Oswin Oswald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
souffle_girlek) wrote2013-07-16 12:00 pm
souffle_girlek) wrote2013-07-16 12:00 pm
Journey to the Center of the TARDIS
Note: Written because Clara had 'Big Friendly Button' burned into her palm, not the imprint of the grenade. Which means the trip we saw was not the first trip through faltering TARDIS. Also? Moffet likes making me go 'Oh, God, no, oh God why, Whyyyyyyy?'
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There was nothing left to do. He could hear her screaming, the death throes of an ancient creature, older even than him. The corridors were becoming more and more labyrinthine, and he was running into Them more and more often as the survivable space narrowed down, as his precious TARDIS tried, even now, to save them all.
He can hear her, her now-awkward but surprisingly quick shuffle-step, the breath rasping through lungs carbonized to painful solidity, a creature of fire and rage in the place of his Impossible Girl. He meant to keep her safe. He meant to finally make good his promise to show her the stars. He can only hope that his message got through, that his past self is able to listen and remember that this is the answer to a question, and that the next time he feels her hands, they won't be burning, grasping things like they are now, as they latch onto his shoulders and burn out his hearts.
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She's staring at him with wide, horrified eyes, that same expression as when the ice lady snagged her right off his ship. Except this time it will be a death by fire, not by ice. He regrets, distantly, the not-knowing. He'll never discover now why in the case the universe makes bargains.
"Clara, I'm sor..." The rest is drowned out when her skin, her precious, fragile human skin burns like torch paper, and he's forced to run.
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There was nothing left to do. He could hear her screaming, the death throes of an ancient creature, older even than him. The corridors were becoming more and more labyrinthine, and he was running into Them more and more often as the survivable space narrowed down, as his precious TARDIS tried, even now, to save them all.
He can hear her, her now-awkward but surprisingly quick shuffle-step, the breath rasping through lungs carbonized to painful solidity, a creature of fire and rage in the place of his Impossible Girl. He meant to keep her safe. He meant to finally make good his promise to show her the stars. He can only hope that his message got through, that his past self is able to listen and remember that this is the answer to a question, and that the next time he feels her hands, they won't be burning, grasping things like they are now, as they latch onto his shoulders and burn out his hearts.
===============================================================================
She's staring at him with wide, horrified eyes, that same expression as when the ice lady snagged her right off his ship. Except this time it will be a death by fire, not by ice. He regrets, distantly, the not-knowing. He'll never discover now why in the case the universe makes bargains.
"Clara, I'm sor..." The rest is drowned out when her skin, her precious, fragile human skin burns like torch paper, and he's forced to run.
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