[ The Doctor swallows, focusing on the sound of Clara's voice and the way her hand slips into his, fingers squeezing as she pulls him closer towards the oh-so-familiar sight. It's not the same as the real thing of course, it doesn't feel like the TARDIS in that familiar way he would know the moment he touched the wood of that door, but it's more than he's seen in months, nearly a year of linear time.
It's enough for him to savour every last bit of metal, every last light in this place. He reaches out and curves his free hand over one of the buttons, a big bright green one. Seconds later, he moves over one of the pulley levers and flattens his palm over the smooth surface, fingers curling over the familiar grip. He doesn't pull. He knows they won't go anywhere even if he does. ]
How did you — [ he starts, but it's not the real question he even wants to ask. It's not important how she made it happen. It isn't the point.
He turns to her now, properly, eyes still filled with that wonder — but his mouth twists into something serious and a little concerned. ]
[She realizes after the words leave her mouth that it may be sounding like she's gearing up to drop news on him. Which she is, but not in the way that she thinks he must be assuming. Her hand goes over one of the levers, and she slowly pulls it downward.]
I wasn't.
[Things were rough after this last mission. But he knows that.]
I am now, though.
[Clara makes sure to be quick to reassure him of that much. This is supposed to be something happy. There isn't any need to cause him concern. She rounds about the console unit from where she's been standing, and slips to stand pressed between him and the machine. Her hand reaches up, pressing over his.
His fingers are curled around a lever, and she twines her fingers between his.]
Because of you.
[She guides their joined hands to pull down on the lever. Nothing happens, but the point isn't to go somewhere. It's to give him something that will help him see how important he is to her. How much she cares for him, and how she will always be there for him. Even when things are at their darkest.]
Thing is, I don't think I've been very clear about how I feel about you. And people like us, certain things should be said. And I wanna do that now.
[He knows she loves him. She's said it. But there's a difference between saying you love someone and telling them in detail, with no uncertainty, what it is you want out of that love.]
Ah. All right. I mean, you have — [ Hm. Wait. Suddenly he isn't ... so sure. ] — haven't you?
[ This is still very, very new to him, all of this stuff with Clara. He isn't used to it yet, he doesn't quite know how or where to follow. (And he's not even sure his manual would help even if he did have it with him.)
But it isn't a bad thing, not at all. He likes the way her fingers entwine themselves with his, how they seem to fit together. It's perfect. And of course she isn't the only one who has made promises to keep him buoyed even at his darkest hour; he's made that promise to her too, in his own way. ]
[She's quiet for what feels like quite some time, as she tries to think on how to best put this. Even with as good as she is with words, it feels harder after weeks of emotional exhaustion and burnout. She feels as if her mask is stripped away, forcibly removed so she can try to show him the truth beneath everything.
Her hand pulls out from beneath his, and she slowly turns so she can stand facing him. They're pressed in close, and the console is pressing against her back now. But it doesn't matter. She wants him to see her face as she says this next part, so he realizes how serious she is.]
I want you. [A single dimple forms on her face as she smiles, but her eyes hold caution and uncertainty. She's not sure how she'll react or respond if he isn't open to hearing this.]
I want a real relationship with you.
[She elaborates, feeling her eyes get glassy with emotion as tears build. The fear of rejection makes her heart race, but she's come this far. She can't turn back now.]
[ The Doctor isn't even sure what he means to say, if there's anything he could use to argue against this, to gently tell her no because it's for her own good, because he's a timelord and she's human, and she could have a life with him but he'd go on and have another life after this, and it wouldn't be right to take that real humany life away from her.
But they'd been through all of that before, hadn't they? Not only that but it'd been before this face realized just how close he was to regeneration (a breath, really), and if there was any time at all to try his hand at a human-like life, it was now.
And if the last few weeks have shown them anything, it's that it could work ... and maybe it can only work here, too. A sort of ... very complicated, timey-wimey second chance as they work to achieve undoing their regrets. It'd be like returning to their worlds and their proper timelines the long way around.
He doesn't move even as all of this runs through his head, fingers still clutched at the lever now pulled downwards, the blinking lights and familiar TARDIS sounds making the background of this conversation about as familiar and calming as it possibly can be. Clever, really, to pick a place like this. It makes him less squirrely, less inclined to feeling overwhelmed by the idea of a commitment.
Even his marriage to River Song had been very non-traditional up to, and including, her death. ]
[The way he says her name, she feels her heart start to sink. Her breath hitches and she tries to ignore the way her stomach twists into painful knots. She's expecting rejection, and tells herself that after this that she won't put either of them through this again. Enough is enough, Clara Oswald.
When he asks her that question, she can't decipher his reason for doing it. These things she's said, she doesn't mean them lightly. Slowly and shakily, she exhales. She can do this. She can be brave, just for another few minutes.
Her head ducks down, eyes looking to the grating that makes up the floor. And she tries not to hold onto hope, not when she knows she needs to be realistic. In that moment, she feels too exposed and vulnerable to keep eye contact. She doesn't want him to see the look in her eyes, doesn't want them to manipulate and sway his response.]
I wouldn't have said them if I wasn't sure. You know that.
I need to know you're sure because if you want this, if you really want this — [ He takes a breath, voice going soft as he finishes: ] — I don't think I could ever let go of it.
[ He couldn't let go of Clara, is what he means.
Commitment, real commitment isn't an easy thing for the Doctor. It isn't something he allows himself as though he knows better; it's why he hardly indulges in them, could count the number of commitments he's made in over 2,000 years on one hand. He's possessive and selfish and incredibly protective, and those aren't always good things, not in his mind.
But when he loves, oh he can love enough to fill a whole universe and then some, and it can (and does) hurt and the hurt is like a warning, like when one touches the stovetop with their bare hand and knows better not to do it again in the future. Not that this is that at all, of course, but he needs to be sure that this won't burn him because that hurt ... he knows what that's like too. ]
[Her head whips upward after he speaks, and her eyes are wide with near disbelief. She had been so convinced that he was looking for the kindest way possible to tell her no. But here he is, telling her the exact opposite.
Oh, he hasn't come out and said he wants any of the same things she does. But he doesn't necessarily have to. Not with an admission like that.]
You won't ever have to.
[Her voice cracks when she speaks, and she feels a tear slip down her cheek. She laughs as she reaches up to wipe it away, smiling.
She's well aware that the Doctor doesn't let himself love easily, not in the sense that she's asking of him. Being loved by the Doctor means understanding what his love means. For every moment they're together, and even for countless seconds beyond that, his hearts will beat for her. He's jealous and overprotective, and she's sure he's terrified of his heart being broken in the end.
Losing her will destroy the man that he is, it will turn him into something that isn't fully the Doctor. But she knows that he's in his last moments. He's oblivious to the fact that she's in hers too, and they have no other time but this. They're able to truly be together and live together in every sense of the word, all while existing on their last breath.]
If you want this too, and want it as badly as I do, then you should know I don't have any plans of ever letting you go.
[And she trusts he'll never let her go in return. They'll be bound together, come what may.]
[ The Doctor looks as though he's deliberating something for himself, the thoughts Clara has running through her mind a rather accurate impression of what he thinks and feels and fears. Love is an all encompassing thing, beautiful and huge, almost endless in its own way, but it can be scary and too-much and weaponized too. He would endanger her by making whatever it is he feels about her known. (Though not if he can help it, not so long as he's got the power to fight back and protect her.) And it would it endanger him, too. Oh, absolutely it would.
But against all odds, despite all of the reasons why he really should stop this once and for all — despite evidence proving that he's really rather bad at doing just that — he finds that he doesn't want to. For the first time in a long, long time, perhaps because of where they are and because of his own expiration date, he doesn't think he cares about what he should do. He wants this too. Of course he does.
[In that moment, her heart feels so full that she genuinely thinks it might burst. It races with excitement, skips beats, and makes her feel so giddy that she's sure she's smiling like a lovesick idiot. Which she is, of course. And has been for so long now, too.
Only now there's a proper outlet to show that love in a way that isn't just whispered confessions and stolen little moments that make her feel guilty for days after. This is a chance for her to have something she never thought she'd get to experience again.
And once she leaves here, she doubts she ever will.]
You and me.
[She echoes, hand pressing against his cheek. Her touch slides to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. There's a few moments where she simply looks up into his eyes, letting him see just how happy he's made her.]
The long way around. Just the way it was meant to be.
[They have an unknown amount of time left here, which means there's more missions and lots of linear time to experience. Their endings are fixed points, she's sure, but they're able to go back to them the long way now.
That thought is in mind as her fingers in his hair guide him to dip his head downward. Rising up on her tiptoes to close the distance between them, she hesitates before pressing her lips against his. Instead, she looks up at him through her eyelashes, her smile a little more playful now.]
[ The Doctor pulls her in against him, arms winding around her waist, and chuckles like he'd been expecting exactly that. She wouldn't be Clara if she weren't bossing him about, after all.
But she doesn't need to tell him twice.
There isn't a trace of that awkward, noodly man that she might be used to (that the whole crew is used to) as he dips his head forward to kiss her, just like she asks, lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. This is a different side of the Doctor, one who is absolutely sure of what he's doing and what he wants and what he has left.
And in this simulated TARDIS control room, he can almost pretend that they're on one of their adventures somewhere far away from here, away from orbs and regrets and his last breath too. ]
My Impossible Girl. [ It's said against her lips when they break apart. ]
How about that? He's far more sure of himself now. Not that he hasn't been gaining certainty and confidence with all of their other recent kisses. But this one is different. There's no hesitation on either of their parts, no reason to hold back any longer.]
About time you kissed me like someone you loved.
[She whispers as they break apart, reminding him of the time at Christmas when she had directed him to kiss her beneath the mistletoe. Things had been so different then.
She counts her lucky stars they're exactly where they are now. She has to take in a slow and steady breath, to keep herself from pressing for more. As much as she wants him, she knows he has to be the one to be ready and initiate. All she needs to do now is keep a level head.
Clara reaches up to give a bit of a tweak to his bowtie, chuckling beneath her breath as she does. And then she's turning back toward the console, hand going back to the lever.]
Pretend we're really in the TARDIS right now. Pretend, and tell me where we're going next.
[ The Doctor steps back, turning so he could inspect the rest of the console with all of its familiar buttons — most of them looking the same as he remembers. He thinks most, because while Clara has as accurate an impression of the TARDIS as is possible, he's been traveling with her longest ... and some of the controls have a tendency to shift depending on her mood.
Sometimes the TARDIS has a knack of playing rather practical jokes on him, in fact. Like the time the mustard button wound up being ranch dressing. Horrible for American hot dogs. Definitely 0/10, do not recommend.
He eyes Clara from the opposite side of the console, just past the swivel-screen. He has a better idea, one she's sure to like; of that much he's certain. ]
[He doesn't give her the name of a planet. He doesn't tell her a grand story to get her interested in a place she's never heard of. He isn't trying to impress her with facts or sentimental anecdotes.
He asks about the simulation, and she's left blinking a bit cluelessly back at him. What could he possibly be up to?
There's most every room I can remember. The safe ones, at least.
[Because there's plenty of them in there that aren't.]
[ Clara has a sharp memory, of that he's certain. If there are all the rooms she remembers, he should hope he'll be able to find the ones he's looking for.
The Doctor holds a hand out to her, just like usual. Just like old times. ]
[She glances back toward the console unit before looking to him, smiling as she places her hand in his. His ideas can range from wonderful to humiliating and horrifying, but she has faith that this particular idea is going to be perfect.]
Show me.
[The second he moves, she's in line beside him. The nostalgic feeling of being in the tardis with him once again is nearly overwhelming. If it feels that way for her, she can't imagine what it's like for him.]
[ It feels right. It feels like missions and orbs and personal goals don't exist right now. That there aren't close friends who might betray one another, and there aren't another 50-some people to live and fight alongside. Not that any of those things are bad (well, except for the betraying friend bit, that one's inexplicably bad), none if it a regret in and of itself; it all just feels like a distant memory right now. It all feels so surreal.
Like this is the reality, and Ximilia is the simulation.
The Doctor guides her up the steps alongside him, hands linked together, and makes a hard right. His steps are sure but unhurried, leading them past closed doors and rooms upon rooms that Clara hasn't even seen before (and thus, they probably don't work). The doors are there but there's one he knows she should know too; they've gone in to have a look on those occasional Wednesdays in between planets and time travel, when they're in the TARDIS for a rest.
It's the equatorial room (or the observatory), the familiar old copper-coloured telescope fixed in its centre, its optical tube pointed upwards through a clear dark sky scattered with sparkling bright dots. An old leather couch is situated to one side, and a pile of blankets and pillows are on the other.
And it's here that the Doctor finally lets go of her hand to turn and face her properly. ]
The station has no stars, and I know these ones are just a memory — very well done, by the way — but we could pretend, eh?
[It doesn't matter to her if the stars are real. What matters to her is they're there, and he's brought her to this specific place because he knows that she'll love it. Her heart always longs to be out among the stars, but right now it belongs to him. So she spares a glance upward toward the memory of stars they had seen here together, but she looks back to him with adoration.
He's her entire universe, and now he's finally agreed to share a life here with her. She doesn't think she could possibly be happier than she is right now.
Her hand presses against his face, thumb trailing along his cheek.
Her Doctor. Always clever, always exactly what she needs.]
It feels real to me.
[When she leans in to press her lips against his, it's a tender kiss. Slow and unyielding, but not seeking to overwhelm him with intensity. She has to remind herself that he may run off if she presses for more. But kissing they've done, and kissing she knows he likes. Given the romantic setting, she thinks he won't mind a bit of that.]
[ The way he closes the distance between them, hands winding around her waist to pull her in against him while their lips meet, it's clear he's receptive. There really is very, very little he realizes he wouldn't do for his impossible girl, and the diminishing sands of time only make the moments like these feel precious — sacred. Not that he ever deigned to assume he'd live forever, no timelord really does (even ones who get an extra set of regenerations), but there's a little more urgency this time knowing that the moment he returns to his timeline, it really is all over for him in this particular face.
And that's all right, really it is, but it feels like there's really no better time (or no time left) to loosen the hold he'd had on some of the wants and desires he'd been keeping very (very) close to the vest. Things like love, and a humany connection to someone who very much means the universe to him, and the last of the time he has to help her understand just how incredible she is, how grateful he is for her, and how quintessential she'd become to his very existence. She is stitched into every part of his life; she'd saved him every time, and that is no small thing.
He kisses her then in hopes that she might start to understand just how deeply he feels, just how much he'd been keeping locked away, how much he'd been holding back from her for her.
He's a selfish, selfish creature at the end of it all, and maybe he wants her to know that too. He is hers, but she is his too. ]
[Maybe they're both a bit selfish, because Clara's aware that they're only together like this now because she had stubbornly refused to move on from her feelings for him. But now he's told her that he wants to be with her, he's agreed to try and make the most out of the time they have left. And given the way he's kissing her in return right now, there's no doubt in her mind that he truly does want her.
It's hard to deny his feelings when she's faced when them in such a physical way. He pours his heart into his kiss, making her murmur in approval low in her throat. Whatever he had been keeping from her before seems to no longer be off limits now, lips seeking and laying claim to her in a way that definitely leaves her feeling warm and a little weak in the knees.
Her touch slips around to the back of his head, fingers running through his hair. Keeping him in close with that hand, she uses her other to press against his hip. She starts to guide him backward toward the blankets, stopping about halfway.
Her lips are kiss swollen as she pulls back, but doesn't dare move out of his arms. She isn't sure she'll ever be able to leave them again, now that she's found her way into them. ]
I believe you were going to show me the stars? [She feels flushed, her cheeks warm and pink. Her tone makes it seem like it's a euphemism, but she's fairly certain she still has the ability to concentrate on the pretend stars overhead if he wants.]
[ The Doctor breaks away with a slightly glazed look in his eyes, like emerging from something of a trance — but the happiness is unmistakable when he smiles, remembering just what it is they came here to do when she prompts him.
He touches her nose affectionately and then reaches down to clasp at her hand, fingers winding with hers like he's adamant to never lose physical contact with her in this moment. ]
Do you remember this telescope?
[ He gestures towards it now. He wonders at what exact coordinates it's been placed; if he notes that, he'll know exactly which memory she's building off of. ]
[She asks him with a mock offended laugh, her hand squeezing his. Letting go of his hand isn't an option at this moment, not when it feels so right to hold hands doing just about everything. She leads him over toward the telescope, her other hand taking hold of his. It makes it easier for her to back her way over, pulling him along with her.
Rising up and leaning in, she steals another kiss before clearing her throat and focusing on the matter at hand.]
We used to spend hours here. I'd ask you to show me something awesome, and you'd come through each and every time.
[Because of course he did. He was always determined to impress her, right from the moment he showed up on the Maitland's doorstep.
Her hands pull free from his, and she goes over to steal a peek. It's set to show the stars in Victorian London, from the night they had managed to escape unscathed from Sweetville. That was so long ago now that it feels surreal to look up at it now. ]
Well, that's what they call me — King of Awesome. I rather know it when I see it.
[ The Doctor grins, teasing and cheeky, when she goes in for that kiss, and it puts him a little off his guard, the spontaneity of it, the way she doesn't quite think about it because it's come so easily to her.
He likes it, appreciates how simple and small an action it might seem in the grand scheme of their ... whatever it is they're calling this (he really doesn't know; he's alien, he's timelord, and he's been a husband, a lover, and boyfriend to a droid that one time, but this ... is none of those things), and yet they'd really only made it this far because of everything that had happened since they arrived on the Ximilia in their own separate agreements with the orbs.
He trails after her, staying close behind while she climbs the steps to peer into the viewfinder of the telescope. ]
[She answers after a moment's pause, finding the sight through the viewfinder to be bittersweet. Tonight is about finally coming together, and a part of that is remembering the past. But it won't do to dwell on it, not when it's likely one or the both of them can get a touch too sentimental over these sorts of things.
When she pulls away, she bumps against his body, pressing in firm to him. Typically it would be when she blushes and pulls away, or he might flail and run off. But her hand instantly reaches out, fingers curling around his wrist. And her feet remain firmly planted in place as she guides his arm to wrap around her. Her palm presses over his arm, and she smiles at the feeling of being so close to him.
It all may prove to be too much for him, the natural ease she shows in touching him. It's all still innocent, of course, giving him room to back away if he wants.]
But I think we have the future to look forward to now.
[ The ease at which Clara leans back into him, guiding his hands around her in the places they ought to go — he allows it. More than that, he pulls in close, finding that he likes this too, arms winding around her in an adoring embrace. When they'd been in this room the last time, gazing into the past (he can guess at what moment she might have remembered in particular), they'd been good friends. And she had still been a mystery, a question he was determined to answer. They had never been this close; they wouldn't have been caught like this. The Doctor wouldn't have let it happen, determined to let Clara have the most human life she was entitled to.
But this place has shifted something, and if that wasn't enough, his going home and coming back again at the very cusp of the end of this regeneration had him reconsidering all sorts of things he might never have considered before. Always incredibly selfish, he has to be very, very cognizant of what he wants and what he's allowed to have, and for the good of everyone else around him, make the conscious decision not to be.
But maybe he can have this one thing. Just this one thing, and he won't have to worry too much that it'll muck everything up. That it won't ... it won't ruin Clara.
He still thinks about it, of course, considers that the best thing he can do even now is to let her live her own life so the goodbye at the end of all this won't hurt so much. (Won't hurt him so much.) He already doesn't know how he's going to say goodbye to River again, and he's actually going to miss his older self quite a bit, and then there's all the friends he's made while he's been here: Kovacs and Newt and Alina and Rosinante ...
But if this is what Clara wants too ... then it's all right, isn't it? He tilts his head to nuzzle her at the crook of her neck and leave a kiss against her skin there. And for a moment, he just holds onto her, no words needing to be said.
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no subject
It's enough for him to savour every last bit of metal, every last light in this place. He reaches out and curves his free hand over one of the buttons, a big bright green one. Seconds later, he moves over one of the pulley levers and flattens his palm over the smooth surface, fingers curling over the familiar grip. He doesn't pull. He knows they won't go anywhere even if he does. ]
How did you — [ he starts, but it's not the real question he even wants to ask. It's not important how she made it happen. It isn't the point.
He turns to her now, properly, eyes still filled with that wonder — but his mouth twists into something serious and a little concerned. ]
Are you all right? Everything all right?
no subject
I wasn't.
[Things were rough after this last mission. But he knows that.]
I am now, though.
[Clara makes sure to be quick to reassure him of that much. This is supposed to be something happy. There isn't any need to cause him concern. She rounds about the console unit from where she's been standing, and slips to stand pressed between him and the machine. Her hand reaches up, pressing over his.
His fingers are curled around a lever, and she twines her fingers between his.]
Because of you.
[She guides their joined hands to pull down on the lever. Nothing happens, but the point isn't to go somewhere. It's to give him something that will help him see how important he is to her. How much she cares for him, and how she will always be there for him. Even when things are at their darkest.]
Thing is, I don't think I've been very clear about how I feel about you. And people like us, certain things should be said. And I wanna do that now.
[He knows she loves him. She's said it. But there's a difference between saying you love someone and telling them in detail, with no uncertainty, what it is you want out of that love.]
no subject
[ This is still very, very new to him, all of this stuff with Clara. He isn't used to it yet, he doesn't quite know how or where to follow. (And he's not even sure his manual would help even if he did have it with him.)
But it isn't a bad thing, not at all. He likes the way her fingers entwine themselves with his, how they seem to fit together. It's perfect. And of course she isn't the only one who has made promises to keep him buoyed even at his darkest hour; he's made that promise to her too, in his own way. ]
Clara?
no subject
Her hand pulls out from beneath his, and she slowly turns so she can stand facing him. They're pressed in close, and the console is pressing against her back now. But it doesn't matter. She wants him to see her face as she says this next part, so he realizes how serious she is.]
I want you. [A single dimple forms on her face as she smiles, but her eyes hold caution and uncertainty. She's not sure how she'll react or respond if he isn't open to hearing this.]
I want a real relationship with you.
[She elaborates, feeling her eyes get glassy with emotion as tears build. The fear of rejection makes her heart race, but she's come this far. She can't turn back now.]
Doctor, I want a life here with you.
no subject
[ The Doctor isn't even sure what he means to say, if there's anything he could use to argue against this, to gently tell her no because it's for her own good, because he's a timelord and she's human, and she could have a life with him but he'd go on and have another life after this, and it wouldn't be right to take that real humany life away from her.
But they'd been through all of that before, hadn't they? Not only that but it'd been before this face realized just how close he was to regeneration (a breath, really), and if there was any time at all to try his hand at a human-like life, it was now.
And if the last few weeks have shown them anything, it's that it could work ... and maybe it can only work here, too. A sort of ... very complicated, timey-wimey second chance as they work to achieve undoing their regrets. It'd be like returning to their worlds and their proper timelines the long way around.
He doesn't move even as all of this runs through his head, fingers still clutched at the lever now pulled downwards, the blinking lights and familiar TARDIS sounds making the background of this conversation about as familiar and calming as it possibly can be. Clever, really, to pick a place like this. It makes him less squirrely, less inclined to feeling overwhelmed by the idea of a commitment.
Even his marriage to River Song had been very non-traditional up to, and including, her death. ]
Are you sure?
no subject
When he asks her that question, she can't decipher his reason for doing it. These things she's said, she doesn't mean them lightly. Slowly and shakily, she exhales. She can do this. She can be brave, just for another few minutes.
Her head ducks down, eyes looking to the grating that makes up the floor. And she tries not to hold onto hope, not when she knows she needs to be realistic. In that moment, she feels too exposed and vulnerable to keep eye contact. She doesn't want him to see the look in her eyes, doesn't want them to manipulate and sway his response.]
I wouldn't have said them if I wasn't sure. You know that.
no subject
[ He couldn't let go of Clara, is what he means.
Commitment, real commitment isn't an easy thing for the Doctor. It isn't something he allows himself as though he knows better; it's why he hardly indulges in them, could count the number of commitments he's made in over 2,000 years on one hand. He's possessive and selfish and incredibly protective, and those aren't always good things, not in his mind.
But when he loves, oh he can love enough to fill a whole universe and then some, and it can (and does) hurt and the hurt is like a warning, like when one touches the stovetop with their bare hand and knows better not to do it again in the future. Not that this is that at all, of course, but he needs to be sure that this won't burn him because that hurt ... he knows what that's like too. ]
no subject
Oh, he hasn't come out and said he wants any of the same things she does. But he doesn't necessarily have to. Not with an admission like that.]
You won't ever have to.
[Her voice cracks when she speaks, and she feels a tear slip down her cheek. She laughs as she reaches up to wipe it away, smiling.
She's well aware that the Doctor doesn't let himself love easily, not in the sense that she's asking of him. Being loved by the Doctor means understanding what his love means. For every moment they're together, and even for countless seconds beyond that, his hearts will beat for her. He's jealous and overprotective, and she's sure he's terrified of his heart being broken in the end.
Losing her will destroy the man that he is, it will turn him into something that isn't fully the Doctor. But she knows that he's in his last moments. He's oblivious to the fact that she's in hers too, and they have no other time but this. They're able to truly be together and live together in every sense of the word, all while existing on their last breath.]
If you want this too, and want it as badly as I do, then you should know I don't have any plans of ever letting you go.
[And she trusts he'll never let her go in return. They'll be bound together, come what may.]
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[ The Doctor looks as though he's deliberating something for himself, the thoughts Clara has running through her mind a rather accurate impression of what he thinks and feels and fears. Love is an all encompassing thing, beautiful and huge, almost endless in its own way, but it can be scary and too-much and weaponized too. He would endanger her by making whatever it is he feels about her known. (Though not if he can help it, not so long as he's got the power to fight back and protect her.) And it would it endanger him, too. Oh, absolutely it would.
But against all odds, despite all of the reasons why he really should stop this once and for all — despite evidence proving that he's really rather bad at doing just that — he finds that he doesn't want to. For the first time in a long, long time, perhaps because of where they are and because of his own expiration date, he doesn't think he cares about what he should do. He wants this too. Of course he does.
Clara knows that. Clara must know that. ]
A life here together, then. You and me.
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Only now there's a proper outlet to show that love in a way that isn't just whispered confessions and stolen little moments that make her feel guilty for days after. This is a chance for her to have something she never thought she'd get to experience again.
And once she leaves here, she doubts she ever will.]
You and me.
[She echoes, hand pressing against his cheek. Her touch slides to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. There's a few moments where she simply looks up into his eyes, letting him see just how happy he's made her.]
The long way around. Just the way it was meant to be.
[They have an unknown amount of time left here, which means there's more missions and lots of linear time to experience. Their endings are fixed points, she's sure, but they're able to go back to them the long way now.
That thought is in mind as her fingers in his hair guide him to dip his head downward. Rising up on her tiptoes to close the distance between them, she hesitates before pressing her lips against his. Instead, she looks up at him through her eyelashes, her smile a little more playful now.]
Now go on and kiss me, would you?
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But she doesn't need to tell him twice.
There isn't a trace of that awkward, noodly man that she might be used to (that the whole crew is used to) as he dips his head forward to kiss her, just like she asks, lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. This is a different side of the Doctor, one who is absolutely sure of what he's doing and what he wants and what he has left.
And in this simulated TARDIS control room, he can almost pretend that they're on one of their adventures somewhere far away from here, away from orbs and regrets and his last breath too. ]
My Impossible Girl. [ It's said against her lips when they break apart. ]
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How about that? He's far more sure of himself now. Not that he hasn't been gaining certainty and confidence with all of their other recent kisses. But this one is different. There's no hesitation on either of their parts, no reason to hold back any longer.]
About time you kissed me like someone you loved.
[She whispers as they break apart, reminding him of the time at Christmas when she had directed him to kiss her beneath the mistletoe. Things had been so different then.
She counts her lucky stars they're exactly where they are now. She has to take in a slow and steady breath, to keep herself from pressing for more. As much as she wants him, she knows he has to be the one to be ready and initiate. All she needs to do now is keep a level head.
Clara reaches up to give a bit of a tweak to his bowtie, chuckling beneath her breath as she does. And then she's turning back toward the console, hand going back to the lever.]
Pretend we're really in the TARDIS right now. Pretend, and tell me where we're going next.
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Sometimes the TARDIS has a knack of playing rather practical jokes on him, in fact. Like the time the mustard button wound up being ranch dressing. Horrible for American hot dogs. Definitely 0/10, do not recommend.
He eyes Clara from the opposite side of the console, just past the swivel-screen. He has a better idea, one she's sure to like; of that much he's certain. ]
How much of this TARDIS have you got mapped?
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He asks about the simulation, and she's left blinking a bit cluelessly back at him. What could he possibly be up to?
There's most every room I can remember. The safe ones, at least.
[Because there's plenty of them in there that aren't.]
Why?
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The Doctor holds a hand out to her, just like usual. Just like old times. ]
I have an idea.
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Show me.
[The second he moves, she's in line beside him. The nostalgic feeling of being in the tardis with him once again is nearly overwhelming. If it feels that way for her, she can't imagine what it's like for him.]
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Like this is the reality, and Ximilia is the simulation.
The Doctor guides her up the steps alongside him, hands linked together, and makes a hard right. His steps are sure but unhurried, leading them past closed doors and rooms upon rooms that Clara hasn't even seen before (and thus, they probably don't work). The doors are there but there's one he knows she should know too; they've gone in to have a look on those occasional Wednesdays in between planets and time travel, when they're in the TARDIS for a rest.
It's the equatorial room (or the observatory), the familiar old copper-coloured telescope fixed in its centre, its optical tube pointed upwards through a clear dark sky scattered with sparkling bright dots. An old leather couch is situated to one side, and a pile of blankets and pillows are on the other.
And it's here that the Doctor finally lets go of her hand to turn and face her properly. ]
The station has no stars, and I know these ones are just a memory — very well done, by the way — but we could pretend, eh?
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He's her entire universe, and now he's finally agreed to share a life here with her. She doesn't think she could possibly be happier than she is right now.
Her hand presses against his face, thumb trailing along his cheek.
Her Doctor. Always clever, always exactly what she needs.]
It feels real to me.
[When she leans in to press her lips against his, it's a tender kiss. Slow and unyielding, but not seeking to overwhelm him with intensity. She has to remind herself that he may run off if she presses for more. But kissing they've done, and kissing she knows he likes. Given the romantic setting, she thinks he won't mind a bit of that.]
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And that's all right, really it is, but it feels like there's really no better time (or no time left) to loosen the hold he'd had on some of the wants and desires he'd been keeping very (very) close to the vest. Things like love, and a humany connection to someone who very much means the universe to him, and the last of the time he has to help her understand just how incredible she is, how grateful he is for her, and how quintessential she'd become to his very existence. She is stitched into every part of his life; she'd saved him every time, and that is no small thing.
He kisses her then in hopes that she might start to understand just how deeply he feels, just how much he'd been keeping locked away, how much he'd been holding back from her for her.
He's a selfish, selfish creature at the end of it all, and maybe he wants her to know that too. He is hers, but she is his too. ]
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It's hard to deny his feelings when she's faced when them in such a physical way. He pours his heart into his kiss, making her murmur in approval low in her throat. Whatever he had been keeping from her before seems to no longer be off limits now, lips seeking and laying claim to her in a way that definitely leaves her feeling warm and a little weak in the knees.
Her touch slips around to the back of his head, fingers running through his hair. Keeping him in close with that hand, she uses her other to press against his hip. She starts to guide him backward toward the blankets, stopping about halfway.
Her lips are kiss swollen as she pulls back, but doesn't dare move out of his arms. She isn't sure she'll ever be able to leave them again, now that she's found her way into them. ]
I believe you were going to show me the stars? [She feels flushed, her cheeks warm and pink. Her tone makes it seem like it's a euphemism, but she's fairly certain she still has the ability to concentrate on the pretend stars overhead if he wants.]
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He touches her nose affectionately and then reaches down to clasp at her hand, fingers winding with hers like he's adamant to never lose physical contact with her in this moment. ]
Do you remember this telescope?
[ He gestures towards it now. He wonders at what exact coordinates it's been placed; if he notes that, he'll know exactly which memory she's building off of. ]
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[She asks him with a mock offended laugh, her hand squeezing his. Letting go of his hand isn't an option at this moment, not when it feels so right to hold hands doing just about everything. She leads him over toward the telescope, her other hand taking hold of his. It makes it easier for her to back her way over, pulling him along with her.
Rising up and leaning in, she steals another kiss before clearing her throat and focusing on the matter at hand.]
We used to spend hours here. I'd ask you to show me something awesome, and you'd come through each and every time.
[Because of course he did. He was always determined to impress her, right from the moment he showed up on the Maitland's doorstep.
Her hands pull free from his, and she goes over to steal a peek. It's set to show the stars in Victorian London, from the night they had managed to escape unscathed from Sweetville. That was so long ago now that it feels surreal to look up at it now. ]
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[ The Doctor grins, teasing and cheeky, when she goes in for that kiss, and it puts him a little off his guard, the spontaneity of it, the way she doesn't quite think about it because it's come so easily to her.
He likes it, appreciates how simple and small an action it might seem in the grand scheme of their ... whatever it is they're calling this (he really doesn't know; he's alien, he's timelord, and he's been a husband, a lover, and boyfriend to a droid that one time, but this ... is none of those things), and yet they'd really only made it this far because of everything that had happened since they arrived on the Ximilia in their own separate agreements with the orbs.
He trails after her, staying close behind while she climbs the steps to peer into the viewfinder of the telescope. ]
What do you see?
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[She answers after a moment's pause, finding the sight through the viewfinder to be bittersweet. Tonight is about finally coming together, and a part of that is remembering the past. But it won't do to dwell on it, not when it's likely one or the both of them can get a touch too sentimental over these sorts of things.
When she pulls away, she bumps against his body, pressing in firm to him. Typically it would be when she blushes and pulls away, or he might flail and run off. But her hand instantly reaches out, fingers curling around his wrist. And her feet remain firmly planted in place as she guides his arm to wrap around her. Her palm presses over his arm, and she smiles at the feeling of being so close to him.
It all may prove to be too much for him, the natural ease she shows in touching him. It's all still innocent, of course, giving him room to back away if he wants.]
But I think we have the future to look forward to now.
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But this place has shifted something, and if that wasn't enough, his going home and coming back again at the very cusp of the end of this regeneration had him reconsidering all sorts of things he might never have considered before. Always incredibly selfish, he has to be very, very cognizant of what he wants and what he's allowed to have, and for the good of everyone else around him, make the conscious decision not to be.
But maybe he can have this one thing. Just this one thing, and he won't have to worry too much that it'll muck everything up. That it won't ... it won't ruin Clara.
He still thinks about it, of course, considers that the best thing he can do even now is to let her live her own life so the goodbye at the end of all this won't hurt so much. (Won't hurt him so much.) He already doesn't know how he's going to say goodbye to River again, and he's actually going to miss his older self quite a bit, and then there's all the friends he's made while he's been here: Kovacs and Newt and Alina and Rosinante ...
But if this is what Clara wants too ... then it's all right, isn't it? He tilts his head to nuzzle her at the crook of her neck and leave a kiss against her skin there. And for a moment, he just holds onto her, no words needing to be said.
Not this time. ]
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