Shepherd Moons

by Cyndi

Sometimes, a relationship is holding each other together. (Autistic!12th Doctor, Whouffaldi.)

NOTES: And here we are with more autistic!12th Doctor Whouffaldi-ness!

Stimming is slang for self-stimulating behaviors. Being able to stim is a vital component for an autistic person's well-being and should never be suppressed. It helps us think, helps us control our sensory input and sometimes it calms us down.

Also, empathy. It's assumed autistic people lack it when that isn't entirely true. We may show it in weird ways, like handing an upset person a favorite comfort object or walking away because "this is what helps me feel better and I think it'll help you too." We may struggle with the two forms of empathy, but assuming we have none is damaging.

Emotional empathy example: Ever walk into a room where people are pissed off and you feel really uncomfortable or scared even though nobody is directing their anger at you?

Cognitive empathy example: Ever had a friend call you up crying because they broke up with their lover? Do you feel bad with them("Oh, I'm so sorry!") or are you relieved("good riddance, he/she/they were a jerk!")? If you feel both ways, which do you act on?

Here we go!

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Shepherd Moons

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A gray-haired head bowed within dimness. Eyes hidden behind magnifying goggles squinted and a black mushroom-shaped object protruded through lips tightened in deep concentration.

The Doctor gnawed his No Gloom 'Shroom while observing the mess of torn wires poking above the half-dismantled TARDIS console. A dull ache clung to his lower back, no doubt a result of repeatedly bending over the console. He rubbed it, grimacing.

Being mocked by a nonfunctional TARDIS wasn't his idea of fun. Then again, neither was that infestation of metal-eating roaches he removed three days ago. He got all but one, and that nasty little one ate its way under the console before he vacuumed it out.

Thankfully, there was no major damage. Everything the dastardly space roach ate could be repaired. It was the sheer volume of small, time-consuming repairs that got annoying fast.

Could have been worse, the Doctor thought as he married two delicate wires together and snapped the navigation panel back into position. He used his tongue to twirl the No Gloom 'Shroom once in his mouth and straightened, flipping the magnifying goggles up onto the top of his head.

"All right. That's the last wire." A tired sigh escaped him. He took the No Gloom 'Shroom out of his mouth, "Come on, Sexy, work with me."

One by one the lights on the panel flickered online. Diagnostics ran, self-repairs at the atomic level began and suddenly the TARDIS hummed back to full life. A final scanner sweep came back clean. Every system checked out as functional.

This is cause for celebration. Maybe I'll surprise Clara with an unscheduled visit.

The Doctor twirled to his right, grinned and donned his maroon velvet coat. Wasn't it Monday morning in Clara's current timezone? That meant she was sitting on her couch, sipping coffee and preparing for the day ahead. Surely she would be delighted if he had a cup with her before she started her workday.

The Doctor dumped his goggles into their proper place with his tools and executed a perfect pirouette to face the control console again. He set the Epsilon coordinates, released the locking mechanism and the TARDIS materialized in Clara's living room. Her image appeared on the external monitors. She was curled up on her couch like he expected.

"Clara, you won't believe the day I've had!" The Doctor exclaimed upon exiting the TARDIS.

There sat Clara, looking up at him in shock while in the middle of crying. For a split second he was annoyed that she wasn't immediately happy to see him, however his concern for her well-being quickly took over.

Right, crying Clara. No injuries- she is upset.

The Doctor frowned and scratched the side of his head. He wanted to ask if she was all right, yet his mouth blurted, "Clara, you're not supposed to be crying. Are your hormones malfunctioning?"

Clara shook her head, sniffling. "I'm giving Danny his five minutes."

"Oh. PE. Right. Uh...well, I know something funny that'll cheer y-"

"No, Doctor." She hugged her knees to her chest, "I need to feel this."

A lump tightened his throat. He clasped his hands together and wiggled his fingers. The action spun the wheels of his thoughts while his mind rifled through mental piles of what to do in this situation. Nothing useful came up. At a loss, he asked, "Should I leave?"

"No..."

"Okay...I won't. Do- uh-" He gesticulated frantically at the couch in attempt to shake loose the right questions to ask her, "Do you want me to sit by you? Is that the proper boyfriend thing to do?"

At Clara's nod, the Doctor perched on the couch beside her. He stared straight ahead at the TARDIS, giving her the privacy to cry alone without feeling lonely. It didn't occur to him to put his arm around her until she leaned against his right side. Okay, she wanted comfort without a lot of talking. He could do that.

Clara didn't cry hard. It was more...weepy. Leaky tears and sniffling without all the sobbing. The Doctor rubbed her shoulder instead of mumbling useless platitudes that didn't really help anyway.

His eyes were drawn slowly towards the open magazine on the floor by the couch. The glossy page depicted a spunky woman chef preparing a steak. Seeing the image of food gave him a sudden urge to put something in his mouth. He took the No Gloom 'Shroom off his wrist and absently chewed it.

Clara blew her nose. All at once her tears ceased. She hopped off the couch and wiped her cheeks.

"Doctor, when was the last time you ate something?"

Her sudden change in demeanor left him slightly gobsmacked.

"I don't remember." The Doctor took the No Gloom 'Shroom out of his mouth, "Why do you ask?"

"Because you're hunger cuing." Clara nodded to the magazine he stared at as she tightened the tie on her purple bathrobe.

"Oh." He was.

"I'm going to scramble some eggs. Want some?"

"Yes, please. But-"

"No bacon or chives, I know." She yawned and flashed him a little smile, "God, you look great in that coat."

The Doctor proudly grasped both lapels as if striking a pose. Clara leaned in to kiss his cheek and he quietly followed her when she padded into the kitchen.

"This is going to be a quick breakfast. I have an early staff meeting. So what brings you here on a Monday?"

She set a prescription medicine bottle on the counter and gulped a round blue pill with water. Without missing a beat she filled the glass again and passed it to the Doctor. At the first sip his senses screamed to keep going. He drank the entire glassful while observing the counter more closely.

Near the bottle was a blue Post-It note with 'Oswin's' blue box refill and last Friday's date. The bottle's label said Remeron, an anti-depressant.

Curious, he scanned her bag with his sonic sunglasses. Sure enough, a second bottle for an Oswin Oswald was tucked away neatly with her travel toiletries.

Clara occasionally asked him to drop her off at specific locations on specific dates 'for just a minute' and now he knew why. There were two pharmacies she liked. The first sat three blocks from her flat, the second was in London, and she borrowed his psychic paper for the London one. She had two prescriptions. One for home, one for traveling with him.

Doing that was highly illegal, however in the Doctor's mind it made sense. Being away for weeks in the space of five minutes made it hard to get a new prescription without sounding preposterous. And psychiatrist visits? He didn't dare ponder how she juggled those.

"Doctor? Is your mind time traveling?"

"Sorry?"

"I asked a question."

The Doctor put his sonic sunglasses away and slipped his No Gloom 'Shroom onto his wrist again.

"Oh! Right. Why hurry? You're dressed to go, aren't you?"

Clara tried to smile. It looked painful and she stopped. "Uh...no, I'm still dressed for bed."

"Oh. I didn't notice. Um...what was the question?"

Her gaze darted briefly to the counter and back. "What brings you here on a Monday? You haven't done that since we came back from Skaro."

The Doctor mirrored her glance to answer the silent inquiry. "I wanted to do something unexpected to prove I'm not getting predictable."

"Ah...you- oh. Sorry. I spoiled it."

He fought back the childish accusation of 'yes, you ruined my entrance by being sad', but his frontal lobes kicked in before those words got to his lips. Chemical imbalances in the brain weren't anyone's fault.

"No..." Quick thinking twisted his statement into something non-accusing. "You didn't do anything wrong, Clara. I had bad timing."

Clara set a cooking pot on the stove without turning on the burner. She reached into the fridge for her egg carton and butter. The Doctor scooted behind her, intentionally invading her personal space to be playful. She unexpectedly leaned back against him, and when he didn't move she grabbed his wrists and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I loved Danny all wrong. I told him too many lies."

"Would you still be traveling with me if PE was still alive?"

The Doctor winced as soon as the selfish question left his mouth. He meant to think it, not ask it!

"I don't know." Clara cracked four eggs into the pot and added a square of butter.

As she turned on the burner, she said, "I fell in love with him to make myself fall out of love with you, and it didn't work. That's why I was rubbish at loving him."

She started stirring with a whisk that looked exactly like a Dalek appendage, "I never let him see the parts of me that I let you see, and I never let you see the parts of me that I let him see."

Egg scents wafted into the silence surrounding the kitchen. The Doctor's mouth watered in response. He kept his pie hole shut because he didn't know what to say.

"Doctor, come here. Stir this. Good scrambled eggs depend on constant stirring." Clara moved the pot off the burner without shutting the flame off and handed him the whisk. "Stir it fast, don't let it congeal."

He took over stirring and copied exactly what he saw her arm doing. "Don't you need to add salt?"

"Not yet." Clara kept talking while putting the egg carton away, "I was about to come clean to Danny about all my feelings when he died."

Changing subjects in the middle of a conversation- very confusing. The Doctor struggled to keep up because this was very important to Clara. Anything important to Clara became important to him.

He remembered the darkness in her eyes when she threatened to throw away all the TARDIS keys. Now it clung to her outline like a heavy cloak. A specter that crept from the shadows every time her guard came down.

Past companions flashed through the Doctor's mind. Losses he somehow survived. But Clara...how would he go on after her? He saw inevitable pain grow closer every time her heart beat.

Trying to leave her before- back when he thought she had Danny back- was his way of fleeing from the truth. He wanted her happy, regardless of whether it was with him, yet could not bear the idea of her seeing him unhappy.

Hiding pain, a talent he turned into a fine art. Sometimes he got a little too good at it. The trouble with hiding? Eventually, the curtain shifted enough or fell away to reveal the truth.

"I'll take over again." Clara put the pot back on the burner and reclaimed the whisk. He watched her stir, take the pot off the heat, stir faster and put it back on. She did it four times in a row before she added some kind of cream, stirred some more and finally sprinkled in the salt.

The Doctor caught a whiff of the chilly air coming through the window and mentally berated himself, Oh, oh, my head is so stupid! How could I miss that?

Today was the one year anniversary of Danny Pink's death. No wonder Clara kept talking about him.

"We don't have to go anywhere," said the Doctor in attempt to rise above the awkwardness, "We can stay in if you like."

Clara glanced at the clock. Her shoulders hitched. She turned to the kitchen window and slammed both hands down on the edge of the sink with a loud bang.

"No, don't you dare. The five minutes are over. I promised...I bloody promised..."

The Doctor stared at her small hands on the counter. She clutched it so tight her fingertips were white.

Was this Clara's life when he wasn't there to take her away from it? Was that the sadness always clinging to the edges of her brown eyes and smile?

"Clara."

"Don't."

The Doctor grasped her upper arm, spun her around to face him and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Scream at me. Cry. Throw things. I don't care- but stop hiding it."

Clara's eyes did that inflating thing, only now they were puffy. "Doctor, please-"

He pulled her against his chest in a hug. A very awkward hug, but it let her hide her face in his shoulder. She went from pushing at him to pulling him harder against herself.

"Forget school," she whispered in his ear while rubbing her knee suggestively against his inner thigh.

"No." He moved that leg back and used it to push her knee away. "Oh, Clara, Clara, Clara...don't be me. Don't run away from your pain."

"Why not?" Clara asked, "Why can't I be like you, Doctor?" Her voice broke, "Why?"

"Because you're you, and I'm me." He rubbed his hands up and down her back. "I'm not a person you want to be like, Clara. I'm just an idiot in a box who saves people because I can't save myself."

Clara wiggled out of his arms without a word. Such confusing and erratic behavior. One moment she wanted comfort, the next she didn't!

She dished up their scrambled eggs, added two miniature blueberry muffins to their plates and sat at the table. The Doctor didn't speak because she obviously wasn't up for conversation, but the quiet left him decidedly uncomfortable.

He poured them both a glass of apple juice he found in the fridge. It just sounded good and gave him a moment's space.

Clara picked at her food. The Doctor wolfed his down.

The scrambled eggs were deliciously fluffy in all the right ways. Every warm bite had excellent flavor. A great contrast to the sweetness of the muffins and apple juice. Flavors and textures were like colors- some blends and contrasts came out great while others ended up horrible.

"You can't change what happened to Danny," Clara broke the tense silence.

The Doctor set his fork on the now empty plate and finished off his apple juice.

"You're right," he replied to her statement, "Not without unraveling your timelines."

"Was there anyone before River? Before me? Another companion you would do anything to save?"

Once more, the conversation spun off in unexpected directions.

He replied, "Yes."

"What happened?"

"She's in an alternate universe." The Doctor still felt a lump in his throat at the memory of blonde hair and a smile brighter than quasars, "I made sure she was happy before we parted ways for good."

"Do you still love her?"

He answered truthfully, "Definitely. River, too."

Clara stared at her plate instead of looking at him.

"Then you'll understand what I'm about to ask."

.o

The Doctor stood beside Clara in the TARDIS doorway. Bright sunlight burned down, causing him to don his sonic sunglasses. Several meters away, Danny Pink strolled towards the street with a cell phone pressed to his ear.

It happened in an instant. A car screeched forward from the left. Danny's spine snapped on impact. Inertia sent him flying like a rag doll. The crunch-thud of his shattered back hitting the curb left the Doctor nauseated.

The dull ache resurfaced in his lower back. Now it favored the left side more. Sympathy pain, he figured. He stood straighter and it diminished without entirely fading away.

Danny would have survived a broken spine, but a bone fragment tore his abdominal aorta open when he landed. He was bleeding internally like a punctured water balloon. A devastating, invisible injury. Emergency services wouldn't arrive in time to save him.

The Doctor stopped running scans. They wouldn't help. He watched Clara rush forward and cradle Danny against her chest. A bleeding scrape on his cheek left bloodstains on her robe. She either didn't notice or didn't care.

People gathered to gawk. The Doctor approached the scene of the accident to keep the crowd back and let Clara have her moment. He stayed out of Danny's sight-line, but stood close enough to hear Clara telling Danny everything she needed to say.

"...and I'm so sorry," she finished, "I'm so sorry, Danny."

"I know," Danny murmured, "S'okay, Clara...we both messed up. Glad you told me...I thought I was doing something wrong."

Clara clutched at his hand. "No, it was all me. You did everything right, Danny."

He licked his lips. "I'm so cold..." His breath came suddenly shorter, "I'm dying."

"Danny," she whimpered, "I love you."

"Clara...I..."

Danny's voice faltered. His eyes lost focus. He made gulping motions with his mouth and his brown skin took on a dusky cast.

"There, there, it's all right. It's all right, Danny." Clara's expression twisted as she struggled to maintain her shaky composure.

"Someone tell that ambulance to hurry!" shouted someone in the gathering crowd.

"He's toast," said another voice.

Annoyed, the Doctor placed himself between the people and Clara. In his mind dying was as intimate as sex and birth. The least he could do was help Danny end his life with some privacy and dignity.

Clara stopped whispering. She just sat there, cradling Danny's head in her lap and stroking his brow. He stiffened, opened his mouth wide and relaxed again.

Death, such a strangely unremarkable event. One moment somebody was a living person, and the next they became inanimate like the ground.

The Doctor silently wished for the honor of finishing his long life in Clara Oswald's arms. Time Lords rarely lost consciousness before death the way humans did. What would it be like to look upon her face while taking his last breath?

Impossible, because it wasn't going to happen.

"Doctor," Clara's voice roused him from his pondering. "I need to be sure. Is he...?"

A cursory scan of Danny's body revealed no life signs. The Doctor took his note cards out of his pocket because he didn't know how to say yes without sounding callous.

"I regret to inform you that he-slash-she-slash-they died. I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

It still felt so...so...impersonal. He tucked the note cards away and laid a hand lightly on Clara's shoulder. She pressed her hand atop his.

"He's my twin sister's boyfriend," Clara said loud enough for the crowd to hear. She kissed Danny's uninjured cheek, laid him down on the pavement and backed away. "Doctor, past-me running to this street right now. We have to go."

Nodding, the Doctor ushered her back to the TARDIS. Neither of them spoke while he pulled the locking mechanism to trigger dematerialization.

He scratched the back of his head and paced circles around the console. Should he say something or stay quiet?

"He was brave," murmured Clara. She looked down at the blood spots on her purple bathrobe, wriggled it off her body and stood there in her green satin pajamas. "He was so brave."

The robe fell from her fingers. Exactly the same spot the Doctor dropped his bow tie...how long ago?

The Doctor hung back, confused by Clara's behavior. He'd never seen her like this before. It suddenly occurred to him that he saw it because she wanted him to.

Smiling, playful, strong Clara...her smile was a stone shell protecting glass.

"That's going to be you. Someday, Doctor," Clara said stiffly.

"It'll be you before it's me," the Doctor pointed out, "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because I wish I could be the one to..." She sighed and sat in the black chair by the console.

"The one to...?"

"The one to hold you when you die. There's a lot of people who deserve to die alone in the universe. Danny wasn't one of them, and you aren't one of them. I'm...ugh, I'm being morbid again. Look at me, Doctor."

She sat up straight, her red-rimmed eyelids puffy and face flushing. There were bags under her eyes, but weren't those always there?

"This is what I'm really like. This is what losing Danny did to me. I hid you from from him and I hid this from you. No more...no more! Damn it! I'm too bloody messed up!"

"Clara?" The Doctor pressed his hands together and wiggled his fingers to channel his nervous energy. Her sudden outburst left him uneasy and unsure of what to do next. He felt as if he didn't know Clara Oswald as well as he thought he did. Now she was opening right in front of his face, and he didn't want to scare her into closing off again.

"I tried to have you both...and I lost you both. I got you back...I'm glad, don't get me wrong. But...but.. Doctor...oh, this is so embarrassing. I spent a month in the hospital after you left. I was only home a week when one of those dream crabs crawled out from- then you were there, and I- I-I- grr! This is rubbish! I can't pretend anymore! I'm depressed, Doctor. Not the mood, the condition. I'm depressed."

Both her hands loudly slapped down on her knees, "God, I finally said it!"

The Doctor stood there, guilt stabbing his stomach like daggers. He left her like that. Sure, he came back at Christmas and relished this second chance, yet it never occurred to him that she wasn't wholly happy. He assumed her occasional slowness to laugh or smile were a result of grieving Danny.

A sob escaped Clara. Her trapped tears finally broke free. She doubled forward, her face hidden by her hands.

"Do you want me to hug you right now?" The Doctor asked quietly. Better to ask- he was at a loss for what to do and the last hug went badly.

An answer wasn't immediately forthcoming. Seeing her cry sent distress signals through his entire body. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and squirmed where he stood to expel the nervous energy intent on overwhelming him.

"Clara?" He stepped closer, arms awkwardly outstretched towards her. Inviting hugs did not come naturally to this incarnation.

Clara uncurled, throwing her arms around his neck. He leaned back to recapture his balance and pulled her close. She cried all over his shoulder. He let her. Better her tears be on him than bottled up inside.

Oh, Clara, what do I do? I can't fix this for you. What kind of a Doctor am I if I can't help you?

"Hey," whispered the Doctor, "How about I draw up a hot bath and let you have a good soak? That helps you feel better, doesn't it? Should I bring...wait, ice cream is only for breakups. Well, y-you look kind of broken up, so-"

"Doctor...shut up," Clara sniffled. She gave his shoulders a little jiggle to show she wasn't angry.

He closed his mouth and silently cursed his tendency to babble when he wasn't in control of a situation.

"I don't want to be numb," Clara spoke slowly, "But that's all it is when you drop me off. I get up, eat, go to work, go home, watch the telly, eat, sleep and do it all over again. Work is the only thing that keeps me occupied in between. Some days are more numb than others. I guess I- I'm doing the emotional equivalent of sensory seeking. I'm seeking to feel something, and you give me that when you pop up in your blue box."

He frowned, "Is that what you meant when you said I've made myself essential to you?"

"Yeah."

The Doctor lightly scratched Clara's back in zig zag patterns the way she liked it. He let himself acknowledge the softness of her satin pajamas for a moment before speaking, "Risky behavior is a common side effect of antidepressants."

"I know. I bloody know."

"Clara, tell me the truth," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "Have you felt suicidal at all? Even for a second?"

"I went in the hospital because I tried, but...no not now." Her fingers pressed harder against his shoulder blades. "I laugh in the face of death when we run into scary situations. 'Not today,' I tell it every time we get out of a scrape. I want to mock and spit on the thing that took Danny. He deserved so much better."

She moved her head and rested her warm forehead against the side of his neck. "Am I boring you with all of this?"

"A little." The Doctor answered honestly because she wanted that. He went on quickly, "But I don't care if what you say is boring. Tell me to shut up if I start yammering solutions instead of being quiet. I can't tell if you want a solution or to be heard. Listening, that's a thing boyfriends do, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but..."

They were still hugging, he realized, and he didn't feel an immediate need to let go.

"But...?"

"I need more than that." Clara slipped one hand up to massage the back of his head. "I need you to be the Doctor for me."

"I am the Doctor."

"Then do what you always you do. Kick my arse into action when I throw my pity parties. Tell me I'm a mess of chemicals. Don't lie and tell me I'll feel better soon. Just give me something to feel."

He looked down, letting their foreheads touch. "Is that what you want of me, Clara?"

She sniffled twice in rapid succession. "Mmhmm."

The Doctor cleared his throat and put on his best commanding voice, "You're having quite a wobble today. Your brain chemicals are a mess."

"Yeah. I'm a mess. I needed to hear somebody else say it."

His voice hardened, "And you're not the only person who's ever lost someone. You lost someone, you didn't lose everyone. I'm still here. Don't forget you have me."

Clara's breathing hitched less. Her hands dropped down to his lower back and a shock of pain went through his lumbar area. He felt her weight shift, which pressed her hands tighter against him. The agony increased like metal turning white-hot. He squeezed his eyes shut while she wasn't looking.

"I won't forget." Clara sighed heavily. Mercifully, her hands moved off the tender spot. "About that bath...I'll take it."

By some miracle the Doctor kept his pain beyond her notice. Now he recognized the cause, and it wasn't a muscle spasm. He exhaled, kissing her brow.

"Come along, then, Miss Oswald."

He led her down the corridor by the hand. Every step jarred the sore spot Clara unknowingly upset. A nagging annoyance, but one he could ignore for now.

The TARDIS bathroom was a wonder. Dark blue mirrored tiles covered everything. Fiber optic lights lined them like stars. The Doctor gestured and they brightened to match a bedside lamp at night.

A black tub on four curled feet marked the center of the bathroom. Its faucet was already running. The Doctor adjusted it to the temperature Clara liked, plugged the drain and approached the pedestal sink.

Beneath the sink was a lever. Pulling it triggered a black teardrop-shaped toilet bowl to rise from the floor behind the bath tub. Usually, he kept the toilet exposed. For this, he pushed the lever to make it descend into the floor. Clara deserved to bathe in elegance, and seeing a toilet reflected off the ceiling was not elegant.

Roundrels in the walls concealed small cabinets. The Doctor opened one in the corner and hefted two marble-sized balls of liquid.

"Vanilla or lavender?"

"Lavender," said Clara. She unbuttoned her pajama top while the Doctor dropped a lavender bath bomb into the warm water. Within moments bubbles turned the water white.

He stood awkwardly by, watching Clara pin her hair up and slide her naked self into the frothy water. She used her foot to shut off the tap.

"Thanks." The little smile she flashed gave him butterflies, "You don't have to stand around...I kind of need to be alone for a little bit if that's all right with you."

Confusion knitted his brow. She didn't want him to stay here with her? "You wanted to be in the TARDIS to take a bath and be left alone?"

Clara's smile grew wry, "Yeah. I can't explain it right now...don't think I want to explain it. Go do whatever it is you do as if I'm not here. Did I interrupt you running off to save a world?"

"No," he smiled back, biting his bottom lip, "It's my stim day. I take a 'day' off to do nothing but stim. Well, it started messy with those roaches and got a little better once I got rid of them."

"Roaches? I'm afraid to ask. So, wait, you take days off?"

"That surprises you?"

"A little." Her amusement sounded forced.

"Good, I like that I still can. I'll leave you alone now." But halfway to the door, a question spun him on his heel to face her again and his lower back protested painfully. "What if I need the loo?"

"Then come in and have a wee like you do in my flat when I'm showering. It's not like I've never seen you do it before."

Point taken. The Doctor laid a towel, washcloth and Clara's stick of Sure deodorant on the shelf sticking off the foot of the tub. A fortunate thing, he would've forgotten them. He gave Clara a wink and quietly approached the door.

"Doctor?"

Her voice reached out like a hook and he halted mid-step to look over his shoulder. Clara was lying back with only her head visible above the bubbles. She peered at him with tired brown eyes full of bottomless warmth.

"Don't think for a second that you're a second choice or consolation prize." The words were spoken in her listen-to-me-right-now teacher tone. It faltered into a whisper, "That was Danny. That's why he deserved better. Sometimes I think you do, too."

A million thoughts whirled in the Doctor's mind and none translated into the right words. It angered him to hear her think so little of herself when she was the brightest point of his universe.

"Better is a relative term," he said gruffly.

The Doctor turned before Clara got a chance to belittle herself further. His expression contorted the second he left her sight. He placed a hand firmly against his left side and sucked a deep breath. Lightning strikes of agony pummeled his back before cooling away.

Why did he develop kidney stones at the worst possible times? They happened to him in every incarnation. His last one held the record at over two hundred stones, and only his dulled sense of touch made each one bearable. That wasn't so for this incarnation. Having one rattle around in his kidneys wasn't even the hard part. Passing it was going to be pure misery and he had no idea when it would begin its torturous descent.

Clara needed him, though. The Doctor decided right there to not inform her of his situation. Her mental health was more important than his current physical state. She couldn't fix his situation any more than he could resolve hers. Besides, if worse came to worse he had pain patches available to take the edge off.

A quick coat lapel tug released a reassuring whiff of chalk. Its neutral scent steeled him until the pang in his lower back passed. He staggered down the console room stairs and pushed the locking mechanism upright.

Clara said to go about his day like normal, so he did exactly that.

.o

Galactic superclusters stretched out before the Doctor's eyes. He floated cross-legged a good hundred meters above TARDIS, his life protected from the void via a fine atmospheric force field tethered by electromagnetism. Perfectly safe as long as there weren't any magnetars within five hundred light years.

Time passed faster in intergalactic space than on a planet. Gravity stretched and distorted it the same way it bent light. Time flowed in circles around planets, stars and galaxies. A strong enough gravity field- such as that of a black hole- could drag time to a near standstill.

The Doctor often compared temporal gravitational distortions to the whorls of Vincent Van Gogh's Starry Night painting. Raw time, something only experienced in the vast voids between galactic superclusters, flowed freely as the universe expanded like a broadening river. If it made a sound it would be a simple, yet infinite chord humming over the cosmic microwave background.

He closed his eyes and relished the pull of the universe expanding around him. Time swept everything away eventually just as rivers carved canyons. One day, even he would be overrun and swallowed up. But here, in this moment, he opened himself to the eternal newness of will be becoming right now without thinking of what was.

Relaxation must have been something he needed- he realized he fell asleep when he jerked his head up again with sticky eyes and fresh soreness in his lower back. He couldn't be sure how long he slept.

I guess I...Clara!

The Doctor floated back into the TARDIS. Clara's bathrobe was still on the floor where she dropped it. He jogged to the bathroom. No water in the tub. The towel, Clara's pajamas and Clara herself were missing.

He paused to use the toilet. Being impaled on red-hot spikes sounded like a party compared to that pain! Swirls of blood-tinged urine colored the white metal in the otherwise dark toilet fixture. Gravity pulled the waste material down a circular drain. No flushing needed.

Burning sensations gave way to a dull yet constant ache. The stone had moved. He could tell by a shooting pain in his groin area that zapped twice and shrank away again. Oh, how he despised his left kidney right now!

The Doctor washed his hands before exiting the bathroom. He decided to check his bedroom because that was the most outlandish place to look. Clara lay asleep in his bed, her form creating a lump under his black and silver sheets. She looked troubled even in the oblivion of slumber.

He slid carefully onto the bed, settled on his stomach next to her and propped himself up on his elbows. This position aggravated his lower back. He ignored it in favor of watching Clara's shoulder rise and fall.

"What day is it?" she suddenly murmured.

"We're a million years ahead of Monday."

Clara rolled onto her back and wiped both hands down her face. "I feel like I slept that long."

"Did it help?" the Doctor eyed her hopefully.

"I feel less tired. I don't know if that's better." She pushed the covers off herself and sat up. Her hair stuck out every which-way until she rubbed a hand over it. "I hate this. I thought I was doing so well."

He frowned, his eyes fixed on the space between her eyebrows. "Clara, I can be myself around you without being afraid of you judging me for it. I wouldn't be a very good boyfriend if I didn't give you the same courtesy. Don't hide it. Why hide what isn't broken?"

"Doctor, I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills and woke up in the hospital psych ward with charcoal stains on my gown. There's six hours between getting there by ambulance and waking up that I still don't remember. That's bloody broken to me. Healthy people don't go to hospital psych wards or-"

The Doctor laid his hand gently over hers. "I'm not going to pretend I understand exactly how you feel, but I know what being suicidal is like. Any reason to keep living is a good one, no matter how small or silly it seems."

"You're mine." Clara nibbled her lower lip and looked away from him. "That's not fair to you. You call it a duty of care- a duty is an obligation. You took it on before you knew the whole story."

"Did your feelings for me change when you realized I'm autistic? No. So why should mine change because I know you're depressed? Clara...I don't know how to help you, but I want to. I just...ugh, my mouth won't say what I want it to say."

"You're helping by being here for me. That's what boyfriends do." A fetching half-smile teased her mouth. "Sorry. I usually don't get this bad."

He wanted to say that was fine. His mouth said something entirely different,

"You're excused."

"Ha!" Clara suddenly straddled his back and playfully kissed him by the ear. "Having you pop up every Wednesday keeps me going. That's what I need in my life. You."

The Doctor almost collapsed flat on the mattress. Pain shot through him like shockwaves. He disguised his loss of breath as a chuckle. "Then I-I'll make every effort not to not miss a Wednesday."

"Good. So what's this stim day thing?"

"It's...nothing special." Talking helped him control his breathing. "I spend a 'day' stimming. 'Day' is relative because I decide when it's over. K-Kind of a private thing..."

He almost sensed a slight deflation in her demeanor.

"You can drop me off at-"

"No, it's fine. Ah, Clara, you're, um..." Pain left him dizzy. His mind spun for a suitable excuse to make her move. "You're crushing my private parts into the mattress."

"Oh!" Clara sprang off him as if burned, "I am so sorry."

The Doctor inhaled deeply as the screaming in his nerves quieted to a dull hum. He got up faster than he should have. Every atom comprising his being sloshed in slow motion with his movements. It took an extra second for his brain to understand he was standing upright. He made a show of adjusting the waistband of his trousers and re-tucking his white dress shirt.

"It's fine. I'm fine." His mind spun for something, anything to deflect concern off him, "Would you like to see an odd stim?"

She cocked her head and smiled- genuinely this time. "Ooh, definitely. But can I freshen up first?"

"Didn't you do that in the bath?"

"That was four hours ago."

"Oh."

Freshening up. One of those odd human things- or was it a woman thing? Gender stuff, so confusing. He chose not to comment and let Clara pass.

Fifteen minutes later, the Doctor and Clara- with neater hair than earlier- sat cross-legged on the bottom level of the console room. Both of them had a wrapped Hershey bar in their lap.

"Hershey bars taste best when they're fresh out of a refrigerator. And anyone who eats a Hershey bar by simply biting it needs their brain examined. Here's how I do it."

He slipped the silver-wrapped candy bar from its brown logo sleeve and carefully unfolded the ends. It wouldn't do if the paper tore. He broke the unwrapped Hershey bar in half, then separated the individual rectangles. They didn't break evenly, though. He arranged them on the open wrapper from smallest to largest. Some were so close in size he set them side by side for exact comparisons.

Now the Hershey bar was ready to eat.

"I ate 'em like that as a kid," Clara smiled while copying him. She didn't measure out the chunks.

Seeing the disorder hurt his brain mentally as much as his back ached physically. He reached over and arranged them himself.

"This is less about eating something and more about experiencing it. Now pick up your smallest piece. Smell it. Don't think. Let your mind tell you 'yes, this is chocolate'. In a moment your brain will start to remember the flavor and how good it feels. Let your mouth water."

Clara's expression changed, the peaceful face of someone remembering something pleasant. "What next?"

"Put it in your mouth and pick up the second piece. Keep the second piece under your nose and smell it as you let the first piece melt in your mouth. Don't think about anything beyond what you're experiencing right now. Swallow it when it's almost completely liquid and repeat."

The Doctor held the first piece of chocolate under his nose and breathed in its scent before slipping it past his lips. He grabbed the second chunk and kept it near his nose while he sucked on its predecessor. Pretty soon he had a mouthful of liquid chocolate. He swallowed and his awareness swirled around the sweet milkiness sliding down his throat like satin.

"Mm," Clara exhaled, "Sensual."

He touched her lips with his finger to quiet her. "Talking muddies it up. Just feel."

She closed her eyes, chewing slowly while smelling the piece of chocolate held between her thumb and forefinger.

They continued to enjoy their Hershey bars in silence.

The Doctor timed his bites so the flavor didn't have time to fade from his nose or mouth between swallows. His senses fought a vicious war. The growing, dull pain in his lumbar area seemed intent to draw his attention away from the chocolate.

And the pain was winning, because chocolate didn't last forever. He consumed the final piece and tilted his head back to relish it before it was gone.

"I need some water," Clara said. She paused and eyed him, "Is something the matter, Doctor?"

"I'm fine. I was thinking the same thing, actually." He forced his face to smile, "Come on."

Together, they made their way to one of the bottom roundrels. Inside, two crystal drinking glasses. Touching them triggered water to pour from two spigots. Cool, clear water free of anything artificial.

"I can't put my day off forever," Clara sighed to herself.

The Doctor refilled the glass he just drained in four gulps, "Sorry?"

"I had a really bad wobble." She put her glass back where she got it and moved over to lean on him, "Funny thing about time machines- I can put off a day until I'm ready to handle it. I think I'm up for it now."

He finished his second glass of water and let her wrap his arms around her.

"Thank you, Doctor," she murmured.

"For?"

"Being you." Her eyes almost had their light again when she smiled up at him. "That chocolate thing- that was great. I like sharing things like that with you. Can you really stim with any of your senses?"

"Mmhmm."

"Hm." She kissed him lightly on the lips. "Does this count, too?"

He chuckled and gave her four quick pecks in a row. Between each one, he said, "Yes- if we- did it- this- way. But you have sugar breath now, so I need to stop."

Clara blushed and covered her mouth. "Oh! Sorry. Yeah, I should brush my teeth. I need to get dressed, too."

The Doctor self-consciously ducked his head. He realized too late that telling someone their breath stunk was rude.

"I wasn't trying to be-"

"Hush, it's fine. I taste how awful it is." Clara respectfully didn't lean in for another kiss. She embraced him instead, "Let's go back to my flat. Monday, take two."

"As you wish." He laid his brogue on thick and delighted in her giggle even though it sounded forced.

Clara headed for the steps leading to the main console floor. The Doctor followed her. Sharp pain crawled through his groin area as he reached the top step. The sensation traced his entire left kidney and ureter before fading and reappearing again. Overpowering in its suddenness, merciful in its brevity. He stuck his No Gloom 'Shroom in his mouth to hide his grimace and approached the console.

Initiating movements required all his brainpower. Much like his previous incarnation, except his limbs more or less went where he wanted them to instead of needing to be over-steered once a motion began. Making his last body's clumsiness look intentional became a fine talent, and sometimes he missed that silliness.

By contrast, his fingers were octopus tentacles with eight different brains controlling each one. No problem when stimming, but annoying if he needed to use them for things. He doggedly fought his uncooperative fingers to type the proper Epsilon coordinates and pulled the locking mechanism.

Thankfully, Clara was looking at her discarded robe. She didn't see him falter.

The Doctor experienced a falling sensation as the TARDIS zipped backwards through time before exiting the time vortex exactly one minute after it left Clara's flat.

"I'll wash that robe for you," he heard himself say.

"No...I want to do it."

The Doctor took the stim toy out of his mouth, "Clara?"

Clara flashed him a little smile. The odd one that looked like her face malfunctioned somewhere between happiness and sadness. "Danny would want me to do it."

Pretending to understand and nodding was a lot easier than asking questions. The Doctor managed to half-smile at her over the fog of pain. Part of him silently willed her to notice his misery while the rest of his mind hoped she wouldn't.

"Whatever makes it easier for you."

A thump and ding signaled a successful rematerialization. The Doctor clenched his molars on the No Gloom 'Shroom when he walked Clara to the doors. Remembering how to climb down steps required his full concentration. Every footstep jarred his already jangled nerves. Inhaling whenever he put his left foot down was the only thing keeping him from crying out.

Clara slipped out of the TARDIS and into her bedroom. She rummaged in her closet before rushing off towards the bathroom.

The Doctor staggered into her kitchen and guzzled two cups of coffee followed by another glass of water. Such a combination would make his kidneys work hard and hopefully speed the stone's journey into his bladder. Passing it wasn't going to be a picnic either, but the only escape from this physical hell was through.

He hobbled towards the living room and wilted onto his back on the multicolored rug. Lying supine made the constant jabbing pains bearable. White-gold sunbeams and the glare from the wall lit either side of his face. Infinitesimal dust motes drifted on the air currents. He exhaled, his dazed eyes staring upward. To him, straight up looked like a grayish-black void peppered in stars.

Pain had a funny way of making one's mind twist in attempt to escape it. The Doctor marveled at how dust motes could only be seen when the sun hit them just right. They always existed in the air. Weightless, forever at the mercy of breath, wind and movement. Nobody thought much of dust until it coated a surface or floated across a light beam.

Humans didn't see dust like the Doctor. Dust particles were islands of time. Snapshots of moments captured in skin flecks shed off a living body. Timelines branched off every mote. He saw bits of Clara, bits of himself, bits of Danny Pink and bits of anyone else who visited this flat.

Clara's bathroom door thumped shut. Her electric toothbrush whirred.

Intensifying agony clawed for dominance in his consciousness. Sharp, hot, stinging, its rhythm like tachycardia on a hospital heart monitor. The intervals between zaps continued to shrink. He forced his mind to focus on something external. His eyes zeroed in on the brightening sunbeam.

Every living being rode a giant gravitational tilt-a-whirl and didn't even know it. Seriously, how did aliens not sense such motion?

Earth turned at one thousand and six hundred kilometers per hour as it orbited the Sun at one hundred and seven thousand kilometers per hour. The Sun traveled towards the constellation Lyra at seventy thousand kilometers per hour. Meanwhile, the Milky Way galaxy itself spun at seven hundred and ninety two thousand kilometers per hour while hurtling through the void at two-point-one million kilometers per hour.

And in the time it takes me to think this thought, the ever-expanding universe will increase in volume by one hundred trillion cubic light years.

The Doctor raised his right hand into the sunbeam. Dust motes vanished into its shadow. Obscured, but still present. Spreading his fingers let them appear and disappear like electrons around an atomic nucleus.

Darkness and shadows weren't the same thing. Darkness was a complete absence of light. Shadows obscured light. Neither darkness nor shadows could exist as a concept without light.

A smirk quirked the Doctor's lips. He scratched the back of his hand and watched the flecks of skin swirl in the sunlight. Another piece of himself now floating in Clara's flat. Maybe she would breathe one of them in. How much Clara-dust did he inhale throughout his visits to her flat? How many sneezes were caused, indirectly, by her?

Shadows played along the wrinkles in his knuckles. His veins were rivers of blue beneath his flesh's pallor. Wiggling his fingers turned them into pale arcs. If he moved them fast enough they passed through their own trails of light.

He remained ahead of the pangs in his back and groin if he kept his fingers moving. Movement gave the sensation an outlet. The harsh jabbing grew sharper and stabbed faster. Pain upon pain. Bigger and bigger. The entire left half of his urinary tract lit up in his brain like vibrating strobe lights. Its brightness threatened to overtake the piercing sunlight.

All at once his memories began spinning. Anything to outpace the shrieks in his nerves. His mind repeated the same scrap of a long-past conversation over and over on endless loop.

"This is Clara, not my assistant. She's, er, some other word."

"I'm his carer."

"Yeah, my carer. She cares so I don't have to."

The Doctor realized the pain was creeping off its isolated points of origin. Misery shrink-wrapped itself onto his skin. His arms were tiring, but he had to keep moving his fingers. Stopping entailed doom.

Clara's toilet flushed. Water ran. Her bathroom door opened. She reappeared clad in her floral red frock with the black collar. He remembered her wearing that outfit when they journeyed to the center of his TARDIS. Her hair was tied back and her face had more color on it. Ah, right, makeup.

He didn't register her movements until she bent over him, her shadow blocking out the sun's brightness. Her features and the room around her gradually broke up like cubism art.

"I'm off to work now." Clara smoothed his hair and planted a minty kiss on his brow. What should have been pleasant stung instead. "See you Wednesday?"

The Doctor gave a nod and wink. Words wouldn't form in his mind, let alone on his lips. He worried about her asking something that required a verbal response...because the jig was up if she did.

Clara's shadow withdrew. She walked around her flat, shutting off lights and grabbing her phone off its charger.

"Looks like you're on a roll today. I'll leave you to it." At the door, she said, "Enjoy your stimming."

The Doctor flipped one hand around to wave goodbye to her. He felt her eyes watching him. The shooting pangs accelerated, taking on the saw-tooth spikes of ventricular fibrillation. His fingers sped up to outrun it. He squinted, focusing only on their movement.

What would Clara say if she knew he was lying on her floor in the worst pain of his life and stimming let him withstand it? Once more his mind fought a battle between begging her to stay and hoping she left faster.

His sunbeam oasis dwindled to a sliver. Dust motes shone dimmer. Clara walked front door thudded shut. Keys rattled. Locks clicked. Footsteps retreated.

He was alone.

The Doctor's hands flopped to his sides. He lay motionless, panting from the agony coursing through him. No more sunbeam or dust motes to distract him.

Pain burned faster and hotter still, like v-fib becoming asystole. No shooting, just solid, sharp aching spreading to fill every corner of his nervous system. Such noise drowned out all signals to his limbs. Moving required phenomenal effort.

The Doctor undid the first button of his shirt and doubled up on his side. There was no way to exhale without groaning or whimpering. Not a dignified situation to be in, however he rationalized that nobody could see or hear him.

Sweat beaded at his hairline. He absently stuffed his No Gloom 'Shroom into his chalk pocket instead of its proper place on his wrist.

Was his bladder full? Impossible tell through the banshees shrieking in his nerves. Getting to a toilet became his next priority. Which one? Going for the TARDIS meant a longer trip with stairs in the way. Clara's loo offered a more or less level path. Thinking of it that way helped make up his mind in a jiffy.

Sheer willpower forced the Doctor onto his hands and knees. His pain level suddenly shrank from violet-hot to red-hot. Drinking extra fluids flushed the kidney stone into his bladder. Less nerve-screaming meant his limbs listened to his brain more.

Standing upright was impossible. He crawled instead- a long, misery-driven journey down the hall to Clara's bathroom. She kept it spotless and her toilet fixture was mercifully low to the ground. Getting himself around the open door took some doing since it opened inward to shield the toilet from view of anyone walking past. He pushed the seat up with one hand, unzipped, rose onto his knees and let the lip of the toilet bowl hold him over the water. Right now his hands weren't reliable enough to keep him aimed properly. He retracted his foreskin as an afterthought; the last thing he needed was the kidney stone leaving a micro-abrasion on a surface that would be in constant contact with his clothing.

It occurred to him that his world wasn't quite right. Everything seemed too bright, too close and too loud. Tugging his coat lapel gave him nothing. The hole bellowed nonsense in his awareness. No reassurance. No neutral anchor. No sensory buffer. His chalk...where did his chalk go? Thinking through the issue was an exercise in futility with all the pain noise blasting his nervous system.

Coldness from the porcelain toilet bowl seeped into his skin. Knowing what awaited him and the idea of facing it without his chalk made relaxing difficult. This kidney stone couldn't be too big to pass naturally. It got through an irritated, inflamed ureter and those were narrower than a urethra, right?

A few pathetic dribbles escaped. Oh, the searing, like violet-hot spears impaling all his nerve endings. Cold sweat dotted his skin. Veins bulged on his brow. He bit the back of his right hand until he tasted copper to muffle an undignified screech of pain.

The Doctor inhaled through his nose, clenched his teeth harder on his hand and bore down with everything he had. Those pitiful dribbles became a weak, yet steady stream of watery blood. He watched the water in the toilet bowl steadily turn dark red.

Razor blades scraped the length of his of his private parts. Millimeter by torturous millimeter until something tore itself free of his body. Suddenly his stream got a lot stronger. More pain struck as the backed-up fluid escaped.

Urine contained salt. Salt stung wounds no matter how tiny. He could hardly call this minor stinging. Invisible flames alighted his genitals, snaked up his groin and bore into his lower back.

His nerves were too saturated to bear any more. He grabbed the toilet seat and slammed it into his forehead with all his strength. No thought went behind the act, it just happened.

Everything fell still, a battlefield after war. The only sound was his gasping. His whole body hurt.

The Doctor had no recollection of tucking himself in or zipping his trousers. Clara's sink aided him in standing upright.

Pain rebounded through him like thunder after lightning. His skin went numb and his vision tunneled. Coldness prickled through his skin. Before he knew it he was falling beneath the waves of time.

.o

Time flowed over him like the frothy water raging above a drowning kayak user, except he remained able to breathe in short, shallow gasps.

The Doctor's eyes stayed stuck out of focus. Commands to move his limbs went unanswered. Pain continued crawling up his nerves, though less strongly than before. His vision blurred further as his eyes dried out. The misery of not being able to blink annoyed him more than his groin area. And having his eyes fixed in the same position let his brain break up the visual information like fractured mirrors. After awhile, he saw pure noise.

Assessing his body positioning wasn't easy when he wasn't sure he could feel himself. He knew he was more or less face-down by his right cheek resting on the cold tiles. It felt wet. Oh, of course, drool. His right elbow and the right half of his forehead hurt, so they hit the floor at the same time. He'd collapsed by the toilet and that hid him from view of the hallway.

Dimness overcame the bathroom as the sun moved over the top of the building and returned once it began descending again on the other side. Clean tiles let him watch reflections of the diffuse light shift with time.

Clara's front door clicked. Plastic bags rattled and her keys jingled as she stopped in the kitchen across the hall to put her groceries away. She leaned through the bathroom door to plop something on the sink before retreating towards her bedroom. So close, yet so far away.

Sometimes, Clara got a bit neurotic about keeping her bedroom door shut when she wasn't home. The Doctor felt glad for it when her door thumped against his TARDIS.

"Oof! What the- Doctor?"

The TARDIS door creaked. A few minutes later she padded into her living room.

"Ha-ha, this is not funny. Doctor?" She approached the bathroom and flicked on the light. "Are you hiding behind the-" The smile dropped off her face when she peeked around the door. "Doctor!"

She shoved the bathroom door shut with a horrible thud.

"Doctor!" Her voice reverberated painfully off all the hard surfaces in the bathroom. "Doctor, can you hear me?" Everything she said crackled like someone's tinny cell phone recording of a rock concert.

The Doctor couldn't do anything to indicate he heard her. He felt her check both sides of his throat for a pulse before rolling him onto his back. He was glad his eyes stayed open. That clued her in. The fear on her face shrank away. She scrunched her lips and briefly cupped his cheek with her palm.

"Your forehead is cut, you have quite a bump, too...and your eyes are dry." Clara spoke as if he could respond. "I'll help your eyes right now and worry about the rest when you come out of it, okay?"

She wet her hands under the sink faucet and gently dabbed his eyes. The stinging cold moisture didn't help much when he couldn't blink to distribute it. Then she guided his eyelids shut and untwisted him to lie supine. Sharp stabbing pains shot through his groin area. His joints ached from being in one position so long. Now he wished she hadn't moved him. Everything hurt so much worse. Fighting the sensation all day left him completely unable to resist it any longer. Even tiny pinches he normally wouldn't notice were unbearable.

"Take your time." She bent and lightly touched her lips to his. "I'll stay right here next to you."

He appreciated her minimizing physical contact to holding his uninjured hand. Her clothes rustled when she shifted positions. He knew she saw the blood in the toilet by the shaky way she exhaled and gave his hand a brief squeeze.

"I'm sorry I wasn't home sooner," Clara murmured.

Pain continued throbbing through the Doctor's nerves. Too loud for his body signals to scream over it. His mind spun through the Time War, Trenzalore and how close he came to losing Clara in the past few months.

The minutes ticked by. He felt a break in the agony. Breathing fell under his control again. Other muscles awakened back to life. He swallowed with a dry throat and coughed on his own spit.

"Hey," she touched the top of his head, "Don't rush yourself."

The Doctor clapped his hands over his ears. He opened his eyes, blinking as tears flooded to re-coat his eyeballs. Visual processing was his version of normal again- minor skips in movement, like animation with missing frames, but no more distorted cubism confusion.

"Doctor? Are you with me?" Clara hedged.

He tried to tell her he was coming out of the shutdown. Words weren't happening. Still nonverbal. He tapped his mouth with his fingertips.

She squeezed his uninjured hand without missing a beat, "Try using your mind. Can you show me what's wrong?"

The Doctor managed a mosaic of scrambled thoughts, snapshots of his crawl into the bathroom and blurred colors. His pain felt the clearest, yet he refused to let it through because he didn't wish that on anyone.

"It's...not making sense." Her brow knit. "I'm sorry."

A frustrated lump welled in his throat. This used to happen when he was little. He lifted his head off the floor and slammed it down. Dull pain exploded through his already aching skull, setting off waves of dizziness. He swore his whole body tilted clockwise in space.

"Oh!" Clara cradled his head in her lap. "Shh, Doctor, you didn't do anything wrong."

Processing her words through the bathroom reverberation required too much effort. Placing his hands tight over his ears was his only way to tell her she was too loud.

And Clara got it. Finally! In a softer tone, she said, "Sorry...I'll talk quieter."

The Doctor threw his forearm across his eyes. Sobs shook his shoulders. Just the delayed back half of his earlier meltdown. What a day- a meltdown interrupted by blacking out and a shutdown. He never had that happen before, and he hoped to never endure it again.

Clara aligned their torsos and eased herself to lay completely on top of him. Her weight restored his flailing body awareness. He stopped feeling like he was about to fall off the Earth.

"Breathe, Doctor." She cupped the sides of his head between her palms and massaged his temples with her thumbs.

He let his arms fall to his sides and closed his eyes, focusing on moving the air through his lungs. She squeezed his shoulders and planted her elbows in the crooks of his. Right where he wanted them.

Clara leaned closer to kiss him when he puckered his lips. Long, slow, sensual kisses. The repetitiveness of their mouths sliding against each other forced him to pause for breath, which, by proxy, helped him reign in his chaotic nervous system. His tears and the hitches in his breathing gradually stopped.

"There you go...you're fine," whispered Clara.

Words still weren't coming, but the panic that usually evoked wasn't there. The Doctor slid his legs apart and wrapped them around Clara's knees in a brief leg-hug. She embraced his neck. They stayed that way for several minutes.

Clara thumbed his remaining tears away before climbing off him. "I'm going to get the first aid kit from the TARDIS. Will you be okay?"

The Doctor flashed a thumbs up. Off she went.

He scooted towards the wall by the door and sat up against it. Tugging his coat lapel offered nothing. He suddenly remembered why he had such a heinous meltdown while passing the kidney stone. Something blocked the comforting smell of chalk always coming from his pocket. Reaching in revealed his misplaced No Gloom 'Shroom.

Well, that explained everything. He poked the stem into his mouth and absently rocked back and forth, letting the wall bounce him gently forward. Bursts of chalk scent wafted up to rebuild his sensory barrier and the screaming emptiness in his mind quieted down.

Clara returned carrying a small silver box. She set it on the floor and ran a gray washcloth under the sink faucet. The Doctor stared at a reflection of the bathroom door on the shiny tiles. He didn't immediately acknowledge Clara's presence.

"I need to wash the blood off first. It's crusted on, so it might sting a bit. Is that okay?"

The Doctor stopped rocking and closed his eyes while she washed his face. Blood got all over his forehead, judging by the passes the washcloth made above his eyebrows. The cool cloth only stung a little where he was cut, yet hurt a lot on the right side of his forehead. He grimaced and grasped her wrist.

"Ooh. Sorry. You've got quite a bump there. Looks like your head hit the floor full speed." Clara waited for him to let go before she finished cleaning the blood off his brow. "Here, give me your cut hand."

Feeling the cold cloth touch the skin of his wounded hand set off fresh stinging.

The Doctor let out a groan because he felt that through his whole arm. His private parts echoed it with the same sensation. Then his groin area protested with a deep ache. He squirmed involuntarily from the triple pain blast.

"Sorry...I know, I know, almost done. There we go. Ah, bit yourself eh?" Clara put the washcloth aside and flipped open the first aid kit.

The yellow antiseptic bottle looked a lot like Earth's perfume bottles, complete with the squeeze bulb. She had him cover his eyes before spritzing his forehead. He used his injured hand, so she sprayed it, too. Numbing agents in the antiseptic helped ease the stinging. She applied clear band-aids to his wounds and finished up by gently kissing them.

"All patched up now," Clara smiled. A smile tinged with effort, like it didn't want to be on her face.

The Doctor took the No Gloom 'Shroom out of his mouth and squeezed her hand. A silent thanks for her help.

"You're going to be late for your meeting," he said. Just like that, his voice worked again.

Clara arched an eyebrow at him. "It's three-thirty in the afternoon. School already started and ended." She gripped his forearm to keep his attention on her. "Where did the blood in the toilet come from? Did you throw it up? Or-"

"It's wee. I passed a kidney stone. The...the pain made me...hurt myself and black out. Ohhh..." He moaned and shamelessly gripped at himself as the residual soreness tore through him. "Wish I could spray that anticeptic on my...er, never mind."

"A kidney stone?" She balked, "My dad had one once. That's...ouch!"

He nodded grimly. "Happens every incarnation. Is it still in the toilet? I need to see how big it is. That way I'll know what I'm in for next time. There's always a next time."

Her face scrunched at that and she craned her neck to look into the toilet bowl. "I think so. Stay here."

Clara's footsteps padded out of the bathroom. At her return, she dunked a green aquarium fish net into the toilet and dumped the six millimeter kidney stone on the rim of her bathtub. A calcium stone. They always were. Its irregular sharp edges might as well have been razor blades for all the hell it caused him.

"Were you in pain the whole time I was in the TARDIS?"

The Doctor nodded before Clara finished the question. He was too ashamed to look at her.

"It didn't get bad until we stepped out into your living room. And you weren't in any condition to worry about me. Don't blame yourself, Clara. I didn't want you to know. I promise there wasn't any malicious intent or-"

He felt her hand on his shoulder. A firm touch that didn't hurt.

"It's fine. I'm not upset at you," she said, "I'm glad you're all right. People say kidney stones hurt worse than childbirth."

"Well, I can't make that comparison." The Doctor picked kidney stone up with a wad of toilet paper and took great pleasure in flushing it down the toilet. "On a scale of one to ten? I give passing that a twelve."

Clara insisted on helping him stand. Dizziness tugged at his balance. His reflection showed an angry looking bump on the right side of his forehead. No wonder he couldn't shake the wooziness- the fall and bashing his head on the floor gave him a nasty concussion.

He washed his hands before staggering to the door. Now the headache registered. It shifted like a heavy sand bag on his skull.

"I know what you're going to ask. Yes, I have a concussion. I- think I better stay for a bit. I'll be sick to my stomach if I try to fly the TARDIS right now. Ooh...my head..."

"Doctor?" Clara followed him into her bedroom and switched on the bedside lamp. "What if it's more than a concussion? What if you're bleeding in your brain?"

"I'll sense it if I'm bleeding internally, and I'm not." The Doctor slipped his velvet coat off, laid it on Clara's dresser and gingerly curled up on his left side on the bed. Remnants of pain stabbed his groin area. Nothing like he felt earlier, but enough to be uncomfortable.

Clara settled in front of him. He twitched a wry smile at her worried expression.

"I'll be fine. I won't keep it from you if something serious is going on."

She smiled back just as wryly. Then she sighed, taking the clip out of her hair and tossing it on the nightstand. Her expression went blank, almost unreadable.

"I want to make you a decent dinner, but I don't feel like cooking."

"Then don't cook."

He scooted closer, letting her know it was okay to touch him by inviting her into his personal space. She wrapped her legs around his and embraced his shoulders, which pulled him tight against her chest.

The Doctor gripped the back of Clara's frock like he feared her suddenly vanishing from him forever.

"I feel like I didn't do enough for you. Look at you, here, tending me...and I walked off to let you have a bath and go to bed alone in the TARDIS. I hardly-"

She cupped his cheek, her thumb caressing his bottom lip. "You silly old man, you're forgetting what you did before that. Taking me back a year...taking me to Danny...that meant a lot to me, Doctor. People should say things to each other before it's too late. But we don't, and we spend the rest of our lives feeling guilty about it."

His cheek twitched as he tried to use the broken telepathy still left to him. "I think that's a failing of all races in the universe. Not just humans. I want to explain it and my mouth isn't listening to my brain. I'm...I'm trying to touch your mind with mine."

She politely avoided eye contact while he concentrated. Using what little telepathic abilities he still had control of was as hit and miss as those try-your-luck claw games that picked up stuffed animals.

This time, he got lucky. He felt Clara's mind slide around his like a glove. Talking to her now was as simple as thinking all the words that piled up in unspoken heaps in his brain.

Voicing an emotion creates a strong sense of that emotion, and it can be uncomfortable or overwhelming. It's easier to assume the other person already knows or make peace with the fact that they will never know than step into that fire and say the words that matter.

Clara, I won't make that mistake with you. I know you already know this, but let me tell you anyway. I hope you feel this. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Clara's lips were trembling when the Doctor refocused on her face. Tears gathered under her eyelashes.

"I'm answering," she said. "I'm thinking it over and over. Can you hear it?"

He concentrated with all his might, but sensed nothing. Sadness deepened the wrinkles around his mouth. "I'm sorry...I can't. Outbound is working right now, inbound isn't."

Yet his mind continued repeating the same three words to her. Each repetition was as sincere as its predecessor.

Their eyes met. Clara's glistened with bare motion so profound that a loop of it caught his hearts anyway.

"I said I love you, too. Never thought I'd be saying that again. Said it to you a couple times, but...I mean it, Doctor. I love you, too."

The Doctor's expression crinkled into a smile. His connection to Clara's mind was fading, so he leaned forward until their foreheads touched. He did it gently to avoid reawakening his muted headache.

"You're wondering how you went all day without noticing I was in pain...and I've been wondering how I didn't notice you were in pain for a full year. I'm sorry, Clara."

"You didn't know because I didn't want you to know." Clara gazed at him, her deep brown eyes soft in the yellowish light of the bedside lamp. "It's a relief to not hide it anymore, but don't start thinking I'm going to be mopin' about all the time. I try not to let it take over. It's just...today was rubbish. Just bloody awful rubbish. Then you showed up and made it bearable."

He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "May I make a request?"

She shrugged, "Sure."

He met her eyes again so she saw the seriousness of what he asked.

"Tell me when you're having a difficult day. Even if it's Saturday...or any day that isn't Wednesday. Call me up. Talk to me. Leave me voicemails of you crying if that's all you can manage. I'll run right to you."

"Tch, you have much more important things to-"

The Doctor closed her lips with his thumb and forefinger. "Clara Oswald, there is no one in the universe more important to me than you."

Amusement twitched a smile across her lips. "Be upfront with me if you're in pain- doesn't matter what it is- and you've got a deal. Girlfriends and boyfriends take care of each other when they feel like rubbish."

"Okay. I'll agree to that."

"Great." She gave him a gentle squeeze. "I'd like you to meet the psychiatrist I'm seeing, too. My real one, not the second one I go to for my 'travel medication'."

The Doctor frowned, which made his forehead sting. "That's illegal."

"I know. You'll still help me though, right?"

He nodded because he would do anything to ensure Clara stayed safe and as healthy as possible- even if it meant breaking human laws and all of his moral codes.

"When is your appointment?"

"Four o'clock."

He yawned, "I'll be there."

Clara kissed his thumb. "Are you falling asleep on me?"

"Mmhmm, that's how this body reacts to trauma. Sorry."

"No, there's nothing to be sorry for." She pressed his hand tighter against her cheek. "Rest. I'll hold you while you sleep, love."

The Doctor stared at her and inhaled soundlessly.

"Clara...Clara, Clara, Clara," he murmured as his eyes drifted shut.

Clara tucked his face against her neck just before sleep took him away. He still felt her holding him. Her arms were the safest place in the universe.

Sometimes the space between dreaming and awake offered glimpses of the future. The Doctor saw himself lying in exactly this pose with Clara, yet the surroundings weren't her bedroom and she was crying into his shoulder. Then he sank into delta wave slumber and pondered no more.

.o

Waiting rooms of any sort were irksome places. People of many ages populated the rows of cloth chairs lining the wall. A flatscreen TV mounted by the entrance door played Disney's Frozen with the volume low and subtitles switched on. There were other noises too- overhead fluorescent lights buzzing, keyboard typing, papers shuffling, staplers clicking, footsteps and breathing.

The Doctor didn't know what information to prioritize or ignore. As a result, he stayed alert to everything. A tiring annoyance.

He glanced at Clara behind his sonic sunglasses. Wearing his sonic sunglasses let him avoid eye contact with the other people peppering the waiting room chairs. It wasn't like no one ever wore sunglasses indoors before. Looking human was all about blending in, right?

Clara wore casual clothing- so she said- though to him her dark blue sweater-dress, matching tights and shiny black shoes looked fancy to him. The Doctor had grudgingly traded his velvet coat for his crombie, his hoodie, his Misty Mountains T-shirt and his gray patterned trousers. They were his favorite 'I-don't-care' clothes. He didn't stick out of a crowd like the interesting fellow with spiked rainbow hair who never looked up from his university-level physics textbook, so he called his disguise perfect. Not sticking out more than someone else meant blending in. Therefore, he passed as a human!

The Doctor glanced at the TV screen, watching Elsa trying and failing to not freeze the golden scepter and globus cruciger at her coronation. She thrust them back onto the cushion and relaxed once she had her gloves on again. A perfect visual representation of how he felt whenever he had to hide his neurology from others.

"Are you okay?" Clara caught his coat when he paced past her for the fourth time.

He plopped into the chair next to her and jiggled his right leg. "My brain thinks it's noisy in here."

"Sorry about that." She gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze. "Hey, your cuts are gone."

"Yup. I'm all healed up now." He leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I hopped into the TARDIS and knocked around for a week."

"You left me coffee this morning."

"Yeah, kind of proud of that. The numbered instructions taped to the wall worked."

She tucked a wild curl behind his ear. He felt it whip right back into its original position again and quietly imitated the boing noise of a cartoon spring. That prompted her to playfully shove him away.

The inner office door creaked open. A man's voice spoke, "Clara?"

Clara rose from her seat. The Doctor also stood and found himself staring at his previous incarnation's face. Or, rather, what his previous incarnation would've looked like if he slicked his hair back and wore a proper slate gray business suit.

He scanned the young man with his sonic sunglasses. A perfectly healthy human male.

So that's where that face must have come from.

He tucked his sunglasses into his coat pocket and shot Clara a curious look. She smiled back at him.

"Hello," said the young psychiatrist, "You must be the boyfriend Clara mentions. I'm doctor Matthew Smith. Call me Matt, everyone does."

The Doctor extended his hand. "John Smith, no relation to you. People sometimes call me the Doctor."

Matt chuckled at that. He had a strong handshake. "Clara mentioned you're an older gentleman. Heh, I guess age really is a number."

"Especially when the difference is almost two thousand years," said the Doctor. Clara nudged him playfully.

"Ah, you don't look that old. Fifty-seven, tops."

"He's good," the Doctor told Clara.

"Yes, I am. Come along," Matt ushered them into the much quieter office-lined hallway. "Clara, how has your month been?"

"Okay, I guess. Had a rubbish day yesterday."

"Danny's anniversary?"

"Yeah. But my Doctor got me through it."

My Doctor, Clara had said. The Doctor's hearts warmed at that. He paused and tilted his head completely sideways to observe the young psychiatrist from behind.

Hm, I really was all legs.

Clara looked over her shoulder. "Doctor?"

A few skipping steps let the Doctor catch up. Nobody commented on his brief lapse.

They stepped into Matt's office at the very end of the hall. It sported a nice view of the cloudy city skyline. Light blue walls and a dark green throw rug on the gray carpeted floor gave the room a warm coziness. Framed credentials, diplomas and awards lined one wall. Matt's desk and a black leather couch sat against the other. Everything looked very neat, the Doctor noticed. A total opposite to his previous incarnation's style.

The Doctor's eyes went immediately to something red atop the bookshelf by the window. It drew him forward like a moth to a flame. He swiped it and placed it on his head, totally not caring that it mashed his gray curls.

Clara gazed fondly at him. "Still can't resist a fez, can you?"

"Never." He donned his sonic sunglasses and raised both eyebrows, "Does it work with my sonic sunglasses?"

Matt paused in the doorway and grinned, "Absolutely!"

"Matt! Don't encourage this man." Clara swiped the fez and hopped up to put it back on the bookshelf. "Sorry, my boyfriend here has a fetish for fezzes."

"Fezzes are cool," Matt said upon seating himself in the big leather office chair. He had his space set up so the desk didn't sit between him and his clients.

The Doctor grinned as he put his sonic sunglasses away. "What about bow ties?"

A silly smile briefly lit Matt's face. He twirled his pen on his fingers after laying a notepad in his lap. His movements were smooth and purposeful. "Never wear a tux without one. Shall we?"

The Doctor invited himself to sit on the leather couch when Matt gestured to it. Clara perched next to him, so close their hips touched. He noticed her wringing her hands and wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders. For once, it didn't feel awkward.

Then Clara began to talk. She spoke frankly to Matt about parts of her life she never mentioned anywhere else. Listening to her let the Doctor piece together those bits into a cohesive picture.

She lived with atypical depression, and she managed her condition without medication until Danny's unexpected death flung her into a self-destructive tailspin.

The Doctor began to realize why Clara wanted him there. This was her way of letting him in. How scared did she have to be to hide this from him for so long? He wanted to be angry at her for thinking so little of his reaction, but her bravery in opening up at all slew his anguish before it unfurled its wings.

Clara continued telling Matt about yesterday. Matt listened very attentively to every word. He made eye contact with her, asked relevant questions, showed interest in her responses and only wrote on his notepad during breaks in conversation.

"So, John- er, Doctor-" Matt set his pen down, "I notice you keep looking at me like you know me."

"Am I staring? Sorry." The Doctor smiled self-consciously, "You remind me of someone I used to be a long time ago."

Matt arched a brow, "Oh?"

The Doctor shrugged. "We all change, when you think about it. We're all different people all through our lives. There was a time in my life when I was a lot like you."

He felt Clara lean her shoulder against his. She knew what he meant.

Matt cocked his head. "You sound like a man who's seen things."

Grinning, the Doctor waggled his eyebrows, "Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?"

The younger man chuckled. "Not at all. Just observing."

"Don't try to analyze him. He'll twist your brain in knots," Clara chided playfully.

Matt poked his bottom lip out with a nod as if agreeing and refocused on her. She began talking about something related to school. Matt asked her questions about that. Then he asked her how her medication was working for her. She answered it worked great. He wrote a prescription and passed it to her along with a sheet listing her next appointment, his office number in case of emergencies and general notes stating her condition was stable for now.

"I'll pick this up tomorrow," said Clara.

"Right-o." Matt replied.

Ten minutes later, Clara and the Doctor slipped into the waiting room again. Back into the noises of buzzing lights, shuffling papers, keyboards clicking, phones ringing and other human noises. More people populated the chairs, which disrupted his previous mental map of the room. Once-clear pathways now appeared blocked by legs and feet, and the little noises everywhere weren't letting him recalculate an alternate route.

The Doctor stuck his hands into his pockets to hide the motion of his thumbs rubbing across his knuckles. Not bumping his shins into the maze of chairs was hard work. Too many 'little' noises, each of them vying for his attention. His eyes kept losing focus and his legs continually wanted to stop carrying him forward. A fluttering knot began to build in the pit of his stomach. He started to feel angry when he had no reason to be.

Clara took hold of his elbow at the same time everything began blurring together. She tugged him along with her. Suddenly he could walk fine, like he borrowed some of her will and sense of direction. They emerged into a carpeted corridor shaped like a giant letter T. The only sounds were doors clicking and air vents hissing. The lights did not buzz here.

The Doctor exhaled noisily through his nose. Moving from a 'loud' environment to a quiet one left his ears ringing. He took his hands out of his pockets, cupped the back of his right hand with his left and squeezed while wiggling his fingers. Combining pressure and movement gave the misplaced angry feelings somewhere to go.

"I hate waiting rooms," growled the Doctor. He shoved the stem of his No Gloom 'Shroom into his mouth and bit down hard.

Clara looked up at him. "Do you need to pace a bit before we leave?"

At his nod, she matched his stride while they crossed the corridor's length from one end to the other and back. She didn't fill it up with idle chatter or ask anything of him, she just walked at his side in silent understanding. Being able to freely move his body helped shed the chaos cocoon that closed around him inside the waiting room. Every footstep cast off another layer of tension until his stomach ceased its angry fluttering.

The Doctor stopped chewing his No Gloom 'Shroom and gestured at the elevator when he felt ready to face the noisy city outside.

"Thank you for coming," said Clara once they were in the elevator. She self-consciously rubbed at her elbow.

"You're in good hands." He stood on his toes to flex his calves. "I trust him."

The elevator went into motion. To the Doctor, it felt exactly like riding the TARDIS backwards in time to the past. He glanced at the red numbers counting down from twenty eight.

Her eyebrows went up. "Wow. That fast? Is it his face?"

"No, his notes. I read them on the way out. He pays attention to what you say. He cares about what you say. You're a person to him, not a bundle of issues that get him his paycheck. That's important."

Clara gazed up at him, smiling ever so faintly. "I wonder, Doctor...do you only take on the appearance of people in your subconscious, or do you also take on bits of their personality, too?"

Changing subjects so suddenly had him blinking rapidly in confusion. "S-Sorry?"

"Matt has a lot of the quirks you had. But he's, er, not as clumsy as you were."

The Doctor chuckled, "I was very dyspraxic in my last incarnation. My body rarely did exactly what I wanted it to. My fine motor skills still aren't as crisp as they were in my ninth and tenth incarnations."

"That explains a few- wait," Clara folded her arms and leaned back, "You have poor fine motor skills?"

"Mmhmm. They look 'normal' to you-" He punctuated the word 'normal' with air quotes, "-because you're comparing them to human fine motor skills. Mine are terrible by Gallifreyan standards. They get worse if I'm ill or tired. Remember how much trouble I had with buttons when I had the Zygon flu? Yeah? See? Now, you asked another question, but I forgot it."

She swung her eyes to the left briefly, a gesture she did when filing knowledge away in her mind. Her gaze returned to his face. "I don't remember either- ooh! Yeah, I do. Do you only take on faces, or do you get bits of peoples' personalities too?"

"You know...I haven't the faintest idea. Perhaps I do." He smiled at the notion.

The elevator reached the bottom floor.

"Ding," said the Doctor when the elevator doors opened.

"Oh no," Clara groaned once they exited into the brightly lit lobby.

Rain poured down outside. She wasn't dressed suitably for the weather, nor did she bring a coat or umbrella.

Fortunately, the Doctor was always prepared. He produced a small silver cylinder from his pocket that unfolded into a multicolored patchwork umbrella with a question mark at the end of the handle. It perfectly matched the colorful coat he wore six incarnations ago.

"Wow...that's very eighties," Clara remarked.

The Doctor cringed and made a mental note to upgrade his umbrella. What was he thinking when he put on that silly eyesore of a coat?

Unbidden, something Clara said to Matt nagged at his memory.

"I know how much he loves me, but I don't always feel it. He isn't the one doing anything wrong. It's me and my messed up brain..."

And in that instant the Doctor realized his duty of care was so much more complicated than he thought. He twirled the umbrella and held it aloft as they stepped outside together. Rain pattered loudly against the material, a soothing sound that drowned out the traffic noises. He could listen to rainfall forever and never tire of it.

Clara stuck close to his side as they walked towards the TARDIS, which sat next to a tiered silver fountain.

"I want to do something thrilling tomorrow. Something that gets my adrenaline pumping."

"Why not now?"

"Because I'm tired. I'm going to bed as soon as I'm home."

"Oh." The Doctor tried not to look too disappointed. Thinking ahead helped lift his excitement again. "I have just the thing. How about an antigravity wingsuit flight through the rings of Saturn? It's like regular wingsuits here on Earth..." He swung his arms out to the sides, accidentally tilting the umbrella, "...but it's in space!"

"I like the sound of th- ack!" Clara grabbed the umbrella pole and pulled it upright before they got too drenched.

His groin gave him the slightest twinge when he twisted to maneuver Clara into the TARDIS without getting more wet than they already were. The damage caused by last week's kidney stone was still healing, and moving the wrong way reminded him of it in a most unpleasant way.

Pushing a button collapsed the umbrella into a cylinder shape again and he slipped it into his coat pocket.

They were quiet for the momentary trip back to Clara's house. She immediately popped a box of tater tots into the microwave, got out the ketchup and chopped up three extra strawberries which she added to a cup of strawberry yogurt. They gave it a uniform lumpiness that didn't cause instant gagging.

The Doctor's mouth watered at the sights and smells of food. He chewed absently on the pad of his thumb as he stared at the lactose free yogurt cup on the counter. His left side vibrated faintly. He paced around the tiny kitchen like a hawk circling prey.

Clara passed him a spoon and the yogurt. He accepted both and practically inhaled the contents of the yogurt cup. She reminded him to wash it out and place it in the recycle bin under the sink.

It suddenly occurred to him that Clara went into "care mode" to run from her struggling. He ignored the ding of the microwave to watch her fumble with making herself a ham sandwich. Her hands shook so much she could barely spread the mayonnaise.

The Doctor steadied Clara's shaking hand with his own. She dropped the butter knife on the counter and pressed both hands over her face. Explosive sobs wracked her body. She slapped the counter top in frustration.

A lump welled in the Doctor's throat. He finished making the sandwich for her and embraced her from behind without asking her to explain. How many times did she hold him like this after a meltdown left him bawling?

"Breathe, Clara." The Doctor heard himself echoing something she often said to him. He kissed her above the ear, "Breathe."

"Your tater tots are going to get cold," Clara sniffled.

"You need me more than my stomach needs them."

She doubled over the sink. He massaged her shoulders while she sobbed. There were no words capable of making her feel better. No magic wand to suddenly turn everything okay.

The Doctor looked out the kitchen window where the rain poured down like Clara's tears.

"I'll be right back," he said.

He ventured into his TARDIS, came back out and draped his velvet coat around her. She was caught in a storm, so he offered the most comforting thing he could think of to shield her. Both her hands clutched at the lapels to keep the coat tight against her body.

The Doctor got his tater tots out of the microwave and dumped them on the plate Clara set on the counter They were arranged end to end into circles with a pile of ketchup marking the very center.

Clara pulled herself together enough to blow her nose and wash her face. She kept her back to him while she tore into her sandwich like she didn't realize how hungry she was until she started eating.

The Doctor took a tater tot from the outermost circle, dipped it in the ketchup and delicately ate it. Like Hershey bars, he had a method for this- he worked clockwise from the outermost circle inward.

"Clara?" He swallowed and slurped the grease off his thumb.

"You gave me your coat," she said.

"Wearing it feels like a hug."

Velvet rustled as Clara turned to face him. Her eyes were puffy and red. She finished her sandwich. "Yeah, it does."

A silver clock on the wall ticked the seconds. Humans used that sound to measure time. They named it in numbers like seven, twelve, twenty-four, thirty-one, sixty and three hundred and sixty five. Chopping time into blocks gave it a heartbeat and allowed humans the impression that they had control of it.

The Doctor heard Clara's heartbeat and breathing between the clock's ticking. His twin hearts and breathing gradually synchronized themselves with hers. Lefty beat first, Righty beat second and Clara's heart beat third. He breathed in. She breathed out.

It was so intimate, feeling their bodies fall into sync.

Clara watched him eat his tater tots. He slid the plate towards her when he finished. The final circle of five in the middle always went to her. She consumed them slowly, like moving the food to her mouth required herculean effort.

Wind whistled against the window. It had stopped raining. Droplets on the glass shone red or white as cars passed.

"What was she like?" asked Clara.

"Who?"

"The companion...the girl you loved before me. Tell me about her?"

The Doctor inhaled, leaned back for a moment and watched the second hand on the clock twitch past the six. He bent forward, folding his hands on the counter. A sad smile twitched his lips. His eyes were faraway.

"She had long blonde hair and a smile that lit up the darkest void. Do you remember the Moment? That was her face. Her name was Rose Tyler..."

Once he started talking the entire story poured out. He began when he helped Rose escape a mall full of Autons and ended at her kissing his Meta-Crisis clone in an alternate universe beyond his reach.

"...I got back into my TARDIS and that was that." The Doctor raised his folded hands to tap his thumbs against his chin. His voice cracked, "I gave her the best happily ever after I could."

Clara smiled with a fond sadness and brushed her knuckle against each of his cheeks. They came away wet.

"She sounds like someone I could be great friends with." Her eyes softened as she dried her fingers against her shirt. "Is that how you'll talk about me someday?"

He sniffed, took her hand and kissed it tenderly. "Without a doubt."

She grinned, flexing their entwined fingers. "Doctor, I'm going to tell you to do something right now. This is something you need to do before you see me again tomorrow."

.o

The Doctor tugged his velvet coat lapel for a reassuring whiff of chalk. Then he sniffed his wrist to check the strength of his cologne. Old Spice, a favorite of his tenth incarnation. A spritz over both carotid arteries and one on his left wrist were all he needed. The clean, sharp woodsy-fading-to-cinnamon scent floated near his skin without being overpowering. This body didn't wear it quite the same way as his tenth incarnation, which brought out more of the spicy-fruitiness. It didn't smell better or worse, just slightly different.

People shuffled past him to enter the doors he stood beside. A glance across the street reassured him of where he parked his TARDIS. Right in the same spot his younger self was going to park in exactly five hours. This trip was cutting it closer than his straight razor.

He squared his shoulders and stepped through the glass doors of Henrik's. There were a lot of colors and lights to take in. He stood still a moment with his hands on his coat lapels, letting his senses acclimate to the visually busy environment.

White, red and pink signs proclaiming sales decorated every department. Colorful garments hung on racks. Luminous fluorescent lights gleamed off the shiny white floor. The carpet under the clothing racks was dark brown and practically impeccable.

Unlike the waiting room, he expected this sensory onslaught and could better brace himself for it.

Another sniff of chalk steeled his resolve. His feet made little sound when he walked past a women's-wear mannequin clad in a black turtleneck and tan trousers.

Pink moved past the corner of his eye. He dared to glance. Pink hoodie, flared blue jeans and loose blonde hair cascading down her back. The memory of her seared his mind. He turned away and pressed the pad of his thumb against his mouth. This was a ridiculous idea. Why did he let Clara talk him into it?

"Excuse me."

Rose shouldered past him to lay piles of clothes out on a display shelf. Her timeline brushed his and he saw the future they shared trail off her footsteps like a storyboard.

She seemed so young now.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

The Doctor stopped chewing his thumb and spun on his heel to face her. "Yes, actually. You. You're right on time." He grinned, "Fantastic!"

"Er, right..." Rose tucked her hair behind her ear and briefly flashed her brilliant smile. The last light his tenth incarnation ever saw. Seeing it cut through his hearts while simultaneously healing them.

He shifted around the shelves between them, pausing when she sidestepped closer to the aisle. "Please, Rose, don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you."

"How do you know my name?"

"I...can't tell you, but I promise I won't hurt you. I know how strange this seems. Please, Rose, you have nothing to fear from me. I have something important to tell you."

Rose frowned, her body growing marginally less tense. "Okay...but you stay over there and talk."

The Doctor held both hands palms out to show he meant no harm before clasping them together. He ducked his head, sucking in a deep breath. His hearts hammered so loud he wondered how she didn't hear them.

"Something wonderful and scary and life-changing is going to happen to you in exactly five hours. You'll meet a man who can run anywhere through time and space. You're going to experience incredible things, Rose, Incredible things."

Her eyes flicked back and forth. She arched an eyebrow and he knew she wondered what this strange old man in a maroon velvet coat was going on about.

"And?" Rose hedged.

The Doctor inhaled slowly to steel himself, reached into his trousers pocket and extracted a folded piece of notebook paper. There were three words written on it in black ink.

"Rose, there will come a moment where he starts to say something very important to you, but he never gets to finish his sentence. I wrote the rest of his statement down. Please, take it."

He extended his hand towards her, the folded paper dangling off the tips of his index and middle fingers.

Rose came closer. She took the paper. He watched her unfold and read it. Her delicate eyebrows creased in a confused frown. Seeing her read the words he never got to say himself created a hot lump in his throat. He turned slightly away from her, wiping at his eyes.

Suddenly, he felt her soft hand on his forearm. Her touch hurt because of this body's nervous system, but he accepted it anyway.

"Is there someone I can call for you? Do you need a doctor?"

"Do I need a- oh, that's brilliant." The Doctor chuckled as his eyes welled over. He cupped his other hand over hers. "No, no, no, but you. You're about to meet one, and he's going to change your life before he walks out of it again. Try to remember this moment when you see him walk away for the last time. This moment, right now."

Rose's eyes teared up. An empathetic response. She blinked the tears away and pressed her hand against his. So brave, so unsure.

"Okay. Why?"

"Because I'm going to be okay, Rose." He looked squarely into her eyes. "I'll find love again. I won't be alone. I promise."

Rose pursed her lips and arched a brow. "Whatever you say. Listen, I need to get back to work. I'll do my best to, uh, remember what you said here."

Then she smiled at him. A nervous smile, yet it lit her face anyway.

The Doctor risked kissing her hand before letting it go. He stepped away and studied her face one last time.

Rose gazed back, her expression caught between sadness and wonder.

"Hold on. Just hold on. This is getting too weird." She set down another pile of clothes and darted into his path. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Yes, but not like this. Not with this daft old face." The Doctor raised his eyebrows and beamed at her. "Before I go, I just want to tell you...you're going to be fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. And do you know what?" He slid his sunglasses on with flair, "So will I."

Their eyes met again, the softness and affection in his hidden by his sunglasses. He felt his past self's timeline brush the fringes of hers like the beginning of an eclipse. Right now, past-him was pacing dazedly around his TARDIS console in the throes of a post-regeneration fugue. A fugue that would end at the sight of her face.

Rose shifted out of his path. "O-okay. Right. I think you best move on."

"I am." The Doctor took a breath. "Goodbye, Rose Tyler."

"Uh...take care, mate. Bye."

With those words, a tremendous weight lifted off his hearts. Nothing remained unsaid between them now, but she didn't know it yet. All of that was to come.

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Rose to her future.

.o

The Doctor materialized the TARDIS in the Coal Hill school utility closet exactly one minute before the final bell. He counted to sixty, popped his No Gloom 'Shroom into his mouth and covered his ears as the ringing echoed in the halls. Then came the rush of students hurrying to escape the confines of boring classrooms and lectures.

Joy from earlier still bubbled within him. There was only one way to control this energy. He grabbed his guitar and shredded Van Halen's Hot For Teacher.

His twirling, hopping and leg kicks carried on until he played the whole song through from start to finish. Twice.

Then he found Clara with her elbow resting on the TARDIS console and her chin cradled on her palm. His face flushed. Her brown eyes shone with affection. She was smiling.

"You did it," said Clara. A statement, not a question.

The Doctor shut his amp off. He set his guitar aside and straightened, inviting her into his personal space. Clara obliged without hesitation. She swiped the No Gloom 'Shroom out of his mouth to bump their foreheads together once, nuzzle noses twice and give him three pecks on the lips. A perfect Wednesday kiss.

"I did it," replied the Doctor.

He glanced at the console next to them. It was peppered with Post-it notes for asking someone how they were doing. For all his excitement, he didn't want to forget about Clara's needs.

"How are you feeling today?" He read the first note his eyes landed on.

"Rough, but all right." Clara paused upon noticing the notes stuck to the console. She groaned softly under her breath and ran a hand over her hair. "Don't."

He raised a brow. "Don't what?"

"I know what you're trying to do. Don't."

One of those annoying things non-autistic people did- dropping esoteric hints and expecting him to magically understand them. Maybe they would make sense if his telepathic abilities weren't broken.

"Clara...I don't know what you mean." The Doctor folded his hands on the console. "I'm not being obtuse to tease you, I really don't know. You'll have better luck if you state the obvious."

"Right, right, sorry." Clara pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. "You're trying to show me you care. I appreciate it, but you don't have to act like I'll break. I had a wobble and I'm doing better now."

He spread his hands, "So...what do you want me to do for you?"

"The same things I do for you when your brain trips you up." She twirled his No Gloom 'Shroom around on her right index finger. "Treat me like you usually treat me on my good days, and be there for me when I have bad ones. How's that?"

That sounded sensible enough. The Doctor clicked his teeth like Pac-Man and snatched his No Gloom 'Shroom off her fingers. He waggled his eyebrows at her, spat it up into the air and caught it in his hand.

Clara chuckled as he slid the stim toy onto his wrist. "You promised me an antigravity wingsuit flight, Doctor."

"Yes." He typed in the Epsilon coordinates and gestured to the two silver objects draped over the railing behind him.

The antigravity wingsuits resembled a cross between traditional wingsuits and space suits. The "wing" webbing in the arms and legs contained the antigravity emitters, which looked similar to the faceted reflectors seen on bicycle wheels.

Clara tapped the Doctor's shoulder. He faced her. She smiled, and it wasn't forced. "Are you wearing cologne?"

"Mmhmm."

She leaned forward and inhaled, "Your younger regeneration smelled like this."

"It's Old Spice." The Doctor lengthened the 's' sounds on purpose. He smirked and rubbed the back of his neck, "Rose said she liked it, but I don't think it smells quite the same on this body as it did on my younger one."

"Actually, it smells almost exactly the same."

"Does it?"

"Yeah." Clara breathed in and whispered in his ear, "Mm, cinnamon."

He closed his eyes, smiling secretly to himself. It didn't matter if the cinnamon smell was the base note scent instead of the middle note. Clara just gave him hope that Rose remembered the exchange in Henrik's. She got to receive those three important words from him first and he was able to walk away knowing nothing remained unsaid.

"I like the smell, but it's not you, you know?"

"I don't usually wear any scents."

"No, but you have a smell that's distinctly you. It's a smell that makes me think of you whenever I get a whiff of it. I smell it every day at work."

"Oh?"

She tapped his chest where he kept his pocket chalk. "That's your smell, Doctor."

"It's that obvious?"

"Nah," she giggled, "Just when I'm this close."

Sometimes, Clara reminded the Doctor of himself. Always running to heal others when her own heart needed healing more.

"I'm glad you talked me into seeing Rose again. It's...nice to have closure for once."

"Yeah," Clara inched her face closer to his. "Let's go fly over Saturn."

He tilted his head, "As you wish."

They kissed. Long, slow and intimate. The Doctor led Clara's hand to the locking mechanism and they pulled it together.

.o

Two silvery figures in space helmets huddled by an impossible rectangular doorway.

Gibbous Planet Saturn loomed outside the open TARDIS door. Just a swirling, striated butterscotch colored gas ball surrounded by beautiful disks of ice and dust. Some particles were the size of skin flakes and others looked big enough to crush a house. Yet, for all its glory, gigantic Saturn itself would float if dropped into water. Talk about cosmic irony.

The Doctor and Clara looked down. They were a few kilometers above Saturn's F ring, the narrowest outer ring still visible to telescopes and human eyes. Actually, it wasn't a single ring. It consisted of a bright core with spirals of material around it caused by a gravitational force disturbing the inner edge.

Leaning forward let the Doctor spot the rocky perpetrator responsible for the spirals. He pinged Clara's communication's system and pointed to the two tiny moons flanking the inside and outside edges of the F ring.

"Look, it's Pandora and Prometheus. They're called the shepherd moons because people say they keep that ring together."

Clara's voice crackled slightly through his speakers, "Kinda like us. We run around the universe, keeping it in one piece."

The Doctor snorted at that. "I hate to burst your bubble, Clara, but the truth is Prometheus does all the 'holding' it together. It completes an orbit in just over fourteen hours, so it's whipping along at a good clip and bumps into the ring as it goes. See the streaks? That's the mess it's making in the name of keeping things together."

"Oh. Heh, heh, guess I'm being silly then, eh?"

"No..." The Doctor suddenly realized how crummy his explanation sounded and softened it by adding, "It's a nice sentiment. Perhaps we're shepherd moons to each other."

Reflections of Saturn's pale F ring shone in Clara's helmet.

"We're the ring, too."

"Agreed." He clapped his gloved hands together and rubbed them. "So, are you ready to jump?"

Her brown eyes glimmered. She faced him and the reflection shifted to Prometheus.

"You bet!"

The Doctor grinned at her. "I guess I should say the old thing."

"The old thing?"

"Yeah." He spread his arms and dove out the TARDIS door. "Geronimo!"

Their dive took them straight outward into the void. They felt no wind, just the stomach-clenching sensation of perpetual free fall as they 'fell around' Saturn's mass. Small ionic boosters in their heels provided steering while deflectors in the helmets kept microparticles from penetrating their suits.

They cut power to their boosters a hundred meters above the ring particles and spread their limbs to unfurl the wingsuit webbing. The antigravity emitters "bounced" them off the rocky dust making up Saturn's rings while Saturn's gravity kept them from whipping off into space. This had an effect like the magnets that accelerated roller coasters at amusement parks.

"Woohoo! Hello, Saturn!" Clara shouted.

The Doctor's hearts sang on the music of her happiness. Every moment of her joy mattered more to him now than ever.

He drifted closer to catch her hand. Their eyes met. They smiled at each other.

And off they glided without a care in the universe beyond having fun.

.o END o.

End note: I want to point out that the Doctor's shutdowns are what they're like for him specifically. Shutdowns are as unique as the autistic people who experience them.