve done with it.”
He jested before pushing slowly to his feet and helping her to her feet as well, turning to face her as he brushed at her hair to put it all down and looked back into her eyes, “There you go, much better. You were beginning to look a bit like your father after waking, when he does sleep that is…”
He leaned in to kiss her forehead before then turning away and moving out of the room, “You go worry about the tea, as you’re far more brilliant at it than I, and I’ll get to work at cleaning up around here alright? No fuss, I’d love to do it; pretty sure I’d be remarkably brilliant at it.”
That said, as Troy wandered her flat in search for a broom and a dustpan, he was beginning to realize he hadn’t been here enough to know where anything was, spinning in several circles in one place as if somehow he’d just land in the right direction.
Clara wasn’t too shocked about the fact getting out of the closet was seen as a good plan. Troy was all lanky limbs and being curled up in a closet with someone really did put a number on a person.
“And I would hate to be the death of you.”
She smiled slightly, tiredly, at the quip about what she’d done with the closet as she was pulled up. She didn’t feel completely like herself again, but it was a start. Even if she did scrunch up her nose at the comment about looking like her dad when he woke up. No one wanted that.
But right. Tea as Troy decided to clean up the mess she had made in her panic. Tea was good. Tea was calming. First things first though? Getting out of the red dress of Oswin and into a skirt and jumper that was far more Clara. It probably wouldn’t help completely but at least she would be in her own clothes. That done, she avoided the mirror and it’s taunting of how faded she was and headed to the kitchen to put on the tea. She could get through this. She could. Right?