A/n: Hey! So I was having a little bit of a block on 'The Pocket Watch' so I decided it was time to start another fic. Don't worry, I'm still working on TPW, but the chapters might take a little longer until I can get over this hill with it. Anyways, this one is going to be a lot more angsty than that one. Enjoy!

Clara Oswald was lost.

The sandstorm whirled around her, biting at her raw cheeks and stinging as it caught in her eyes. Her clothes felt loose and tattered, providing no protection from the wind raging against her with every step as cold jabs of air hissed through the rips and lashed against her skin. Whenever she dared to take a foot off the ground, the storm would blow her to the side, causing her path through the dunes to wobble side to side, leaving long gashes in the sand where her toes dragged against the wind. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, fingers clutching tightly to the sides of her shirt.

She was alone in the desert. For miles in every direction, waves of yellow dunes rose up like fallen sandcastles made by a giant hand. The wind had blown away any traces of a path she may have been following before, and so her steps traced an invisible path towards an unknown destination, the route tugging at her gut like a golden thread. Something was leading her on, anonymous, towards an endpoint she couldn't recognize. The heavy, dull roaring of the sandstorm echoed in her ears, but below that was a faint echo, a voice in her head egging her forward. Three words, looping relentlessly against the din of the wind. Save the Doctor. Save the Doctor. Save the Doctor.

I'm trying! She screamed back, fighting the dull monotony with a thought of her own. The world around her seemed to react, swirling together in an uproarious heave that crashed against her and brought her to her knees, her hands flying up and clutching at her face to shield it from the sand.

Clara felt the wind drop and a sudden calmness spread over land. Shaking, she dared to look up and blink her sandy eyelashes, and there he was, just a few meters in front of her. The Doctor, her Doctor, his back turned towards her and his feet leaving heavy marks in the shifting sand that scattered in the wind and scraped against her exposed skin.

She cried out. "Doctor!"

Her voice echoed emptily over the sand as he turned to face her. He looked the same—same clothes, same hair, same face—but he gazed at her with unblinking, expressionless eyes. She reached one hand out, shaking, towards him, and it was like the gesture brought him back to reality. His eyes flickered and he fell forward suddenly, arms outstretched towards her. She felt a relieved sob rise in her throat as she struggled to regain her footing, to reach him.

He opened his mouth. "Clara Oswald," He croaked, but that was all the sound he made. Clara scrambled back in horror as sand began to trickle from his mouth, and then his hair, and then out the edges of his sleeves. She screamed as her feet found purchase in the golden grains and she collapsed forward, her hands closing around his just as his warm skin melted into sand and he dissolved right before her eyes, blowing away in a gust that reignited the raging storm.

"NO!" She tried to scream, to cry out, to let the tears fall as she dropped like a stone. The sand closed in over her head, trickling into her ears and her nose and her mouth as she tried to fight it. It was no use. The sand had claimed the Doctor, and now it was coming to suffocate her, too.

She awoke in a cold sweat, her sheets damp and sticky around her legs and her hands clutching the pillow so tightly she could barely force herself to unclench them. Her heart was hammering in her chest, making her feel lightheaded. Spots swam before her eyes.

There was a moment of silence. It was the silence after a nightmare where one curls in on oneself and slowly comes to terms with the fact that the events which they have just experienced were not real. Clara collapsed back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, breathing hard. It was only a dream. It was only a dream. It was only a dream.

She could still feel it. Her fingers curled, remembering the Doctor's hands dissolving underneath them, and she shut her eyes against the image of his gaze meeting hers for one last second as his skin crumbled. Curling deeper down into the damp sheets, Clara let out a thick, choked sob.

The door slammed open.

Clara bolted up into a sitting position as she heard footsteps on the carpet. The Doctor had burst into the room, chest heaving. "I heard noise," He told her between breaths. "Are you okay?"

She stared at him, standing there in his ridiculous bowtie and purple coat, and her heart rate slowly sank back to normal. He was still here, she reminded himself. They were just dreams.

Wordlessly, she clambered out of bed and threw herself at him in a hug, breathing in the familiar smell of the TARDIS that lingered on his shirt and half-expecting to feel him vanish beneath her fingers again. He remained solid, and she felt his arms wrap around her and pull her close. "Everything okay?"

"Nightmare," She managed, her face still pressed into his chest.

It rose and fell as he let out a long, slow sigh. "Again?"

She nodded and pulled back, loosening her grip on him to sit down at the edge of the bed with a shuddering sigh. The mattress dipped and creaked as he sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. She could feel his gaze boring into her skin, and she finally sighed and answered his unasked question. "Just a nightmare," She mumbled, her eyes downcast. "Nothing serious. 'M sure I'm fine. Go back to the console room, I'm exhausted."

Her response gave him pause. "Are you sure you're okay?" She could tell he was about to start worrying.

She glanced up at him and forced a smile. "I'll be fine in the morning. Now go, I want to get back to sleep." She nudged him with her shoulder so he stood up and removed his arm from around her shoulders. She pushed herself to her feet after him and reached out, squeezing his hand one more time, more to reassure herself that he wasn't going to turn to sand than to convince him she was all right.

He stood quite still, gazing at her with an unreadable expression. Finally, he said, "All right. Good night, Clara."

"Night," She responded, feeling a little tug in her chest as he slowly left the room and pulled the door closed with a click.

Clara remained standing for several minutes after he'd left, bare feet sunk a centimeter deep in the thick carpet and eyes glued to the door, a sickened feeling in her gut and a wish in the back of her mind that she could just tell him what was wrong.

He'd never believe her. Or even if he did, he wouldn't think they mattered. Everyone has nightmares, he'd say with one of his sad little smiles. It's not uncommon after something like what happened to you.

Trenzalore. Clara took in a deep, shuddering breath, and sank back down onto the bed behind her. Almost two weeks had passed since then. First, she'd been okay. A little weak, a little shaky on her feet, but more or less okay. Then, just a week ago, the dreams had started.

If you got this far and want to read more, a review is much appreciated! They motivate me to write and don't take too long to send. So please, take a moment and give me a little bit of feedback. I'd love to read anything you have to say on the matter!