At the end of the day, it felt like a series of snapshots that she could thumb through at will, a lifetime flashing before her eyes and an ending she hadn't anticipated. And he was staring at her with those wild eyes, as if he were trying to memorize every detail on her face and all she could do was stand and stare back, trying to find some small bit of him left in that face.

"Ding dong, ok, brilliant."

She should have told him then, maybe over the phone would have been easier than trying to wait for the right moment to tell him in person. Pulling him aside during dinner. With her family a room away in case they wanted to share the good news. Maybe if she had, none of what happened would have. Of course, she knew, that wouldn't have been the case, but at least he would have known.

"This is my…"

Clara should have shouted it, or tugged him by an oversized ear and whispered into it. If he'd known then? He would have known then, what she was. What she was to him. She'd crossed her arms over herself in that moment, some urge to confess to him masked over by a sudden terror over… something she couldn't remember.

"Cold, cold, cold."

When his hands were all over her; when she could feel every inch of his flesh closing in on her again, it brought back the memory of one night in a darkened Tardis bedroom. A nervous giggle escaping him as she coaxed him on, assuring him it was just fine. It was just two people doing people things. Satisfying people urges. Just a few weeks ago and she smiled thinking about him standing stark naked in his Tardis, as if telling her look at me, I'm ok with the urges because we've had the urges and done the urges so this is fine, right?

"Pull! PULL!"

The hilarity of the moment didn't strike her until later. Sooner than she imagined, she'd be in quite the opposite predicament and he wouldn't be there – or at least that version of him wouldn't be. Clara should have told him then, after they'd rolled away from that statue and then moved into town. She resented that she was so caught up in the moment that she'd forgotten. Of course, she'd only found out that morning, the test was still sitting in its box, hidden away in the bathroom, just waiting to be shown to him because he would ask. He would ask and he would scan it with his Sonic. And then he would scan her. And he would smile.

"Well I'm not even talking to you!"

She didn't want to tell him in that instance, she was heartbroken and trying to come to terms with what he'd done, sending her back home and expecting her to sit still and wait for him? No, that's not how it works Doctor, I save you. I save you. And look at how you've grown old without me. Clara could look at him then and still see the twinkle in those sad eyes and she wanted nothing more than to lean into him and tell him so maybe he'd stop and he'd look at her and he'd want her there with him.

"Kill her."

There was a thought, in that moment, that those shocks might have put an end to her predicament. Might have taken the choice away from her and in that moment she knew she should have told him sooner. He would have protected her if he'd known. He would have done so much differently, she imagined. He wouldn't have stayed, or maybe he would have taken her key to make sure she couldn't return. He should have known it was an option.

"Goodbye, my impossible girl. And thank you."

Was there even a point anymore? With everything that had happened, should his last moments be spent arguing that she should have told him sooner? Clara knew her being pregnant wouldn't have changed a single event of that day, of those three hundred plus years. Him knowing just would have made it more painful. If he'd have known, he would have done something irrational and not knowing might have given him his final days – living in the town of Christmas – and might have saved countless lives; given him all of his victories.

"If you love him, and you should, help him."

And in that moment she was feeling sick to her stomach and fearing that those shocks had put an end to it, but she swallowed that sadness and she spoke to a crack in a wall hoping beyond hope that those on the other side could feel what she felt for the man standing outside raging a war against his enemies. He would have been the best father to their child and he would have been the best husband to her, if he'd been able to. If he'd had the chance to, but Clara supposed that choice was never really one they had.

"Please, don't change."

There was that smile of his. Those eyes of his. That look he gave her when he knew everything was falling apart, but he wanted to save her the pain of it. He was dying. Regenerating. And he was worried about her, reaching out a hand, just inches away from touching hers – and she reached because she didn't care if the blast took her. She saw the flicker of light on her fingertips, the last ray of his effort to hold her hand because, she knew, they were meant to. She shook her head against the faintness she was feeling and she focused on him as he watched her, simple 'hey' escaping before he was gone.

"Do you happen to know how to fly this thing?"

Clara couldn't hold back her tears any longer. She felt them flow over her cheeks as he jammed at the buttons on the console and continually glanced in her direction, as though there were something very important that he needed to tell her, some last remnant of memory from Eleven, and she knew there should be something very important for her to tell him. Except he wasn't him anymore.