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"You’re three hours late!" Clara pushed open the Tardis door angrily. "I’m starving!"
She paced over to the Doctor and tapped her index finger on the central control console.
"You said last time was the last time you’d be late!"
The Doctor was about to explain when a sharp pain shot through his lungs. It felt like a shallow prick of a needle, brief but distinct. Had he not known his body so well, he would have thought it was an illusion.
Seeing the Doctor remain silent, and feeling her own hunger getting the better of her, Clara decided to let it go. “Chronotaxis-9, the planet that's entirely restaurants—you promised me.”
The Doctor had to set aside his concerns about his body and began piloting the Tardis to jump.
Waiting was boring. Clara began to walk around the control room, telling the Doctor all the new things that had happened over the past two days since they last met.
Of course, school affairs couldn’t compare to the wonders of the universe. Clara quickly finished her story and stopped, expecting the Doctor to share his experiences—something they often did after a trip.
But the Doctor simply leaned quietly against the railing.
“Clara, walk over to that bookshelf,” the Doctor suddenly instructed.
Clara was confused but did as he said.
“Now, come back to me,” the Doctor patted the railing next to him.
Clara pouted but returned to lean on the railing beside him, turning to look at the Doctor.
Something’s wrong, the Doctor concluded. There was definitely something wrong with his body, and it was related to Clara. The farther she was from him, the more intense the prickling sensation became. When she was close, the discomfort vanished entirely.
The Tardis’ humming suddenly stopped.
“You go check it out first. I already made the reservation,” the Doctor said casually, straightening up. “I’ll just change clothes and join you.”
“Alright.”
Hearing Clara close the Tardis door, the Doctor stopped pretending to head to the changing room and returned to the console.
He pressed a few buttons, adjusted the display to where he could see it, and stood waiting for the Tardis to perform a full body scan.
As Clara walked farther away, the Doctor felt the stabbing pain grow more frequent. He had to resist the urge to curl up in pain and instead stayed standing with effort.
The scan results appeared in real time. The Doctor confirmed there was nothing major wrong with his body—except for a thin shadow in his lungs, shaped like a strip, with tiny tendrils extending from one end.
The Doctor could feel that Clara was now quite far away, as the pain in his lungs became almost unbearable. He had to delay researching the results and instead went out to find Clara.
“Doctor!” Clara waved at him from a two-person table on a balcony. It was the exact spot the Doctor had booked five years ago using the Tardis—a rare place with the best view of the planet’s surrounding asteroid belt. There were planetary fragments that reflected the light of nearby stars. If viewed at the right time—which was now—one could see rainbow-like lights shimmering into the restaurant, a completely natural refraction.
Seeing Clara’s joyful expression, the Doctor really didn’t want to ruin the experience. He felt the pain within him gradually ease and decided to at least finish the meal before addressing it.
“You didn’t change clothes,” Clara noted, seeing he was still dressed exactly as he had been when they departed.
“Well… I figured this outfit suited the occasion best after all,” the Doctor said, quickly making up an excuse. He was good at that.
After sitting down, he didn’t pick up the extra menu on the table but instead looked at Clara, who had started studying the menu.
This impossible girl had appeared in his life like a lighthouse, keeping him from getting lost in his own confusion.
And I don’t deserve her.
The Doctor was startled by the thought.
In truth, he had stopped thinking that way a long time ago. Why had it surfaced again?
It wasn’t just his body—his mind was going haywire too.
“What about this ‘Vanilla-Smoked Golden Roll’?” Clara asked, pointing to a dish and causing its hologram to appear in the air.
The Doctor reined in his wandering thoughts and focused on the present.
“If it were me, I wouldn’t choose that.” He leaned back with disdain. “It uses acidified fish intestine extract and fermented stinky tofu whey for flavoring. Locals have their own culinary obsessions.”
He reached out to flip Clara’s menu to the later pages. “You should check out the tourist-specific menu instead. The ingredients are all normal and quality-assured.”
Clara immediately gave up on experiencing local flavor and skipped the first half of the menu.
They quickly finished ordering, and the Doctor also requested a bottle of champagne.
“A special occasion?” Clara asked.
“A special view,” the Doctor replied, gesturing toward the glowing asteroid belt outside the balcony.
Every moment with you is a reason to celebrate… Why do I keep thinking that? The Doctor felt even more confused.
The champagne arrived quickly, and under the beautiful glimmer, the Doctor and Clara clinked their glasses in a toast.
During the meal, the Doctor kept feeling a tickle in his throat, like a feather brushing lightly against it.
Finally, he couldn’t help but cough. Clara instantly turned away from her delicious meal to look at him.
“Seriously? It’s that good?” she joked.
The Doctor was about to brush it off when he suddenly felt his nose clog up—and then… mucus dripped out.
“You’ve caught a cold? I didn’t know Time Lords could catch colds,” Clara said with a surprised smile.
Of course it wasn’t a cold, the Doctor thought. It was probably related to the mysterious shadow in his lungs.
“We don’t usually get sick from these little things. Maybe I picked up an unknown virus from somewhere I went earlier,” the Doctor replied. “Let’s just finish dinner first.”
A meal that should have been warm and pleasant ended up being a mess. Even though the Doctor tried his best to hide the symptoms, physiological reactions were hard to suppress.
Especially later, when even being near Clara couldn’t stop the stabbing pain in his lungs. He knew he couldn’t delay this any longer.
After returning to the Tardis, the Doctor landed in London.
“Tomorrow night at 8, same place outside your flat,” the Doctor said quickly. Seeing Clara still standing with her arms crossed, unmoving, he added, “Chop, chop.”
Clara dropped her arms and slowly walked toward the door.
Suddenly, she stopped, spun around quickly, and caught the lingering pained expression on the Doctor’s face before he could mask it.
“What’s going on? Where are you going without me?” she asked, stepping closer and lifting her chin.
“Nowhere.”
Clara didn’t say anything, just stared him down.
“Alright, fine. There’s something wrong with my body. I suspect it’s caused by the planet we just left. I need to go back and check,” the Doctor admitted. He couldn’t hide anything from Clara anyway.
“Doctor! We talked about this—we face things together.” Clara couldn’t believe he was about to leave her again. What happened at Trenzalore was still etched deeply in her memory.
“There’s unknown danger there! And I have a duty of care.”
“When has danger ever stopped me? And I can take care of myself,” Clara retorted.
The Tardis fell silent for a moment, the two of them glaring at each other. Eventually, the Doctor silently pulled the lever, taking Clara with him off Earth.
“Virellion,” the Doctor said, pushing open the Tardis door and introducing the planet that might be responsible for his illness. “A planet in the Cyptas system.”
Clara curiously peeked out the door. The locals didn’t look much different from humans.
She stepped out, her high heels landing on soft grass. It was summertime here, and the dress she had worn for dinner was just right for the warm weather.
A young man spotted Clara and walked over. “Miss, your dress makes you look even more beautiful.”
“Oh, thank you!” Clara hadn’t expected her first moment here to be a compliment.
The young man was about to leave when he saw the Doctor’s furrowed brow nearby and was startled. “You look good too,” he added hastily before quickly leaving.
Clara glanced at the Doctor, reached out, and smoothed the wrinkle between his brows. “Better now.”
But the Doctor felt the moment Clara touched him, the unknown thing inside him grew a little larger.
As they walked deeper into the city, Clara received compliments from both men and women. Though they were a bit intimidated by the Doctor’s increasingly stern face, they still bravely came forward to speak before running off.
Not brave—Clara noticed—they seemed forced.
The Doctor walked more and more slowly, his expression worsening. On one hand, his internal condition was growing worse. On the other, people’s attention toward Clara made him want to drive them all away. Clearly, the illness was affecting his emotions too.
Finally, when someone invited Clara to dinner, the Doctor couldn’t take it anymore.
He felt the shadow inside him swell suddenly, like nausea pushing something up to his throat. He reflexively coughed into his hand.
And there it was—a flower. More precisely, a datura.
“My God!” the man who had just invited Clara exclaimed. “We haven’t seen a case like this in years!”
He immediately activated a device on his wrist. A holographic display appeared in midair. He pressed a flower-shaped icon in the bottom left corner before turning to the Doctor. “Sir, how long have you been coughing up flowers?”
The Doctor couldn’t speak. It seemed like he was about to cough up another one. Coupled with the pain in his body, he could barely stand.
Clara frantically helped the Doctor to a nearby bench. It wasn’t easy—the Doctor’s full weight was on her, and their height difference made it even harder.
Once she got him settled, Clara answered for him, “This is the first time.”
“This is a pretty severe onset.” The man tried to comfort them. “I’ve called a specialist—they’ll be here soon.”
“Thank you.”
Sure enough, it wasn’t long before someone arrived carrying a case.
She spotted the Doctor slumped on the bench and the four flowers scattered beside him, immediately recognizing that he was the one needing help. She strode over decisively.
“Sir, stay still. I’m going to perform a quick scan.” She opened the case, pulled out a portable scanner, and aimed it at the Doctor’s lungs.
Clara leaned in to look at the scanner’s display. The image showed a shadow resembling flower roots, already occupying a quarter of the Doctor’s lungs.
The woman clearly sighed in relief and closed the scanner.
“Luckily it’s still early-stage. As long as you talk it out, it’ll resolve on its own.” She handed the Doctor a bottle of blue liquid and continued, “Drink this. It will suppress the flower’s growth. Use the time it buys you to think about who it is.”
Neither the Doctor nor Clara understood what she meant. The Doctor drank the liquid and immediately felt a bit better. He sat up and used the sonic screwdriver to scan his own body. Clara stepped forward to clarify, “Sorry, I didn’t quite understand… We’re actually not from around here.”
“Ah! That explains it,” the woman nodded in realization. “It’s rare nowadays to see cases progress this far.”
“This condition is called Viral Bloom Syndrome, and it’s unique to this planet,” she explained quickly. “It usually infects those who repress their emotions, find it difficult to express them, or are caught in hopeless love. As long as those feelings remain bottled up, the syndrome takes root and eventually manifests as flowers.”
She glanced out the window at the street where people chatted freely, their emotions openly displayed. “That’s why people here are much more expressive now. Even the smallest admiration or affection gets shared right away. They’re afraid that if those feelings sit too long, they’ll grow into something deeper—‘love’—without them even realizing it.”
At this point, her tone dipped slightly, touched by a trace of dry sarcasm. “But in truth, feelings that small could never trigger an infection. The younger generation… they’re just too afraid of dying.”
She noticed Clara had understood and began packing away her equipment.
“That medicine will hold for twelve hours. It’s best to identify the trigger within that window,” she said before leaving.
Clara turned back to the Doctor. He had already confirmed his physical status and heard everything the woman had said.
Clara sat on the bench, wanting to speak, but with people constantly passing by, this wasn’t the right place. They decided to return to the Tardis first.
In the room inside the Tardis that the two of them used like a living room, Clara curled into a single-seat sofa, holding a cup of hot tea, tapping her fingers against the rim.
She was feeling overwhelmed and tried to distract herself with tea. Clara knew all too well that the Doctor had had many companions. He had mentioned Amy and River, and the Tardis had even shown her all the people it had carried.
Amy, in particular, had left a strong impression. That woman’s legs were absurdly long—the Doctor had even teased Clara about her own shorter ones because of it. Hah.
As for herself? Please. Clara never dared to hope. The Doctor’s first reaction after regenerating had been to sever their bond and correct a “mistake.” Clara didn’t want to relive that conversation, but the memory haunted her constantly.
Now the tea was done, and with her mind a bit more settled, Clara had to face the issue head-on. The Doctor had been silent the whole time, occasionally glancing at Clara, just as he had while she made the tea.
Like a guilty child, Clara thought bitterly.
“Do you know who it is?” Clara asked.
“I do now,” the Doctor said, avoiding her eyes.
He had always kept his true feelings vague, jealous of anyone close to Clara who received her affection—especially that PE teacher. The Doctor had seen how far Clara would go for him.
He’d always known deep down what his reactions meant, but he was too afraid to admit it. It wasn’t until this Viral Bloom Syndrome forced him to confront his feelings that he could no longer deny it.
Clara felt a bit of relief at his words, but the emotion quickly gave way to something more tangled—frustration, maybe. “Who is it?”
“Clara, asking this question won’t make it easier.”
“There’s nothing hard about it. Just say it—we’ll… you’ll go find her. You’ve got a Tardis.” Clara didn’t want to be there to hear him say “I love you” to someone else, so she took herself out of the plan entirely.
The moment Clara said “her,” the Doctor sharply looked up, finally meeting her gaze.
She didn’t understand. but it wasn’t her fault.
“It’s you,” the Doctor confessed, unable to stand her misunderstanding anymore. Perhaps the virus helped push him, but he finally admitted it. “It’s always been you. There is no ‘her.’”
“What?” Clara couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “You told me the first time we met that you weren’t my boyfriend.”
“I was afraid that if I let myself fall for you, losing you would be unbearable. So I ran.”
The Doctor laid everything bare. Once he took the first step, the rest came easily.
“But the truth is, I couldn’t control myself…” I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with you.
Clara took a shaky sip of her tea, trying to hide the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She blinked, hoping to hold them back, but more spilled out.
She didn’t know what she was feeling. Joy that her love was returned? Sadness at how much they’d missed? Or anger at the Doctor for hiding it, even to the point of damaging himself?
The Doctor watched one of Clara’s tears fall silently, linger at her chin, then disappear into her collar. He suddenly couldn’t read her thoughts. Every time Clara cried, his brain seemed to slow down.
“I can deal with this, if you—” the Doctor started to say, trying to sound light.
“Don’t say that.” Clara cut him off firmly. They both knew what he was about to say.
“I might have loved Danny, but that’s in the past. I’ve moved on. But you…”
Clara left the sofa, set her teacup down, and stepped closer, her eyes tracing the lines of the Doctor’s face.
He instinctively held his breath.
After a moment, Clara smiled through her tears. “How could I ever erase this face from my heart?”
The shadow rooted in the Doctor’s lungs withered instantly. Even the ache that remained after taking the medicine vanished.
The Doctor and Clara returned to the control room. It was time to take Clara home.
But now, a subtle tension hung between them. The Doctor noticed himself becoming hyperaware of his breathing and posture around Clara. It was a strange feeling—like walking into an old room only to find everything inside had been rearranged. Everything seemed the same, yet everything was different.
“Why weren’t you infected?” the Doctor suddenly realized he had missed something.
Clara’s lips curled into a subtle smile. She wrapped her hand around the Doctor’s, which was resting on the lever, and helped him pull it down:
“I confessed to you a long time ago.”