Author's Note: So I was getting around to finishing the third chapter of Away when suddenly, the worst case of writer's block struck me like a Hercules blow to the inner thigh (ouch) and I was left plotless, museless, and inspirationless for the last couple of days. ._.
So I took a break, and wrote a mostly plotless drabble instead. :-D (Don't look at me like that, you've all been there, too.) From now on I'll be posting (established) 11/Clara sort-of-connected-but-can-also-be-stand-alone drabbles, and will be compiling all of them here, just so that we're organized and everything.
Oh and pretty pretty please give me prompts! I love a good prompt. Just PM me and if I find one I like, I'll have it finished right away. :-)
And also, follow me on my newly-constructed Tumblr: claraoswals dot tumblr dot com. You can find all my graphics there, if any of you are interested.
Alright, I'm sorry for taking up most of your time. I hope you like this short drabble!
Word Count: 761
Prompt: The Doctor takes Clara to see 'something awesome'.
"Where are you taking me?" She asks, her tone light with anticipation, eyes snapped shut as the Doctor led her blindly out the TARDIS.
"It's a surprise," he replies, squeezing her shoulders encouragingly. "A rather good one, if I do say so myself."
"I'll be the judge of that," she wittingly remarks, reaching up to place her hands atop his. "Is it better than Akhaten, though? The rings you showed me?"
Coming to a stop, he laces her fingers with his, clasping their hands together in front of her as he hugs her body tight against his own. Smiling in her hair, he answers, repeating her words, "You'll be the judge of that."
At that, she flutters her eyes open, blinking a few times to adjust her line of sight. She holds her breath, clearly seeing now, sucking in all the air she could muster at the absolute wonder of the spectacle before her.
In the years she's traveled with the Doctor, she's seen quite a number of extraordinary things - planets and galaxies, suns and constellations. Hopping from one century to another, exploring not only the world but the entirety of the Universe, she's seen more than her fair share of the impossible and the strange, the new and the amazing.
But nothing, she thinks to herself, had been nearly as amazing as this.
Brilliant stars of radiant colours, slowly, gracefully, falling into the abyss beneath her, leaving trails of colourful dust behind each and every one. Some stars fell together - hues of red and blue combining to make purple, others blue and yellow to make an iridescent green - while some fell in clusters, the colours contradicting but complementing each other, ultimately. Foes and friends, all the same.
They reminded Clara of fireworks, just like the ones she used to see back home every New Year's Eve, right after they explode in the sky, and tiny lights start dripping in thin, shimmering lines, eventually falling into nothing.
These stars fell, but never into nothing, not even when the blackness of below swallows the colour of the surface, and to her, it's just simply breathtaking.
Eyes glistening, she turns to the Doctor, looking up at him like he's done the rightest thing any sentient being could ever possibly do. A shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips, he steps towards her right, facing the view but still, always, watching her from the corner of his eye.
"The Stars of Hjelia - the farthest, most secluded corner of the Andromeda. Technically they're meteors, but because they are found to have excessive amounts of pressurized carbon in their chemical compositions, they've been renamed to follow the stereotype. You know, 'twinkle, twinkle, little star…'" he begins as an introduction, slightly wavering off in the end when Clara looks at him funny. "Right, well, legend has it that these meteors all originated from a single planet in the far north, but that after a torrent of supernovas within the immediate vicinity, these meteors came flying down, propelling downwards as the force of a million stars bursting reverberated from above, and ever since, they have been falling and falling and falling without end. An… endless meteor shower," he smiles, looking onto the horizon, his face brightly illuminated by the display that took place right in front of them.
Still confused, she glances questioningly at the alien, trying to put a finger on how any of this is at all significant. She knows it is, for some reason, but she can't quite figure out why.
"You asked me to show you the stars," he continues, as if reading her mind, staring shamelessly into her eyes. "Well, here they are."
Turning away from his gaze, Clara looks out into the open, watching as every meteor, every star, fell from above, sometimes in a line, other times twirling, and inwardly she laughs at the absurdity of it all, of seeing something so beautiful and magical she never knew existed.
She would have lived the remaining days of her life not knowing this place was ever there, sticking to the one hundred and one when there were one hundred and millions, but because of this beautiful, magical man and his beautiful, magical box, she wouldn't have to. And she loved him for that. (Just a little bit.)
So she reaches out to hold his hand in hers, even if she is a grown-up now, because of everything she's ever seen, and all the places she's ever been to, this – him, her, this – was absolutely, unmistakably, better.