The strobing lights in the dark, but very much alive room pulsed overheard with a vengeance as all kinds of species danced and swayed to the electronica music that was practically shaking the walls with its bass. Clara, having finally gotten used to the Doctor's abrupt absence, followed a few other service cyborgs from a kind of bar area on the left side of the room to the very middle of the dark gold dance floor where they began to twirl and swing to the beat of the syncopated rhythm that was blasting from the speakers. She was feeling a bit buzzed and carefree now that she'd downed a few drinks, her mouth tasting of the sweet fruit in some alcoholic beverage or other. Her newest acquaintance, Yael 5, had suggested it to help her let loose, and she'd been grateful for the help. She had almost completely forgotten that the old Time Lord had left her behind to go on an adventure of his own.
In the thick of the crowd, there were hands and arms all over her--people and things she didn't know of and had never seen before, all gyrating and whooping and laughing as the music made them all one massive, living unit. Clara had danced with and grinded up against almost anything with a pulse, her body slick with perspiration as her arms pumped and legs twisted, her body moving expertly. And she was drunk.
Very, very drunk.
And so she hadn't been able to fight them off when they'd come for her, those huge beings with their faces hidden in shadows. There was barely a struggle. She'd managed a distressed cry, to solidly land the heel of her tall shoe in one of her attackers gut, but it had been largely ignored with barely a grunt in response. She was carried and dragged away, her tongue too loose and lazy and her brain too foggy to cause a proper scene and alert those around her of the danger.
It was a group of maybe four or five of them. Hooded figures, she remembers. Dark green robes hid the limbs of their brawny bodies and completely shrouded their faces. The assailants had parted the crowd and snatched her away without so much as an explanation, as onlookers seemed to purposely ignore the harsh sound of a screaming woman being lifted away from the dance floor. The music had been so loud... Clara remembers thinking that maybe no one could hear her over it.
The hooded men (she assumed they were male) were so strong and tall, unreasonably so, and they glided underneath the material of their robes. Like they possessed no feet at all. They did not react when she struggled or bit or yanked herself away, holding her firmly in their crushing grips, ensuring that she would wake to severe bruising the next morning.
"The human is ready to see the Master, " one spoke, a deep rumbling with the texture of gravelly rocks. It was a voice that sent chills down the young woman's spine.
"Where are we going?" She slurred stupidly when they had stopped moving, forming the tight formation of a circle around her. "You can't just kidnap me, you know! He'll kill you for this! The Doctor will kill you for this!"
And then there it was-- the most terrifying creature she'd ever seen in her life had materialized before her in the circle. Another alien, one of the Fish People. She hadn't seen a single one of them all evening, but now she recognized the distinct golden, mermaid-like tail that began with large overlapping scales at the top of this hipbone. At least a foot and a half taller than she was, this beast balanced on his fin with ease, menacing as well as enchanting. He had matching auric scales on the sides and planes his smooth abdomen, but no belly button, and on his either side of his powerful neck were long slits that Clara assumed to be gills.
But the most terrifying aspect of the otherwise beautiful creature was the all-black eyes--there was no pupil or iris. His eyes resembled that of a sharks and were completely devoid of emotion, though there was a frightening, manic smile on his face as he regarded Clara.
" You are the human? Very impressive specimen." He whispers curiously, if not a little condescending as he bends at the waist to further inspect the small but fiery woman in front of him.
His voice is mesmerizing and Clara feels forcibly drawn to him. In the back of her mind, she can hear the Doctor saying that this legendary race was what people used to create the myth of sirens. Something about their sensual voices one of their many ways of luring their prey to its death.
"Indeed, you're very lovely. For a barbaric savage, I suppose." He straightens a little and looks like he wants to poke and weigh Clara like one would a steak they were about to purchase from a store.
His hair is damp with water, but Clara is sure that despite its dark color, when it's dry, it probably is looks a bit like some glorious honey-hued halo around his head.
"Who are you?" She tries her best to sneer. It's very difficult to seem just as fierce when her alcohol high is draining from her and she can barely keep her eyes open.
There's a sinister chuckle in the half lit hall and Clara flinches. "I've been informed you will be different than the others, more spirited and resistant."
A smile full of razor sharp teeth appears on his mouth and Clara gasps a little, trying to swallow her horror. There's a piece of ripped pink flesh caught in between two of his serrated dentition, and she wonders what--or who, rather-- he's had for dinner.
"If this is true," he adds delightfully, drawing Clara's attention to his black eyes once more, "then we will get along splendidly."
"Who are you?" she mutters again, confused as to how and why the TARDIS has suddenly abandoned her, the presence in the back of her mind completely gone now.
His smile widens proudly. "I am Caelius, High Duke of this realm. And you, Miss Clara Oswald, human occupant of the Planet Earth and current associate of the Gallifreyan Time Lord known as 'The Doctor'--you're going to help me with a little science experiment of mine."
~
Clara wakes with a gasping scream, her eyes shoot open as she struggles for breath. It's as if all the air has been generously sucked from her body the entire time she's been asleep and this is the first bit of oxygen she's getting in a while. She tries to sit up to simplify the process of getting air to her lungs, but is already being gently pressed back down into her mattress by large hands on her shoulders, a soft tutting emanating from somewhere beside her. She startles again, squinting into the darkness of her room.
"Easy, Clara, easy," the Doctor murmurs, keeping a hand on her shoulder while he twists to turn on the soft light of her lamp, illuminating his familiar face to the terrified woman who is covered in sweat. "Breathe, just breathe."
Clara's eyes frown at the sight of him, at the concern in his voice because her brain doesn't trust him and hasn't for a while now. But that paradox means nothing to her heart, which inevitably begins to slow with the reassurance that she is safe. He wouldn't let anything get to her while he's here.
"Good news," the Doctor pipes up, raising his eyebrows at a thermometer that's appeared in his hands. "Your fever's down, nearly all gone. It'll take some time for your body to get used to its normal temp again after it's been up for so long. You'll feel like you're freezing and probably be a little achy. But you'll be fine in a few days."
His presence is so bloody disconcerting. It's seeing him with those same mannerisms, with that Scottish baritone chatting her ear off just like the old days. She doesn't know how to react. Should she be angry or relieved or skeptical? Or thrilled? Maybe all of those at once?
She's missed him that's abundantly clear. Although, whether or not she cares to admit that is a different story entirely. But it's him. It's the Doctor, right there beside her with those owl eyes and his large, careful hands. So familiar and welcoming, like an old photographed memory.
"You-you lowered it?" Clara asks, bewildered by the news. And she is freezing. God, she's cold. She grabs for the blanket beside her and pulls it up to her neck before her teeth commence to chattering.
"How? We tried everything, and it wouldn't ever budge."
"We?" He's hung up on the 'plus one', but Clara isn't ready to give him the depressing story of the last few months just yet.
"How did you do it?"
"But, you said--"
"No. I asked first," she presses. She's got just as many questions as he does. "Tell me now."
The Doctor, uneasy with Clara's tone and not looking for a fight with someone in her condition, obliges quickly before she can work up the strength to threaten him.
"I'm not very sure, honestly," he mumbles, looking down at his hands for a moment. He gestures to the makeshift IV he's constructed out of miscellaneous household items. Clara hadn't noticed it before.
"I made it while you were snoozing, trying to re-hydrate you. But you seemed to get better after you'd been sleeping for a while. I didn't do much at all."
"I thought you were a dream," Clara pants out, diverging from the topic for a minute. Her chest heaves with the strain of trying to sit up again, and the Doctor's hands are soon reaching out to aid her, stuffing pillows behind her back for her to lie against. He doesn't appear too supportive of her decision of making abrupt movements, but she's so stubborn and he'd waste his breath arguing with her.
"You showing up with your freaky flowers, rambling on outside my flat like it's just another Wednesday," her laugh is bitter as she shakes her head. "I've had plenty hallucinations about something like that happening, about the Doctor waltzing back into my life and saving the day."
Clara's eyes are misty when she looks at him. "But it's never been real, til now."
"And what about now?" He asks after a considering beat, trying to keep her talking. If he's being honest, he's very worried she'll faint or something if she doesn't keeps steady that finicky pulse of hers.
"Still think you're dreaming?"
"I can never be sure with you, can I?" She jokes quietly, remembering those awful Dream Crabs with a shudder. "Could maybe explain why you've been gone this long, though."
"Not nearly as exciting as Dream Crabs with Santa in the North Pole, I'm afraid. It was a temporal loop," the Doctor says with worry. "Happens sometimes when I don't recharge certain batteries on schedule. She starts to loose her touch with time relativity, and I can end up months behind or ahead of where I wanted to go."
"That's the only thing you can come up with?" Clara breathes, disappointment and a bout of repressed sadness surging up in her heart, causing her to relive her grief all over again. "Your ride needed a mechanic, and that's why you're late? That's your excuse? I'm sorry, but that just isn't good enough for me!"
The Doctor is inspecting his hands again, that telltale behavior indicative of his having nothing (important or valuable) to say.
"We don't have time for this, Clara," he says lowly after a long silence, albeit a bit apologetic and guilty.
"Look, I'm sorry I'm late. I never meant to be. But we've got very real problems now. Arguing about what happened isn't going to solve anything. You're dying, and we need to know why. We don't have--"
"Well, we can make time," Clara pushes, glaring at him now, her eyes filling with a fierce emotion he's not very familiar with. But it still makes him cringe all the same.
He lifts a placating hand to stop her talking, "Clara, just listen--"
"No! No! You--" she has to push away the few rebellious tears that end up sliding down her cheeks before she can continue. "You-you have ruined me. There was a time I couldn't imagine myself without you, but now I wish you'd never found me that day!"
"Clara--"
"You said would come back. You said you would be there when I needed you to. You taught me to trust you, to depend on you for the smallest of things-- and then I'm just... forgotten. Like everyone else you've ever travelled with."
"I don't ever forget anyone, and I didn't forget you!" He reminds her, rolling his eyes. "It was a mistake, Clara, a one and a million--"
"Everything is a mistake with you." She cut him off. "It was a mistake that we met, a mistake that we met again and again after that. It was a mistake falling in love with you, and an even worse mistake believing you could love me back. You don't just forget the people you love, Doctor. But you do forget the people you don't."
It's a low blow, far below the belt. But she's hurt, The Doctor reminds himself quickly. He's been gone for too long and he was careless, hadn't even bothered to make sure the TARDIS had had herself a proper checkup.
His chest heaves and mind races, grapples for control as he tries to collect the sudden fears he finds himself trying to overcome. And he begins in his head the mantra that he believes will keep his hearts beating: She will forgive you she will forgive you she will forgive you she will forgive you. We'll get through this we'll get through this we'll get through this we'll get through this.
She won't die. She can't die--ever. At least, not now. Not today or tomorrow, or even ten years from now. Not on your watch.
"I'm sorry," he says, brow furrowed, his round old eyes piercing hers just as boldly now. "That I wasn't here for you, that I was... careless. I'm sorry you're sick. I'm sorry I wasn't here to-to prevent all this like I'm supposed to."
But it's not good enough for Clara. It has been months of warping and shrinking and coughing and feeling like her entire world was crashing down and she didn't have a Doctor to save her.
"You're too late, Doctor.You can't put a bandage on it and go home. It's too late now."
"No, it isn't," he argues with a lowered voice.
"You were supposed to fix it before it came to this," she tells the older man who continues to stare stonily at her, his eyes shifting between her and the wall behind her. The anger has left her feeling hollow and exhausted, and all she wants is to sleep and forget. Forget him because it's too hard to remember.
"We always--" she clears her throat and corrects herself, because there is no 'we' anymore, "--you always fixed it."
And just like that the Doctor realizes how dangerous her predicament is. She's been without that hope for too long, resigned to a doomed fate that he admits he still hasn't found the solution for--which makes it that much harder for him to save her.
His eyes widen minutely as she sinks back into her mountain of pillows. He reaches for her hand, which she immediately jerks away from him with a distracted mumble of disapproval. He swallows and blinks a few times and settles for placing his hand a few centimeters from her leg on the duvet.
"I've gotten it wrong this time, Clara," he begins. "I've gotten it wrong before, and I've done it again. I've hurt you again, and I'm sorry. Truly, I am, but this isn't over."
The forced strength and confidence in his voice faltering with he catches her eye roll and sarcastic smirk. "Don't," he scolds her swiftly. "Just trust me, one more time. Please, Clara."
Clara shifts to look at him, the light he's used to seeing in her big brown eyes dimmed and almost completely gone.
"I can't anymore, I'm sorry. I can't just be your Clara Oswald again, following you blindly over a cliff, believing that there's some invisible safety net at the bottom. Because I don't know if that's true anymore." She shakes her head, eyes drooping drowsily once more. "What you're asking me, Doctor, it's impossible."
But despite her discouraging words, he only smiles. "And you, Miss Oswald-- you're my impossible girl, remember?" Her eyebrows rise and for the first time in what has apparently been a long while, Clara's lips turn upwards in a smile void of anything negative.
And it gives the Doctor hope. It's tiny and fragile, but it could be enough to sustain the both of them.
"Don't give up on me just yet, Clara," he begs her, pleads with her. "I plan on you having a long healthy life," and with hesitation and a burning in his hearts he adds, "with or without me. So let me help you. You need me. You need a Doctor."
Clara is a little too sleepy to answer coherently, however, so instead she mumbles out something like, "They're coming for me."
The Doctor perks up at the slip of information that his drowsy companion gives and it sends his hearts to a halt.
"Who is? Clara?" He shakes her a little, hearts at a standstill as he awaits more information. Hey, no, Clara, wait. Stay with me, Clara. Wait. Who's coming for you?"
"The Fish People," she whispers, dozing off. "Coming for us in the dreams. The nightmares are real. My nightmares are real."
And then she's gone, her eyes closing out the world around her while the Doctor shoots up out of his chair, charging into the TARDIS.