The Doctor doesn't have time to mourn or even process Rivers departure as he half leads half carries Clara out of his grave and into the TARDIS, with Vastra, Jenny, and Strax in tow. He wraps a hand around Clara's waist, taking most of her weight, and it's a sign of her injuries that she doesn't complain. He keeps her close with one hand and fiddles with the console with the other.
"I'm taking you home." He tells Vastra. It's a sign of his injuries that he cant even offer her a smile or explanation. Without another word he swings Clara into his arms bridal style and marches away down the corridor.
It occurs to him that Clara doesn't actually have a bedroom on his ship seeing as she doesn't stay with him all the time. He briefly considers putting her in his bedroom but then he thinks of the pictures of River lining his dresser and her clothes in his closet and how that is a wound he is so beyond not ready to deal with yet. Then he thinks of the bedroom he uses for times just like this when he cannot face his own- the bedroom he'd been using for the past few hundred years- but really that was more of a dungeon, empty except for a mattress he'd never found a bed for. He stops in defeat, wondering how long he can wander around with Clara in his arms before he gets tired, when he sees an unfamiliar door at the end of the hall.
The Doctor works around Clara to open the door and doesn't bother taking a moment to inspect the room which is no doubt perfect for her- just like all the rooms tailored for his companions seem to be. He deposits her gently on the bed, her neck lolling on her shoulders. He considers pocking around for pajamas to change her into before deciding that is definitely not his place. Instead he pulls the covers around her and strokes her forehead, before bending down and kissing her there. He pulls away quickly in fear of waking her and backs quickly out of the room.
Back in the control room he finds his friends right where he left them, and quietly lands them.
"Give Clara my regards and my gratitude." Vastra says. Jenny hugs him.
"It's a shame the human boy didn't die; better luck next time." Strax gets the last word as Jenny ushers him out the TARDIS. The Doctor leans against the closed doors and thinks about Clara, and time and space, and the infinite times she's saved his life. Then he sets coordinates for London Earth 2013.
The Doctor spins aimlessly through the vortex and wonders how long he has to wait and whether or not he should be waiting at all.
He knocks enthusiastically on the Maitlands door, pleased with himself because the sun is rising and surely he's only left Clara for a few hours and hasn't missed a thing. Finally someone answers the door and it's Clara and he goes in for a hug without thinking and she promptly slugs him in the shoulder. The Doctor takes a step back, more in surprise than anything, because the last time she punched him was out of fear but this time she looks properly properly angry and the blows keep coming, her little fists raining down on his chest until she realizes he isn't fighting back and steps back, breathing hard.
The Doctor runs a hand over his chest and composes himself for a moment before raising his eyes to her. Clara is glaring- not the least bit embarrassed by her outburst.
"Right," the Doctor says slowly, "I'm sure I deserved that. Erm, how long exactly have I been gone for you?".
"Days," Clara hisses, "nearly a week." In the grand scheme of things a week isn't very long by anyones standards and certainly does not merit punching, but Clara's had to deal with half a million lives knocking around in her brain all on her own so the Doctor cuts her some slack.
"Oh, Clara. Clara, Clara, Clara." He reaches for her again and this time she only fights back halfheartedly. He presses his hands to her temples.
"Everything all right in here?" he murmurs. Clara sags into him.
"Feels a bit like I'm going mad sometimes." She admits into his chest, quietly. The Doctor breathes out angrily.
"I only meant to leave you for a few hours. Let you wake up in your own bed. I should've known- this body really doesn't have a grip on time commitments." Clara cracks a smile but then grows serious again. She gently pulls out of his grip.
"Doctor, I forgive you," she starts, and he knows where this is going, sweet Clara, caring Clara, always looking out for him, "I know you need your space. Everything that happened at Trenzalore- River Song, she was your wife and I've had days to myself already but you need time to mourn and-" he silences her with a finger to her lips because it hurts, it hurts more than he can let her see, to hear his wife's name.
"The last time I mourned my wife I spent 300 years living on a cloud above Victorian London. And then a girl named Clara saved me. I believe she can do it again, and frankly I don't think anyone will object to skipping the 300 years of sulking part." He explains quietly. Clara is silent for a moment, contemplating this.
"Yeah, I suppose mourning alone doesn't do any good to anybody." She says finally in a voice that says she's made that mistake before, and tugs him inside.
He spends a week there, with Clara and the kids. Every day he tell himself, "its over, you've found closure, its time to move on." But his wife is gone-for real this time (even though he swears there's something tugging at the back of brain) and he's really truly not planning in ever getting over that.
It's nice though, not to grieve alone. He drinks buckets of tea and plays chess with Artie and lets Clara fall asleep with her head in his lap when she's tired. Every few hours she'll wake up with a new memory in her head, of another life. Sometimes al she says is a face or a planet or whatever evil she conquered and the Doctor will know exactly what moment of his life they've found another puzzle piece to. Somedays thats all they do; lay on et couch together and while Clara drifts in and out of sleep the Doctor watches galaxies bloom behind her eyelids and constellations shift across her face. He thinks about her delicate hands and her book '101 Places To See' and how if it came down to showing her the stars or keeping her safe he wouldn't have a choice.
(I think you're getting better he tells Clara one day. That night he's woken by her screams because some of her lives ended cruelly and no girl should know what it feels like to die.
I think you're getting better she tells the Doctor. That night he twines a bow tie around his hand and cries on her bathroom floor. So maybe neither of them are getting better but at least they're getting by)
It's a Wednesday and the Doctor is watching rubbish telly on mute, the weight of Clara's head in his lap. She's twitching in her sleep which, the Doctor's come to learn, means any moment now she's going to die-for him because of him instead of him-and jerk awake. Except this time she's not crying or shaking, and the Doctor feels a twinge of jealousy because humans bounce back so fast. He looks down again and she's gazing up at him with something like wonder.
"Clara?" he prompts. She's grinning now, smirking, that stupid smirk he hadn't seen in so long.
"What is it, what have you done?" he asks feeling like he completely missed something.
"What I've done-" Clara giggles, "What I've done, Doctor I've saved you."
"Yes, we've been over that I believe-"
"Not just any you," she continues, sitting up to loop her hands around his neck, "I've saved this you." And the Doctor thinks he might just have a clue but no don't go there don't go there-
"Go there," Clara agrees, seeing the spark in his eyes. "Doctor I've been to the library. I've saved River. I've done it. I've saved her." She lets out in a rush. She watches in wonder as the Doctors face jumps from denial to disbelief and finally to joy. And as he breaks and lurches forward to hide his tears Clara thinks none of her victories have ever felt quite like this.