Hello! I know this one's a bit short, but I think after that emotional turmoil of the last episode I couldn't write for too long about it. Short 'n'sweet, I'd say!

Disclaimer: I am not the Moff; I am not paid by the BBC

Clara hadn't stirred since she had collapsed into the Doctor's arms, which worried the Doctor greatly. Sure, she was exhausted, but it was so unlike Clara Oswald to faint. She was the strong one, the feisty one, the one that didn't faint. Yet she had. And it was all his fault.

Clara looked so peaceful in sleep. The Doctor pulled up the duvet around her, sensing the chill in the air, hoping it might help her to wake up, and sat down beside the bed watching her shallow, but steady, breathing. Silent tears rolled down his face as he clasped her small, cold hand with both of his, and kissed it gently.

"Oh Clara, my Clara," he whispered into her hand, before pressing it to his cheek.

It must have been hours before there was any response from Clara. Her fingers twitched between his, before a soft murmur, that soon grew into a cry. Tears leaked from her eyes, startling the Doctor as he tried to wake her.

She wouldn't be woken though, as she started to tremble. Not violently, but enough to frighten the Doctor.

"Clara? Clara!" he cried, shaking her.

Her eyes flew open, unfocused and blurry from tears. Her mouth hung open, as if she were trying to form words that just weren't coming to her. She looked at the ceiling for a good minute before her eyes flickered over to him.

"Doctor?" she croaked, her eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. He stroked her hair and leant forward to press his lips to her forehead, and then press his forehead to hers.

"Clara," he mumbled, "oh, my Clara".

After a cup of tea, Clara proved to be much more talkative. Much more.

Clara sat at the head of the bed, with an empty mug in her hands, the remaining heat in the ceramic warming her. The Doctor sat on the side of the bed facing her, his eyes never leaving her face, needing to assure himself of her safety and wellbeing.

"So what happened with River?" she asked, somewhat tentatively, her eyes down.

"We… said goodbye," he said, after a moments' hesitation.

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes flicking up to his briefly before returning to the mattress on which she was sitting.

"Hey," he said, his fingers catching on her chin to pull her up to look at him. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about, Clara. Nothing at all. You hear me?"

Clara nodded half-heartedly.

"Clara," he warned, his eyes darkening. "River and I… that was a long time ago. Before I even met you. Well, this you. Before I'd met the you that… well you know, that I..." he broke off suddenly and started to get up off the bed. "Actually, let me make you another tea!"

But Clara would not be dissuaded, and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back down. "The me that you what, Doctor?"

She knew that she shouldn't get her hopes up. Don't fall in love; that was a trick, but she had always been hopeless at that.

"Well you know, the you that I… like. I mean, I liked the other yous, obviously, because the other yours were you as well but you're the one that's… well… you're the real Clara and you are just so much more… real," the Doctor said, obviously having trouble with his explanations.

Clara deflated somewhat, and wondered if she could say something stupid and then later blame it on her exhaustion.

"Oh, because for a second there I thought you were gonna say something else," she said, her voice slightly trembling.

"I… was," he replied slowly, his eyes searching hers.

"Tell me then. The me that you what?"

"The you that I…" he paused, flinging his hands about himself as if trying to think of the right word, before whispering, "love".

The smile that grew upon Clara's face was infectious, and soon the Doctor too was grinning at her. She launched herself off the bed and into his arms, burying her face into his shoulder, her legs wrapping around his waist and her arms wrapping around his neck.

It took him by surprise, but soon he was reciprocating, one arm locking around her back, and one hand cradling her head to his chest. They sat like that for awhile, neither of them entirely sure of how long before the Doctor pulled back and kissed her soundly on the lips.

It was chaste, but they both tasted the sweetness of a thousand years of waiting.

And that was enough for now, Clara thought. She didn't want to jump into things, she liked it like this. Her Doctor cradling her to him. She liked the safety of it.

She loved him.