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[attackbrows]

	You've reached Dr. Funkenstein. Expert on all things funkadelic. Please, by all means, save us both the hassle and don't leave a message.
	TEXT | AUDIO | VIDEO

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[bossily]

[He's completely infuriating. He knows her so well, and is able to call her out on just about everything. Her anger that just ran so hot fizzles out, leaving her looking warily over in his direction.

If she didn't know better, she'd say he regenerated to be better for her. But that can't possibly happen.]

I'm always ready to take your hand and run, Doctor.

[That answer might sound flippant to someone who doesn't know her well. But there's a distinct lack of casual indifference in the way she's looking at him know, her lips pursed together like she's resisting the urge to smile at the way she does just for him.

It's unfortunate she can't promise that she won't eventually be the one holding the gasoline to burn all her bridges. If only she knew what kind of foreshadowing this conversation was to all the great things they eventually go through together.]

[attackbrows]

[A weight is lifted off his two hearts, seeing her eyes soften. As seductive as erasing one’s regret away is, the Doctor doesn’t how deep this spiral goes. A garden of roses is breathtaking, but a thousand thorns are enough to tear one apart. The pain of false hope stings that much.

And yet, the Doctor knows in his heart of hearts that he will bleed over and over to keep her safe.

His feet shuffle closer to her. The touching, again, he doesn’t do well with the touching, but it’s different. Exceptional even when he shows affection towards her. He can’t recall the last time someone has ever made this abrasive-like demeanour melt into a besotted lamb in just ten words.

Both hands reach for hers. Her small hand always radiates such warmth between his long and cold fingers. He raises it, gives the back of her hand a light peck with his lips.]

Thank you.

[bossily]

[She's seen him be so gruff and rude to others. And he can be gruff with her, but beneath that there's this side of him that makes her take pause. He's so gentle with her where it counts, and she feels her cheeks turn a light shade of pink as he kisses at her hand.

Apparently he gets more romantic and smooth with age.

Her fingers that are laced through his give a reassuring squeeze. She's here, she's alive, she's fine. She's perfectly safe with him here.]

Think I should be the one thanking you. For keeping watch over me, after all this time.

[They're still joined at the hand, but she leans in and rises up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.]

[attackbrows]

[He isn’t sure how to respond to that. Only because they’ve travelled together for so long that this has become second nature for the Doctor. To keep her close and protected, no matter the circumstances. They can be trapped under a small dune in a snowstorm on the coldest planet and he will be the first to offer his jacket to keep her warm.

When Clara’s lips meet the hollow of his cheek, the Doctor can’t help but turn flush under the skin. The one oddity of having this body: not boding well with physical touch, but becoming smitten when the moment is right.

He slips one hand away from hers, hovering under her fringe with the back of his index knuckle. Almost tempted by the thought of combing his fingers through her hair.]

Very bold of you to say when we haven’t touched down in Victoria, London yet.

[bossily]

Well, I have been known to be bold on occasion.

[Her smile becomes a little more smitten, and she feels her own cheeks turning pink. She has to duck her head to laugh at herself. She's utterly ridiculous.]

Are we...all right, then?

[She isn't sure if he's still upset with her for her attempts at gardening and trying to help out around the station, or if he's over it now. But she wants to know that he isn't disappointed in her.]

[attackbrows]

Clara, out of everything in this universe...

[And listen, he gets cross/disappointed/grumpy about a lot of things. From the trivial to the justified, it’s just how this entire body is wired.

He slides a hand down to cup her cheek, raises a brow and says with the utmost sincerity (and playfulness):]

I refuse to allow succulents to be our breaking point.

[bossily]

[She laughs, any tension that might've been there now gone and forgotten. Her hand presses against his, pressing his palm more firmly against her cheek. The touch is fleeting, dropping away before it has time to linger.]

Oh, I'm sure our breaking point is something far more ridiculous. Like a flock of birds on the moon. Can you imagine?

[She has no idea how many breaking points she's just referenced here. But is blissful being completely unaware. Her eyebrow arches as she regards him for a moment more, then bites at the side of her lip. She winds up turning away to head back toward the exit to the room, knowing he's likely to follow.]

[attackbrows]

[Oh, he doesn’t have to imagine.]

Spoilers.

[The Doctor prefers not to spare a thought from the past several catastrophic bouts they’ve had. Too much shouting, not enough of him talking about constellations.

He follows her. Of course he follows her. The Doctor is tied to Clara by an invisible string. There is no other place he can see himself being for the moment. Without the luxuries of his TARDIS, he will have to savour every second of this very slow encounter of “normal” space-time.]

Dinosaur first. Then we’ll chat.

un: song | text

[spoilers]

[ It's ridiculously late. Or ridiculously early. Depending on your point of view. But she knows he'll be awake. She isn't sure any of them sleep anymore.

She's an expert at hiding what she's really thinking, what she's feeling, but she's also well aware how easily telepathic forms of communication can betray. And text, she thinks, won't allow the Doctor to read into tone or expression, if he's feeling so inclined. He does occasionally surprise her. ]

You aren't busy are you, Sweetie? I think we have a conversation to finish.

[ Now that they're (relatively) unobserved and there's no mission to distract them. ]

[attackbrows]

[Ugh. Linear time. Who keeps up with the hours and minutes like this? It’s all very…domestic. And the Doctor has reached that point of the day (or night) where he is counting the fibres on his plaid trousers.

He didn’t expect to receive a message out of the blue. But it’s River, and he’s lost count.]

'Busy' these days are starting to become an understatement. But you know where to find me.

[That being inside the lab storage unit. Because of course he'd make his own little science nook inside of a walk-in closet.]

[spoilers]

Don't I always?

[ And it isn't long before she's made her way into his hideaway, stopping just shy of fully invading his personal space.

Almost absently, she reaches out to smooth the fabric over his chest, an unconscious habit and the only outward sign of anxiousness she allows. ]

Are you working on anything special?

[attackbrows]

[He leans back in the office chair he’s pilfered from the main lab. A lap full of circuit boards and wires on top of his lap.

River’s hand against his chest always felt so normal, like taking a deep breath of air. As much as this body has its aversions to physical touch, River has a way of finding just the right spot for him to sink into.]

Isotemporal circuitry. [He says, soldering pieces of wiring against the boards.] Handy in a pinch, terrible icebreaker among the rest of the crew.

[A beat.]

Unless you’re interested in hearing me prattle about quantum vibrations fields?

[spoilers]

[ River hums faintly as if she's actually considering it before shaking her head. ] Maybe next time.

[ Rearranging bits and bobs, which she's sure the Doctor will complain about later, she makes space for herself to his side. She'd wanted this conversation, and now she doesn't know how to start.

The beginning? ] Doctor, you know where I am?

[ Not in the here, now, literal sense. Also, not really a question. ]

[attackbrows]

[His eyes shoot a glance at her. This conversation was bound to happen. He looks back at his haphazard project and responds with a simple:]

…No.

[The lack of River’s journal is enough for the Doctor to be cautious. They are, for all intents and purposes, reaching major spoilers within their respective journeys.]

It’s not like you to have your journal missing from this sort of chat.

[spoilers]

[ With a faint smile that fails to reach her eyes, River produces a familiar blue diary from...where does she always manage to hide that thing anyway? It's probably a little more worn than the last time he saw it, but maybe almost as worn as the first time. ]

It isn't missing, Sweetie. But we're not going to need it.

[attackbrows]

[He goes quiet for a moment. A rare occurrence for him, but this is a moment he dreaded for quite some time. A pang of regret hits his two hearts. The one thing he promised her was dinner in Darillium. He wonders that if the fear of losing her was so severe that he failed to miss out on a single promise.

Leaving his items to the side, the Doctor stands up. But his eyes divert elsewhere. He can't look at her. Not yet.]

River, I… [What is he to say at this point?] I’m sorry.

[spoilers]

I'm not looking for an apology, Doctor.

[ But perhaps she is because it comes out more sharply than she'd intended. She'd take a step back if she could, but she's already nearly against a wall. She takes a breath. ]

We both knew this day was coming. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it any more than I could, my love.

[ She's working her way around to the heart of what she really wants to ask. ]

I couldn't blame you, that you. Or even the last you. You're still so young. But you, Sweetie, you knew me best.

[ And she knows it isn't fair. They can't be that far yet. But for her, it's all long past. ]

special delivery

[bossily]

[Clara sneaks into the labs on Christmas Eve and leaves his gift for him at his workstation. She knows he'll be by before the party, and wants him to have some privacy to open his present.

Inside the wrapped box is a handmade guitar pick painted in a shade of Tardis blue. It's a little larger and more crude than ones you can buy, because she's gone and tried carving something on it for him to remember her by. Etched on the pick is her attempt at a little Gallifreyan, copied from memory from the Tardis console unit. The Tardis had pointed out to her that her name was up there with all the other companions, and she had committed her own to memory as best she could. It's not a perfect etching, but she tried her best to get it just right.

Also inside the box is one of her rings that she wears all the time. He'll likely recognize it as one she's worn off and on ever since they met a long time ago. It's one with her birthstone, citrine that's as clear and bright as the stars she loves so much. There's a note in the box, resting beneath the ring.

Doctor,
Sometimes I wish that I could tell you everything. Tell you what happens in our future, and tell you exactly what you mean to me. After all, certain things shouldn't ever be left unsaid. But I think you know exactly how I feel, and you're just not ready to hear it spoken just yet. One day you will be though. And until that day comes, I want you to have this part of me. Keep it close to you if you like, or store it someplace you can come back to look at it later. But always know that I'm the luckiest person in the entire universe because I was given you to see the most amazing things. The things we've done, Doctor. They've changed who I am. I will never be the same, and I have you to thank. You said once before that you're exactly what I deserve. And I know you meant it to be a terrible, scolding thing. But do you know what, Doctor? We're exactly what the other deserves, two parts of a whole. And I've accepted that it doesn't have to be good or bad. It just is what it is.

Happy Christmas, Doctor.

Love,
Clara

There's a second wrapped package right by the first. It's an index card sized, handbound collection of handwritten cue cards. There's about 50 total, 25 cards written front and back. There's a various assortment of (mostly silly and funny) cues and situations for him to use if he's ever in a pinch. There's also some punny jokes intermingled on the cards, and a few sketches of aliens they've encountered on their adventures together. On the very back is a drawing she tried to make of herself, paired with the words "run you clever boy, and remember". He'll likely remember her saying that a few times, a long time ago. Back when she was still a mystery and he was in another lifetime. These words hold a deeper meaning to her now, and she hopes that just maybe the cards will go back with him in his pocket once he leaves this place. And once they reach the end of their story he'll be able to keep a piece of her that lets him remember her and their time together.]

text / un: starkov

[peasant]

i hear you have a strange fascination with meat.
apparently. i don't know. kovacs told me to burn any weird books i found on meat in the christmas bookstore.
why's that?

[ yes, this is a perfect sensible conversation with someone you know well and yet hardly know at all, in this incarnation of himself. ]

christmas delivery;

[kovach]

[ a few days after christmas, the doctor will find a small rolled up piece of paper, tied by simple string. it isn't signed with a name, but there's the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, along with the careful scribble of a poem: ]

Jagged lines like
cracks in stone
the man wields his age
like a war torn Mirror
But he beams
with new teeth
and strings of a Song
giving water to desolate dirt
and seeing the flowers stem up
in a dance
named Hope

[attackbrows]

[…You let one envoy pop into your room for a visit and suddenly you’re a madman with a fascination for beef.]

One meat product. It was one slab of salami being stored inside the room for a project that lingered for a little too long.

[peasant]

[ is that better or worse, now that she has context? stay tuned for her deliberation. ]

what kind of project could possibly need an entire slab of salami?

[attackbrows]

Plenty of projects require salami. They're not there to only look pretty inside your sandwich.

It just happens this one needed to be incubated inside of a duvet to explore microbial cultures in the Ximilia's central air system.

[ Because who doesn't stuff their meat in a blankie for science. ]

[peasant]

wait. hold on.
you slept with it? in your actual bed? and the smell didn't get to you?

[ consensus: she's found this doctor no less strange than the other. strange and yet expected, that they would share certain eccentricities. ]

[attackbrows]

Assuming that I sleep like a proper human. But no. I settle for standy cat naps while my bed does the work for me.

We call that optimized synergy.

[ just pray that alina doesn't have to step the doctor(s)' room for closer inspection. the answers may surprise her. ]