It was almost impossible to see anything through the fog and the dust clouding the air. Clara felt light as a feather in his arms, but still the Doctor stumbled, his feet catching on stones and rocks and the sounds of his past lives echoing in his ears and in his head. The air felt thick and heavy and he thought he might have lost his way, but a pale glimmer of blue ahead confirmed in his mind that he was heading back towards the rip in time which he had come through to save his companion.
Clara. His Clara. His impossible, wonderful Clara. She was shaking against him, her arms wrapped tight around his neck and her face, damp with tears, pressed against his shoulder. Her pulse was sluggish but steady, and he could feel it thrumming against the four-beat drone of his own hearts. One of her hands was gripping his jacket, keeping her up, while the other hung across his neck, still holding the leaf tightly. She might have been in pain—he couldn't tell for sure, but each time his stride faltered and she jolted in his arms, he felt her cringe. Once, his foot hit a crack in the ground, and he stumbled forward, one hand flying away from Clara to stop the fall before she hit the ground. His knees slammed against the dirt, and he winced as his companion's entire body trembled and she let out a slight whimper. The Doctor gripped her tighter and forced himself back to his feet, mumbling words of apology into her hair. She didn't respond.
The light was only a few meters away now—he could see it, a tangle of blue strands like lightning that curled and wove around each other with a faint crackling noise. He took a deep breath, held Clara tighter, and forced his feet to carry them the last few steps forward. Being inside his own time stream was ripping him apart, sucking his strength out so every movement was a struggle. Just over a meter away, he stopped, feeling as if he were about to collapse. He realized how easy it would be to lay down in the dirt, holding Clara against him, and let his own time line consume them forever. But then she shifted in his arms, and he heard her whisper, "Doctor?"
Her voice was all he needed, because she was still alive, and she had sacrificed so much to save him, and now he was going to take those last few strides and save her, too. "It's all right, Clara," He murmured. "We're almost there."
She replied with something almost unintelligible, her words slurred beyond recognition, but she wrapped her arms tighter around him, and he knew he was going to get out. For Clara.
He threw himself forward, spinning at the last moment so his back hit the blue light and he fell through, feeling like every molecule in his body was exploding all at once. He and Clara landed back on the console platform of the dead TARDIS, her on top of him so that she wouldn't get crushed when he landed. Vastra, Jenny and Strax were all still standing there, each looking anxious (although Strax looked more angry than anxious, quite honestly). As the Doctor stumbled to his feet, still clutching his impossible girl against his chest, Vastra rushed forward to help him, simultaneously bombarding him with questions. He turned away from her, dismissing her help, and slowly carried Clara towards the exit, though he could still hear Vastra and Jenny behind him, calling out to ask if he and Clara were okay.
He left his tomb and trudged across the graveyard, weaving between old headstones and monuments to people he would never know. The TARDIS, his TARDIS, was waiting almost patiently at the far end of the cemetery. The Doctor almost expected her to make him set Clara down in order to open the doors, but it seemed she was feeling merciful, or at least understood the magnitude of what she had done to help her thief. Her doors swung inward as he approached, and he gratefully carried Clara through.
The TARDIS didn't have a lot of bedrooms. The only ones it ever had were the ones she made for his companions, and when they left he didn't let her delete them, keeping them instead as memories of the people he had lost, or who had left him. Clara didn't live with him, so she didn't have a room, but when he opened the first door down the hall, he was surprised to find that his TARDIS had apparently taken enough pity on the companion whom she disliked so much to make a bedroom for her. It was small and simple, with a four-poster bed in one corner and dark red walls, a golden carpet on the ground. The Doctor mouthed a 'thank you' to the TARDIS before crossing to gently lay Clara down on the bed. She whimpered slightly and curled in on herself, almost crumbling the leaf beneath her. He gently removed it from her grip and set it on the bedside table, then sat down beside her.
In the dim lighting, it almost looked like she was asleep. The Doctor prepared to stand up and leave her to sleep, but before he could, she said his name again. "Doctor?"
He felt her tiny hand reach out and grab his, fingers cold to the touch. He interlaced his fingers with hers and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "How are you feeling, Clara?" He asked gently.
Her eyes flickered open and she looked up at him with tired brown eyes. "Brittle," She managed. "Like I might just break apart and drift away. Are you okay?"
He chuckled softly. "Oh, Clara," he murmured with a small smile. "I'm absolutely fine. Thanks to you."
She returned his smile with a sleepy echo of one that traced lines across her face for an instant before falling slack again. "That's good," She whispered. "And everyone else?"
"They're fine, too." He smiled. "You did it, Clara. You saved us."
She shifted almost onto her back, her eyes scanning his, delicate lines of confusion etched on her face. "But I… I was in your time stream," She said slowly, her words still slurring slightly. "Doctor Simeon died. How come I didn't?"
"Don't you remember?" The Doctor smiled softly. "I came in to get you."
"Oh." She was silent for a while, the moment stretching out so long the Doctor thought she might have fallen asleep. "Why?"
"Because, Clara." He pulled her hand into his lap, holding it with both of his and running his thumbs over the curves of her knuckles, "I wasn't going to let you die. Not now, not ever." But as soon as he said those words, they stung, because he had let her die. She had died a million times over to save him, and he hadn't even known it.
She seemed to sense the change in his emotions, and he saw her use her free hand to push herself up into a sitting position. He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "Don't give me that look," She mumbled to him, with just a hint of her old attitude. "I'm not that weak."
"You really should rest—" The Doctor started, but he was interrupted as Clara reached up and touched his cheek softly.
"I'm fine," She promised him. "And all those other versions of me, they're fine too. Don't look like that, please," A hint of pleading entered her voice. "I made that decision on my own, and every single echo of me made that decision, too, to die for you. I wouldn't take it back even if I could."
The Doctor shook his head ever so slightly and chuckled softly. "My Clara," He murmured with a smile, letting go of her hand to cup her face gently in his palms. "You are truly impossible."
Clara offered no words in response, instead closing her eyes and letting out the smallest shadow of a breath, her hands coming up to curl over the Doctor's against her cheeks. "Thank you for saving me," She whispered.
"It was the least I could do." He stroked his thumbs gently over the soft skin of her cheeks, realizing then how familiar she felt to him. How familiar, and warm, and kind. Maybe that was just his subconscious remembering all the versions of her that he had almost met, or maybe it was him, now, finally face-to-face with the impossible girl he had lost twice and almost lost again. Either way, when he leaned down and kissed her softly, it didn't feel forced. It didn't feel awkward, or strange, or unusual. It just felt… safe. Sweet. It lasted for only a second before he pulled back and wrapped her in his arms, holding her against him. She responded by burying her face in his chest and curling her arms around his waist, holding on tightly as if he were a lifeline.
"I've been waiting centuries for you to do that," She mumbled against his shirt, just a hint of the old quirk in her voice.
He rested his chin on top of her head and smiled, closing his eyes and taking a deep, slow breath. "And I waited far too long."