Author's Note: I got this prompt and wrestled a bit with whether or not to do it. This isn't a subject where, if you tackle it incorrectly, you get an eyeroll – you could hurt someone who has gone through this, and I would never want to, in any way, harm the feelings of anyone who's experienced rape, or known someone who has experienced rape (which is the perspective from which I am operating). I won't name the person who requested the fic, as it came through "Fan Mail" (responses are 'personal' only) and not "Ask" (which I can publicly reply to) and I hope it comes close to what you were looking to read.
"Doctor, I'm… I'm at the hospital and I… I need you to pick me up."
It wasn't that Clara was at the hospital that made the Doctor's chest go cold with worry, sending his hands flying over the controls in front of him; it was the way her voice shook on the message he received re-entering the Tardis. He'd heard her scared before and he'd heard her panicked and he'd heard her hurt and he'd heard her angry, but this was something entirely different. He raised his eyes to the screen in front of him, watching calculations flutter across in a wave of circles and dots as the engines roared their way through the vortex and when he landed, he did so with an exhale of anticipation.
She sounded broken.
Pushing through the doors out into the alleyway just beside the emergency room, he wove his way through the sick and injured and flashed his psychic paper, "I'm here for Clara Oswald?"
"Another investigator? Poor girl's had enough interrogation for the night. Always the same, you'd think she were the criminal," the woman behind the counter argued, giving him a sour frown as he absorbed the words and turned instinctively to his left, seeing, beyond the crowd of people, familiar legs laid out bare on bedding just before the curtain was yanked roughly around her. And he caught the slight flinch her feet gave at the sound.
Pushing away from the counter, he rushed across the room, excusing himself in angry mutters as he parted between doctors and nurses and patients and when he slipped through the curtain, he smiled back at the lobby, gesturing up and offering lightly, "Busy night," before beginning, "Don't suppose there's a alien invasion I could…" and then he turned back to look at her.
He could see the redness in blotchy patches on her skin; the beginnings of bruising yellowing her jaw and neck, her hand – knuckles rubbed raw and dotted with dried blood – holding an ice pack to her right eye. And she simply continued to stare forward at the feet that remained deadly still against the bedding. The Doctor watched her a moment, trying to gauge the emotion on her face until he realized it was completely blank, the thoughts in her mind so traumatic she'd pushed all thought aside to exist in a protected void.
"Clara?"
His rough voice cracked when he said her name and he watched her blink once, eyelids dropping heavily as her brow knotted together – as though he had reached out to a point in space, instead of just a few feet from him, beckoning for a response from her – before they re-opened and she shifted in slow motion to look up at him. He waited, hoping she would brighten, hoping she would tell him some grand tale about beating off a mugger, or saving some child from some terrible thing. He waited, hoping the puzzle he was putting together in his mind were missing that one piece that made the vacancy with which she was staring make some other sense.
Her mouth opened slightly and for a moment no sound emerged, but then she stared curiously at him and whimpered simply, "I want to go."
Nodding slowly, he took a step towards her, hands jutting into his pockets before coming out again because she reached for his arm, wincing in obvious pain as she tried to drop off the bed, ice pack tightly gripped in her right hand as she clutched at him with her left. He didn't question her as she stood there in front of him, head bowed, searching absently for shoes, hand still firmly gripping his coat because he got the impression from the tremors he was feeling that if she let go, she might collapse.
The notion terrified him because Clara was, if nothing else, strength. She was resolve and clarity and absolute power in the face of danger and now she was standing next to him like the empty shell of the woman he'd just yesterday watched tackle a mountain troll on the third moon of Philox. He glanced around, finding the discarded boots she'd been wearing in a chair beside the bed, partially obscured by the wheelable table on which a small tub of red Jello sat next to a cup of orange juice and a stack of paperwork.
"Clara," he began as she tugged him forward, legs slowly abandoning her mind's need for footwear in favor of getting as far from this place as possible and he reached back with his free hand to awkwardly grab hold of the shoes and the various forms and prescriptions, bringing them against his stomach with a grunt as he moved with her.
She bumped into a nurse, but continued walking, and soon they were out in the street, Clara waiting for him to take the lead as she stared out into the street, her breathing quickening as she took in their darkened surroundings as he watched her. "Where's the Tardis?" She managed to croak at him quietly.
"Just around the corner," he supplied with a small nod, looking down at the pale fingers still gripping tightly to his clothes as he began to drift towards the space next to the building with a quick glance at her feet now stepping into small puddles. "Clara, you should put your shoes on."
"I don't want my bloody shoes," she interrupted with a mumble before inhaling and releasing him to stumble into the alley and walk towards the Tardis that easily flung her doors open for the woman approaching.
He remained frozen to the spot a moment, staring at her as she made her way onto the console and then past it towards the corridors and he shuffled the documents in his grasp, looking down at them and closing his eyes against the pamphlets and the police documents, each with cards stapled neatly to their top corners. He turned on the spot and growled, then roared into the night air, watching it drift away, a puff of smoke in the wind, feeling the paper crumpled in his grasp.
Dropping his chin to his chest, he shifted and looked back to the Tardis, rage burning his hearts as he stormed inside because he would kill that man. He would inflict a pain worse than death, the Doctor thought as he closed those doors behind him and moved through the halls towards her room, dropping her boots to the floor and letting the paperwork flutter atop her desk in a mess as he marched to the door of the bathroom, and he stopped, mouth falling open, thick brow pressing painfully together, because she was just standing there, hands shaking as they gripping the buttons of her blouse.
Clara shifted in his direction, but refused to look at him as her head swung slightly and her chin trembled. "I need a shower," she told him slowly, before her mouth fell open, ragged breaths escaping as she slowly lost control of the composure she'd been struggling to maintain. "I need to wash… this," she tugged at her blouse and he could see her fingers slipping off the buttons as she fought to keep them on, her grip faltering. "Doctor," she turned, "I don't…" she met his eyes just as her tears rolled over her cheeks, "I don't understand."
He caught her just before she crumpled and for a quick moment, she pushed at him, some flash of memory taking over her system before her hands sank into his coat, fingernails digging into him as he held her, sobbing, on the bathroom floor. "There's a cruelness in the universe, Clara. One that's not easily explained," he whispered into her hair, falling onto his backside and bringing her up onto his lap, feeling her hot breath wetting his chest in low moans.
"Erase it," she bellowed, pushing back from him so he could see her reddened face, eyes overflowing with tears he imagined she'd been barricading for hours. "This is a time machine – change it," she argued, "Change me," she cried and he understood she wanted him to do more than just alter her timeline.
Clara wanted him to piece her back together the way she'd been before – because the Doctor knew even the strongest woman would be shattered by what had occurred and as he watched her, he could see it in her eyes. There was a desolation there that hadn't been there before, one he knew wouldn't easily be patched up… because that's the best the universe could do – take all of those pieces, pick them up off the floor, and press them into each other into some semblance of what she'd been. Except there would always be that extra bit, that grime that seeped between the edges and haunted her for the rest of her life.
With a shake of his head, he inhaled roughly and managed to utter, "It doesn't work that way, Clara."
She was nodding, some sort of comprehension settling in her mind and she pushed off him, crawling to the toilet to pull herself up, back slamming into the wall as she winced. "Get out," she told him calmly.
"Clara, I can help…" he began, lifting himself up and holding a hand out to her.
"Get out!" She shouted.
He shook his head, brow coming together tightly as he stared at her, and he shouted back, "No."
Taking a step towards her, he reached out, but stopped because for a small tick of time, for the briefest of glimpses, he saw fear in her eyes. A fear she'd aimed at him, looming over her. He recoiled against it as she turned her gaze to the toilet at her side, her breathing slowing as she realized what she'd done. That for a second she'd been afraid of the Doctor – of her greatest friend, of a man she loved and trusted. And she uttered, quietly, "I'm sorry."
He closed his eyes against the stab of pain her words elicited and he dropped his shoulders, telling her sadly, "Don't apologize for a rational fear."
"But I'm not afraid of you," she mumbled.
"I know, Clara," he sighed, taking that step forward and reaching for her hands, feeling them still shaking, even in his tight grasp, and he released a breath to the ceiling as he brought her fingers up, dropping his head to kiss her knuckles and then touch them to his forehead, "Let me help you."
He watched how she stared into his chest, jaw clenching painfully, and then she nodded slowly. Settling her hands back at her sides, he reached for the buttons of her blouse, slowly undoing them for her, waiting for her subtle nod before each one. Asking permission to continue even in their silence because he imagined after what she'd been through, the act of a man working to disrobe her wasn't something she'd be comfortable with for a long time.
But she stood calmly, taking small breaths to calm herself, even as he plucked the shirt off her breasts to wordlessly undo the two buttons there as he closed his eyes against the bruising at her side peeking out between the gap in the cloth and the strips of yellowed skin on her neck. They were the grip of a threat that would linger for days; the reminder for her when she chanced to look in a mirror; the image that would assault her forever.
He looked away when he finished, hands awkwardly dropping away as he took a step back and gestured to the door. "I'll be right outside," he told her, gruff voice disappearing as he turned.
The Doctor stood just behind the closed the door and he quietly settled his forehead against the wood of it, listening to her as she began crying, no doubt the consequence of dropping her clothes to the ground and turning to look at herself fully in the mirror at her side. There would be marks and there would be thoughts, lingering memories in tentative touches to her own body – a body, he knew, she currently felt wasn't her own anymore.
His knuckles cracked as he pressed them into the door, listening to the shower burst to life and hearing her broken sobs through the rush of water. He wanted to push back inside; he wanted to pull her away from the hurting and cradle her against his chest and he wanted to somehow make it better. Sure, he would tell her, there's inexplicable cruelty in the hearts of some, but there also existed the abundance of good – of love and light and goodness. He listened until her tears tapered off and, he knew, she was simply standing underneath the waters, letting it roll off her, washing away one layer of sorrow.
It would never wash away, he knew. Not entirely.
The Doctor turned, hand pushing into his greying hair, and he looked over the room he'd made for her on the Tardis. The oversized bed with the plethora of pillows because his previous incarnation had imagined it's what she would like – having spent so much time either in her own childhood home, away at university, or in that small space she had at the Maitlands. He looked to the books, carefully and purposely chosen, stacked into shelves in the wall and he moved past them towards drawers scarcely filled with just enough of her clothes to spend a few days with him at a time.
Plucking a night shirt and a set of pants out, he went back to standing just beside the door and he waited until he heard the knob's squeak as she turned it off. Clara sniffled lightly inside, and for two and a half minutes there came no sound – a silence that terrified him – and then the door handle slowly turned and she peeked out. He merely handed her the clothes, feeling the warmth of her fingers trail over his as she took them and moved back into the steamed room.
Leaning his head back on the doorframe, the Doctor tried to clear his mind of the fury he was feeling. A pounding of his hearts that echoed in his ears and forced upon his thoughts dreadful things – things he never thought he'd think. And then her hand landed softly against his arm and when he turned, she half-smiled. It was weak, eyes red and puffy, lips still shaking… but it was a smile. A small sign that Clara would be alright.
Never perfect, but alright.
"You don't have to talk about it," he told her sternly as he pushed off the wall to turn towards her.
"They said I should," she replied, voice low and hoarse and she shrugged before looking up at him and pressing her lips together, trying to keep them still. "I'm tired," she said simply. "Could we just drift a while?"
With a nod, he lead her towards the bed, taking her hand to help her climb into the mess of comforters and sheets and pillows and she settled on her side, staring up at him as he knelt next to her, his fingers delicately stroking over her wet hair. Pushing at bangs and frowning at the eye he knew would be greenish purple by morning. "Did you know him?" He asked tentatively.
"Dunno," she told him quietly. Her head shifted slightly, eyes looking away, and he wondered if that would have made it better or worse for her – whether she knew him or not. She sank deeper into the sheets and then admitted, "I tried to fight him, but he… he knew Taekwondo too."
"Is that a more advanced course?" The Doctor questioned.
Clara laughed. It was light and it tapered off quickly as he realized what he'd actually said and pressed a knuckle to the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. But the sound was another indication – she could laugh at his alien stupidity and he smiled down at her as he dropped his hand into his lap. "I fought," she told him with a nod.
Lifting his fingers to her cheek, he nodded, replying solemnly, "I know, Clara."
Her eyes welled up, "He was stronger."
"No, he was not stronger than you, Clara," the Doctor told her firmly, "He was weaker than his urges; incapable of seeing just how very wrong he was in what he did to you – that doesn't make him stronger. That makes him a coward."
"That coward raped me," Clara uttered, face crumpling, her final two words never making it past the lips that formed them.
The Doctor pushed off the floor and watched her nodding her approval as he moved onto the bed behind her, pulling her to him and wrapping an arm around her, kissing the top of her head. He held her firmly, feeling her body shaking with tears and he didn't dare move or speak, knowing what she needed in that moment was just knowing he was there because nothing he could do or say would convince her everything would be fine. There was nothing to say aside from what he knew she already knew – it would never be fine, but she would get better.
He let her grab his arm to tuck it under her neck and hold as she slowly cried her way into a deep sleep, body still shivering slightly long after her eyes had closed. He moved her hair off her face again, looking down at the bruised eye and her scuffed knuckles – knowing she'd gotten a few punches in at least – and he eased his way out of the bed, finding a stuffed bear nearby to wedge between her arms and watching her tug it into her chest with a small moan of confusion.
"You're the strong one, Clara," he whispered, squatting next to her again, "You're the strong one." He kissed her forehead, feeling the warmth against his lips, before he stood and made his way out of the room, deliberately leaving the door open as he made his way to the console.
He checked his watch, then pressed a button in front of him, listening again to the deadened way she'd left her message, "Doctor, I'm… I'm at the hospital and I… I need you to pick me up," and then he played it again as he typed and sent the Tardis into the vortex. And he played it again, just before landing, checking his watch again and playing the message one more time before he departed.
The night air was still crisp as he walked along the familiar streets, towards his destination and he froze when the muffled shouts became audible, and then he felt the sear of anger coursing through his veins knowing those sounds were Clara. Taking several long breaths, hands curling into fists at his side, he began to walk again, in the direction of where he heard a rough set of grunts and then everything went silent. The Doctor moved forward and just as he finished crossing the street, stepping up on the sidewalk, she began to yell, but it was cut off, her breath leaving her just before the masked man came out of the alleyway and tore the covering off his face, smiling into the night as he began to jog away.
"Nice night for a walk, isn't it?" The Doctor questioned calmly as he stood on the sidewalk, watching the man approaching slow, head turning back slightly before he nodded and gave him a half smile.
"Nice night for a lotta things," he replied slowly, hand adjusting his trousers before he sniffled and began to move past him.
The Doctor glanced towards the alley and he clenched his jaw, turning to ask, "Did you know her name?"
He shifted, wary eye now looking the Doctor over and he knew what he was thinking – old man, empty street; he could take him easy. "Who's name?" There was a small smile on the man's lips as he turned fully to look at the Doctor, taking a step towards him while flexing his hands.
Gesturing back, the Doctor prompted, "Girl in the alley; one you just left – did you know her name?"
"Tight skirt? Flirty talker?" He teased with a laugh as he came to stand in front of him, staring him down as his tongue came out to taste his lips, "Lookin' for sloppy seconds, mister? 'Cause I'm sure she'd be will…"
The Doctor reached out in one swift motion and grabbed him by the chest and shoulder and launched him into the bricks at his side, hearing the crunch of something breaking in his face before he stumbled back. "Her name is Clara."
Touching the blood that dripped from his mouth, the man grimaced and then rushed at the Doctor, who caught him and swung him around, twisting one arm behind the man until he screamed and he ran him into the wall again. The Doctor took a step back and watched that man drop to the ground, testing his arm with a wince before he started to pull himself up.
"Her name is Clara."
"You're dead, old man," he muttered back, and when he moved forward, he threw a punch the Doctor avoided, taking hold of his wrist to turn the man's momentum around and send him crashing into the wall again. This time he left a splatter of blood and as he staggered away, he spit more to the ground. The Doctor listened to the teeth that clicked against the pavement and he clenched his jaw as the man turned to look at him again defiantly.
"Her name is Clara," he growled.
He started to shift away this time, a twinge of fear in his eyes, but the Doctor rushed forward, tackling him to the ground and grabbing hold of his hair, pulling his head up off the sidewalk to look into his eyes. To see the terror starting to creep in. To see the man suffering as he pressed his knee into his back and stepped carefully on the hand that wasn't pinned underneath his body.
"You took something from her tonight – replaced it with a darkness she'll spend the rest of her life fighting through," he spat in his ear. "Because of her skirt? Her flirty words? Because she was in the wrong alleyway? Because you saw her in class? Because she rejected you? Because what?" He demanded.
The man's mouth shifted, but all that escaped were ragged breaths and the Doctor shifted, tilting his head towards him as he listened. His grip on his hair tightened and he twisted his foot, grinding the back of his hand into the cement and the Doctor offered an amused scowl when he met his eyes again.
"Because what?"
"She was there," he muttered.
"Because what?" the Doctor asked, one eyebrow rising villainously.
The man winced against the increased pressure of the knee against him and he groaned, "She was there."
"She was there," the Doctor laughed. He leaned forward, hearing the gasp, and he growled in his ear, "I'm here now and I want you to remember this and I want you to remember her. I want you to think of her every time the notion of even touching another woman enters your mind. I want her name to echo in your mind with every thought and every action. Because that's what you did to her." He shifted his foot up roughly, feeling the bones dislocate in his wrist as he screamed out. "Her name is Clara. Say it."
He could hear the sirens approaching as he waited, easing his foot up enough for the man to open the eyes he'd shut in pain, and he heard him gasp something. Inching forward again, the Doctor heard the screech of tires as he listened to the man panting beneath him.
"Say her name," he hissed.
"Clara," the man grunted, "Her name is Clara."
Thrusting his head forward into the sidewalk, the Doctor stood to meet the eyes of the approaching officer who was staring at him in shock. "Sir, we've had a report of a disturbance."
Narrowing his eyes and shaking his head in confusion, the Doctor barked, "A disturbance. A disturbance? You were called because of a disturbance?" He gestured back, "There's a young woman in that alleyway who needs medical attention – this man put her in that condition and you came because of a disturbance," he shouted out at the buildings around them knowing it was his fighting and not what had happened to Clara that brought officers. He did a turn and raised a hand, explaining, "Reaching for ID," before thrusting his hand into his pocket and pulling his psychic paper to flash at the officer, who nodded slowly before looking to the man on the ground. "CALL A DAMNED AMBULANCE!"
He shook his head and breathed out a rough exhale of frustration before turning to look at the second police car approaching and he slowly nodded as the second set of officers began restraining the man. He would need medical attention as well, the Doctor knew, and he'd have the scars to remind him he thought as he began to walk away, hearing the ambulance in the distance. The Doctor hung his head as he looked down at his shaking hands, refusing to turn and see her when he heard her emerging from the alleyway sobbing.
Making his way back to the Tardis, he stepped inside and threw them into the vortex so they could, as Clara had requested, drift a while. He slowly walked back through her open door, seeing her sleeping calmly, bear hugged tightly to her, and he reached out with a trembling hand to stroke her cheek. It was a movement that had always elicited a smile, but now she flinched out of his grasp and he fell heavily to his knees. He swallowed his sorrow and he pulled the sheets up to her neck, hand hovering at her shoulder, wanting desperately to offer a comforting rub, but knowing it might not be accepted as such. At least not for a while.
With a weary smile, he promised, "Don't worry, Clara. I won't let you drift too long."