The Doctor and Clara hid in the dark, backs pressed to the bark of a gnarled tree, deep in a forest on a faraway world.
He turned to look at Clara. She was out of breath, her white shirt damp and clinging, ripped at the shoulder. It was his fault, again, that her hair was tangled with leaves and her knees grazed and bleeding. When she'd stumbled and fell during their headlong dash he grabbed her hand, and hadn't let go.
He wouldn't let go, ever, if he could help it.
The forest, a mass of towering trees and tangled thickets, had been gloomy when they started running an hour ago. It was pitch black now.
He urged her forwards. "We have to keep going."
She followed him, without hesitation, into the most stupidly dangerous situations. She held his hand now, as if her life depended on it.
She wouldn't let go either.
He should stop putting her at risk like this. It was selfish, and some days he hated himself for it. But who else did he want by his side? No one else. Only Clara, always Clara.
"Are you ready?" he whispered.
She squeezed his hand, telling him, yes, and they ran, hand in hand through the pitch-black forest. He could see well enough, but Clara couldn't. She held his hand as tight as she ever had, followed him blindly, let him guide her along the dark forest path. She had to take short strides, frantically fast, to keep up with his long paces.
As they dashed on through the forest, heavy boots crackled through the foliage behind. Voices rang out every now and again. "This way!" "Thane wants them alive." Then he heard a sickening laugh. "He wants her alive."
There had to be six men following them, maybe more. They would kill him, eventually, the Doctor was sure of that. But what he'd seen in Thane's eyes when he looked at Clara made his blood run cold. He'd never let Thane touch her. Not one finger, not ever. He held her hand tighter, his hearts thumping in is chest like drums through the schism. Her breath came in desperate, uneven rasps. How much longer could she keep this up? How much further to the TARDIS?
A deafening crack rang out in the trees to the east and blue light flared in the darkness. One of the energy weapons those thugs were waving about back in the village when things went sour. He paused for a moment. Clara was gasping.
"Come on, Clara, just a little further," he coaxed, and she nodded silently.
They crashed onwards. It started to rain, scattered droplets at first, then it ran down his neck, driving into his face and stinging his eyes. Clara shivered and trembled. Maybe it was the cold, or pain from those cut knees, or exhaustion. Perhaps it was fear that made her shake; she saw the predator in Thane too. She'd cringed as Thane prowled behind her, stroked her hair, and told her how beautiful she was. Seeing that animal touch her sent the Doctor wild, he'd punched Thane in the face and sent him sprawling. Predictably, they had to run.
If there was as second to spare, he'd stop running, wrap his jacket around her against the wind and the rain, hold her close and tell her he'd never let anyone hurt her. He would die a billion times before he let anything happen to her.
They had to keep running.
Another crack from behind, closer this time.
They pelted headlong through the trees until the forest ended without warning. Above, a clear view of the starless sky, the full moon half covered by black clouds. To the left, half a mile away, maybe more, across an open field, the outline of the TARDIS stood. Ahead, there was a foot or two of muddy grass then the world dropped away.
He anchored up, still holding her hand, as they slid toward to the precipice.
In the moonlight, he could see her hair matted across her face. Her shirt was soaked through; the fabric clung to her as her whole body shook. The rain beat down on them both.
She staggered and he took another step with her towards the looming edge of the cliff with his hearts in his mouth. He desperately clawed at her shoulder and bunching the fabric of her shirt in his free hand to stop her tumbling over, but it ripped away leaving her skin exposed. Her eyes were wide and locked with his. She lurched another step backwards. Her mouth opened; she must have felt solid ground disappear from under her feet, but she made no sound.
As she fell back he threw himself forwards and slammed onto the soil.
"No, no, no!" He held her desperately, if she was the most precious thing in the universe, as she toppled over the edge. "Clara!" he braced himself, put every ounce of strength he had into to holding on to her hand. She swung back and forwards in his grip. He looked down into the infinite gloom beyond and then back into her eyes.
The thump of boots, the crack of their guns, coming relentlessly closer rang in his ears. The memory of fire in Thane's eyes as he looked hungrily at Clara sent a shudder through him.
My Clara.
"Doctor!" she screamed, finding her voice now, scrabbling desperately with her feet in the air. Her free hand swung wide and grasped for a handhold on the cliff. "Please Doctor! Pull me up!"
One white shoe fell from her foot and spun away in the darkness.
Thane's men would burst through any minute now. He glanced across the field at the TARDIS. On his own, he'd cover the distance in a minute or two, maybe less. He could even take a blast of that energy weapon in his back, it would hurt like hell but he'd keep running. Clara wouldn't stand a chance. Could he carry her? Doubtful. He'd be slower and one slip on the rough ground and it would all be over.
He looked down at her. She was so beautiful, so breakable, so precious. Tears streamed down her face, she was as afraid as he had ever seen her. This was being between a rock and a hard place: Thane's men behind him, the abyss below, the white shoe still spinning and falling. His throat was tight.
He had only seconds to decide. Should he stand up and fight for her? He couldn't win that fight. There had to be another way.
He looked down again with sinking dread. There was only one option. "Clara. Do you trust me?"
"Yes, of course I trust you!"
"Then let go."
"What? No! Pull me up!" She clawed desperately at his hand, pleading with him.
Every fibre of his being urged him to pull her up onto the cliff and wrap her in his arms. He wanted to hold her tight and safe and never let go. But that was an illusion. The comfort would last seconds then Thane's men would rip her from him.
His voice caught in his throat, but he forced the words out with a calm he didn't feel. "Clara, I can't pull you up. They'll be here any second. You'll never make it back to the TARDIS."
She looked down and realised, he thought, what he was asking her to do.
"No! Don't you dare let me go. Pull me up. I'll take my chances with Thane!" She was petrified.
He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat and fought to keep his voice calm, while the woman he cared for most in the universe swung back and forth over the abyss.
There was a crack, closer now, and the flare of blue light lit trees at the edge of the forest.
"Think it through," he said urgently, "Thane's men are right behind us. What will happen when they catch us?"
Her voice was barely audible over the wind and the driving rain. "He'll hurt me," and then she said, as if this was the worst of it, "He'll make you watch." Tears filled her eyes and tore at his hearts. He'd take her place in a heartbeat if he could.
"Clara, listen to me. You are in control of this, not me, not Thane. You decide."
She glanced down. "I can't. I'm scared. I'm not brave enough."
"Of course you're scared. Being brave isn't about not being scared. It's about being terrified and doing what you have to do anyway." He paused, his hearts hammering. "I'm scared too." Their palms were pressed together, her skin hot against his, despite the driving rain. "The real question is do you trust me, Clara Oswald?"
She looked up at him with those beautiful eyes wide open. "I trust you," she said.
"I'll catch you. I will always catch you." He took a deep breath to steel himself. "Now let go."
She looked up at him then, and her eyes filled him, made his hearts race in his chest. She nodded slightly, acquiescing, finding her courage and showing her faith in him, the daft old Time Lord who stole a TARDIS and ran away.
Her eyes closed. He felt her grip on his hand loosen, and then the warmth of her palm slipped away. He watched, transfixed, as her hair spread wide around her, and her arms stretched outwards. Her white shirt was framed against the eternal blackness below.
Clara was falling away from him, falling into darkness.
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