I Saved You

The Doctor swiftly runs to the door of the house, knocking and vainly straightening his bow tie. The door is swung open, and a young woman in front of him looks at him with confusion. So, so beautiful.
"Clara Oswin Oswald!" he cries gleefully.
"Just Clara Oswald. What was that middle one?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.
 The Doctor beams at her. "Remember me?"
Clara looks at him strangely and shrugs. "No. Should I? Who are you?"
"The Doctor!" he says, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you, Clara Oswin Oswald.”
 Clara raises one eyebrow, glancing down at his outstretched hand. " The Doctor?" She shakes her head and looks confused, it's hurting him inside. "Doctor who?" she asks.
 "Can I come in?" the Doctor asks, but, before Clara can respond he is pushing her gently and going into the house, where he turns to look at Clara, smiling.
 Clara frowns; she still doesn’t understand. "Oi!" She chases him when he starts walking into the house again, but he doesn’t stop. "I'll have to ask you to leave, mister," she says sharply.
 
He refuses and keeps running until she is behind him and he turns around abruptly. Now they stand facing each other, the Doctor feels her breath on his lips and smiles. He strokes her face and looks down at her lips.
 
"Who are you?" Clara whispers hoarsely.
 "Clara," he whispers, looking at her, "I need you to do me a favor." He gently brushes her hair away from her round face.
 She looks at him as if he were crazy. He broke into her house, he almost kissed her against her will and is now asking a favor? Who the hell he thinks he is? she thinks to herself.
 
 The brunette woman shakes her head and steps back, creating pace between them, between her and the complete stranger that she doesn't know at all.
The tall guy looks at her sadly, and leans toward her to press a kiss on her forehead, "I understand," he whispers softly and walks towards the door. "Sorry," he mutters to himself as he opens the door.
 She blinks twice and pulls his hand as if something inside her doesn't want him to go. She pulls him close to her body, both so close to one another, and she just stands on tiptoe to reach his height. Now their noses touch and Clara presses the Doctor's hand over her heart. He can see she is confused, he could feel her heart beating fast.
A big smile spread across her face, she doesn't know why, but he suddenly seems familiar.
 "What do you need?" She looks at him and he just smiles back.
"I'll be right back" he says and pats her hand when he leaves the house to go into the big blue box. A few minutes later he returns with a Victorian dress, a very old dress, Clara can see. He tucks the dress into her hands and tells her, "Wear it."
 Clara leaves her room dressed in rags, the red dress wrapped snugly around her slender body and she walks carefully down the stairs towards the Doctor.
 He holds her hand and helps her down the stairs.
 She tightly holds his hand, and with her other hand, she grabs the railing, trying not to fall.
 The Doctor smiles at her, old eyes filled with admiration; she is the Victorian Clara he met. So, so beautiful. He swirls around her and gently touches her hair, trying to fix it, he wants it to be as it was. As it was with Clara he couldn't save, all the Claras who died in his keep.
 
 After some adjustments, the Doctor smiles at her, and she gives him a smile. Her dimples deepen when she stands on the sofa as he asks her.
 
"Doctor," she whispers, "I wasn't in the play in my school, actually, I was the worst actress around."
 
The Doctor nods here and spreads his hands, "Just trust me, okay?" He says, adding in a whisper, "Only this time, I will, promise."
 
Clara takes a deep breath and lets herself fall backward, into the arms of the Doctor.
 
He holds her tightly and lifts her legs too. Now it looks like an old romantic film, all that lacks is a kiss.
"I did it," he says hoarsely, "I saved you, Clara."
 
"What?" she asks quizzically, not knowing what he's talking about. She presses her hands against his shoulders and puts her ear near his mouth to hear his whisper.
 
“From me, Clara,” he whispers, looking at her in awe.
 
The Doctor smiles then, and puts his face close to hers, having waited for this moment ever since first meeting her.
 
He hears footsteps behind him, but not now, now he only wants to lightly, tenderly press his lips on Clara's and he does and it is all brilliant, beautiful, perfect, like a dream, until he hears a shot.
 Pulling away with wide eyes, he looks at Clara, at her pale, frightened face. She does not understand what has just happened. But he does. His fault, his fault again, he wasn't allowed to go back. He killed her by risking her, he risked her by meeting her. It's his fault. He’s guilty, guilty, guilty of her death...