Chapter Text
“The Salaban,” Clara began as she read the article he reluctantly held out to her after she'd pestered him about it for several long, dreadful minutes. “What is this?”
“It's a train.” The Doctor stated as if Clara, herself, hadn't seen that in the picture. That seemed to frustrate the brunette who rolled her eyes. Obviously, it was a train, but why was he showing her? Unless they were having a sudden trip to Greece, Clara was pretty sure he wouldn't randomly be showing her a picture of a train. The Doctor was many things, but he was not random. Nor was he an idiot, so she looked up at him with crossed arms and a cocked brow, eyes knowing as she looked at him. He was looking back— he was always looking back. “the Salaban, it means The Binding in Krolaen, Krola, it's the space between time. Out of Time, there floats a train. The Salaban. On it, people are dying, but it does not appear to be random. They're being picked off, and we need to find out why.”
“What aren't you telling me?” Asked Clara with her eyes narrowing to slits, holding him in her sight.
“It's called ‘The Binding’ because people go there to bind themselves together. To get married, you could call it,” he explained. “The moment we step on that train, we will be officially married on any planet.”
“Oh well, it appears I do get to go shopping for a wedding dress, then.” She teased, to which the Doctor frowned.
“What?”
“You didn't think you were going alone, did you? How would you explain being on that train without a partner?”
“I had not thought that far ahead, but this is not a mission I am taking you on.” He rolled his shoulders after tugging on a longer jacket.
“Oh really?” Clara huffed, stepping in front of the TARDIS doors so he could not leave. “Are you ordering me around now? I thought we worked together?”
“Worked being past tense, so yes, and me, present tense, is going to the train without you.” Reaching out, he booked her nose, much to her frustration, and tried to step past her, but her hand came up to stop him in his place, hand resting on his chest to which he looked with confusion and a bit of that usual frustration.
“I take it this is not a regular wedding situation, so no dresses will be needed, but two people will, I've never seen a wedding with only one, so,” she patted his chest. “Do you think me insignificant enough that I cannot choose for myself? I make my own decisions too, you know? Have done so my entire life.”
“Not on this,” he began to shake his head. “This is marriage, Clara! Marriage, do I need to explain the meaning of that to you? You'll only have one wedding. I am not standing here, to take that from you.”
“So you'll shut me in here and go there to die, whilst I have to wait and know that you are leaving and not returning to me?” She questioned with insecurity in her voice. “I don't know if you've noticed, Doctor, but I have lost a great many things, but I won't lose you. Not if I can do anything about it.”
“Why do you always assume the first thing I'll do is die?”
“Because usually you get pretty close to it!” She shouted out in her frustration, strands of dark hair falling before her equally dark, yet truly mesmerising eyes. “And I'm sick of sitting around, doing nothing. I want to help— no, I… I will help, whether you want me to or not, because I am not a child.”
“You're acting like one, not listening—”
“No, you're the one who isn't listening!” Poking her index finger into his shoulder, she pushed him back. “I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, now let's go.”
“Know that I did warn you, Clara.”
“Great fucking warning, vague as ever.” She huffed before pushing through the TARDIS doors, eyes widening as she saw just how fancy the train looked. “Do you—”
“Have a dress?” He reached out to pull the blue doors shut. “Of course I do. Must dress you for the occasion, even if it is not a traditional wedding.”
“Great.” Clara hummed, her eyes finding his once more.
“Good.”
“Amazing.” Maybe she was pushing it, but she so loved to push the Doctor's buttons.
Following him once he began to move, Clara kept her eyes pointed towards the ground, frustration building up as she sighed, her feet echoing down the halls of the ship she'd grown to feel home in. “Gold… do you like gold? You'd look good in gold. No, no, maybe green. Ooh! Blue?” He held up different dresses for each colour he rambled off, and if Clara wasn't so frustrated, she would have laughed. Instead, now, she just reached out to grab his hand where it held the hook the fourth dress hung from. It was a deep red, it looked to be velvet, a beautiful colour and soft feeling, too. Perhaps Clara would have chosen a dress such as this, were her wedding the real thing. Perhaps Clara would have worn anything he told her to, for it meant he cared enough to choose.
“I'll take this one, Doctor.” She gently drew the dress from his hands, laying it on the chair before reaching for the buttons of her jacket. She stopped once she realised he was still looking at her, his eyes scanning her face like he was committing her to memory. “I do need to change, so if you'd…”
“Oh, right.” He snapped his fingers, spinning around like he suddenly realised humans didn't like to be watched. Not in states of undress, anyway. Unless they were up to certain activities. Activities in which the Doctor usually had no time to engage, for he was speeding across time.
As it had looked, the dress felt soft and perfect on her skin, clinging to her better than a wet shirt on the beach. “You can look now,” she said after moments of waiting for him to turn, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Well? How do I look?”
“How do you look?” He shot back, tilting his head to take her in as if he were seeing everything all at once. “Well, you are wearing a dress that was made originally for the Princess of Ardonn, so I'd say you look just the picture of royalty.”
“Doctor, did you steal from an alien princess?”
“No, I won it fairly. We rolled the dice, and whoever got the highest number took the other ones’ clothes.” To that, Clara frowned. “Don't worry, I didn't look.”
“Why was a Princess playing a game of chance for your clothes?”
“Oh, I do not know what goes on in a girl's head, Clara,” the Doctor huffed... Clearly “And I might have been the one to propose the game.”
“So… I'm wearing a dress a Princess once wore,” Clara nodded as if that was the most normal thing to say. “Right. You are a strange man, Doctor. And a hoarder.”
“Shall we, then, Clara?”
“Let's get married.” She gave as her answer, looping her arm through his.
⍟
Clara had dreamt of marriage before, as most girls did, she'd imagined what dress she'd wear, what man (or woman, if the opportunity presented itself) would hold her arm. If someone had told her ages ago that she'd walk arm-in-arm with an alien from space travelling in a time ship into a marriage across all planets, she'd laugh and say it was a ridiculous thing. Now, she thought it was anything but. Once, she'd thought the Doctor was childish, idiotic and maybe a bit too smart for his own good. Now, she thought he was childish, idiotic, a bit too smart for his own good, but also too kind for his own good, in his own way. Even if others wouldn't consider it kindness, the fact that he attempted to save everyone, even the bad guys, made him kind, in whatever way he did it. Whether it be saving a little girl from an evil man trapped in her closet, a boy trapped in a giant spider web or a human trapped in the body of a nearly indestructible monster… he tried to save them all, even if humans would have long given up.
Clara had always known she'd marry a kind man.
Then, to break her out of her reverie, a green-skinned alien walked up to her, thrusting her hand out towards Clara. Clara, ever the gentleman, took the alien’s hand and shook it. “No,” the Doctor said, reaching out to pull her hand away. “Like this,” he held Clara's hand gently, bringing it over to the alien’s other hand, which had sharp spikes on it. The Doctor brought Clara's palm down, hearing the girl's hiss, but he did not pull his hand away. No, he guided the bleeding palm to the alien’s awaiting one. “There is no word for it in English, but she can read your blood. Your DNA, your lifeline. She knows who you are, who you've been, and who you will become, Clara Oswald.”
“Oh… little warning before you stab me next time?” Clara looked up at him as he shook his head, repeating what he'd done for Clara, pricking his palm before gripping the alien’s hand.
“I did not stab you,” he turned to her, then. “It was a tiny prick, Clara. If I had stabbed you, you'd know.”
“That's… comforting.”
“Good.” He answered, blissfully unaware of her sarcasm.
“Are we married now?” Asked Clara impatiently. She couldn't wait to get off this floating train, it was making her seasick, if that was possible up in space.
“Wait for it.” He held up his finger and, after moments of waiting, both of them groaned out against a sudden burning surging through their whole body, travelling through veins and burning their eyes, their skin, their entire being. The moment it stopped, the shock of it, of regaining the ability to move, Clara stumbled, his arms coming up to catch her.
“What,” she panted, pushing back against his chest to push herself upright. “Was that?”
Cracking his neck, the Doctor hummed. “The Binding.”
“I don't see any rings.”
“Rings, such a human creation. No, they don't do rings here. I thought you'd know that much.” He began. “Say something mean.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, will you? You'll understand when you've done it.”
“Fine! You are ridiculous.” She managed to make herself say, to which the Doctor frowned, though it did not seem to be enough.
"Is that the worst thing you can say to me? I have said more mean things to you, than you'd dare to dream of. Why is this so hard for you?" That seemed to get her going, for she cut in before he could go on.
“Sometimes I ask myself if I'm travelling with a man or a child. You may be intelligent, but you are entirely too childish to be making decisions on who or what to save. You can't even save yourself!” Came out all of a sudden, anger spiking as she stepped forward. “Sometimes I wish I'd never met you, at all.” Feeling a sudden sting in her chest, almost like true pain, she frowned, gasping as her hand fell over her heart. “Ah…”
“The Binding.” He repeated, much to Clara's frustration.
“What does that mean?!”
Growing in frustration, too, he sighed. “We are bound together. Your emotions attract my emotions. They heighten each other.”
“You should really learn to warn a girl beforehand,” Clara huffed, scratching at her neck before she let her hand fall in an attempt to calm herself. “Does it hurt for you?”
“Infernally.” He answered on a breath heavier than even the knowledge that he was the only one of his kind left, his hand travelling to the spot between her shoulder blades. “Shall we, Ms. Oswald?”
“Yeah, okay,” Clara nodded, still slightly out of it as she felt every single one of his swirling emotions become hers. “Mr. Doctor.”
“My last name isn't actually Doctor, you know?”
“Well, it's the one I know, so it's the one I'll use.” She responded with a small smile, strained but warm. She let him guide her down the walkway towards the booths where many couples were seated. One was beautifully empty, and the Doctor took his chance to sit down whilst Clara looked around. “It's so beautiful here.” She noted, her eyes scanning the golden lining of the train, the beautifully framed windows, the paintings hanging off the walls— the stars she could see outside… she'd always admired space from the books she'd been given, but it was still crazy to her that she was in it, now. In space, with an infuriating alien by her side. Whom she was now married to, mind you. She only stopped admiring the train to look at the Doctor, noticing his furrowed brows and unpleasant expression, as if he was in pain. “Doctor? What's going on?”
“We are out of time.”
“What? We only just got here.” Clara voiced confusedly, her eyes searching his as he looked up.
“No, we are Out of Time.” The Doctor pointed out the window. “That star, the big one, it died years ago. Many years ago. I watched it die.”
“So? What are you saying?”
“We are floating in the space Out of Time. That means that, whatever happened on earth, whatever we've seen, has not yet come to pass from this point of view. None of the stars have imploded yet, none of them have died, because time has not passed. I am a man of time, and I am out of Time. How does that work?” Clara reached out, then, taking the Doctor's hand in an attempt to calm him, sliding in the booth to look at him just a little better.
“I don't know,” Clara simply answered. “But we'll figure it out together. We always do.”
“Until the moment that we don't. Do you not understand, Clara? No matter how long we are gone, no one will ever know, because for them, not a moment will have passed. If you die, they cannot grieve you, for they are unaware you ever left at all.” The Doctor flipped his hand around so he could grip hers, his grip firm but not too firm, never hurting her but holding tight enough for her to shift under his intense gaze. “And this is why I told you to stay in the TARDIS.”
“Oh, do not flip this around on me! How was I to know? I am no alien who's been around for… for too many years! It's always something with you,” Clara shook her head in disbelief. “Why can't things ever be easy?”
“Is that what you want?” He questioned, then, curious eyes searching hers. “Easy?”
“Maybe! Maybe I wouldn't have to worry you're going to die every two seconds if it were easy.” She shot out, feeling his thumb dig into the little space between her thumb and index finger, the stretch of skin where the two connected.
“If trouble is all I give you, why did you come with me?” Asked the Doctor with the slight tilt of his head, like a dog, confused.
“God, how can you never understand that, sometimes, people just want to help you!”
Interrupted by an approaching waitress, Clara cleared her throat. “What would you like to eat?” The waitress asked, long, flaming red wisps of hair curling over her back.
“Yakiri for me and a…” frowning, the Doctor looked at Clara for a moment. “Sanan for her.”
“I will be right back.”
“What did you just order for us?” Asked Clara with furrowed brows, much to the Doctor's amusement.
“You'll see.”
Sighing at his vague answers that could not count as true answers, Clara turned, eyes falling on a couple on the other side, sitting in their own booth. One of them was entirely purple-skinned, a sight so out of the imagination, but oh-so-beautiful, and the other was a faded green. They were both of different worlds (as the Doctor and Clara were), but they were perfect together. Made for each other, it seemed (unlike Clara and the Doctor, both would say).
“Have you ever considered slowing down?” Clara asked all of a sudden, much to the Doctor's obvious confusion. “Matching someone else's pace for once?”
“No.” He was quick to answer, and truthful, too. He'd never thought of matching someone else's pace, because others always matched his. He was speed, he was time, and he was the Doctor. He did not slow for anyone, no, instead, they sped for him.
“You are entirely too fast for me, Doctor.”
“You were the one who insisted on coming along, Clara.”
“That's not what I'm talking about.” She shook her head, her fingers twisting together in a nervous tic. “It's always another mission with you… do you never want to just take a day off?”
“On the days that I do, whole worlds burn. Being the last Time Lord means not having the luxury of a normal life. Of a vacation. I will never be able to match your pace, Clara,” he began explaining. “This is a marathon, and if I ever stop running, everyone else will die. Being the Lord of Time means giving up everything I've ever wanted, just so I can give you humans what you've dreamt of.”
“So you'll just never stop? Never take a second to breathe?”
“Breathing is a luxury I, and the planets around us, cannot afford.” He answered right as their food arrived. “You, however, are human, Clara Oswald.” He picked up his fork to poke at his food which appeared to be meat, but what kind, Clara did not know, nor would she like to hazard a guess. “You have everything in the world left to see.”
“I have seen planets so beautiful, I do not think anything on earth would make me feel as happy as being in the TARDIS with you.” She said, not quite understanding the weight of her words.
His younger counterpart would have smiled, but he, now, had a point to make, and the usual angry face seemed to be enough to subdue his itching smile. “Have you ever been to the Scottish Highlands? I have. It's quite gorgeous—”
“Doctor.”
“The TARDIS is not your destiny, dear Clara,” he cut in once more. “Just… eat your food, will you? We may be Out of Time, but it does still go cold.” With a huff, she picked up her fork.
“I'm not just eating now because you told me to,” she felt the need to say, to which the Doctor hummed out a low “right”, causing her to sigh. “I'm eating because I'm hungry.”
“As you should.”