It was no wonder given the life she had led that most nights, she had dreams about murderous apparitions or bloodthirsty creatures chasing after her with bloody intent. Those dreams Clara could have dealt with, no problem. Not when there was always a familiar hand grasping onto hers tightly, while a faraway, know-it-all voice explained away their danger.

The dreams where everything was normal again - those were the real nightmares.

Sometimes, she'd find herself sitting in the teacher's lounge next to him, gossiping about their coworkers or about their students.

Or.

She'd dream about Sunday mornings when she'd make two coffees, cream in one, too much sugar in the other, before she brought the steaming mugs back to bed.

Always, always there would be a point when she'd realize how much she had missed those moments, and she'd wonder why she was missing them at all when Danny was right there beside her, and nothing had changed. He was warm, solid and breathing, smiling down at her.

On those nights, when she awoke, she would turn to her side, reaching for a warm body to snuggle herself against. Clara always liked telling Danny about her ridiculous dreams no matter the hour, and he had always mumbled something that sounded vaguely like irritated acknowledgment in response.

On those nights, she'd find herself waking up a little more when she realized she was alone in her bedroom. She'd stop and wonder where Danny had got to.

And then she would finally remember.

Those nights…those were always the worst.

"Are you alright love?" her father had asked the first time she had gone around for dinner after. "Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Yea," she lied as she played with her food.

"Good," he had smiled without meeting her eyes. "I'm glad."

"It'll get easier," his girlfriend said sympathetically. "Would you like to go shoe shopping sometime this week after work? Take your mind off things."

Clara hadn't been sure how to answer. She wasn't sure how a new pair of shoes was supposed to help.

"You're a young woman," the older woman continued when no response was forthcoming. "You'll meet someone else."

It wasn't as if she could have a drink, Clara thought longingly as she watched her father pour himself a second glass of wine.

He had spent days, weeks even, drifting around in the cold and the dark, incapable of doing much else aside from nursing a glass of shitty scotch.

It was easier. So much easier than giving a fuck, he reflected with every sip.

He supposed he should have known better than to have paid any mind to Missy. Somewhere at the back of his head, even as he keyed in the coordinates she had provided, he had expected to find at the very least, some ill-conceived trap that had been set for him.

The fact that he had simply found empty space hurt more than he would have cared to admit, but he supposed that was her ultimate and petty plan in the end.

There was a part of him, a very large part of him that had wanted to believe Missy, not just because he was homesick. He wanted for a second to think that there was still a part of her that cared, which hadn't rotted away under layers of bile and rage, bitterness and vengeance.

He wanted there to be a part of Missy who was still the friend he had grown up with, who had gazed out at the stars with him as they plotted their escape from a lifetime of strict rules and unchanging order.

Of course, he should also have taken the opportunity to kill her when that had been presented, the Doctor reflected as he emptied his glass. If he knew how these things played out, she was probably far from dead, sitting like a malignant spider in some dark corner of the universe, spinning her next convoluted web of intrigue.

Clara was absolutely right on the matter: allowing Missy a continued existence was a threat to everything anyone had ever held dear.

Clara.

Just thinking about her stung.

There was a pile of schoolwork sitting on his desk downstairs, half of it still unmarked.

"Can you even read your own handwriting?" he had asked one day as he peered over her shoulder while taking a break from ship-repairs.

"Har har." She answered drily, barely even pausing.

He had reached for her mug with his grease covered hands and taken a sip of its lukewarm contents.

"Yech," he had grimaced. "I'll put on a fresh pot. This is disgusting."

"Less sugar in my coffee this time please," she muttered as she kept on scribbling in the exercise book in front of her. "Not all of us are immune to diabetes."

"Yes ma'am," he replied sardonically as he stomped his way up the stairs.

Nonetheless, he had added about five cubes of sugar to her next cup purely out of habit, and she had finished her coffee all the same.

Alone in the darkness of the silent TARDIS, the Doctor refilled his tumbler, hoping that this was the drink that would do the trick of helping him forget, while knowing that it was doomed to fail.

He had barely set the glass down on his console when the universe came knocking. Literally.

Arseholes.

Couldn't a Timelord mope in peace?

"Listen, I'm not trying to be mean or anything," Dana said one day at lunch. "But you need to snap out of it. It wasn't as if the two of you were married."

Clara stared at her coworker. "I'm sorry?"

"Danny. It's not like you were married to him." the Geography teacher stabbed at her salad. "It's not like you're a widow."

Forcing herself to breathe, Clara put her fork down carefully.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion," she managed at last, standing up and pushing her seat away from the small table.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend…" Dana looked up apologetically. "It's just, we can't bear to see you like this anymore…we all care about you."

"Thanks." Clara said stiffly. "It's…it's kind of you."

Turning, she left the lunchroom behind, resisting the overwhelming urge to reach into her pocket for her phone in order to dial a number she knew by heart.

She doubted she could have made it through a sentence without crying. Bloody hormones - if she'd been feeling like herself, she'd have told Dana exactly where to stuff her 'care'.

He was tired, and he missed her, so much it was like a living ache inside his chest. Although the pain probably had something do with with the exertion he was putting his body through.

The Doctor was running on burning feet, searching for a way out of the mess he had managed to get himself into. The hallway he was in was long, dark and cold, and his footsteps echoed deafeningly. Behind him, something with very long legs skittered against the cold floor as it followed far too close for comfort.

If he lived through this, he thought as he strove for some manner of escape, he would go to her. He'd sit through her boring human dinners with her boring human lover, but he was not going to die without seeing her.

The Doctor ran with everything left inside him.

"Have you considered a change in scenery perhaps?" the woman named Martha asked as they strolled through the park. "We could use someone like you with your experience on our team."

"What would I do?" Clara asked as she sipped on her coffee. It wasn't sweet enough; she had gotten used to coffee so sweet, her spoon could have stood in it.

"UNIT always needs personnel who can advise on dealings with alien encounters," Martha smiled. "From what I understand, you've got some exposure to that."

Clara shrugged, unsurprised at the implied offer. Doctor Jones wasn't wrong about needing a change. The awkward conversations, the nosy stares disguised as pitying looks at school…she was starting to get really sick of those. On the other hand, the notion of being a soldier wasn't exactly what she would call appealing either.

"I'm not sure I'm the kind of girl who could fire a gun," she answered truthfully.

"I didn't think I was either, once." Martha sighed.

"So…the Doctor…" the taller woman said after some silence. "How is he? The last time you saw him, anyway."

"He's good." Clara nodded. "He found Gallifrey, so…I assume he's having a great time, wherever he is."

"Gallifrey." Martha laughed. "That's wonderful."

"Have you met him before?" the schoolteacher asked curiously.

"We have more in common than you think Clara Oswald. I used to travel with him too." Martha looked away. "If I know him, he's probably never mentioned me."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as Clara realized she might have accidentally triggered something painful for the other woman.

"If it helps," Clara said gently. "And I'm sure you know, he's a little emotionally retentive, and incapable of discussing matters that might be…distressing, I suppose."

"Retentive?" Martha snorted. "You're being much too polite about it. He's emotionally stunted is what it is."

Clara would have responded if at that moment, a sharp pain wasn't suddenly blooming in the lower half of her body.

The sensation had been utterly unexpected, and her fingers loosened its hold on her cup as she clutched at her abdomen in agony. The hot beverage fell to the ground with a loud splash.

"Clara?" Martha asked, everything else forgotten. "Clara talk to me, are you alright?"

"Oh God," Clara looked at the UNIT doctor with wide, terrified eyes. A warm wetness began to trickle down her thigh. "Help me…"

"Shitshitshit," Martha cursed, pulling out her cell phone.

"Please…" Clara pleaded to no one in particular as the world began to swim.

Her world went dark.