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for Dee
[Clara sits on the chair of the TARDIS. Her fingers wind around the discarded bowtie that she'd rescued from the floor.
They hadn't crashed. Of course not. The Doctor would never have let that happen. Because he was the Doctor.
And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling of being in a room that belonged to someone that had been lost. It was silly. Childish even. The Doctor had just been there and asking her where she wanted to go in that funny new Scottish accent of his. She'd given him a smile (so taut that she felt her face might shatter) and sent him off to the wardrobe. Purple didn't really fit anymore.
She twist the bowtie around her fingers like a sort of security blanket. She wasn't ready to let go.]
They hadn't crashed. Of course not. The Doctor would never have let that happen. Because he was the Doctor.
And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling of being in a room that belonged to someone that had been lost. It was silly. Childish even. The Doctor had just been there and asking her where she wanted to go in that funny new Scottish accent of his. She'd given him a smile (so taut that she felt her face might shatter) and sent him off to the wardrobe. Purple didn't really fit anymore.
She twist the bowtie around her fingers like a sort of security blanket. She wasn't ready to let go.]