"Stop."
It's him that says the word, the Doctor realizes with a jolt. His voice utters the single syllable that halts Clara in her tracks as she moves to relieve him of his shirt. Her hands have frozen in midair at the command, hovering near his waist where she was about to pull the article of clothing up and over his head.
The enchantment they've been under of suddenly releases them both, and Clara's using hair that's spilling from her mussed bun to shield her blushing face. The Doctor's hands retreat from the small of her back to the safety of his deep pockets where they can tremble in private.
He hadn't meant to say it aloud, and certain not to her. But the adamantly disapproving chaotic chorus in his head had roared the word until his tongue was accidentally loosed and said it for him. But he repeats it anyway, consciously this time, and he takes two sizable steps away from his companion who watches him retreat in startled confusion.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Clara's tirade of questions on her swollen lips pain the Doctor even further. The light of hope in her eyes starts to dim along with the lust he saw there earlier, all of it being replaced by concern.
"It won't work," he whispers to himself, his jaw clenching as he tries to keep a lid on tsunami-like emotions. "It just won't, I know it won't."
"Did I do something wrong? If I was moving too quickly or--"
"I can't," is all the Doctor can say to her, running a hand through his hair as he goes to collapse into the rocking chair nearby. He closes his eyes. "Nothing's wrong. I just can't, I'm sorry."
The Doctor keeps his eyes closed to prevent himself from seeing his own failure reflected in her eyes.
"How long are we going to do this for?"
"Do what for?" His irritation is coming across clearly now, concealing his regret and disappointment with himself perfectly.
"Pretending we don't matter to each other. Pretending I don't matter to you like I know I do. The both of us pretending to be emotionally stunted because we're so bloody terrified of the outcome."
The Doctor opens his eyes to see that she's much closer now, standing over him with narrowed eyes laden with skepticism.
"How long will it take for me to believe you, Doctor? When you say you aren't my boyfriend, how long do you expect it will take for us to actually believe that?"
He blinks wearily. "Clara."
"Because," she continues to his dismay, "I think we both know you want to be. We both know I want more than a topsy-turvy, mostly benign friendship. And I can't understand why you won't at least try."
He's always marveled at how quickly this woman can convert her own fear into manipulative tactics. It's a trait many humans possess, the ability to deflect those tedious sentiments they're commonly afflicted by onto others. But usually, it takes too much time to process a worthy, properly hurtful comeback. But with Clara it happens almost as quickly as his own conversions do.
But he's had centuries to play the role of 'emotionally stunted' man in a blue box. He's perfected the role, and for the Doctor, the persona fits like a glove, the twisted cruelty a sort of imitation of his own wary personality.
The Doctor starts to chew at his thumb as his eyes languidly move to catch the harrowed gaze of his companion. Clara has her arms folded across her chest resting on her stomach. The Doctor notices then that the damned shirt she's stolen from him is completely transparent in this light, and his companion has neglected to wear a bra.
And he does want her. Gods, the Doctor wants Clara so badly he nearly springs up out of the rocking chair to take her right there, on the floor of the nursery that will belong to their daughter. He wants to see her fantastically wide, brown eyes blinking up at him through lidded lashes as she begs him for her release. He wants to watch her topple over the edge of ecstasy, tumbling into an abyss of pleasure as she climaxes beneath him.
He's wants to do all those things. And he's so scared he never will, the thought that she'll never hear the three words he's wanted to say to her since he found her again almost two years ago, standing in the Jones' doorway repeating "Doctor Who" with the that smirk of sass etched onto her face.
But there is a balance to be maintained, a scale that carefully weighs the safety of the universe on one side and his affection for Clara on the other. The two are constantly at odds, vying for more competitive positions in his life, but the Doctor has managed this far to keep his feelings for his best friend at bay. Of course, it had been much easier to convince himself Clara wasn't as important when he only saw her once, sometimes twice per week. But now that they shared the same living space, the domesticity of their lifestyle had begun to wear away his resolve. He's barely traveled at all, and the thought of leaving her for the smallest amount of time makes him sick to his stomach.
Clara Oswald, his best friend, is carrying his child inside her and its began to warp the Doctor in every way he's every feared. And those fears are broadcasted throughout his mind every time he looks at her, the phantom image of Clara lying with her eyes closed in a back alley of cobblestone flashing in the synapses of his brain. He hasn't been able to understand how far into the future it is, or what exactly happens to her, but he doesn't need to know any of that to know that's how it's all going to end.
His entire world will come to a halt that day, and he doesn't even want to think about who he'll be without Clara Oswald.
Because he knows he's right--it won't work. Clara isn't the first woman he's fallen in love with, though sometimes it does feel that way. His hearts are hers now, but they've belonged to others before. Though it's only been a handful of people that have caught his eye the way she has, the Doctor can still remember the face of every person he's ever loved, be it platonic or romantic. Every relationship he's ever taken part of has left yet another calloused scar on his hearts, and he doesn't think he'll be able to endure another.
The Doctor stands from the chair, his resolve flickering faintly in his eyes before he hardens his gaze on her. "Like I said. It won't work."
"Why not?"
"Do you think you're the first person I've had this debate with, Clara?" He scoffs, resisting when he feels the urge to stop himself. "You think you're the first girl to stumble into my TARDIS and develop a crush? It's happened so many times, it's almost a nonevent!"
The Doctor's spiteful words throw Clara for a loop as she struggles to hear them. The witty comeback silences itself on her lips, unprepared for his mockery.
But he doesn't stop there, the knife digging further into her back with every breath he takes. "It's a fool proof formula, apparently: invite a young lass into your bigger-on-the-inside box and show her how invalid her human-centric way of thinking is by pointing out a few flashy spots in the universe. By the time I've dropped them off back on their little blue planet, they're practically proposing marriage!"
The Doctor's derisive bitterness had it's intended effect as Clara's lustful passion fades fast from her face, replaced with red hot fury instead.
"You think I'm like those other girls?" She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Flipping and fawning all over the big bad Time Lord because he's got a pimped out ride? Because he wears quirky outfits and thinks he's so bloody charming?"
She can't quite manage to swallow the lump in her throat fast enough because it's then that her eyes start to burn, and she's furious that she's wasting more tears on him. God, she doesn't even know why she's so surprised that the evening has turned into something of a nightmare.
The Doctor had wrecked her life repeatedly and she's let him. He's different, she's told others before, excusing him over and over. He's not half as scary as you think. He's not a bad man, really, I promise. Had she been lying to those people? Had they risked their lives for a monster? Had she?
From the moment she first saw him, the floppy haired monk at her door, Clara knew her life would change in imaginable ways. She may have faltered a bit when the Doctor regenerated, but she soon discovered all she really ever wanted was him, regardless of the face and body he wore. And maybe it had all been one-sided, looks and glances she caught from him nothing more than her reading into a man that evidently wasn't capable of seeing her the same way.
But she's endured him. She's endured it all because like a daft idiot, she's figured it'll be worth it all in the end when she's finally able to hold him in her arms the way she's always wanted to. Through the good, bad and the worst of circumstances, Clara has stood by him. She's believed he is compassionate when he seems heartless, and she's had faith in him when he's been lost.
But above all, Clara has let him treat her this way, and maybe she's more to blame than he is because of it. But she'll be damned if she lets him assume that she's just another ditzy human girl in his TARDIS making heart eyes at a man who would never give her the time of day.
Stalking over to him, Clara asks, "And how many of those other girls were six and a half months pregnant with your child?"
The Doctor nearly flinches at the coolness of her voice, unnerved by how fast it's all unraveling for them. The profound expression of sorrow in her eyes nearly causes the hateful act to fall away so he can beg her forgiveness. But he's too far gone now to stop.
"None, actually," he answers truthfully. "But, I'm sure if River had lived, she'd have come pretty close."
It's the most unexpected blow of all, the reminder of his golden girl, his gloriously endowed wife who Clara has always known she'd be second fiddle to. He's voiced a terrifying belief she's refused to acknowledge. And she doesn't think she'll ever be able to forgive him for it.
But she has to know for sure, unwillingly to let him go unless he says the words and breaks the spell. "So I've been wrong this whole time, yeah? You-you've never had feelings for me? Ever?"
The Doctor places his hand over Clara's stomach, his mind opening to the telepathic feelings and thoughts of their child. He almost jumps away from the love that's present there, the overwhelmingly fierce sense of admiration making him feel even worse.
"Clara, however this came to be, this child is a gift more than a curse," he lowers his eyes to her belly and smiles. "I was wrong for even suggesting what I did. I know that now, and I'm sorry for thinking otherwise."
Clara's tears finally slide down her face, her mind reeling as his actions once again begin to conflict with his words. His touch on her belly moves to her hand and it takes all her strength not to jerk away from him.
"It's true that you've given me more than any other person I've traveled with, that you're different," the Doctor says, hoping his words convey that truth justly. "But I'll never be able to be what you want me to be. I won't ever be that man. And I don't think it's right for you to wait around holding your breath for me to change."
Clara doesn't know what happened, doesn't know what demon has petrified the Doctor so badly he thought the only way to shield her was to destroy her. Destroy them. Clara will never know why he does it, and she no longer desires to have an explanation. But she does know she's done. Done with the Doctor's pattern of self sabotage and done with acting as if it doesn't take its toll.
For now, she's done. With him.
~
Don't hate me. Love you guys for reading this story! It's one of my favorites to write. We will be getting into more action-filled stuff soon.