Tagged by the lovely rowofstars
1. It’s been months since she told him go away. Months where she watches the seasons change; spring into summer into a dreary fall. Sometimes she thinks she hears the sound of the Tardis and her heart catches but it always turns out to be nothing but her imagination. Courtney has stopped asking about the Doctor, has turned her energies into something more focused and less disruptive. – Almost Doesn’t Count
2. She spends most of her time avoiding and it’s exhausting. – The Last Something That Meant Anything
3. Things never go according to plan.
–
When she follows him into the Tardis, she can tell by the set of his shoulders that he is already thinking about his next move. He works his way around the console, picking up random objects and tossing them from one part of the room to the other.
She stands there waiting.
“You should call him back,” he says, and Clara is too preoccupied by his earlier words to respond. She picks at the skin of nails, waiting. She will not ask again. “Or have you not had enough time to prepare your story.”
She shrugs. “I don’t understand you half the time. And yet here we are.” – According to Plan
4. The days after they will avoid each other as much as possible.
It’ll be easy. Too easy. He’ll bring her back, he’ll park the Tardis and reach out to pat her shoulder (but his hand will drop even as thought occurs) as she passes him by, his form of empathy but unfilled. They won’t speak to each other, the time for words laced with honesty has long since passed. And then he will go.
There will be those who will smile at her, sympathy wreathed in a crooked smile and avert their eyes. She’ll nod and try and smile back, but it’ll hurt too much and her smile will fade (in time) seconds after they pass each other.
It isn’t until the end of the that Tuesday— when she stands in front of her flat and hesitates with her sweater draped over on arm and her free hand clutching her bag— that the exhaustion finally catches up to her.
It’s been too long since she’s pretended to smile like that. – The Dark Days of Us
5. She’s been here before.
She remembers the flowers and music. Always flowers and music; certain things don’t change. She also remembers how overwhelming the flowers were; the scent of the flowers so cloying, breathing becomes another hazard.
She also remembers the words. – Not The Only One
6. It had started with a phone call and with a few starts and stops, she has avoided looking back.
This past year had been full of bruises and so many regrets. He had spent the past year, pushing her away, avoiding any situation that meant anything too personal, too close. She misses the random touches, his inability to recognize her personal space, the endless ways he would maneuver himself around her in affection. She had begged him to remember her, through all of time she begged, much like this Doctor had begged her to see him. The irony doesn’t escape her, the way they avoided what mattered most to the other. – Look At The Heart Of Me
7. He has never been good with silence. Words are his craft, his armor which he wields with a sarcastic smirk and a stark vengeance. But words tend to fail him in light of Clara. He never says the right things, he doesn’t understand what he is supposed to do half the time and he always ends up waiting for her cues. So he says very little and he thinks these silences are creating a rift between them.
Or it could be the air of coldness that has settled between them, some of which he acknowledges is his own doing. He doesn’t know any other way – A Storm Is Coming
8. She tries not to be surprised when he shows up at her door.
The Tardis is quiet, she can feel the hum of anticipation (something is happening). She has stuffed as many things as she can squeeze into her duffel bag but not all of it will fit. She shrugs, it’s just things anyway. She’s long past caring about things. She drops a tray holding her rings, and watches removed as they scatter across the floor in a medley of chimes. He’s there, quietly bending to help gather the stray pieces.
“It’s all right, I have them.” she says from in front of him. Her gaze is trained on the floor. There is a lump in her throat, tight and unsettling. She keeps her hands by her side, opening and closing them in time to her nerves. – Where It Hurts
9. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen in the Tardis, staring.
“I thought you were reading,“ she says finally. He shrugs and steps into the room, pulling a chair from the counter out.
“Something like that.”
His shoulders are rigid, but the circles under his eyes are familiar. She’s been back (on and off) for almost a month, at least, and inside, there is the start of a storm brewing. She should know, it’s been brewing this whole time.
"Right.” – Alchemy of Winter
10. Clara stood in front of her new home, keys clutched tightly in her right hand. She smiled in contentment, this little home was entirely hers. The house was small and very old but was charming; white trimmed with red. She loved it, loved that it was tall and narrow and you could see the red shutters and door from the kerb. She would have to spend some time planting flowers but overall the house looked cozy and ready to be lived in.
Sighing happily, she turned and stared at the only thing that could mar her newfound happiness. Between her home and her neighbors, stood a hedge that was easily as tall as her. She couldn’t ascertain the depth of the hedge but she was certain it was at least half as wide as it was tall. It was just overwhelming and just dwarfed everything around it.
When she had first seen the house, she almost walked away without a second glance but her estate agent had been determined that Clara see the house. Once inside, she was in love.
Hedges be damned. – Over The Hedge
I don’t think there is a pattern, I definitely try and set a tone with the first few sentences. And that tone seems sad or angsty with these, lol.
My fic can be found here or here
And I tag: twelveisagoodone reallyginny, sparksearcher, saintoswald, nehswritesstuffs, twelveclara, limitsmustbetested
say you love me 