attackbrows | {ximilia}

[Oops he manages to ruffle her feathers. She bristles a little, eyebrows arching slowly.]

What else is there?

[There's a dangerous edge to her voice, one that challenges him to go ahead and press further. She hasn't freely spoken about her throat punching training with Erik, about the things she had to do on her first mission, or about the mental toll said mission has taken on her. Instead, she has to focus on something at the station. And that something is trying to improve that situation for everyone.

She's mildly hurt that he doesn't see the value in her trying, and winds up turning her head to glance away and look back at the plants.]

I'm buying time until I decide if I want to insist on a new regret to change. I figured I should make myself useful if I'm going to be making demands of Viveca anytime soon.

Seriously?

[His tone is obviously incredulous. This Clara may be from a different point in the Doctor’s past, but he is holding out of that little ounce of hope that she at least tries to look past whatever this station puts forth in front of her.

Clara might turn to look away from the Doctor, but he keeps his eyes on her. His body pivots to face her.]

Is that what this is all about? [Pointing out to one plant with his hand mid-air.] Playing with your new AI pal; Collecting orbs and tending to the tomatoes on the off chance your regret gets scrubbed away?

[When she looks back up at him, a storm is brewing in her eyes. They're clouded with anger, running hot through her. She wants to slap him. He doesn't even have any idea what her regret even is.

But the fact of the matter is she's only angry because she's not used to the Doctor speaking to her like this. She isn't used to him knowing her well enough that he can call her out and force her to respond.

She's used to being the one in control. Right now, she feels like the power dynamic has shifted. And that makes her incredibly uncomfortable.]

Thing is, we all agreed to be here.

[he's turned to be in her space so she steps in closer, a tiny and furious force of nature that blusters its way right up against him. They're pressed in close, and she tips her head enough to stare up at him. Her hands are on her hips and she's quiet for a moment, before launching into a torrent of words that just spill right out of her.]

Just because I'm trying to make myself useful doesn't mean I trust Viveca. It doesn't mean I'm blind to the fact it makes me and everyone else here incredibly selfish to agree to undo something that could drastically change history. I get that we're meddling in planets in ways that could alter the flow of time and space and cause some sort of disaster. I know you tend to underestimate me, but please, just this once. Don't think I'm sweet and simple and oblivious to the reality of the situation.

[There’s that familiar stare. The one where Clara can create natural disasters with those giant glassy eyes. No matter how she tries to outsize him in their crossness, he doesn’t budge from where he stands.]

Don’t be so full of yourself, Clara.

[Yes. That is not the best thing to blurt out in the middle of a tiff. But the Doctor’s voice is far from being some condescending idiot. There is sincere gruff in those words. One that he hopes that her ego can overcome.

This is a matter of how far he has to go. How far will the Doctor have to go to pull Clara out if/when the bottom falls out?]

[The Doctor takes a few steps back and looks to the floor, scrubbing his face with the back of his knuckles. He angles out said hand and sticks it outward in the air.]

…The thing is about agreements is that they’re simply that: Flimsy promises made to each other. You either notice it or get burned with the bridge in front of you.

[He sucks in a breath and directs his eyes back at Clara.]

I just want you to be the one ready to run. Not the one carrying the gasoline.

[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.]

[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.

[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.]

[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.

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.]

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.

[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.]

[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.

{ximilia} - ic inbox

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