[It's right about this time that Mary Shelley plods out of the kitchen and over to the Doctor, to try and stick her big wet nose in his pockets. Clara almost breaks a smile at this, and moves to usher her away.]
Well, the dog likes you so I guess I have to say you're my friend too.
[Clara follows him, as she always has, as she always would given the choice.
The screened back porch overlooks a sprawling, green yard, sloping down the edge of a sparse wood. Everywhere, there are the detritus of her life with Cosima - two pairs of rain boots by the mat, two Adirondack chairs facing the screened wall, an ashtray and a calculator next to a regency romance novel and a box of Clara’s favorite biscuits. Clara passes them all to open the door, letting the Doctor pass her and head out into the yard.]
[ His eyes sweep over all of it, but he continues without comment into the backyard.
He plops down on the nearest solid surface outside the door, and stares skyward at the small smattering of visible stars. It's become habitual over this past mainly-sedentary century, stargazing— it's no substitute at all for travel, of course, but there's a comfort in it all the same.
With or without him, the universe spins madly on.
He doesn't take his eyes off it. After a long moment, he asks, ]
[Her voice is softer now, under the stars. Seeing the night sky above her is like having ground under one's feet. It reminds her that everything she loves - everything wonderful - is still out there, waiting for her.]
I met her once, actually. And I know you stayed with her for awhile after I left.
[She was glad to learn that. More than anything, she had worried herself sick over how he'd fare alone.]
[ Somehow, that doesn't surprise him. He just nods. Taps his foot in the grass. ]
One very, very long night. [ He lets out a slow breath and leans back, ]
Our last together. I'd known it would be, and I'd been running from it... but it caught up to me eventually, when I least expected it.
Any night could be the last, every Christmas is last Christmas. [ —he'd picked that phrase up somewhere, doesn't think anything of it, ] But she'd believed that "happily ever after" was found in the time you have together, however short or long.
[Clara tips forward and rests her head on her knees, considering his words.]
... But then it's over. It's always over.
[Again, and again, and again. She's getting so tired of it.]
I'm thirty-one, and I've already lost three people I wanted to stay with forever. How many more will that be by the time I go back to Gallifrey?
[She can feel her voice rising. The neighbors' lights are all too present in the corners of her eyes. Where the hell is the vacuum of space when you need it?]
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Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll do that. Let's see.
[ He finally pulls away from the front door and strides up to her. ]
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What, are you going to scan me? Take my temperature?
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leans down slightly to get a better look at her face, brows heavy over narrowed eyes, like he's studying her. ]
Should I?
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[She sighs deeply. Someone just put her out of her misery right now.]
... Do you remember Danny?
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Danny. I think so. Schoolteacher, became a cyberman.
[ He suspects there's more to it than that, but he can't remember well enough to say what. ]
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Good, and kind. The second man I ever loved.
[Who the first one was, she’ll never say out loud.]
I think part of you must remember what I was like after, to rush all the way here.
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Instead, he opens his mouth like he's about to argue the latter... but just shrugs, arms flopped at his sides. ]
Possibly. Memory is a funny thing. Messy, never so clear-cut. Possibly there are areas of, of stronger— residual awareness.
Or, I might've just come because you're my friend.
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Well, the dog likes you so I guess I have to say you're my friend too.
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[ DOG! He seems pleased to see her. ]
Well, basically nothing can resist my staggering intellect and charm.
[ He says, as he pulls a ham sandwich out of one such pocket and tosses Mary a bit. ]
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[She sighs and rubs a temple. The Doctor pulling a full, unwrapped sandwich out of his pocket is the least surprising thing to happen to her all day.]
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One and the same.
[ He nods his head towards the backdoor, ] C'mon. C'mon, I'm in the mood for some stars. [ And starts heading there himself.
(Taking an idle bite out of his ham sandwich as he goes. Mary could have the rest, if she asks politely.) ]
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The screened back porch overlooks a sprawling, green yard, sloping down the edge of a sparse wood. Everywhere, there are the detritus of her life with Cosima - two pairs of rain boots by the mat, two Adirondack chairs facing the screened wall, an ashtray and a calculator next to a regency romance novel and a box of Clara’s favorite biscuits. Clara passes them all to open the door, letting the Doctor pass her and head out into the yard.]
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He plops down on the nearest solid surface outside the door, and stares skyward at the small smattering of visible stars. It's become habitual over this past mainly-sedentary century, stargazing— it's no substitute at all for travel, of course, but there's a comfort in it all the same.
With or without him, the universe spins madly on.
He doesn't take his eyes off it. After a long moment, he asks, ]
Had I ever told you about River?
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[Her voice is softer now, under the stars. Seeing the night sky above her is like having ground under one's feet. It reminds her that everything she loves - everything wonderful - is still out there, waiting for her.]
I met her once, actually. And I know you stayed with her for awhile after I left.
[She was glad to learn that. More than anything, she had worried herself sick over how he'd fare alone.]
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One very, very long night. [ He lets out a slow breath and leans back, ]
Our last together. I'd known it would be, and I'd been running from it... but it caught up to me eventually, when I least expected it.
Any night could be the last, every Christmas is last Christmas. [ —he'd picked that phrase up somewhere, doesn't think anything of it, ] But she'd believed that "happily ever after" was found in the time you have together, however short or long.
Just the time.
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... But then it's over. It's always over.
[Again, and again, and again. She's getting so tired of it.]
I'm thirty-one, and I've already lost three people I wanted to stay with forever. How many more will that be by the time I go back to Gallifrey?
[She can feel her voice rising. The neighbors' lights are all too present in the corners of her eyes. Where the hell is the vacuum of space when you need it?]