*For the Doctor Who Fanfiction Competition* I know the pain of being left. So I’m sorry, Clara. I’m so sorry: now it’s your turn. Will the Doctor grant Clara's last wish and reveal the answer to the most powerful question in the universe, before inevitable regeneration? The Impossible Girl demands the answer to The Impossible Question.


4. The New Doctor


He stands, hunched and staring, in my place. Shocked, Clara stumbles away and even from the house of the Doctors, I hear her gasp. Sharp and shocked, yet filled with wonder. 

Yes, I’ll admit, I’m pretty shocked myself: he’s grey. What’s more, he isn’t wearing a bow tie. Fashion disaster, I tell you. Nevertheless, he gapes at Clara as if she’s the one who’s just popped up unnoticeably wrinkled, grey-haired and without the hint of a bow tie. 

Jerking about like a puppet with broken strings, he stumbles this way and that as he examines his new body. Ears. Eyes. Nose. Teeth. Hands. Fingers. Feet. Legs. He then proceeds to take off his shoes to check that all his toes are intact.

“The kidneys are new,” he comments, before clutching his abdomen in pain and sinking his nails into the TARDIS’s polished railings. “But they hurt like hell. Maybe they accidentally gave me three! After all, I do have two hearts. Oh well, I suppose that’s better than having two mouths, or no mouth at all!”

“I’d say that’d be an improvement,” smirks Clara, and he abruptly stops his ramble. He stares at her long and hard, like a hawk examining a new species.

“Aha!” He finally exclaims. “You’re The Impossible Girl! I recognise you. Although, I must admit, I thought you’d look more… masculine. Are you sure you’re not male?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never been a guy.” She answers, a bemused smile playing on her lips.

“Hmmm…. these things are sometimes hard to remember,” he replies, indifferent.“I mean, I can’t remember names very well. At all. Come to think of it, what’s your name, again?”

Clara seems shocked, but quickly recovers, “C-” she begins.

“Chrissy? Caroline? Carina? Carly?” he interrupts, guessing in a way that, frankly, makes him sound slightly crazy.

“No, of course not!" She splutters, no longer hiding her annoyance. "Cl-”

Without warning, the TARDIS lurches to the side, knocking them onto the floor.

“Do you know how to fly this thing, Carly?’ He asks, fumbling with a lever whilst pointing the sonic screwdriver at it in vain.

As I watch Clara attempt to explain that her name isn’t Carly, whilst simultaneously trying to help the Doctor control the TARDIS, I wonder if I should have told her my other secret. 

Wonder if I should’ve told her about the voice that haunts me.

The voice that’s haunted me since the beginning:


“Tick tock, goes the clock, and all the years, they fly.

Tick tock, and all too soon, your love will surely die.”


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