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Who: Clara Oswald & Erik Lehnsherr
When: late at night...sometime near the end of the month
Where: Erik's room
What: Two idiots having an actual conversation.
Warnings: Possible mentions of nudity and death, will update as needed.

[She isn't sure if he minds her staying the night, but it's nice to have someone there so she can get some decent sleep. The nightmares she's been having aren't easing up, and there's something about him that helps her feel safe when she wakes up in a panic. They're not anywhere near sleep just yet though, not after the rather intense activity they've just done. She's still sprawled out on her stomach, arm draped lazily over his stomach. Her fingers tiptoe along his skin and along his shoulder, up until she reaches the back of his neck. Stopping there, she tries to feel at the back of her own neck with her other hand. It's hard to do, especially with her hair all over.

With a hint of a sigh she turns her head to look over at where he's laying beside her, smiling fondly. The hand at his neck trails upward until she can work her fingers through his hair. A laugh follows as she makes some stand on end, and she waits until its fallen back down into place before attempting to speak.]

Can I ask you to do something for me? I've been putting something off when I really shouldn't have. And I may need your help to fix that.

[She doubts he'll refuse her, but she wants to make sure he doesn't mind taking a look at what she's worried about.]

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[ Erik hovers in that hazy, half-asleep satisfaction that comes after a job well done. He doesn't mind her lingering. Or the way she caresses him and plays with his hair.

Solitude used to be easy for him. It was all he knew for so long, with brief, though intense, interludes. But after ten years with Magda, the return to a solitary lifestyle is harder than he would have expected, if he had known it was coming. Mostly, what he missed was things like this. He sleeps better when there is somebody else there.

He is concerned that Clara will get too attached. That she might expect things from him that he can't give her. But if that happens, he'll deal with it then. ]

Hm?

[ He shifts and presses a kiss to her shoulder. ]

You can ask me to do whatever you'd like, Clara. I might not do it, though.

[ He smirks, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. ]

[That earns a roll of her eyes and a playful tug of her fingers up through his hair.]

All you have to do is look at something. It's hardly putting forth an effort.

[Because seriously, she isn't sure if she could commit to doing anything that requires actual effort right now. So she's not about to ask him to do anything too strenuous. She also has a feeling his words have more to them than just what's on the surface, but she chooses not to comment on that tonight.]

Before I arrived here, a mark had been forcibly put on the back of my neck. A tattoo of sorts. It should be a series of numbers. Is it still there?

[She'll save her next crazy question for after he confirms or denies it still exists. There's no need to bombard him. So she gathers up her hair in her hand and twists it upward, giving him full view of her neck.]

[ He winces, definitely exaggerating, as she tugs his hair and opens his eyes fully to look at her. He makes a show of very carefully dragging his gaze over her as she talks. His expression becomes somber and he nods.

He brushes the back of her neck with his fingertips, over the numbers tattooed there in a script far too gaudy for Clara to have chosen herself. ]

Yes.

[That simple response earns a soft gasp, and she lets her hair drop to cover it back up. Erik can know that it's there, but she's going to keep the story of what it actually is from him. At least the full story. Half truths work better, when she's not sure if he's wanting to form any attachments beyond the physical.

Rolling over onto her side, she tries to smile but it just looks sad and doesn't quite reach her eyes.]

Sometimes the best of intentions have consequences you could never imagine. Believe it or not, it used to be a countdown. Til I woke up here. It must be frozen in place by now.

[ Erik doesn't miss how much his answer affects her, and it does concern him. As casual as their relationship is, he's quite fond of her, and not so callous as to ignore what just happened. His hand remains as she turns, and comes to rest on her cheek. He strokes her cheekbone with her thumb. ]

So, it's not a tattoo? Is it some sort of implant?

What is it counting down to?

[Her cheek leans into his touch as she debates what she should tell him. She's very fond of him, but he hasn't peeled back enough layers to fully access her tragic backstory yet. ]

No, not an implant. It's called a chronolock. It looks like a tattoo, but wasn't put on with needles and ink. I know it sounds crazy, but it just sort of...appeared there. And it's counting down 'til I'm locked in a moment in time, I wager. Just a guess based off the name.

[It's easier to not tell the full truth when it comes to this. He doesn't need to know her sob story. It might dampen the mood and ruin a good thing.]

Best not to worry about it here. It's stuck in place, and I'm safe here with you.

[She turns her head so she can kiss at the inside of his wrist, right where she can feel his pulse against her lips.]

[ His brow furrows, as "locked in a moment of time" sounds... dubious. But also time travelly, and puzzling out the logic of time travel gives him migraines.

He folds her in his arms, wanting to offer whatever security he could, even if it's temporary. ]

I've heard crazier things. Although I do wonder if there's anything we could do about the font. It's dreadful. [ He kisses her forehead lightly. ]

What, do you think I chose it?

[She manages a quiet laugh, eyes sliding closed as she enjoys the affection. Generally, she's not big on cuddling but he's managed to convert her. He's done a good enough job that she shifts to get more comfortable in his arms, and even runs her fingers up and down along his arm in an idle motion.]

I'm going to talk with Adrien about seeing if he knows a way I can remove it. And if we end up visiting more advanced planets, they may be able to get rid of it some other way. My skin is too perfect to mark up with something so awful. Thankfully, I've been to civilizations that are so beyond what Earth is capable of that I know there's ways to handle matters.

[ He grows somber. ]

No, I didn't think you had.

[ He trails his fingers through her hair as she speaks, the lines on his face deepening. He shifts, slipping his finger under her chin and tipping her head up so that she meets his eye. ]

Whatever you want to do with it is fine. It's your body, it should look the way you want it to. But there's nothing anybody could do to you that would make your skin less than perfect.

[When he puts things that way...well, she has a hard time disagreeing. Her ego is sufficiently fed and that makes her nice and content. She even does something ridiculously dumb like kiss the tip of his nose. ]

I'll have you remind me of that the next time I have a bad makeup day.

[The moment of sweetness passes, and then she's left serious and back at the subject at hand.]

I need to tell the Doctor about it. But I can't figure out the right way to go about doing it, since I know he'll blame himself for it being there. How do you break terrible news to people you care about?

[ She reacts as if what he said was simple flattery. She doesn't really have a way to know how much he struggled with this question himself. ]

I don't know the Doctor, and perhaps I do not know enough about your particular situation to be of much use.

[ It occurs to him that Clara might be Jewish, too, and that is the source of her distress. They've certainly never talked about it. Or many things. He shifts to reveal his arm. ]

If we are tattooed against our will, "the one to whom it was done is blameless”. Even if such things are sometimes hard to believe.

[She isn't sure what she's seeing at first when he reveals his arm to her. His words help make it really sink in, and she's left wide eyed and looking up at him with a sense of heartache. How can one man have been through so many terrible things and still be standing? He says he's done terrible things, but she's starting to realize that anything he's likely done is out of the name of survival.

Erik is used to fighting to survive, she understands now.

Her finger reaches out to touch at the tattoo on his arm, frowning thoughtfully as she glances up at his face. She feels so utterly selfish and ridiculous that she's embarrassed.]

It may be hard to believe, but it'll never take away from the fact that we keep managing to survive. Endure whatever it takes to keep going.

[It's become her motto as of late, but he must feel that on a much more raw level than she does. She can't even begin to compare their situations, and she's not wanting to do so. What she does want to do, is try and help the both of them make some kind of temporary peace with the things that are forced upon them.]

It's the year 2015 for me back home. Marks like this are harder and harder to find.

[But it makes it all the more powerful for her to see his up close. Her hand drops away, and she leans in to press a tender kiss against his lips. She doesn't say what she does to try and make light out of anything, but to give them hope that it's possible to move on past what's been forced upon them.]

[ He trails his fingertips along the edge of her face. It really wasn't his intention to make this conversation about his past, one that he has come to accept as well as he will ever be able to. ]

You realize that in 2015, I will be 85, right?

[ He smiles wryly. The first person he met on this station was older than him. As far as he can tell, Elizabeth is the only person on the station who's older than him. With the possible exception of Logan, who doesn't seem to age. He could have been born like that, for all Erik knows.

It is easier, in some ways, to have this conversation with somebody who knows what he's talking about. But not in other ways. Now he's something rare, as if what was done to him makes him important.

There aren't many too much younger than him, for reasons she probably knows and he certainly doesn't want to discuss. ]

Why would the Doctor blame himself for yours?

Because he's a 2,000 year old alien that thinks he has a duty of care to protect me. I didn't ask for it, but he blames anything that happens to me on himself. For not stopping me from being reckless most of the time, I suppose.

[This is a heavy subject on both parts, and she thinks it's just about run its course. Her head turns so she can press kisses against and nip at his fingertips, though the gesture lacks her usual energy and teasing nature.]

Also, think you ought to realize I can be from whenever and wherever I want. I'm thirty, and that's all that matters. No matter what the year or star system we're in. How old are you right now, anyway? You're pretty spry for an old man.

[ Erik sighs. ]

What your friend decides is his responsibility is his own problem. Nobody can control another person's choices. The sooner he learns to accept that you have free will, the better.

[ He wrinkles his nose at her nipping, and taps her lips with his fingertip. ]

Right now I'm a few decades older than thirty. [ He stretches and rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling feeling momentarily bewildered at how he ended up in this place. ]

I'm fifty-three.

And?

[She laughs at the thought that that's supposed to be a big deal.]

The Doctor's thousands of years old. Robin Hood was at least twenty years older than I was when we met.

[yes, Robin Hood made her swoon. It was a thing.]

Fifty-three isn't anything, especially when you keep up as well as you do.

Robin Hood, hm?

[ He smirks as he rolls back over, slipping his arm around her waist and nuzzling her neck. ]

You like scoundrels and scofflaws. I'm just another in your long string of naughty conquests.

You have no idea.

[She smirks as she says it, because he really doesn't have any idea. Her hand presses against the back of his head as he nuzzles her neck, fingers rubbing against his scalp. Far be it from her to deter him when he wants to show her affection.]

I think you rank low on the list of scoundrels, though. You'll have to beat a proposal from a renegade intergalactic emperor to get any higher.

[She turns her head to brush her lips against his forehead.]

[ Erik winces when her fingers rub the scar on the back of his head. Damned Hank.

Her words make something stir in him. She brings out a darkness in him like nobody has since Emma. Whether or not that's a good thing isn't something he's willing to consider at the moment.

Instead he shifts to trace his fingertip over her delightful lips. ]

Would you like to hear some stories about what I've done?

[Her lips part and she lightly nips at his finger.]

I suppose it's about time you told me things you've done. Otherwise I might start to find things dull.

[That's a total lie, as is evidenced by the way her hand starts creeping its way down his chest and stomach. She's pretty sure there's no possible way she could ever find things with him to be dull, but there's no harm in teasing and goading him into telling her things he's done. They can share details of horrible things, though she suspects she's done far worse.]

[ His stomach tenses as her hand travels over his abdomen. He hums low as he considers where to start. ]

Well. While on the hunt for my mother's killer, I went to a bar in Argentina. I had reliable intel that it was frequented by former SS. So after I got the information I wanted, I slaughtered them. All of them. Single-handed and unarmed.

[It's not that she forgets how strong he is, it's that she doesn't really factor that into her attraction to him. But right now, it's a huge turn on. She hums to match him, fingernails slowly trailing their way further down.]

I don't see a problem with that.

[Killing nazis? Good. Avenging his mother? Good. Imagining him actually slaughtering the nazis? It puts a smile on her face.]

You'll have to try harder.

[ It was good that she didn't see a problem with it. He really didn't feel like having an argument right now. It was always somehow unbearably awkward when neither party were wearing pants. ]

I'm just getting started.

[ He grins as his fingertips trail up and down her side, following the curve of her body. ]

Another time, I faced down the combined might of the United States and Soviet navies, and single-handedly repelled a combined nuclear strike.

[ It would have been a better story if he had managed to turn the attack back on them, but explaining that would mean explaining exactly what had distracted him, which is something he is unwilling to do.

It would ruin the mood. ]

I was on a Soviet submarine once, for two weeks. Back in 1983, I believe.

[That had been a crazy time. But she had picked up a lot of lingo and skills having to go to retrieve the tardis the long way around. So she can't say it was all that bad. Her fingertips run up and down along his arm as she tenderly kisses him. Nothing about his stories is particularly romantic, but she can at least appreciate the fact he's showing off how powerful he is for her. ]

Have you ever thought about doing things that wouldn't put you in the line of danger, though?

[Pot, meet kettle.]

[ He smiles at the irony. And subtly flexes his bicep under her fingertips. ]

I used to make steel for that sort of thing. When I was laying low in Poland for a while after I dropped RFK Stadium on President Nixon.

[ The smile is fleeting. ]

That has never been an option.

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