The Hybrid - Doctor Who Fanfiction

15

"Stop."

It's him that says the word, the Doctor realizes with a jolt. His voice utters the single syllable that halts Clara in her tracks as she moves to relieve him of his shirt. Her hands have frozen in midair at the command, hovering near his waist where she was about to pull the article of clothing up and over his head.

The enchantment they've been under of suddenly releases them both, and Clara's using hair that's spilling from her mussed bun to shield her blushing face. The Doctor's hands retreat from the small of her back to the safety of his deep pockets where they can tremble in private.

He hadn't meant to say it aloud, and certain not to her. But the adamantly disapproving chaotic chorus in his head had roared the word until his tongue was accidentally loosed and said it for him. But he repeats it anyway, consciously this time, and he takes two sizable steps away from his companion who watches him retreat in startled confusion.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Clara's tirade of questions on her swollen lips pain the Doctor even further. The light of hope in her eyes starts to dim along with the lust he saw there earlier, all of it being replaced by concern.

"It won't work," he whispers to himself, his jaw clenching as he tries to keep a lid on tsunami-like emotions. "It just won't, I know it won't."

"Did I do something wrong? If I was moving too quickly or--"

"I can't," is all the Doctor can say to her, running a hand through his hair as he goes to collapse into the rocking chair nearby. He closes his eyes. "Nothing's wrong. I just can't, I'm sorry."

The Doctor keeps his eyes closed to prevent himself from seeing his own failure reflected in her eyes.

"How long are we going to do this for?"

"Do what for?" His irritation is coming across clearly now, concealing his regret and disappointment with himself perfectly.

"Pretending we don't matter to each other. Pretending I don't matter to you like I know I do. The both of us pretending to be emotionally stunted because we're so bloody terrified of the outcome."

The Doctor opens his eyes to see that she's much closer now, standing over him with narrowed eyes laden with skepticism.

"How long will it take for me to believe you, Doctor? When you say you aren't my boyfriend, how long do you expect it will take for us to actually believe that?"

He blinks wearily. "Clara."

"Because," she continues to his dismay, "I think we both know you want to be. We both know I want more than a topsy-turvy, mostly benign friendship. And I can't understand why you won't at least try."

He's always marveled at how quickly this woman can convert her own fear into manipulative tactics. It's a trait many humans possess, the ability to deflect those tedious sentiments they're commonly afflicted by onto others. But usually, it takes too much time to process a worthy, properly hurtful comeback. But with Clara it happens almost as quickly as his own conversions do.

But he's had centuries to play the role of 'emotionally stunted' man in a blue box. He's perfected the role, and for the Doctor, the persona fits like a glove, the twisted cruelty a sort of imitation of his own wary personality.

The Doctor starts to chew at his thumb as his eyes languidly move to catch the harrowed gaze of his companion. Clara has her arms folded across her chest resting on her stomach. The Doctor notices then that the damned shirt she's stolen from him is completely transparent in this light, and his companion has neglected to wear a bra.