The Time of Change

Turkey's Done

The crisp blue lights of my TARDIS fill my vision. All at once, I am at peace with everything, at least for a few moments. Nothing compares to coming into your home after being away for so long, and that's how this feels. I've been away for so long that I half expect the TARDIS to fight against my presence, for her to be angry at me for leaving her to drift all alone with Clara in space for three hundred or so years, but that doesn't happen. Actually, it's quite the opposite. I feel more welcomed than I would have thought I'd be. The room gets warmer when we beam into it, and as Clara bustles about, trying to occupy herself and keeping her hands from being idle, I sit and listen to the sounds my beautiful machine makes. The sounds I've heard only in my dreams for so long. So long. My hearts swell at the sight of the console, the smell of metal and clothing that's been in a closet too long, the feel of the woven metal flooring beneath my shoes. I sit in my chair in front of the temporal flux, and take a deep, slow breath. And I'm okay.

Somewhere nearby, a bell tings. I sit up straighter in my chair, smiling half-heartedly. "It's done," I say quietly. Clara looks at me. I don't so much see it as I feel it, feel her eyes on me. "What is?" she asks. "Your turkey," I reply simply, nodding my head toward the panel under which the bird lies. How I can remember which one it is, and why that particular memory stuck with me, I've no idea. "Either that or it's woken up."

There's an excited smile on Clara's face when she comes into my line of vision. "Want some?" she says, chipper. I nod and smile. "Got any plates?" she goes on, not looking at me but grabbing a pair of oven mitts that I didn't notice were sitting on the floor. "Do you know, I've even got Christmas crackers here somewhere?" I tell her. I hear her laugh, but it stops kind of abruptly.

"One more thing." She comes back into my view now. "Look at me, and promise me you'll never send me away ever again."

Something in me falters and I have to fight very hard not to let it seep through, not to let it show. Her words were spoken to me before by someone she is very similar to and yet so different from, and I don't care how many times I say that. It isn't enough. I'll never understand their likeness and total oppositeness that can happen simultaneously. Clara's expression is worried, however, and she doesn't know I can see it through her nonchalant mask. A sigh escapes my lungs, and I can't bring myself to be truthful. "Clara Oswald, I promise I will never send you away again," I say. She seems satisfied, and goes back over to the panel and the mitts. She says something along the lines of "perfect," though I can't see her anymore because she's bent down to get the bird. The scent of it fills the main room enticingly. "Turkey smells good!" she quips. "Yeah, it does. Great," I agree tiredly. The whole of my body is fatigued, my mind as well, though I'm not sure why. And it frightens me a bit.

Suddenly the Scanner buzzes to life above my head, and I stare at it as a figure comes into focus among the static. It's Barnable. He's standing out in the snow, looking up into the sky. Waiting for me. Something tugs at my hearts. Maybe it's guilt, maybe it's protectiveness, maybe it's something else, but there is something there and it's incessantly pulling on my heartstrings in a way that I do not want to tolerate. Because that sort of attachment makes you do things that hurt others, and it'll make me hurt Clara and I can't hurt Clara any more than I already have. I can't do that to her. I just can't do it.

And yet, I find myself inserting the charger-like metal cylinder into the console, and quietly slipping out of the TARDIS.