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The Doctor had once said that death was like manflu to Time Lords. And this was true, to an extent, but that did not mean it was ever easy nor was it pleasant.
The Time Lord stepped out of the base and into the deserted Dalek base-planet, clutching the area of his chest where a surviving Dalek had shot radiation into him. One day he’d learn not to wander into supposedly abandoned planets, but then again, it was rather difficult not to get reckless when there was no one with him to hold him back.
The twelfth Doctor had lived for very long as an irate old man with a Scottish accent, and he’d had many wonderful companions. But, as things always did, and he hated that they did, everything came to an end.
Unfortunately, for that ending, he found himself alone.
Alone with memories, and lack of memories, and forgotten memories, and hazy memories, and for what felt like the longest time, memories of forgetting someone very important.
While his tenth version had succumbed rather quickly to a Dalek’s assault, the twelfth incarnation found his body was actually sturdier than his tenth. Now, if only he had a spare hand lying around.
He looked at his hands, old and frail, and was relieved to see that no golden glow surrounded them. Even though the pain seared through his body, now was not the time. Not yet when he still had so much to remember.
His thoughts were distracted by a very familiar whirring sound, and a smile made its way onto his lips. His old girl, his one faithful companion that would never leave him. It seemed, at least, that he wouldn’t be dying – well, regenerating – completely alone.
Except, rather than his Tardis, the Doctor watched as an American Diner appeared in front of him, and though it was certainly the last thing he’d expect to see in such a place, he still smiled.
A young woman appeared on the other side of the window, looking back at him with a terribly concerned expression. It wasn’t the woman he remembered, and so his smile vanished.
Pain suddenly shot through his body, and he was forced down onto his knees. He noticed, when he looked up, the woman looking away into the diner, signaling to someone to come towards her.
Moments later, the doors of the diner flew open, and she appeared – just as he remembered her, dressed in a blue uniform and her long hair done up in a ponytail.
They looked at each other in silence, until finally he tried standing up.
“Hey, hey, careful,” she said, rushing up to him and helping him up to a steady position. She glanced towards his lower stomach, the bleeding skin visible through the ripped shirt, and for a second she moved her hand as if to touch him, but stopped at the last moment.
“It’s you,” he said with wonder, as if there was no pain in his body, no impending regeneration, just him and this waitress.
She smiled. “It’s me, yeah! Well, not really. That’s ‘Me’,” she said, nodding towards the girl watching from beyond the window. When he hissed in pain, the concern returned to her face. “Come on, let’s get you inside, okay? You’re going to be fine.”
“Guess now you know I didn’t really get up on a plane and fly here,” she said, a joke to lighten the mood and calm him down, but as she led him inside the diner, he knew she wasn’t the one she was trying to reassure.
Once inside, she sat him down on the nearest booth. The other woman walked over, but she kept her distance from them, merely watching from afar.
Not that it mattered where she was, because the Doctor only had eyes for the woman crouching next to him. He only had eyes for her smile, and her face, and her big, sad eyes that he noticed were shining with unshed tears.
And he only had one question for her.
“Why are you here?”
“Why am I here?” Clara asked, and she was surprised by the question. She was surprised because, for a moment, she forgot he had forgotten her, and so she couldn’t imagine why he didn’t know the answer to the question.
Clara had travelled with Me for a long time now, and though she had many happy moments, she had decided some time ago that she felt it was time to go. But, from the very first day she started running, and even before that, she knew there was one last thing she had to do before she left.
The day Clara died, she asked the Doctor to stay put, and like he always did, he did not listen and followed her.
And just like he would, she would in turn make sure they went through his moment together, because that’s how they always did everything.
Even if he didn’t know it.
“Why am I here?” she repeated, and she laughed, remembering he did not. “Guess I’m just the best waitress in time and space, aren’t I?”
The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, but a groan came out instead. Clara’s first instinct was to again try and tend to his wound, but she held back. She held back even though she still loved him just as dearly as the day she left, and his pain still coursed through her as if they were one.
Which they were, weren’t they? And that had been their blessing and their curse.
“You’ll be fine, Doctor,” she said, and she couldn’t help brush her fingers through his hair, and it felt so familiar, so natural, like coming back home after a long, long trip. “Would you like a lemonade? Maybe something to drink?” she offered, because that was all she could do even though…
Even though the desperation inside her to keep him there forever made her remember why they were dangerous together in the first place.
“I’d like that,” he said, before smiling and adding, “But I don’t have any money, and I forgot my guitar. Can’t play that song you like, I’m afraid.”
Clara laughed, and it was hard to keep her tears at bay.
“That’s alright,” she said. “Why not pay for it with stories? I’m sure you have loads of good stories to tell.”
It wasn’t until the Doctor laughed that she realized how much she’d missed his laughter.
“I don’t. I’ve forgotten them all,” he said. “What about you? You look like you have very good stories for a waitress from a space diner.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Well, I just came back from a year-long New Year’s celebration, and I even found the glasses I’d lost there last time,” she said.
“Ah. I wish I could have been there with you,” he replied.
Clara smiled. “Nah, you would have found it boring. Too much karaoke.” She nudged him with her hand. “Come on, you have to have some good stories. Let’s hear ‘em.”
“I only have one good story,” he replied. “And I already told you about her.”
Clara was quiet for a moment.
“Did you ever find her?” she asked, wishing deep inside her he’d say yes.
Which he didn’t, but he didn’t say no either.
“There’s something I didn’t tell her,” the Doctor said instead, looking away and wincing.
“You didn’t?” she asked, furrowing her brow. “What didn’t you tell her?”
The Doctor moved in place, trying to straighten himself, though never looking at Clara. “The neuro block. It doesn’t wipe memories, it simply blocks them, prevents your brain from accessing them even though they’re still there. Clara’s neural block was human compatible.”
“But I already knew that,” Clara interrupted, confused.
“Since they’re for Time Lords, they’re set to block memories for billions of years before fading out, so it’ll cover a Time Lord’s full life-span. The one I used was set to cover the lifespan of an average human being because I thought I’d be able to bring her back to her normal human lifespan,” the Doctor continued.
“A human shouldn’t live to be more than a century old, unless they’re Ashildr.” He finally looked at Clara, and lifted his thumb to wipe away the tears falling down her cheek. “Or you, Clara Oswald.”
There was silence at first.
When the Doctor took back his hand, Clara looked towards Me and smiled. “Hey, could you maybe…” She nodded towards the backdoor of the diner.
“Of course,” Me quickly replied, walking past the two others and smiling at the Doctor even though he wasn’t watching.
He wasn’t watching because he only had eyes for Clara Oswald, and her face, and her smile, and her big sad eyes that hurt and fascinated him at the same time.
And Clara too had only eyes for him, filled with tears and love and the same devotion she’d always had.
She lifted her hand and brushed it against his cheek, and he remembered how soft her touch was, how gentle and loving, and how much he’d missed her and her voice and everything about her.
“Hello, Doctor,” she said for the first time in decades and the last time in her life.
“Hello, Clara,” he replied for the first time in centuries and the last time in his regeneration.
“You remembered me after a hundred years?”
“No. I never forgot you. I told you. I can always see you, in everything and everywhere, even when I don’t know I can.”
“Why didn’t you come and find me, then?”
“Oh, I wanted to, Clara Oswald,” he replied, placing his hand on hers and lowering it because her hand fit perfectly in his. “I simply couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not,” he replied, intertwining his fingers in hers, old and frail and eternal against young and soft and mortal.
“Guess we had good timing for once, then,” Clara replied.
Because they both knew the reason they couldn’t have gotten back together as long as Clara still had a few moments left. As long as she did, as long as that wiggle time was there, being together would be like willingly going back into the addiction that would threaten the universe because the Doctor would never stop trying to save her.
The sound of whirring permeated the air, and the Doctor glanced around, wincing as he tried to look out the window.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere you won’t be alone after it happens. We’re bringing your Tardis with you,” Clara replied. “So you’ll find someone else you can show the stars too.”
“That was chin-boy. I only potentially destroy every star in the universe for you.” He looked away before saying, “You know, you never did make me a soufflé.”
Clara laughed, standing up and sitting next to him on the booth, resting her head on his shoulder and watching their still intertwined hands.
“I’m going to miss you, Doctor,” she replied, as if she hadn’t missed him for the past decades.
“Not for long, I expect. It’s hard to miss someone when you’re gone,” he replied. “Got tired of traveling, did you?”
“There’s only one person I’d travel forever with,” she replied.
A golden glow appeared around their hands, and Clara squeezed them together, as if the action would somehow stop the oncoming process.
“You never brought me the lemonade.”
“You never told me a story.”
The Doctor smiled, lifting her hand to kiss it. Once he lowered their hands, he spoke up: “Do you want to hear the story of the mad man in a box and his impossible friend? It’s quite long, though.”
“If you have the time, I’d love to hear it.”
“I have all the time in the world, Clara Oswald. The real question here is… How much time is there between one heartbeat and the next?”
“For you, Doctor, all the time in the world.”