Hello, everyone! It's katierosefun aka Caroline, and I'm back with a Whouffaldi fic. It's been a proper forever-ago since I've last written an actual Whouffaldi one-shot, but after getting a new laptop (finally!) and the new episodes of season nine, I just couldn't resist. I've got lots of other fanfic ideas kind of still being worked on, but I swear I'll release those soon.

With that said, enjoy!

Never Again

"So. Planets. New time, new people, new anything. Just bring it on – I'm ready," Clara said, bounding into the TARDIS. She threw off her leather jacket – let it hang on the railings – and started to walk around the console. "Let's see…" She drummed her fingers against the surface. "What now? Where now?" She spun around to the Doctor, a too-bright smile on her face. "So?"

The Doctor hovered at the front of the TARDIS doors. He regarded Clara with some wariness – surprise – and a bit of concern. Clara Oswald was…well, she looked fine. She acted fine. She acted like she hadn't a care in the world – and that, ironically enough, was exactly what bothered the Doctor. (Clara was supposed to be the human one. Clara was supposed to be the one kicking and screaming and expressing. This was the exact opposite.)

"Doctor?" Clara tilted her head to the side, smile frozen in place. "Doctor? Come on – don't just stand there!" She took a few steps forward, sticking out her hand. Her fingers fluttered along the Doctor's jacket sleeve, her smile slowly easing into a bewildered frown. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," the Doctor replied, staring down at Clara. "Not with me – but are you okay?"

"Of course," Clara replied quickly.

The Doctor felt his heart sink. That was another thing he had been dreading from Clara. There had only been one other time Clara had ever claimed she was fine – and that was the day after Danny died with the rest of the Cybermen. (And look how well that turned out.) The Doctor kept his eyes on Clara, wishing (not for the first time in this life) that he could have shown some better way of…using words. (That was something he was working on. It was hard, and Clara had promised him that she'd find a way to help him with that, though she hadn't thought up a way to yet.)

"Are you sure?" the Doctor heard himself ask instead.

Clara's brows furrowed. Her eyes fluttered a few times, though the Doctor couldn't figure out why. "I…of course I'm sure," she replied, letting her hands drop limply by her sides. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Got stuck in a Dalek body by an enemy – was trapped inside the said Dalek body for a lengthy period of time – I…" the Doctor felt his mouth go dry. "I almost killed you, Clara. I was under the impression that you would kill me, too. I was…close to killing you."

"But you didn't," Clara said quietly, looking away. She started for the console. "I'm the okay one, Doctor," she said over her shoulder. "And I'm being serious – come on, let's find a new place. One that's maybe not floating with Daleks." She turned up the console. "Didn't you say there was a planet that celebrated nothing but New Year's all the time?" A slight smile curved over her lips. "Because frankly, I think that's my kind of scenery change right now."

The Doctor frowned at Clara's back, but she didn't turn to look at him. "I said that?" he asked, slowly inching towards the console. (Towards her.)

"Oh, don't give me that. You promised me something fun! So let's do this" Clara tsked. She still wasn't looking up at the Doctor, though her voice had taken on its former light, airy, (insincere) quality again. "New Year, Doctor. Show me. Preferably now."

xXx

The Doctor did show her.

Again and again and again and again, Clara screamed along with the crowd as the ball dropped. (It wasn't always a ball. It was only a ball to accommodate for the culture of the people who came from Earth. Other times, it wasn't something dropping at all. There might be fireworks. Or a ceremony throw in celebration. There were even several plays, some completely new to the Doctor, which was a nice feeling – what with him not always being entirely surprised by something new.) He kept a close eye on Clara, who, while was her usual friendly self to the other celebrators, never seemed fully relaxed. Or blended.

She stuck out like a splotch of darkness in a crowd of light, laughing too loud and dancing too much and claiming to call back too many people. The Doctor watched her warily, debating with himself whether or not it'd be a good idea to perhaps steer Clara away from the noise for a while – perhaps take her back to her apartment, or maybe to a more relaxed setting. Maybe with waterfalls. Or…steam. Steam and waterfalls were supposed to relax usually high-strung people, weren't they?

The Doctor didn't resent Clara for making him worry so much. (It came naturally, though he was never sure how to properly tell that to Clara. She'd probably laugh and say that he was overreacting. Or that he had nothing to worry about. Both answers were bad.)

It was the fifth night when the Doctor finally managed to talk to Clara.

She had her sunglasses (slightly red, rimmed with dark brown lenses that were only slightly see-through) propped up in her halo of dark curls, a small glass in one hand and a balloon in the other. "Well," she told the Doctor lightly, "I think it's safe to say I could stay here forever. So much better than all of those half-baked parties when I was a schoolgirl." She shot the Doctor an almost sly grin, only the Doctor couldn't bring himself to return it.

"It's been a few days – haven't you grown tired?" the Doctor asked simply. "You never linger in one spot for too long."

"Please," Clara said dismissively. "We never visit the same place more than once. I'm just trying to make this experience last." Her grin broadened. "Oh, go on – smile! You haven't actually gotten into the celebrations with me! You know, the typical New Year's traditions." The impish wink that followed sent a few alarms ringing through the Doctor. Now he knew there was something wrong. Clara was never this…reckless? Was that it? (Of course, the two have kissed. Of course, the two have gotten into a few parties in which the two of them would get caught up in the exhilaration of it all – but it was never like this.)

Before the Doctor could say anything, someone shoved past Clara. She let out a short cry, falling forward and dropping her things. Her sunglasses toppled slightly from her head and fell over her eyes. The balloon slipped from her grasp and the glass in her other hand shattered against the pavement. The Doctor instinctively took Clara by the arms, already tugging her away from the thick of the crowd. His eyes searched for who had almost knocked Clara over, feeling annoyance flare up in his chest –

"Are you alright?" the Doctor asked quietly, looking down at Clara.

Clara adjusted the sunglasses over her eyes, though she didn't remove them completely. The Doctor thought he saw the glimmer of her dark eyes behind the shades, but it honestly could have just been the way the light was reflecting off the surface.

"Clara?" the Doctor repeated. He tilted his head over Clara's shoulder. "I can get another balloon."

There was a short laugh from Clara at this – a brief one, a quiet one. A sadder one.

"Doctor," Clara said at last, "what exactly am I doing here?"

The Doctor felt his face soften at her words. "I've been trying to figure out the same thing, Clara," he replied gently. He rubbed his thumbs over Clara's wrists. It was a subtle movement, but it seemed to undo Clara. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the Doctor's shoulder.

"There's too many people here," she murmured at last. "Doctor – I feel like I'm being…" She lifted her head abruptly, her gleaming eyes scanning the area with such a newfound nervousness that the Doctor felt both of his hearts break. "I…" Clara's voice drifted. Her fingers squeezed over the Doctor's hands, though he had the feeling that Clara couldn't feel him.

"I thought…I was fine. I am fine," Clara's eyes flitted wildly around the spaces between the people – at the bright lights all around them – at the endless night sky – and then Clara was trembling, her head bowed and her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. "There's too many people," she repeated. "They're caving me in – they're – oh, God –"

"Clara," the Doctor whispered, taking a hold of her shoulders. "Clara, this is important – very important, do you understand? Clara, look at me, please."

The Doctor didn't relax until Clara's head was tilted his way. Still, he kept his grip right on her as he said, "You're not in the Dalek anymore, Clara. You're right here. You're outside. Do you want to leave right now? Is that it?"

"Yes – no – I…don't know," Clara said miserably. "I don't know."

"The TARDIS, then?" the Doctor whispered.

"…yes, please."

xXx

Clara was sitting by the console again, her chin resting on her hands and her sunglasses long abandoned. Her feet dangled slightly above the floor, only the tips of her shoes making slight scuffing sounds against the TARDIS floor – only the Doctor didn't mind it that much, for once.

He sat down next to Clara.

"You okay?" he asked again. (He acted like this was his first time asking it today. Because he knew Clara would act like it was her first time replying honestly.)

"No," Clara breathed. She shook her head. "I hate Daleks."

"I'd be worried if you didn't."

"Not true – there was that one time. Don't you remember? It was sometime last year – when we met Journey Blue and the Dalek's antibodies and it turned…well, I know you don't want me to call it good." Clara's voice drifted. "It's just…awful. Being trapped inside of one. Seeing through it – hearing your own words translated into something completely different – seeing that you can't get out of it –" Her voice broke off.

"I could have hurt you," she whispered. "I never would, but I was terrified, Doctor. I – Missy had me say all of these phrases before, when she hooked me into the Dalek in the first place. Strong emotions…they triggered the Dalek to shoot and I was scared – God, I was so scared that I would lose control right they when you saw me –" Clara covered her lips with a trembling hand. "I could have…" The rest of her words dissolved right then, tears sliding down Clara's cheeks and her face buried into her hands.

It had taken a good year and a half for the Doctor to get used to being able to touch people – to touch Clara, specifically. He still found it difficult at times, especially when he'd be caught off guard. But right now – seeing Clara in pain – he felt nothing but the need to reach out.

And so he did.

He gently pulled Clara towards him and rested his chin against the top of her head.

"Oh, Clara," he whispered fondly. "Oh, my Clara." His hand made its way into Clara's smaller one, and he was relieved to find that Clara clung onto him almost automatically.

"Don't you know?" the Doctor breathed. "You said it yourself – you could never hurt me. I could never hurt you. You're Clara Oswald – you're human – you…" He closed his eyes. "You wouldn't, Clara." He pressed his lips against the top of Clara's head. "I promise you, Clara," he added, more to himself than to Clara, "you'll never have to go through that again."

A/N - I honestly feel that at this point, it's somewhat impossible to deny that Whouffaldi is canon, or at least has some kind of canon-esque setting. ("If you love me in any way, you'll come back." Honestly, why have those two idiots not kissed yet?)

I apologize if this isn't exactly as great as it could have been - it's been a while since I've practiced my canon Whouffaldi. I'm just hoping that practice will make perfect.

Reviews are always great! Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not!