So, he rode a sleigh! Even if it was only in a dream, it felt so real and so beautiful he continued giggling, unable to stop. Well, he giggled also because of Clara.
Clara was with him again, in the Tardis.
Clara in the Tardis, with a nightie.
Killing a Timelord with all her cuteness.
She was there, for real this time, and listening to the soft humming of the Tardis made her feel like home: he had not redecorated, but she saw some repair on the console. It seemed like something had gone awry, some of the levers were all in the wrong places and there were signs of burnt wires.
He was looking at the monitor, all business, and his long fingers were flying over the controls to search for some new and exciting destination.
Clara looked at him, and the Doctor, feeling her stare, looked back, smiling.
“Why the burning on the console?”
She was serious and concerned.
“I never found Gallifrey. The coordinates were a fake, I lost control”
“And you smashed things around?”
“Yes”
He was no more smiling, the pain of the betrayal again stabbing at his chest.
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I thought you were with Danny”
“How long…”
“Doesn’t matter now, does it?
“It does matter, we were miserable - the both of us - and we were alone, because we lied to each other!”
How could a person so little burn with so much intensity was beyond the Doctor comprehension, but there she was, all rage and fury, eyes blazing and mouth set. Although the slippers were a bit of an undermining.
He moved toward her, slow and careful.
Last time he saw her like that, she said he was to go a long way away.
“Sometimes caring too much is a disadvantage”
He said and stopped a few steps from her, wanting to come closer, wanting to reach out and stroke her cheeks, wanting to fill that gap that he had set up so long ago, soon after this new regeneration.
He was terrified then: new face, new hearts, old feelings difficult to cope with.
He was equally afraid now, as if Clara was a little goldfinch ready to fly away and never to come back if he moved too fast.
He thought he already had lost her, to Danny.
Forever.
Because he was an idiot unable to speak his mind and tell her the simple truth: Clara I love you, even if I’m thousands of years old and I’m not from Earth.
What about that? Uh?
But no! He had to go with that terrible, horrible line “I’m not your boyfriend”, yeah, you figure! That was him all manly man, taking his responsibilities and acting like a moron!
Because he saw himself in the mirror, he saw his new face all frowned up and already used and he didn’t recognize that old, bitter twat.
And he thought that Clara would have not seen him either.
She almost didn’t.
Now here they are, second chances don’t come easy, and he is sure he is about to screw it up again. So he remains silent and still.
Clara is staring at him, pondering.
She is addicted to this life: the months they stood apart were awful, one dull day after the other, nothing to wait for, nothing to discover, nothing to run toward. She thought she could definitely loose her mind with nothing to do but remember.
Now the Doctor was one step away, he came in her dream to save her once more and she was again in the Tardis, alive and with the heart thudding loudly.
She stares at him, taking in his narrow face, his wrinkles, his gray hair, and she thinks he is the most powerful sight she has ever seen in her life.
All those months alone, thinking at the swirling events of her recent life and understanding so many things: Danny and the Doctor.
The man with reassuring eyes and square shoulders to lean on and be cuddle from.
The man with the murderous eyebrows and the rough edges to be scared of and be burnt by.
The quiet breeze and the oncoming storm.
She had loved Danny, and she was devastated by his death, but the truth was that she was in love with the Doctor, she always had been and no matter the regeneration, she would always be in love with the mad man in a box.
Caring too much is a disadvantage.
Yes, mayb