The Hybrid - Doctor Who Fanfiction

13

You're amazing for waiting so patiently. This chapter was difficult to write for reasons you'll figure out soon enough.

Next chapter should be up later today!

Thanks for reading! xxx

-B

~

It had been a dream that roused Clara later that evening. Another nightmare that left her drenched in her own sweat, panting like she'd just finished a marathon. Eyes the color of tar that stared straight through her as they taunted and toyed with her, hooded figures looming in the shadows. Too paralyzed to even move in the dark of her room, she sits up in her bed and puts her face in her hands.

She would always wake then, the rest of that dreadful night lost to an inaccessible spot in her memory. And tonight she was glad for it, glad her mind could erase the terrors her body seemed to still remember. Her arms and legs felt sore and heavy, a tell-tell sign she'd been struggling again in her sleep. Whatever they'd done to her, she'd gone out kicking and punching til the end.

Leaving her bed, Clara took a deep breath to calm herself before slipping into the shower. The cool water was a welcomed sensation on her back, washing away the fear that had seeped into her body overnight. Stretching the tension from her arms and neck, Clara dutifully worked the soap into her skin, massaging her muscles as she went.

When she finished and dried off, she felt around in the dark for underwear and a clean shirt in her drawers, her hands finally landing on one of the Doctor's crisp white dress shirts. Clara hesitated, never having worn one before. But in the end, her boldness outshone her meekness. She would put it back in the morning, and he'd be none the wiser. Besides, the Doctor was probably asleep by now anyway. The only person that would know about the shirt was her.

The first thing she noticed was how even after a toss in the washing machine the damned thing still smelled like him. Her nose ran along the inside of his collar as she pulled it on, marveling at the rebellious but unique musk that the Doctor had-- paperback books and peppermint. The sleeves had to be rolled up a few times before her hands were visible again, and she could almost hear him complaining about the wrinkles she'd leave. Her belly was still small enough to fit underneath the damned thing which took her by surprise. She'd expected the buttons to put up more of a fight, but they were bound easily enough and she left the top three undone with the collar opener generously at her neck. Feeling comfortable and somewhat sexy in a man's shirt, Clara wondered why she hadn't stolen her friends clothes before. She'd have to make it a new habit of hers.

A cuppa to soothe her nerves was the next order of business, so she tiptoed into the kitchen. The Doctor, as expected, was continuing his unorthodox sleeping schedule, snoozing quite peacefully on the couch. An limp arm was thrown carelessly over his eyes while his hand clutched at a piece of equipment used for the security system. Easily awoken with the hearing akin to an owls, Clara was careful enough to tread softly whilst near him for fear of a rendition of this mornings lecture on cabin fever. She smiled, wandering over to look at him while she waited for her brew.

While Clara had originally planned to admire the taciturn Time Lord as he slept, her intentions feared left as she found herself pitying him. He barely fit on the sofa, the poor man, his ankles spilling awkwardly over the edge, his bare feet pale in the moonlight. The Doctor wasn't very large in size, but he was sturdy enough and long limbed. How he dozed so comfortably crammed into such a small spot she'd never know. Time and time again she's made suggestions about getting a new sofa, a bigger one. Maybe even a pullout if he planned on making this routine. But he would always insist he liked his sleeping arrangements just as they were, tiny sofa and all.

Kneeling beside him, Clara allowed herself to watch for a minute. A minute of his chest rising and falling, the movements of his fingers and toes twitching as he dreamed. For a minute the Doctor was the little boy she'd whispered to in a barn as she told a story of a superpower called fear. The innocence of his expression as he slept revealed to the world what he really was, the lines seeming to fade from his face, easing those forever scowling eyebrows of his. He was not a president, nor a god or even a hero, and neither was he meant to be any of those things.

People got it wrong often enough thinking he was a soldier, a general. They'd slap titles and status' on him so fast they'd forget about the man who bore them. 'A commanding officer with a mind for strategy' they'd say, or a madman with a knack for biochemistry and physics--but the Doctor wasn't any of those things.

He was a man. A man who'd murdered and saved billions, constantly searching for redemption that no one could ever grant him. Clara certainly couldn't, not that she hadn't already tried. He might have given her a new reason to live after Danny had gone, but Clara just didn't have the same power over the Doctor. She couldn't save him, but she could accept him, and sometimes that was a hundred times more effective than the salvation he craved.

Clara left him to snore softly, walking back to the kitchen to retrieve her steaming mug before going towards the blue time-space ship in the corner of the room. Pulling open the door, she stepped inside the console room, watching the ship begin to glow and hum in a surprised welcome.

"Evening! Couldn't sleep. A thing happened," she told the TARDIS, which seemed to trill excitedly in response.

Clara rolled her eyes in annoyance at the sound of the TARDIS meddling in her affairs. "Bugger off, will you? It's just a shirt, doesn't mean anything. He doesn't even know I have it."

But Clara's dissuasive words didn't stop the spaceship from concocting her own presumptions, a sound closely resembling laughter filling the space as the TARDIS amused herself with Clara's nonexistent love life.

When the majority of the mockery had died down, a wary Clara explained her presence. "I needed a fitting distraction. Figured you've have something up your sleeve that'd do the trick. Was I right?"

Clara took the rapid beeping overhead as an adamant 'yes'. She grinned, partly relieved and partly terrified. The ship had a history of playing very unfunny tricks on her and she wasn't in the mood to be sent on a wild goose chase.

"Well, go on, then," Clara said, hoping she sounded a lot braver than she felt. "Lead the way."

The corridor to her right began to glow and pulsate as it filled with light--an indication of where she should go. Clara smirked before obeying, following the winding path into the belly of the spaceship.