A/N: Occasionally I open up prompts on my tumblr and this was from one of those times. The specific prompt was "Twelve x Clara, emotional hurt/comfort. Twelve fails to save somebody and feels awful." 970 words; takes place some time vaguely post-LC, but maybe pre-FtR, or even in a Face the Nappy AU; no real plot, just fluff.

Small and Wise

He stood at the console, his long fingers curled into fists that rested between the various controls, staring at nothing. His eyes were fixed and unfaltering—nearly a trance. Clara walked into the TARDIS and closed the door behind her before hitting a lever that launched them into the vortex.

"Got us out of there without any pursuers," she said, fiddling with more controls. "My guess is that we can't go back there again for a couple thousand years at least, but that's not a…" She trailed off as she noticed her silent traveling companion. "Doctor…? Are you alright?"

No answer.

Clara bit her thumb while contemplating what to do. She knew what was bothering him—it admittedly bothered her too—but she also was unsure how to go about it. He was a fickle man the past few months and it was all rather odd to her. Approaching him cautiously, she gently placed a hand on his upper arm to catch his attention.

"Hey; talk to me."

"What's there to talk about, Clara?" he replied. His voice was somber and low and not the tone she wanted to hear. "I broke my promise."

"There's no way you could have known that it was the girl's father all along, and that he'd be killed before you could intervene."

"…but now a child has no father, and a father one can visit is better than having none at all."

She thought for a moment before adding, "She still has her mother."

"It's not the same," he insisted. The Doctor backed away from Clara and the console and stepped towards the corridors. "You know how to go home." With that he was gone, vanishing into the depths of the ship.

Clara knew that was no going to cut it. She looked up at the gears of the ship and frowned.

"Give him a moment and I'll go in after him," she said. "If that doesn't help, then we can go back to the flat."

The TARDIS whirred in agreement and they waited. While she stood there, Clara mulled over what she was going to say, what she was going to do, to snap him out of this funk. They had been deceived—her, him, and the young girl—so there was nothing to worry about. Well, worry might not have been the correct word, but if all of them had been tricked into thinking the person who killed the city mayor was not the man who found him (with a solid alibi, no less), then what blame was there to shoulder? Everyone had been fooled, even those who knew both people well—he wasn't omnipotent.

After a bit, the archway to the corridors lit up and Clara followed the TARDIS's directions to the Doctor. The soft glow along the baseboards lead her to a room she knew well… all too well.

"Really…?" she wondered. "Why here?" The TARDIS lights flickered in reply. "Okay…" The door opened and she entered.

Ever since Clara and the Doctor realized they only really had one another since Danny's untimely death and the Master's unfair joke, the TARDIS had kept a room ready for her at all times. It was filled with nearly as many books as the library, with a comfy couch and a plush bed and plenty of plants from Earth, except now it was also occupied by the Doctor. He was lying underneath the thick comforter, curled up in as tight a ball as possible. Clara undressed, slipping into a nightie, and went to the other side of the bed, sliding in facing him.

"Talk to me," she requested. In the dim light she could see his eyes open, red-rimmed and watery.

"I was such a fool, Clara. How can I be such a fool?" he croaked.

"Even the best of us have off moments," she assured him. "You'll be fine, that little girl will be fine, we'll be fine."

He reached out and took her hand, gingerly bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to it. "I want to believe you, but it's weighing on me."

"Bloody hell," she sighed. She slipped her hand away from his lips and held his face. "Don't carry the weight of the universe's troubles or it will break your back."

"When everything else fades away, what else is left?"

Clara blinked, knowing that he wasn't referring just to what had happened within the past few days. She scooted in closer and pulled the blanket down off their faces so that she could see him clearly.

"Do you often come here, or only when it's bad?"

"…often enough."

"How come?"

"It's…" He paused, searching for the correct words so that the translation circuit could work properly. "It's a comfort."

"The TARDIS did conjure up a comfortable bed…"

"No, I mean, this place, the Claraness of it… it's a comfort; it puts me at-ease." He blushed, starting at the tips of his ears, knowing he'd been caught. "I sometimes stay here, because it reminds me of you, of what you'd do and how you'd look at things, and I occasionally need a reminder of that."

"Even big, bad, Time Lords need help every once in a while," she said gently. "Turn around."

Now it was his turn to be confused. "Why?"

"It's to make you feel better, idiot." He complied and she snugged up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle and squeezing tight. "I'm here and you're safe now."

"Safe from what?"

"All the things any doctor worth their salt can't fix. You may be the Doctor, and doctors save people, but sometimes even the best doctors need a bit of fixing and saving themselves."

"For someone so small, you are very wise, Clara Oswald."

"Was there ever any doubt?"

"Never… not for a moment."