#impossiibilis

HALSEY STARTERSStatus: ACCEPTING

           ❝  I’M NOT SCARED OF YOU, 

After a nightmare

She can still feel it—- the pain of the knife tearing through her. The confusion, the fear, the betrayal. The desperation. The sinking realisation that, no, there’s no way out of this one. The flash of self-hatred, knowing that all of this could have been prevented if she’d just stopped herself getting distracted. The knowledge that all of those deaths, all of the pain she had caused, Artie and Angie. All of that was for nothing. Because she had lost.

She could remember the feeling of ‘her’ body becoming heavier. ‘Her’ movements becoming sluggish. ‘Her’ breath becoming shallower. ‘Her’ vision darkening.

Then, there was nothing.

Well—- nothing except for her dark, empty room.

But that wasn’t right, either. Because her room wasn’t dark, it was being lit up slightly by those awful pale blue lights. And it certainly wasn’t empty, because there beside her was him. The person who was to blame for all of this. The Cyberplanner.

“I—- I’m fine, dear.” The word makes her stomach turn, makes her feel as if she’s betraying herself and everything she’s ever stood for.

Take a deep breath, Clara Oswin. You can do this. You will make everything alright again.

He'd killed her. That fact was one he hadn't - and wouldn't - apologize for. He'd done it for himself, for the Cyberiad. A distracted, attached Cyberplanner was a less effective Cyberplanner. He had allowed himself to be distracted long enough. The distraction, Clara, had to be eliminated. And she had been. Fitting, that she had been killed with a knife. That she had bled out in front of him. That he had seen each breath come farther and farther apart.

She'd been buried. She still was. He'd checked. Multiple times.

Yet whatever he'd hoped to achieve with killing + burying her, it was undone by her return. The return that he had no logical explanation for. It was aggrevating, to not know why, how, his life was being upset once more. It seemed even death wouldn't stop Clara Oswald from being a nusiance. From being a mystery.

Perhaps that is why he'd stationed himself beside her bed, a chair pulled up while she slept. To study, first hand, the increasingly impossible girl. Not out of any sort of sentintement, to confirm that her breaths were still deep, still continuing. No.

And it certainly didn't cause any amount of fear when that breathing changed, grew so similar to how it had been when her blood was on his hands. If there had been, it was extingushed by the time she woke up. His question was asked in a unshaking voice. Answered by her quivering one.

[ text ; ash 🐱 ] You need to get to the TARDIS. Now.

        despite his inclination toward heinous crimes as of late, he still has a soft spot for the woman who really made all of this possible. clara oswald is not a name he will ever forget, nor does he plan to           despite the fact that she will, of course, die long before him. his lips turn up into a cheery smile as he peers at her over the console. he hasn’t told her yet, what he’s doing, what he plans to do; he wants her to be forced to pick his side in the end. & at this point in the game he’s seeing why humans can be so much more fun when they are seen as special toys and possessions rather than people with feelings and functioning minds.

          ❝ ‘ello, clara. fancy seeing you around here, ❞ he jokes, as if it were funny that she’d been around so much more often. not funny. annoying. but that soft spot made him calm down about his annoyance.

As the bell rang, the Doctor watched and waited until the room had emptied out. As far as teaching goes, he felt like he was doing a rather good job. Maybe not quite as good as the last time he went undercover in a school, but fair enough. It felt  w e i r d  this time, though. Different. Not only was he on this investigation alone, but he was doing it at Coal Hill. The very same school Susan had once attended. The very same school Ian and Barbara had taught at. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t OCCASIONALLY glance around in hopes of seeing his two old friends. He had a cheeky little laugh to himself earlier when he saw CHAIRMAN OF THE GOVERNORS: I. CHESTERTON on the sign outside.

The room was empty now and the Doctor had stopped pretending like he was flipping through paperwork. He was certainly glad he wasn’t really a teacher; all these papers were overwhelming, he knew he’d go mad if he had to actually stay and grade them all. Pulling out his sonic from it’s resting place in the pocket in his BLUE SUIT JACKET, he put on his specs and began scanning the area. Nothing seemed off in this classroom. So far, it was just the English room. But why?

Quickly jumping up from his seat, he dashed out of the room and headed for that particular area. He hadn’t spoken to the teacher who taught that class yet, but time was crunching and the Doctor hoped to get this solved and get back to the universe as fast as possible. Three knocks on the door (never four), he poked his head in.

“Hi, um, sorry. Ms. Oswald, was it? I’m John Smith, the temporary Maths teacher. I, erm, don’t suppose you’d have a minute?”