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It wasn’t aliens, this time. The Doctor claimed it was, repeatedly, but they both knew it was his own fault. The trip was just going to be a break from fighting aliens and running away from explosions, a chance for them to relax and take in the atmosphere of America in the 1950s. Then, the Doctor parked the Tardis right next to a rubbish dump, claiming that it would be fine there. When they returned four hours later, both of them tipsy on sugary cocktails, the Doctor with his arm around Clara and she leaning her head against his side, it was gone.
Since then they’ve been stuck in a small town in the middle of nowhere. There’s a highway running through it, though, so the town gets its fair share of visitors every day. People are always passing through, on their way to other places, while Clara and the Doctor, the ones who used to have all of time and space at their fingertips, barely have enough money to afford the rent for the tiny flat they live in.
The strange thing is that Clara doesn’t really mind. As long as she’s got the Doctor, where they are doesn’t seem to matter. And she said goodbye to her life in London months ago, anyway, fully expecting never to see the city again.
She works in a diner right next to the highway, and while the pay could be better and she would appreciate not having to put up with men slapping her bum as she walks past them, she actually enjoys it. You don’t have to think, when you’re serving people food and looking pretty in your waitress uniform. There are no students to take care of, no literary works to analyse, no incoherent essays that need to be marked.
And there’s the fact that every evening at eight o’clock, the Doctor walks into the diner, guitar hanging on his back. His face always lights up when his gaze falls upon Clara and he greets her with kisses on her cheeks, before he orders his usual veggie burger with a fried egg on the side.
Clara’s co-workers ask her about him almost as often. You’re clearly not just friends. He comes to see you every single day. You look at each other like you’re lovers. Did you elope and marry in secrecy because people didn’t approve of your relationship, is that it? Clara doesn’t have any answers to give them.
The Doctor sings and plays guitar on the streets of the town for tips. When he and Clara first discussed what he could do and he mentioned that he was pretty good at playing guitar to her, she just rolled her eyes at him, assuming he wasn’t serious. Then she heard him singing in the shower one night when he thought she was sleeping, and she realised that he wasn’t just pretty good, he was born to be a rock star.
So, he sings, she works in the diner, and every night they walk home together, arm in arm. She sleeps curled up in his arms, and he wakes her with feather light kisses across the skin on the back of her neck. They drink coffee in bed and read the newspaper together, savouring the time they get to spend with each other. They part with cheek kisses, always cheek kisses, lingering with their lips right at the corners of each other’s mouths, never quite letting their lips touch each other.
“Someday, we’re going to go on a road trip through the country,” Clara mumbles, lying next to the Doctor on their sofa while he’s reading a science fiction novel, glasses on his nose. He’s beautiful, really.
“I’d like that,” he says, the hint of a smile on his lips, his gaze still focused on the pages of the book.
“We’re going to drive for hours and hours, and we’re going to see all the places the travellers tell me about at the diner,” she continues, and there’s something absent-minded in her tone, revealing the longing that’s hidden in between her words.
“You miss it,” the Doctor says, slowly stroking her hair with a hand, almost as if by instinct.
“I miss you.”
He places the book on his chest, turning his head towards Clara until their faces are so close to each other that their noses very nearly touch. “I’m always here.”
“I know,” she whispers, brushing a fingertip over his bottom lip. “You’re always here, just never close enough.”
“Clara,” he breathes.
There are moments when everything changes, when stars are born and universes created, when an alien kisses a girl from Blackpool and hearts stop beating. There are moments, and then they are gone, and Clara is staring at the ceiling, thinking about the night sky above it and all the planets she has visited, thinking about the Doctor’s lips pressed against hers.
The next day, she’s in the middle of her shift at the diner when the she hears him singing. She places the plates she’s balancing in her hands on the closest table, and then she walks towards the door, not letting herself rush her steps even though she wants to.
He’s standing right outside the diner, guitar in his arms, jar full of coins in front of him, and if he notices Clara where she’s leaning against the frame of the door to the diner, he doesn’t let it show.
He’s playing their song, the one he always hums to Clara while she’s falling asleep, the one about space travel and falling in love, and it makes Clara’s heart ache.
“Your boyfriend,” one of Clara’s co-workers says. She’s appeared from inside the diner, wearing a smile on her lips, and this time, there’s no hesitation about the way she utters the words.
A smile slowly spreads across Clara’s own lips as she watches the Doctor, his hair catching the bright sunlight. “Yeah. My boyfriend.”