Chapter Text
Hey there little red riding hood
You sure are looking good
You're everything a big bad wolf could want
Little red riding hood
I don't think little big girls should
Go walking in these spooky old woods alone
What big eyes you have
The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad
Just to see that you don't get chased
I think I oughta walk with you for a ways
What full lips you have
They're sure to lure someone bad
So until you get to Grandma's place
I think you oughta walk with me and be safe
Gonna keep my sheep suit on
‘til I'm sure that you've been shown
That I can be trusted walking with you alone
Little red riding hood
I'd like to hold you if I could
But you might think I'm a big bad wolf so I won't
What a big heart I have
The better to love you with
Little red riding hood
Even bad wolves can be good
I try to keep satisfied
Just to walk close by your side
Maybe you'll see things my way
'Fore we get to Grandma's place
She walks into the TARDIS. Everything looks different. Everything has changed. And so has he. Gone is the gangly over-excited lad she knew; the new Doctor seems more poised, darker, harsher. Mature in ways and looks.
She can see him getting closer, rounding on her, like a predator on its prey, testing her, maybe. She stands her ground.
“Clara, I’m not your boyfriend” he says matter-of-factly. Stern but not harsh. Like explaining a rule to a disobedient child. Her eyebrows draw in confusion.
“I never thought you were” he averts his eyes.
“I never said it was your mistake” He looks ashamed, resigned maybe.
I see the way you’ve been looking at me since I regenerated; I lost my chance, haven’t I?
She looks surprised, her inflated eyes glint with something akin to hopefulness. Does that mean that he fancied her, too? Oh, wait. He didn’t. The younger him did. She somehow feels disappointed.
The Doctor masterfully changes the topic, showing off his outfit.
Clara has to admit he looks dashing. The ridiculous bowtie and suspenders have gone, in favour of a more elegant look. The shirt is pristine white, while vest, skinny jeans and rebellious doc martens are black. Even the coat is dark, the red lining making him look like some sort of magician. Prickly ways aside, she thinks this new reincarnation is much better looking. Not that she’s ever going to let him know that. Not your boyfriend. Right.
The truth is that he had to say that. A reminder to both himself and Clara in equal measure. They had been having too much fun, Clara and the other him. He had gotten lost in the charade, got too comfortable. But this new him felt things differently. Nine hundred years of isolation and now everything was a bit too much. Physical contact was foreign to him; spending time among people drained him like it never did, emotions that had been suppressed or forgotten had now resurfaced full force.
And that childish crush he’d had for Clara since he’d met her echoes, had developed into a feeling so intense and deep, he would call it love; except love didn’t even come close to the complexity of it. He had no idea what to do.
It scared him, this feeling. It was so strong. Violent, even. Eclipsing his reasoning mind at times. It was dark and it was light. It was possessiveness and togetherness. Love and lust. It made him feel stronger and weaker. Powerless and invincible, all at the same time.
The irony was that whatever Clara might have felt for bowtie had disappeared the moment he had regenerated. It had hurt to see the despair in her eyes. Stupid humans and their fixation with looks. No wonder he was bitter.
“Am I home?” She sounds a bit melancholic when she says that.
“If you wanna be” he’s beaming at her.
“I'm sorry. I'm, I'm so, so sorry” his smile slowly fades “but I don't think I know who you are anymore”
Clara’s mobile phone rings.
“You'd better get that. It might be your boyfriend” his eyes glint with amusement.
“Shut up. I don't have a boyfriend” I could have, if I’d have known it before. She tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
She walks outside to answer the call.
“Hello? Hello?” someone is panting on the other side.
“It's me” she knows that voice.
“Yes, it's you. Who's this?”
“It's me, Clara. The Doctor” She’s stunned into silence for a moment. Is this a joke?
“What do you mean, the Doctor?”
“I'm phoning you from Trenzalore”
“I don't...”
“From before I changed. I mean it's all still to happen for me. It's coming. Oh, it's a-coming”
Clara remembers replacing the TARDIS’ police phone back on its hook before walking inside.
“Not long now. I can feel it” Oh God, that’s her Doctor phoning her. She thought she would never hear his voice again.
“Why? Why would you do this?”
“Because I think it's going to be a whopper, and I think you might be scared. And, however scared you are, Clara, the man you are with right now, the man I hope you are with, believe me, he is more scared than anything you can imagine right now and he, he needs you.”
The Doctor comes out of the TARDIS as if prompted “So, who is it?”
“Is that the Doctor?”
“Is that the Doctor?” She frowns at the echoing question.
“Yes” she answers to both.
“He sounds old. Please tell me I didn't get old. Anything but old” she chuckles. God, she misses him.
“I was young. Oh, is he grey?”
“Yes”
“Clara, please, hey, for me, help him. Go on. And don't be afraid” the Doctor is standing in front of her, waiting.
“Goodbye, Clara. Miss ya” she closes the call. Her Doctor is gone. She’s trying not to break into tears in front of the other Doctor.
“Well?” She pulls herself together.
“Well what?”
“He asked you a question. Will you help me?” Please, don’t leave me.
“You shouldn't have been listening” he sighs frustrated.
“I wasn't. I didn't need to. That was me talking!” You don’t understand do you, Clara?
“You can't see me, can you? You look at me, and you can't see me. Have you any idea what that's like?” she stares at him in silence. Pondering.
“I'm not on the phone, I'm right here, standing in front of you. Please, just, just see me” he sounds desperate now.
Clara moves forward and studies his face carefully. He looks so different, acts so different. She concentrates on his eyes. They are a different colour, a sort of greyish-blue, or blueish-grey she’s not sure, but as she looks closer, she can see her Doctor in them. All of time and space swirling inside his irises. She beams.
“Thank you” her voice almost breaks.
“For what?”
“Phoning” For letting me say goodbye to him, you, whatever.
She throws her arms around his neck. He still smells the same. He was here. Her Doctor was here!
The timelord stiffens. Nine-hundred years he had gone without Clara’s hugs. They used to live in each other’s pockets before that, but now her mere touch seems to sear his skin. It feels foreign and kind of overwhelming. He doesn’t know whether it's a pleasant sensation or not.
“I-I don't think that I'm a hugging person now”
“I'm not sure you get a vote”
“Whatever you say”