The Hybrid - Doctor Who Fanfiction

38

When the door swung open for the Doctor, he charged in without hesitation.

"So?" He asked, jittery fingers slipping into and out of his pockets. "What's the, uh, prognosis?"

"The emission levels are low, which is excellent news. They've helped more than hurt at this point. Baby's keeping her mother strong and resilient as the pregnancy progresses," Hame starts, but her smile dithers.

The Doctor narrows his gaze at his friend before he swings his gaze over to Clara who is already watching him with an oddly calm look in her eye. 

"Oh, I see. There's a 'but,' isn't there? I'm waiting for it."

"There's no way Madame Hame can access the spell Missy had cast," Clara explained. Her voice sounded too distant, almost robotic.  

"It can be done." The Doctor raised an eyebrow when Clara shook her head. "It can. We haven't yet discovered how exactly, but it can be done." 

"If the emissions stay this low until I reach nine months, then Madame Hame has assured me we can induce and have Bill placed in an incubator until she's fully developed. In the meantime, she'll grow here at this facility and be carefully monitored by Hame herself and a select few of her most trusted colleagues. And at the end of two months, you can come back here and get her."

He nearly missed it--the way the 'we' had suddenly been replaced with a painfully singular 'you' at the end of the sentence. But it was harder to ignore the weirdly tranquil resolve present in Clara's tone as she spoke. It mimicked something close to betrayal.

He blinked a few times before asking Madame Hame if she'd excuse them for a moment. The woman politely nodded, locking eyes with Clara once before she exited into the corridor.

"Before you say anything," Clara started, "I need you to understand that none of what I'm doing is because I personally want to do it--I'm doing it for you. For her, for our daughter. For your lives together after all this is over."

The Doctor physically flinched, snorting. "'All this' meaning your life? Clara, can you hear yourself right now?"

"Yes." Clara didn't even blink when she responded. "Missy may have won this one, but she's not getting Wilhelmina, Doctor."

"She's not getting you, either!" He bellows, his eyes ablaze at her nonchalance. "Missy hasn't 'won' a damn thing. This ordeal is very far from over, and if you ever speak so blasé to me about your death to me again, so help me, Clara--"

"Don't yell at me," Clara had to calm herself down as she spoke, her heart pumping fast with adrenaline that could send whole thing south very quickly. "If you have something to say to me, lower your voice and say it like a normal person."

"No, because the things which you are suggesting aren't normal!" The Doctor seethed, throwing his hands up. "Hear what you're asking of me! You're asking me to help you plan your own funeral, and it's cruel!"

"I'm not doing it to hurt you, and you need to know that," Clara dismisses, trying to keep her voice level. "We're out of time and options, and you sticking your head in the sand while Missy looms over us isn't going to do us any good."

The Doctor stares at her, his nostrils flaring as he tried to process what exactly it is she's saying. He sways for a moment, his knees locking in place before he brokenly asks, "H-How can you you ask this of me? I don't understand how you could possibly think I'd ever agree to any of this!"

"This is something that is happening," Clara insists as she struggles to dismount the bed. Unable to stop himself from going to her aid, the Doctor crosses the space between them quickly to help her down. 

And as her feet touch the cold floor, he can see her rough grimace, lines in her face that look so new but age her just as much as the circles under her eyes. He watches the way she stretches her torso, the way the movements seem jerky and uncomfortable as tightly stretched skin shifts over a rounded belly. All are things he hasn't noticed, but senses have been present for a while now.

Clara's arms sit atop the Doctor's, his hands still lingering where he grabbed her at her waist. His trance is broken a second later, however, and he let's her go, ignoring the way she tries to hold onto him longer. He can't stand near her for too long with his mind even more troubled than before after seeing that the immense pressure he's under has unwittingly been passed on to Clara.

"I'm not denying that things haven't been difficult," the Doctor says as he turns to face a bit of wall, effectively shielding Clara from the maelstrom of emotions passing over his face. "Because they've been very difficult. But, I can promise you this is no where near the right solution."

"We have tried our hardest, and you've taken us to every clinic, hospital and research facility in this galaxy in search of a cure--and I'm grateful for the effort. But, at some point the search needs to be called off. At point will you be ready to walk away from this and move on?"

"Move on? Without you?" The Doctor asks himself, chewing at his thumb. "I-I don't even... I understand the question."

Clara opens her mouth to speak, but suddenly he's turned around and is stepping towards her. "I don't think you realize what you're asking of me, so I'm going to put it another way for you. Because you're not just asking me to roll over and expose my belly, Clara. No, you're asking me to stand aside, let my hands be bound behind my back and grab a front row seat as I watch the light leave your eyes. That is something I will never do."

Clara's warm fingers have found where his hands are clenched tightly at his sides, moving to place them just over the thrumming life inside her stomach. The Doctor shut his eyes quickly against the telepathic torrent of concerned whispers emanating from inside Clara's belly.

"Don't!" The Doctor fights Clara's comforting touch, pulling away sharply. "That's wildly unfair."

He could feel the despair starting to overtake him, feel the way it was starting to rip away his peace and his happiness, leaving nothing behind but withering death and the Doctor's own bitterness at having yet again been the only one left behind.

"Don't ask me to do it. Clara, I'm not... I am not strong enough. And I'm not ready," his watery laugh sounded more like a sob in his ears. "God, I will never be ready to let you go. So, don't choose this--don't choose to force me to do it now. Please. Not now."

Clara edged cautiously towards the Doctor until her arms could slowly encircle his wiry frame and he bent to cradle her against his cool body. She clung to him so tightly she thought her grip might tear the fabric of his shirt.

"Being the Doctor means you've got to be strong even when you're bloody terrified. So fake it; fake it until it feels real. And even if it never does, don't stop pretending, not ever. Somehow you'll learn to be even stronger for her. You'll have to be. You've got a duty of care."

"I need you," became the quietly repeated mantra on the Doctor's lips and it was silently echoed back in Clara's heart as they both held fast to the other, either one afraid of letting go first.

"Forgive me," Clara whispered into the wet spot that was forming on his chest where her tears had soaked through the fabric. "If you ever learn how, Doctor, forgive me."

Even if he had been able to respond without his voice cracking into a sob, the Doctor didn't think he knew how. They'd done this before, threatened each other and made scary vows to cow the other into submission for the time being. Oh, but this was different--worse, somehow. There was a horrible twinge in the pit of the Doctor's stomach, something dark and brooding and unforgivable that hinted to him that they had failed and wouldn't be making it out of this one. Not this time round. 

-

You guys... this is all I have to say:

shit is going down soon and yOu aRE nOt ReAdy!!!!!!!!