Staring out a window that overlooked a hillside, made pink by the sunset, the Doctor remembered a time when he'd found himself hurriedly climbing a similar surface with Clara. Running from goat-like people who misunderstood their intentions and though they were trying to murder them for their meat. One bad joke, he'd explained to Clara, one bad joke and you're gripping a cliff hoping not to fall to your death.

He turned to look at her, lying in the hospital bed a few feet away, breathing calmly, head wrapped in white bandages to match those covering her right arm and he sighed. All of the dangers of the universe and she'd gotten into an accident on Earth. Of course he'd warned her not to drive the bike too quickly; he warned her that maybe the bike was too big for her to handle; he'd warned her that maybe it was time for her to start using a different mode of transport – just for a while – and, of course, she'd scoffed at him.

"You just think, because I'm a girl…"

"No, no, it's not that at all – I just worry…"

"Don't worry, Doctor, I can handle your motorbike just fine."

For a very long time, she had. She'd taken it to work and rode it into the Tardis without so much as a flinch of fear and he admired it because when she hopped off the motorbike he was left pondering just how she managed to ride it at all. She really was too short for it, but she'd kiss him lightly and he'd forget his concern. He should never have let her get comfortable – should constantly have been warning her to watch out for other drivers who had less interest in watching out for her.

He should have taken the keys as soon as they knew…

The door opened slowly and the Doctor nodded to Dave, who immediately went to sit on the chair pressed against the side of the bed with one glance over Clara before his eyes were on the newspaper he picked up, taking a sip of the coffee he'd gone out to get. The man glanced up at him and told him quietly, "You could go for a bit, rest your eyes."

Shaking his head, the Doctor leaned against the wall and admitted, "I don't sleep very much, Dave."

The man smiled, "I know it's frustrating, waiting for her to wake up, but I'll be here – you should go, I'm sure you have other things to atten…"

"No, you don't understand," the Doctor told him firmly, "I'm not leaving her side."

His lips dropping, Dave nodded considerately, curiously, and went back to reading his paper and when Clara finally did start to wake, the man was resting comfortably on a couch in a corner. Moving quickly to her side, the Doctor watched her eyelids blink open before she tried to assess the room around her, finding him and giving him a small grin before asking, "Are you my doctor?"

Footsteps faltering, he nodded slowly as he passed a glance towards Dave and then swallowed hard, asking Clara, "Do you remember me?"

She laughed lightly and responded, "Not really, have I been here long?"

His eyes closed as his hearts pumped faster. "Clara, you took quite a spill off your motorbike… you may be experiencing temporary amnesia. "

"I don't own a motorbike," she replied softly, a twinge of fear in her voice as she looked to her father, "Haven't even been taught how to drive – is mum here?" She glanced back at him, "I'd really like to see my mum."

Hand coming up to his face, he wiped over his features, trying not to show just how distraught he felt and he nodded to her, asking delicately, "Clara, what's the last thing you remember?"

She thought a moment, struggling against the effort and wincing when she tried to move the leg held upright on a sling with pins. "Mum trying to teach me her soufflé recipe again," Clara replied, instantly brightening before looking down at her arm and then sadly to her leg, "How bad is it? I mean, school…" she trailed, looking anxious as she considered it.

Coughing away a sob, the Doctor told her honestly, "Arm's been rubbed raw from wrist to elbow; your leg was crushed under the weight of the motorbike…"

"I don't own a bike," Clara reminded, glancing up at him with a weak smile, something like understanding starting to dawn on her – something was very wrong.

Trying to grin, he just frowned as he repeated, "You've lost a few memories."

She nodded, accepting the information before telling him feebly, "Hopefully some bad ones."

He smiled with her and then stepped closer to look her over, his tears falling despite his effort to control them and he could see on her face that she was becoming somewhat uncomfortable with the situation. She eyed him suspiciously and he turned away a moment, hating that she looked at him as though he were a stranger despite the years they'd travelled together.

"Are you really my doctor?" Clara asked him pointedly.

He laughed, nodding, "I am your Doctor."

Clara grinned and shifted her head sideways, gesturing at him, "You're not wearing a coat, nor a name tag – you could be the janitor for all I know."

Bending slightly in acknowledgement, he assured, "I'm not your medical doctor, but I am your Doctor – that's my name. Like I said, bit of amnesia; it'll come back to you." He tried to smile, but she was shifting away from him, looking to her father. Raising a hand slightly, he offered, "Sorry, I don't mean to frighten you. We're… we're friends, you've just forgotten."

"Your name is Doctor?" She asked quietly as he nodded. "What sort of a name is that?"

Rubbing his forehead, he laughed, "The name of a fool, I suppose. A fool unable to keep you out of harm's way." He glanced down as he realized he was absently turning the golden band on his ring finger and when he looked up, she was doing the same, fingers slipping over pale skin as she looked him over.

Clara licked her lips and followed his gaze, wrapping her hands once before settling them on her abdomen, eyes wandering blankly to a spot on the wall as she admitted, "I feel like something's missing."

The Doctor couldn't control the single sob that escaped him, earning him her attention again as he sat beside her and reached out for her hands, clasping them within his own and not daring to meet her eyes, afraid of what he would find there. The lack of the recognition and adoration he'd grown too accustomed to seeing. And he could feel her fingers hanging limp in his, so unlike her, and he muttered, "Something is, Clara. Something definitely is."

After a moment she tugged her hands away, looking down at them as though he'd stained them, and she nodded slowly as he lifted his eyes to her, asking quietly, "Can you wake my father?"

He slipped off the bed, replying in kind, "Of course, Clara," and he moved sluggishly towards the man, crouching in front of him and giving his shoulder a small shake, lifting a finger when the man's eyes flashed open. With a frown, he explained, "She's awake, but she's experiencing amnesia."

"What do you mean, amnesia?" Dave argued, shifting to sit up.

Holding him firmly in place as his eyes darted to the woman in the bed brightly looking in his direction, the Doctor warned, "She believes her mother's still alive."

Dave's eyes drifted to meet his and he swallowed hard, head bowed before pushing past the Doctor's hold to stand, looking again to Clara to call, "Good morning, sweetheart."

The Doctor turned and landed in the couch with an exhale, fingers coming up to rub at his head as he listened to Dave's footsteps make their way to her bed. He knew what the man was thinking – aside from having to explain her accident, he would now have to explain her mother's death, would have to explain how life had gone on without her, and somehow, would have to explain that Clara was a thirty year old woman with a job and a life and a husband sitting a few feet away. Temporarily, the Doctor hoped, erased from her memory.

"Dad, what's happened?" Clara asked and the question came as a blow to the Doctor's chest because he'd already explained and he knew it wasn't the amnesia asking, it was her distrust of a man she didn't recognize.

Dave offered a small laugh and he sniffled, reaching out to take his daughter's hand, finger stroking over the scratches on her knuckles gently before he nodded, "Car swerved into your lane a bit too quick for you. You fell off your motorbike."

"I don't have a motorbike," she replied lightly, a hint of laughter in her voice. "Dad, I don't have a motorbike, I could barely master a bicycle." There was a pause and then she asked firmly, "What really happened?"

The Doctor raised his eyes to watch Dave look to the ceiling, body giving a small hop as he tried to control his tears knowing the Doctor had been right and his daughter needed the truth. "You were on your way to work…"

Clara laughed, wincing slightly as she straightened to argue, "Dad, I don't have a job – you and mum said I had to concentrate on schooling."

He shook his head and continued as Clara's mouth fell open. "You were on your way to work and a woman in too much of a hurry cut you off."

"Dad," Clara barked.

"You fell over. Skidded a few feet – thank God you were going speed limit – and the bike crushed your leg. Pavement worked your arm into a bloody mess and you went unconscious when you hit a..."

"This is insane," Clara argued, pulling her hand away from him in disgust, "I want to talk to mum."

"Clara," he called firmly, watching her eyes watering over before he told her, "If you hadn't had a helmet on, we'd have lost you and…" he stopped, looking her over before turning to the Doctor as he stood, shaking his head and staring into the other man. Dave swiftly shifted back to look at his daughter, eyes red as he clenched his jaw and touched Clara's cheek, "Honey, you're fine, you're ok – your memory's just gone a bit."

"What do you mean gone?" She shook her head and the Doctor could see from across the room, she was on the verge of tears, seeing the years on her father's face before she asked weakly, "Can I talk to mum? Dad, where's mum?"

Dave bent and touched his head to hers and the Doctor braced himself, hands gripping onto one another just before she released a long and shaky, "No," and then dissolved into wretched sobs as Dave pulled her close to hold her.

The Doctor closed his eyes, listening to her crying and he felt his own cheeks wet with fallen tears knowing how much the loss of her mother had hurt her, even residually, years later. The past few months she'd been thinking about her more often and he'd been there when she'd broken down over how she wasn't ever going to be around anymore. He was so lost in that memory he inhaled sharply when Dave's fingers gave his shoulder a light squeeze and when he glanced over, he saw Dave staring into him before he nodded to the door, telling him, "Hallway, Doctor?"

With a frown, he followed, refusing to look at the woman still wrecked with tears as they stepped through the doorway and closed it behind them. He took a long breath and watched Dave stand firmly in the space in front of him, hands twisting into one another before they planted at his hips and then fell flat against his body anxiously. "Don't tell her," he offered.

"She should know – she's going to find out," Dave hissed.

Looking towards the door, the Doctor pointed, "She's just lost her mother. Again. Her life is about to get turned completely upside-down, Dave." He dropped his head and when he raised it, his voice softened to repeat, "Don't tell her; not just yet."

Dave bit his lip, just like Clara would have, and the Doctor turned towards the door, hand reaching out for the knob before the man muttered, "They said it was a girl." He huffed a laugh. "Would have been a girl; she would have loved that."

The Doctor gripped the doorknob tightly in his hand, feeling the air leave his lungs painfully before he nodded in acknowledgment and told him plainly, "We knew."