eastbound | video; un: hide-and-seek

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video; un: hide-and-seek

[ Clara's sitting as privately as it's going to get in the Mouse House, still a little breathless. Not from exertion, but from realizing she might've heard something she shouldn't. She can't know for sure, but her gut tells her it's important. Her first instinct is to find the Doctor and tell him, but she'd done the first thing he'd asked her not to and wandered off. As always.

In need of semi-fresh air, she'd waited until he was busy talking to someone else before quickly excusing herself, walking away before the Doctor could protest. She'd walked a few blocks toward the ports when she'd overheard a small group talking about a person named Cain. The way the apparent co-workers tensed and glared at her when spotted, made her feel as if the complaining hadn't been meant to be heard by anyone, not just her. Back inside, she's decided to share what she overheard when she doesn't spot the Doctor right away. Whipping out her new device she takes a minute or two to understand how it works before her face pops up on the screen. ]

Hullo, I'm Clara. Met some of you during the [ Her free hand waves around vaguely. ] events. I'm not sure what is and isn't important here, but a talking fox told me I needed to make tea to get out of a murder house, so who am I to decide what everyone should or shouldn't know?

[ Either someone tells her not to worry about it, or she's given out something everyone needs to know. She should really wait for the Doctor, but there's no going back now that she's announced it. ]

Went outside and overheard two people talking about someone named Cain do..brick? [ She can't quite remember how it was pronounced, but hopefully, she's close enough. ] They've done something to make an employer angry enough to hit an employee after getting off the phone with Cain. Something about an offer involving parts and grease for Minaras and Eidris. There was more, but I'm not sure if this means anything or not. The people talking about it got pretty upset when they saw me, so I thought it might be worth mentioning.

[ There's a pause as she decides to wrap things up. ]

In case none of this matters, quick question. If you've met the Doctor, what was your first impression, please? [ There's a quick, cheeky and teasing smile that suggests knowing him before the video ends. ]

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[ He's not sure what to think or how to feel about this question. There's so much more to this than she could possibly understand, but the implication is that Clara herself is, in some way, just a fleeting thought for him. It's quite the opposite; he would never think of a friend as so disposable. ]

Is that what you think happens? Like putting on a new tie the next day?

[ Everyone he's ever known and loved, is gone. That will always be true. In the end, he's always alone. Maybe it's easier not to talk about that. He thought she might understand that. ]

No. I think you hurt and want to forget, but you can't. So you collect us and keep running, and that's fine. That's one of the best things that could ever happen. Taking your hand and running like there's no going back.

[ This isn't an attack on him, her voice is soft with an undercurrent of hurt, confusion. Her goal isn't to make him feel badly, she just needs to know without telling him what she's done, that she won't wind up on a shelf, seemingly forgotten forever. ]

I know sometimes awful things happen when we travel with you. I know you've lost people, but it's like they've stopped existing at all. Not in stories in books or out loud. You never pass people on to be remembered now and again by anyone, just because.

[ Looking up at him, Clara searches his face. ]

When we first met, you made it seem like there hadn't been anyone else, ever. Like there aren't a billion memories in that TARDIS, good moments worth sharing.

Edited 2022-10-22 14:12 (UTC)

You're saying a lot of words without understanding any of them.

[ It's harsh, he knows it the moment he says it, and he softens a little in his eyes. Not an apology, but a shift in his tone and expression. She has every right to what she says, but it doesn't mean he wants to listen or accept it. He can't necessarily run from her - damn these close quarters - but he's not comfortable sitting beside her right now, and he stands up to fidget and pace. That he hasn't simply walked away, though, means he values and respects her concerns. He'll listen, he'll always listen, he just doesn't like what's being said or implied right now.

And there's so much they can't talk about because he can't know his future. ]

When all is said and done and when the story is over. Is that what you are to me, all of you? Throw one book away, grab the next one on the shelf, move along like nothing's happened?

You certainly seem to believe you know best. Why do I owe you my life, all of it, every memory, every good and bad day? Why does a memory lose its value unless you speak it out loud?

[ When he stands, Clara draws her knees up to her chest, resting her hands in her lap. She figured he'd get defensive, now she has to see if she can keep toeing the line between this and outright anger. ]

Am I? Or are they words you don't wanna hear?

[ She watches him walk back and forth like an overwound toy, but doesn't linger on his face. ]

Mentioning someone by name now and again is hardly sitting down to tell their tale. When I found that book in the library and I asked you who Professor Song was, you couldn't even say she was your wife. I didn't even know she was a she. Doctor, you didn't throw her away, you shelved her like she never existed. [ Clara pauses, but not long enough to give him a chance to speak. ]

Do you even know all the things you're running from anymore?

[ As Clara speaks, his mind is an assembly line of memories, some of them good, some of them more painful than he can bear. Amy and Rory were his most recent losses, so painful for so many reasons. He'd given them up, more than once, he'd insisted they live their happy little human lives in their quiet little home. Some part of him really had meant for that to happen. He would have avoided that last goodbye, but he would have been able to see them one last time on his own terms, not the way it happened, the way they were torn from him by the most malevolent creatures the universe has ever known. They could have been happy and safe in their own time, living the life they'd deserved, but he'd taken that from them because he was selfish, because he couldn't be alone. He's not unaware of this, it's a fact of his own nature, it's why he loathes himself in his deepest, darkest moments.

Some endings have been happier, at least, but there's so much pain along the way. In the course of his travels, he's lost Susan, Katarina, Sara, Adric, Kamelion, Astrid, River, Adelaide, Amy, Rory. So many friends aged and gone to the stars now. Countless others, innocent lives that he couldn't save, and he's held their memories with him as well. But if he thought of them all the time, in every single moment, he couldn't be the Doctor. He wouldn't go mad - he's already there - but he would cease to exist. One can't carry such loss around everyday, consciously, and continue on the way he does.

What is he running from? The pain. The pain of all of it, always. She doesn't understand, clearly, or doesn't want to, or she wouldn't ask it of him.

He wishes all of it could last, every good moment tucked away for safekeeping in his memories, but nothing does. If he keeps running, he doesn't have to stop and think about the things that hurt. They all sleep safely in his memories; a smirk, a laugh, a hug. Every touch, every sense of wonder he's ever glimpsed through a friend's eyes, every time he's let himself think fondly of how wonderful it felt to belong with people, even briefly.

He's loved every single one of them, some of them deeper than others. There were times he grew too close, even, and nearly broke his own rules, wondered if he might be willing to court pain more deeply to feel the touch of love for a little while. Love of a different kind. Love like he hasn't known since leaving Gallifrey. He doesn't deserve any of it, though, and in a way, Clara has helped to remind him. ]

Have you thought, for even a single moment, why it might hurt to say their names out loud? They're safe in here, with me. [ He gestures, resting a hand over one of his hearts. ] And I don't owe you anything at all.

Edited 2022-10-22 23:38 (UTC)

No. You don't.

[ She died for him, but she can't fathom demanding anything in return. That isn't who she is, it isn't her heart. There's a flicker of hurt on her face and it settles in her eyes before looking away from him. The conversation, by nature of what it is, was always going to sting, but she hadn't expected the hit to her heart. She glances up at him again. ]

Have I been a ghost to you since the day you started watching my life? Had you already decided then that you'd ask me to travel with you? Had you already carved out the space for me in the index of your hearts when you watched me at my mother's funeral?

[ Her eyes move to her lap, looking at her hands, picking under one of her fingernails. ]

Why find me at all?

[ You're all ghosts to me.

He's very nearly at the point where he simply can't do this anymore right now. He feels his mind turning in a circle, nowhere to really escape to. He doesn't get cornered like this often; that's what this feels like, being cornered and forced to dredge up the worst and most vulnerable parts of himself. He feels as though he's being studied under a microscope, forced to explain what feels intangible, what exists without words.

There is so much that he feels all the time and he would never be able to explain that to anyone, most especially a human. Only precious few even understand because they've felt it, too. He can string some words together out loud that might sound like something approaching an explanation, but none of it would really tell the whole truth, the way he feels loss, the way it lives inside of him, down to the deepest parts of his soul. Loss and grief don't make him unique; such things have touched almost every creature in the universe. But the way he feels it when he closes his eyes, the sensation of grief, the way everyone around him really is a ghost and he's trying to outrun the loss of them. It's not just an event to be lived through and moved on from, it's the reality of every second. He does well enough, he thinks, at masking it, but now Clara's asking questions he can't and doesn't want to answer.

By the same token, the way that he feels love is wholly unique, at least in his observations of humans since he's ever so fond of them. Love doesn't end for him, it doesn't go away. From the first moment he felt it, of any kind, to what he feels now as he lingers in a dark corridor and worries about everyone he's met here, and already loves. Everything and everyone he's ever loved has just built and built upon each other, a towering testimony in his hearts to the one thing that has the power to make all of his precious ghosts live forever with him. He hasn't loved all of them the same, no, of course not. But he loves with everything that he has, so deeply, so wretchedly painful, so all-consuming, burning with the fire of the universe's every star. That, too, would destroy him if he let himself feel just how much he loves. So he doesn't love the same way that humans do. He loves with quiet touches, looks of pride, happy hugs, promises he can't keep but desperately wants to. He loves from hello to goodbye, he loves with lingering glances when they aren't looking, so he can commit their sense of wonder and joy to memory. He loves who they were, who they are, who they will be. He loves who they all were to him, and he loves the gifts they leave when they go: the memories that help him breathe.

He doesn't know who Clara is, not entirely, but she's died twice for him and she will die again, probably for him - if her track record is any indication. Just the mere thought of that for a moment takes his breath away. Why should anyone else have to die for him? But they will. Die for him, because of him, and even without him, old and grey in their beds - God, he hopes for such mercies. But they still go away, all of them, in the end.

For the Doctor, not talking about them doesn't mean they don't exist or weren't important. Completely the opposite, in fact. He pretends to forget, he plays the lie so well he almost believes it himself sometimes. But they're all there with him, always, they never go away. He just tries to find some peace amid the madness by keeping them asleep in his mind. ]

You're asking a question I can't answer, because I don't know what I know and what you already know. I don't even know what I don't know about what I know.

[ Or something. He swipes a hand over his face, looking over at her again. ]

What's the question you're not asking? Say it. You're avoiding it. Just say it, Clara.

Will I forget you?

[ When he asks her question, Clara's breath catches. There's the beginning of an epiphany happening as she looks up, meeting his eyes, catching the whorls of green coalescing with blue. For a second her vision blurs, but she refuses to let the tears fall, blinking them back. She doesn't want to accidentally manipulate the conversation with tears, she wants to face this now that she's brought it up. ]

When my mum died, it was like my dad refused to ever acknowledge her again. There was an attack in London and she was killed, but it was like she walked away because she wanted to. No more photos, no more talking about her. I'd try to bring her up but he got angry every time. Then he met someone new and that was it. My mum never existed.

[ Even as she tells this to the Doctor, she begins to realize her mistake. He isn't human, and she'd put him into the same category of mourners. ]

Then you regenerated, and you pulled away from me. You ran like you were trying to forget.

[ She has to stop before she says too much, and Clara closes her eyes tightly, head going back against the wall. ]

I don't want you to go.

[ But he's already gone. ]

[ He's wound up in his emotions, and it's Clara who brings him back down from his own self-pity. Yet again, his friends remain the best of him, centering his focus when he gets too trapped in his own mind. It hadn't occurred to him, her own experience, and how her father might have coped - or not, in this case - and it's a good reminder again (even after a thousand years of doing this) that he doesn't know everything, and that no two situations are ever the same.

He stops his pacing and fidgeting, moving to kneel in front of her now. With her eyes closed, he doesn't want to startle her, so he reaches out gently just to cover her hand, to draw her focus back to him for a moment. ]

And I don't want you to go.

[ I don't cope well myself, he thinks, but doesn't say. He doesn't handle loss well, never has, and never will. But perhaps he can be forgiven, for loving all of them so very much. ]

I don't know why I pulled away from you. Well, I can imagine a few reasons - regeneration madness among them. If I know myself - and really I only do sometimes - I'm absolutely terrified of you. Of what you'll think of me, of how we'll both change now. I'll need your help more than I ever have before.

But those moments - they're far away right now. I'm sorry, Clara. I'm sorry I went away. But we're here together and you're going to be safe, no matter what happens.

Hey. Look at me. [ If she does, or if she doesn't (that part doesn't matter), he softens his voice even more and gives her a smile. ] I could never forget you. I never would.

[ Raising her head, Clara meets his eyes again, her own still wide. This time when they fill with tears she lets one fall down her cheek. By the time it drips down to her chin, a tear has fallen from the other side to join it. Her teeth pull her bottom lip in for a second before letting it go, using her palm to brush away the tears. ]

You mean more to me than anything else in the universe. I know you don't understand why yet, and that's alright. As long as when you run, you never forget me.

[ Run you clever boy. And remember me. A part of her has known all along, and her echoes after (before?) her. She sniffles and clears her throat in an attempt to pull herself together. ]

It isn't the same, is it? The way you keep us with you. [ Not the same as the box she was trying to lump him into, not a human, but something completely different and ancient. ]

[ You mean more to me than anything else in the universe.

That absolutely terrifies him. It's happened before, so many times, and then his friends get reckless and they decide that for some reason, his life is worth more than theirs, when the opposite will always, always be true. He wants to insist on that, but he keeps quiet for now. ]

It's never the same, but always important. And you are, Clara. You're important to me.

[ Reaching out, tentatively at first, one of Clara's hands reaches out to press against his chest between his hearts if he'll let her. If not, she'll divert to her hand on his cheek. ]

I slipped, in my mind. I gave you human feelings, human expectations. You love us, but you're further from being like us than I remember, sometimes. [ She understands now, his words combining with River's to give her new insight. ]

All of those years and all of those people. No wonder you need two hearts to hold it all.

[ Two hearts. One happy, one sad. Always.

He smiles just a little, though, and he does allow the touch to his chest as he covers her hand delicately. ]

Well, you’re only human yourself. You can be forgiven for it.

Come on, now. Back inside. You should rest, you look terrible.

[ Clara squints at him. ]

You have a habit of telling me when I look awful, but you never seem to notice when I'm in fancy dress if we go somewhere nice.

[ He hasn't really taken her anywhere yet, just one planet from his perspective, but is it any secret that he'll take her places? That's the point of traveling with him. She holds her hands out so he can help her up. ]

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