Not This Time: A Whouffle Fanfic

Ok, Fine

Clara's P.O.V

"No!" I mentally screamed at myself. "You are bawling like a three year old! You will get up, and... What? Do what you did at the house and pretend that it never happened?" I wiped tears off my cheeks.

I had kicked a space alien who has defeated great foes and saved the universe countless times from his own time traveling spaceship, yet I couldn't muster up the courage to tell him the truth. Funny, huh?

I got up and made my way to the console. The camera was on, and I couldn't take my eyes off the screen.

There, leaning against the TARDIS, was the man, the alien, that I thought I trusted most.

I guess they were right. I should leave. I couldn't trust him.

But I did trust him.

I was so lost in thought I almost didn't notice the Doctor stand up and look directly into the camera like he was searching for someone.

"Clara?" He paused for a moment before continuing. "Can I come in now? I miss the TARDIS... And... And I'm bored...."

I laughed, in spite of myself. It was hard to stay mad at the daft feather-brain, but I couldn't just up and forgive him. Why should I?

Wait, I wasn't overreacting... right? No. Of course not.

I opened the door to a Doctor who's face was twisted into a half smile half cringe, as if he didn't know whether I would smile back or whack him on the head.

I sighed. "Ok, fine."

Not a moment later he was sitting on the floor, cross legged like a child, twiddling his thumbs and chewing his lip. I sat opposite him on the railing, hands on either side of me to support myself.

I hadn't spoke for a good bit of the hour.

The Doctor, however, had been anxiously trying to start a conversation.

"Gaaaaaah! I'm done! I can't stand this silent loud!" He jumped up and slammed his fist to the console. Much to my amusement, the TARDIS grumbled in annoyance. "We-sorry ol' girl!-are moving! Doing something! At least talking to someone!"

"You mean you." I flatly stated.

The Doctor froze and turned around. I look of anguish spread across his face. "You... you want... to go home." He stated it, however much he stuttered, not as a question; but as a fact. He was hurt, and he wasn't hiding it.

"No." I took a deep breath. "I just need to speak with someone."