The Doctor couldn't let go of anyone else. Especially not her.
Here they were, tangled in sheets and each other. Clara and the Doctor.
She was fast asleep, but the Doctor couldn't rest. Not with the clock ticking and her soft breath on his neck. He held her tighter, buried his nose in her hair.
Of course she wanted to go home. They all did, at some point. And it wasn't for forever. Just one week. Even the farthest galaxies can't distract a girl enough to forget about home.
Any other companion, any other time, the Doctor wouldn't feel this way. But Clara was different. She was always different, wasn't she? It scared him how much parting for a few days put him on edge—he tried to talk her out of the week-long visit multiple times, but to no avail.
What was he supposed to do with himself? He was already restless. There were still parts of her body that had yet to be worshipped, had yet to be explored.
He trailed kisses down her neck, onto her collarbone.
Clara's eyes fluttered, a small smile played on her lips.
"Well hello, clever boy," Clara murmured.
The Doctor pressed his forehead against hers, looked in to her wide eyes.
He turned his head and pressed his lips behind her ear.
"Please, please stay," he whispered.
The feeling made Clara shiver, made her toes curl.
"It's only a week," she whispered, sweeping the Doctor's hair away from his face.
He was so impatient sometimes, but she loved what she could do to him.
"I don't do patience," the Doctor said, rolling them to their sides. He hugged her closer, and caressed her cheek.
"You, the man with all the time in the world," Clara said, wistfully, turning her head to the ceiling.
Her words left a dull ache in the Doctor's stomach. That was just it. All the time, but never, ever enough. Never enough with Clara. Time and space couldn't be enough with Clara.
He ran a long finger down her bare back.
With Clara, everything was different. She was so very clever. He was always on his toes. With her, he never knew what to expect. She had become something to live for. She was precious, she was his best friend…he was absolutely in love with this clever, clever girl.
He couldn't fathom a week away from her.
He searched for her lips in the darkness and pressed himself to her. They could never be close enough. Her hair smelled of rain and her lips were always softer than his dreams.
His hands traced every curve of her silky skin, and her hands played with the hair on the back of his neck.
He ran his lips across her breasts, down her stomach, teasing. He looked up at her flushed cheeks.
"Run away with me, Clara," he whispered, as if in a fairytale.
"I already did," she laughed.
"Then don't ever leave," the Doctor simply replied, eyes sparkling but desperately pleading.
"Never," Clara whispered.