A/N: Marion ( laemnis), this is for you.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.

I don't have any beta readers so I apologize for any eventual grammar and orthographic slips.

Enjoy *-*

The Doctor tapped his foot three times against the frozen water of the Thames.

He looked around)himself, starting to get annoyed by the big hat in his head among the big puffy clothes he was wearing. He knew where and when he was; the last of the River Thames frost fairs. He had visited one of them such a long time before, he couldn't even remember which face he had on anymore.

Victorian London. He had always been fund of that era, although he was still to figure out why. Maybe seeing the simplicity on people's face brought him joy, regardless that not all of them shared such a feature. He had always tried to ignore the faces filled with superiority or arrogance; they reminded him too much of himself.

He saw the delight on his most recent companion's face, the genuine smile grown on her lips, an innocent one. He loved seeing the looks on their faces, perhaps even more than seeing the places he traveled to. Something on their appearance that made him feel alive, despite of knowing that soon enough it was all doomed to go wrong.

A sudden thought occurred to his mind, bringing the memories of old friends. He craved to see the trio that almost always brought trouble upon his life in the attempt to keep him out of danger. But then again, he dreaded to come to terms with them once again because they would bring back the question that had been tormenting him for so long.

Where was she?

Where was who?

Her. His old companion. The one he had sought to protect.

And failed.

His eyes were stuck on Bill as she studied her whereabouts, too curious, too intrigued, almost like him, almost like her. For once in his life he let them wander off without him, not out of lack of care, but out of trust. The Doctor knew he didn't have to be her guardian, she could take care of herself, perhaps even better than he could.

His body was frozen. He didn't want to move, he enjoyed the way the wind had to take curves around his old body to carry on blowing, but not before throwing a chill breeze against his alien skin. He didn't mind the cold, he barely even felt it – perks of having a low body temperature. He took a noticeably deep breath.

"You okay there, mate?"

It took him a very long time to understand that a soft voice was calling for him. He wasn't exactly the friendly kind of person, and in too many occasions he had simply ignored people calling for him. But there was something different about that shout, something that made it impossible – even for him – to ignore. Reluctantly, he turned around, his own tone harsh and plan, "Yeah."

His ancient ocean eyes traveled to the petite human form that had called for him, analyzing it carefully. Too carefully. A woman. Big eyes in a big face. Asymmetrically symmetrical. Lips curved in a failed attempt of a smile. One brow slightly more arched than the other. He had never seen such a face before, had he?

Apparently, he hadn't been cold enough to diverge her attention away from him. She took one step closer, hesitantly, presumably afraid that he could be a serial killer or worse. Her traits showed no fear, however. "You sure? You haven't moved a single muscle for a long time now."

His eyebrows bended together, but he purposely gazed away from her, showing the less interest he could, but a part of him still struck with curiosity, "You're watching me?"

She crossed her arms under her breasts, roaring to herself, "Isn't it incredible the power we hold over other people by simply staring at them? They have no idea we're there, watching them, controlling every move they're still bound to make, they're at a complete loss sustained by our glare, by our eyes."

He frowned his nose, debating to himself whether he should or not continue the talk. His mind decided it was better not to, but his lips had a bad habit of not following his brain, "That's quite creepy, actually."

"Oh, it is," she agreed, still too amazedly for his liking, "Especially if you let yourself feed on that power."

"There are worst ways to obtain power," he concluded, his eyes fixing in a random spot between an elephant and Bill.

"There are, but you could get hurt trying to get it," she explained, casually, letting her gaze travel to a spot right next to his.

The Doctor nodded, evanescently, "There are thousands – if not more – people in this fair. Why were you attracted to me?"

"Dunno," she shot her shoulders up and down, indifferently, "There's something unique about you, something that I still haven't been able to unmask. You're odd, to say the least. I like that."

If he didn't know better, he would guess she was flirting with him. Maybe he didn't and for a matter of fact, she was. "Murderers are also odd."

She chuckled, denying with the simple movement of her head, "You're not a murderer."

"How would you know?" he seemed offended at her insinuation.

"Your eyes," she confessed, disregard of his effort to prevent her from properly studying them, "They're the eyes of someone who has lost a great amount of things, but not the kind of eyes that would willingly take the life of others."

"You'd be surprised," he muffed under his breath, doubting she had heard him. For the first time, he turned around his body just to face her, "What's your name?"

"Clara," her voice was sweet, tender, her words feeding the essence of his soul, "Yours?"

He had become so petrified by the way she spoke her name it took him a long time to provide her a remark, "I forgot the answer to that question a long time ago."

Her face turned serious, and she looked up, her lips half opened, trying to gather as much information as she could from his mere features. She remained silently, not expecting him to say anything, but neither forcing herself to fulfill the silence fallen upon then. Not just yet, at least.

The Doctor started to get uncomfortable by the way she looked at him, fed on him, but did no effort to walk away from her. Deep down there was a feeling that someone had looked at him with those same eyes before, someone he couldn't quite put a face to. That lack of knowledge had become a constant torment in his life.

"Clara," he repeated her name, the cold breeze allowing him to see the air coming in and out of her nostrils. "Why Clara?"

That had surely been the strangest query she had heard all day, especially coming from a person she had just met, but her guts told her just to go with it, "I don't really know. My mum chose it and she died when I was little, before I had the chance to ask her."

His grey-haired head made its way up and down, without offering the words of condolence one would offer after hearing about anybody's loss. "Clara. It's a pretty name. I was acquainted with someone named Clara before."

"Yeah?" she licked her own lips, "What was she like?"

"I don't know," he confessed, and she could swear she had heard a bit of self-pity in his voice, "I don't remember her."

Clara tilted her head lightly, "Guess she wasn't that important for you, then."

"Oh, she was. That I know for sure, she was really important," he had a foolish smile stamped on his face, more to himself than to her, before turning back to young woman, "You sure you're not her?"

She uttered a giggle, "I think I'd remember if I were here.

The hope suddenly taken on his face was replaced by a hint of sorrow the moment he heard her words. "Yes. Of course. How silly of me."

Pressing her lips against one another, she took a step back, not bothering herself to say good bye as she slowly paced away from him. "I wouldn't stay still on the ice for too long, if I were you."

He rose an eyebrow at her now distant self, "Yeah? Why not?"

She granted him one last smile, "Some say there's something under the water," before walking away for good.