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briarlovesclara · 4 years

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I Can’t...

Two-part one shot fic (Spoilers: Doctor Who Series 4-9, Classic Who companion spoilers for characters Jamie and Zoe). A little over 3k words

Whouffaldi if you really squint and turn your head

12/Donna and 10/Clara (both nonromantic)

...remember

It was very, very stupid.

The Doctor knew it. The TARDIS knew it. Heck, even the universe itself was probably screaming to get himself under control.

But he didn’t listen.

Because there was one person, only one, who could even begin to understand how he was feeling. Sure, maybe he could track down Jamie, or Zoe. But he needed something more dangerous than that. With the Time Lords gone, what would their punishment be? No, he needed to walk a terrifying line between life and death. Maybe he would finally lose his mind.

Maybe then he could remember Clara.

Donna looked out her window at the perfect time to see the man fall.

She had just finished lunch, and was tucking the rest of the sandwiches away, but she set them down nonetheless and raced out to the stranger on the sidewalk.

“Oi! You alright, mate?” She said as she approached, and the stranger looked up.

“Ah, yes. Sorry. Must have let my mind wander.”

“Nice accent. So not from around here, huh?”

Oh, his Donna hadn’t changed a bit. Smiling gently, the Doctor brushed himself off, accepting the hand up she extended. It was hard to fall, even if on purpose.

“Thank you.” He said when he was upright, but she didn’t let go of him immediately.

“You in a hurry? Or in need of some lunch? Because I’ve got too many leftovers, and Shaun will kill me if he sees them all. He doesn’t approve of the diet.”

The Doctor almost fell over again, this time from the staggering pain in his hearts. His Donna, his beautiful, smart, amazing Donna, back to her old ways. Dieting, never feeling good enough. Being ashamed of her secrets and her pain.

“I think you look beautiful.” He whispered, trying to keep composure. Donna dropped his hand and stepped away. “I just mean-- the dieting. You don’t have to. I think you look fine.” He saw the tension in her shoulders ease, though there was still a small hint of mistrust there. “And I would love a sandwich, if you’ll eat one with me.”

“Alright. But only because you’re old and you fell.” She said with a smile. “Come on in.”

“It must be hard to have lost your friend.”

Donna’s voice was quiet, contemplative, as she washed the dish in the sink. The Doctor (under the alias Jamie McCrimmon) was sitting at the dining table, staring up at her and clutching the glass of water that had been offered to him.

“Yes, I believe it was.”

“You believe?”

“Well, I-- I can’t quite remember.” Donna’s methodical strokes of the plate slowed.

“Whaddya mean, ‘you can’t remember’?” She said, a note of anger seeping into her tone.

“Well, I, uh, have some slight memory issues. I must have fallen again right after. I don’t know much… well, about her at all, really.” At that Donna stopped completely, setting the dish down and turning around to face him. Wiping her hands on a towel, she sunk into the chair opposite him.

“Well, that really sucks.” She said, tossing the towel back and attempting to crack a smile.

“It does.”

“I mean, that REALLY fucking sucks.”

“Language!”

And with that, the conversation started to flow; was he married? Yes, his wife Melody was at home. Any kids? One, who passed years ago. Was she married to this ‘Shaun’? Yes, she was. Any kids? None. Parents? Her mother. Her grandfather passed quite recently.

“It was weird, y’know.” She said, taking the Doctor by surprise. “When his time was ending, Gramps used to go on these long tangents. Something about needing a doctor, and then refusing to talk to one when they were brought in. We would ask him which doctor and he would say ‘The Doctor’, as if there was only one. Can you believe that? And well we asked him, right, ‘Doctor Who?’ And he had a right old laugh about that. Never did figure out who he was lookin’ for. You alright?”

“Yes! Yes. Fine.” The Doctor said, sitting up and setting forth a large smile that he hoped wasn’t too obviously fake. “I think I better get going. The wife will be wondering where I was-- I was only going for a walk.”

“Well, it was quite a riot talking to you, Mr. McCrimmon.”

“Please, Donna, call me Jamie.” He stood up and shook her hand before walking to the door. “It was lovely to see you.” Stepping out, he turned back before he could stop himself, and Donna paused closing the door. “Donna?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing someone? Or something?”

“Odd question. I used to.” She said, eyes glazing over for a moment. “About when I married Shaun, maybe ten years back? But I think it was just worry over what to do with my last name. Went the hypon-ed approach. Donna Temple-Noble. Why?” And her gaze was blank again, only marred by slight confusion. The Doctor’s stomach dropped, and he scolded himself for it. Of course she didn’t know. Of course she couldn’t know.

“No reason. Farewell, Mrs. Temple-Noble.” And with that, he left.

...forget

It was very, very stupid.

Clara knew it. Me knew it. Heck, even the universe itself was probably screaming at her to get it under control.

But she didn’t listen.

Because she had to see him, one more time. Crossing her own timeline would be too dangerous, so it couldn’t be either of her Doctors. She didn’t know the temperament of any others. So that only left one. And, by chance (or fate? She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore), it happened to be the one that might just be able to understand what she was going through.

The Doctor looked out to the ocean from his bench. The sun, about to set, cast long shadows across the rock-strewn beach below the cliff. From his high vantage point, he could see families screaming and splashing as the tide rolled them around. They were so fiercely brave, humans. Always throwing themselves into fun just to feel the rush. So breakable. On the sand below, a man in odd black clothing read a newspaper, hat down low over his face.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming near.

“Can I sit here?” He looked up to see a young woman, in a large jacket not unlike his own, smiling down at him.

“I’m not very great company, but you’re welcome to stay.” He said with a weak smile. Clara noticed the emptiness in his eyes, the fakeness of the cheer in his voice. Settling down, she noticed that he looked tired. Exhausted. As if he hadn’t slept in years.

“How long has it been since you slept?”

“Well, that’s rude.” He tried to scrape up a joking tone, but his mind was spinning. How long had it been? “I’m somewhat of an insomniac. Few days.” Not that a few days was long for him. More like a few months.

“And what do you do with all that time? Mope?”

“I’m not moping!”

“And I’m not human.” Clara said, and for a second she saw him tense before he relaxed back, faking nonchalance. He must be more tired than she thought.

“What is there, besides humans?” He softly mused, looking back at the water.

“A lot.” She whispered, and she reveled in the way his face froze in surprise. “There’s Zygons. Weeping Angels. Silence, but you wouldn’t know about them yet. Time Lords.” At the last two words, the Doctor jumped up, sonic pointed at her, and back away a few feet.

“Who are you?” He asked in a low voice, and even though Clara knew the Doctor wouldn’t hurt her, fear trickled down her spine. Her heart sank even lower as it came to her that this was not her Doctor, that he didn’t know her. It was ripped completely to shreds as she remembered that none of them knew her now. Before she knew what was happening, she was shaking with sobs.

The Doctor looked at the crying woman, startled. The sonic had read her as perfectly human, but she knew about other planets and species. Specifically, she knew about the Time Lords. And there was a… not a scent, exactly, but a very similar sense that his species had. She smelled of the Time Vortex with a hint of something weird that made his nose itch. He immediately thought of Jack, but it wasn’t him; the smell of wrongness wasn’t as pronounced. It was the smell of something uncomfortable, but not repulsive. Who was she travelling with?

Another sob broke his train of thought. Whoever she was, she was hurting, and he was the Doctor. Slowly he lowered the sonic and sat down next to her, surprised when she leaned into his touch instead of away from it. Softly, he wrapped his arms around the stranger, and her sobs became muffled as she twisted closer to him and buried her face in his jacket.

Clara knew it was stupid. This man, this Doctor, didn’t care about her any more than he would any other crying girl on a cliff. These arms were not the ones she craved to hug her again. This tenderness was a show over his confusion. But she didn’t care. For then, the Doctor was holding her again, stroking her hair softly and murmuring comfort, and she didn’t care.

Ten minutes later, the woman in his arms calmed and stilled. Bewildered, the Doctor gently pulled away, looking into her tearstained face. It shocked him, really, the way she looked at him. Obviously she knew him, but it seemed he didn’t know her. The image of Professor River Song’s face flashed before his eyes, but he tossed it aside. The Professor had obviously wanted him to know her. This person had the desperate look of someone who had lost hope.

“I’m sure you already know this, but it feels rude not to say it.” The Doctor carefully scooted to give her space on the bench and extended his hand. “I’m the Doctor.” The woman shook his hand, the glimmer of fresh tears in her eyes as she did so, but still smiling. Humans had an odd smile sometimes. Like they were sad. But then why would they smile?

“Clara Oswald.” She said, before a laugh escaped her. “Sorry for the weird first impression.” She took a deep breath, watching as his face tensed for a second, as if half remembering something.

“Have we--”

“--Met before, yes. Twice, once with this face. But don’t worry about that just yet.” She settled herself into a more comfortable position, facing him. “It was a really stupid idea to come here. I just needed to see you again, and I couldn’t cross my own timestream, so--”

“Clara.” Her name brought up another round of tears, which she quickly blinked away. The way he said it was so different, and not just the accent-- it was more like the way the Doctor had said it when they had first started travelling. Near the end of their adventures, though he threw it around often, her name had seemed to be something especially precious.

“Yeah?” She said, trying to sound casual. She couldn’t tell if it worked.

“How do you know me? In the future?” He swallowed hard. “Clara, did I die? I need to ask, even if you say you can’t tell me. Is that why you had to go backwards in time to see me again? Because you saw me really die?” His breathing all but stopped as the question hung between them, Clara looking more thoughtful then resigned.

“That’s not why, no, though you did die.” He felt like he had been punched in the gut, and he was surprised when she let out a little laugh. “Not for long, though. You never do.”

“That’s impossible.”

“That’s my job.” The Doctor stared at her a bit longer before breaking out into a huge grin that quickly slid off of his face.

“I’m not supposed to know this. How did I even manage--- no. You shouldn’t be telling me this. I should go.” He went to stand up.

“Please!”

Sometimes things happened in the wrong order. A premonition, remembering backwards. A ripple through time, a heartbeat ringing in the ears of its creator. Whatever you liked to call it. But when Clara cried out, his hearts seemed to rip in half, as if she was linked to them, as if the universe needed them to be here, at this point, together.

The Doctor sat back down.

Clara caught her breath, which had fled as soon as he got up, and offered him a small smile. Gently, she placed her right hand on his cheek, looking into those eyes that could tell her everything.

“Oh, my clever boy.” She sighed. “You never see yourself clearly. Of course you found a way. We worked it out. And yeah, you were a bit peeved that you’d wasted a regeneration to impress a girl--” The Doctor snorted, but didn’t deny it-- “but it was fine. You were… amazing.”

Gingerly, as if it were a live snake, the Doctor took her hand from his face and pressed a kiss to it. He had no idea who she was, but it was obvious that he would eventually. And she had saved him, at least for a while. He would travel! Travel, like he always did, before he died. Maybe he should see the Trojan War, or explore Pangea. He could check up on some people, some old friends. But that seemed too final. And how would he even see some of them? Sarah Jane, easy, and Martha. But Donna--

“Please.” He said, impulsivity charging through him. “What happens to Donna? Do I ever say?” Clara recoiled slightly, and he dropped her hand in case she wanted to pull back further, but she stayed still after her initial reaction.

“That’s actually why I came.” His hearts dropped. “Well, not Donna explicitly. Noble, correct? I don’t know too much about her. Things here and there. She gets married. You see Wilfred again, her grandfather, right? You have so many adventures left.” She watched his face turn from determination to hope, then resignation. She took a deep breath. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Having someone forget you?”

“It does.”

“And how do you cope with that? How can you possibly?” He felt like she was trying to say something through the intensity of her stare, but he couldn’t possibly see what she was getting at.

“I don’t know.” He answered. Her face dropped, and he felt compelled to explain a bit more. “Think about them, I guess. To make up for how they can’t think of you. It’s silly, really, but it works for me. The first few weeks were… rough. I was chasing ghosts. Talking to holograms and hallucinations.” He looked out at the sea, at the screaming and laughing families. “But life goes on, I guess.”

“Thank you.” Clara shifted, and the Doctor’s gaze swept back to her. She scratched her ear, thinking how weird the waves sounded without her heartbeat, and she saw his attention go to her hand. Then her ear. Then her neck. He waited for a moment, frozen, as she slowly put her hand down. “Doctor?”

He looked up at her, concern and fear written over his face, and she got it. Ah. Right. No pulse.

He leaned over to her as she jumped away, smoothing out her clothes.

“Thank you for the talk--”

“Clara, you don’t have a pulse--”

“--but I really must be going now.”

“--I need to make sure you’re--” Clara strode forward and placed a hand over his mouth. She was still warm, which confused the Doctor to no end, but explained how he hadn’t noticed it sooner. Listening now, he only heard his two hearts.

“I’m fine.” He nodded, and she took her hand off of his mouth. Swallowing, the Doctor reached out his arm (to hug her? to make her stay?), and she shook his hand firmly.

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

“Goodbye, Clara Oswald.” He felt her small hand fall from his grip, and she walked away towards a diner he hadn’t noticed. She placed her hand on the front door, moving as if to push in, before looking back with that curious smile.

“Oh, and check your pockets.” And with that, the door swung open and she disappeared inside. The Doctor looked in his pockets, searching through them thoroughly (they were, after all, bigger on the inside), when a noise took him off guard. It was very faint, as if muted, but distinctly there. As he looked up in shock, the diner faded from his view, taking the TARDIS brake noise with it, and his hand found a folded piece of paper. He read it and rushed to the cliffside again, scanning the beach below, but the man in the bulky dress with the newspaper had vanished.

The Doctor slammed the doors to the TARDIS shut, relieved to be done with his strange mission. Unzipping his black coat, he threw it onto one of the seats, taking off his hat in the process. He left the sunglasses on, though. They suited him.

He had left the newspaper in the trash, as he had long since gotten bored with it; it had taken him three minutes to read, even dragging it out. He had memorized it front to back and was starting to make a wordsearch out of the first sentences in his mind when he had gotten the signal.

Sighing, he took off his suit jacket, throwing it onto the TARDIS columns next to him, and looked at the strange note once more. He didn’t quite remember how he had gotten it, just that he had been told to find it in his pocket. He supposed he would always wonder.

Doctor,

I know this is going to be very confusing for you. It’s quite timey-wimey, to borrow a phrase of yours. But I need you to do something for me, and you can’t ask questions. Your entire future is at stake.

I just met up with you, and in our conversation I said a lot of things I should not have. If you know them before they happen, fixed points will fall apart. So, I have devised a plan.

Put on a strong disguise and go to the beach off of Ptósi Fýllon Avenue at 11:00 am on the 23rd of November, 1997. Go down the cliff and onto the sand, but don’t stray too far. I have included a special set of earplugs that will account for your good hearing. I need you to read a newspaper that will be waiting for you there and find a place to sit.

I will be having a conversation with past you up on the cliff face. You must cross your time stream to make sure you don’t remember this. You must not look for me. You must not turn around. You may leave when you hear the noise of a TARDIS taking flight-- the earplugs are designed to let you hear it. This doesn’t mean I have a TARDIS-- I just know you get distracted sometimes and need a signal you won’t forget.

I’m sorry, but this needs to happen. Soon, you’ll forget it even did. Get rid of this note before that happens. It will be like we never spoke.

Thank you.

Love,

A friend

P. S. Before you go, see Donna again. At least once.

FIN

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