He knew it.
He knew the day would come eventually.
It was a fairly ordinary visit. On the spur, as always. He had just saved a human colony from a Sontaran invasion and decided to give Clara another visit.
So he had set course for the next Wednesday, and off he went.
He had lost count by then, how many Wednesdays he had visited Clara. Probably in the hundreds. As every visit came and went, he noticed subtle changes. Wrinkles. A strand or two of grey hair. Fatigue.
He knew the inevitable was coming, and yet he chose to ignore it, electing to, instead, savor the present. But the thought still lingered at the back of his mind.
Which was why when he stepped out of the TARDIS, into the familiar room he had stepped into countless times, and saw no one, his two hearts beat rapidly.
'It can't be. Not that quickly.'
"Clara! Clara!" He had called.
No one replied.
He stepped into the TARDIS and quickly adjusted the controls, travelling back to Monday, hoping, hoping that Clara was just out that day and would be fine and dandy when he stepped out.
As the vworping ceases, he rushed out the doors.
"Doctor? You're early."
It was Clara, lying in bed.
He came to her side.
"Clara? Are you alright?"
She had given him her signature laugh. The same small giggle.
"Course I'm fine, Doctor. Just a spot of cough. The Doctor," She had giggled again , "My medical doctor said I'll be up and about in a couple of days."
He heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe it was a false alarm, he convinced himself. All he needed to do was travel to next Wednesday and Clara would be there, waiting. With that, he turned to head back to the TARDIS.
And that's when a splutter of blood spurts out of her mouth.
It was tuberculosis , she admitted. She had been suffering from it for awhile now. Taking medication. Resting in bed.
He realized this was why Clara had rejected all his offers of trips the past few months.
"But don't worry, Doctor. I'll be up and about by next week. Don't you worry."
He knows this is false.
This is the last day he'll spend with Clara Oswald.
They spend the rest of the day reminiscing. They laugh as they recall the joyous moments they had, out of all the Wednesdays of the past fifty years.
When the day came to an end, and Clara insisted she needed to go to sleep right now, he excused himself and hurried back into the TARDIS.
The next place he went was her funeral.
The priest mumbled incoherently on and on about how Clara would be remembered fondly by all that knew her.
It would almost be believable if he wasn't the only one in the church.
Her husband, Danny Pink had died before her. A freak car accident. No one could have prevented it.
They had no children.
He didn't know why none of her alleged friends hadn't shown up.
As he walks up to help shovel the dirt over the coffin, he gazed sadly at her serene face, fast asleep in the coffin.
The years had been rather kind to her. Despite the wrinkles, her face still radiated life, even in death. Her hair was still brownish, with strands of gray. Her skin was still beautifully tanned. She was the Doctor's carer, his friend, his partner, his lifeline.
And she was gone.
Struggling to hold back tears, he mumbled something about needing the bathroom and dashed to the TARDIS, neatly hidden within a row of porta-potties.
He knew there was a Wednesday he'd missed, a long time ago. When he'd tried to apologize to Clara for missing that day, she had looked at him inquisitively and asked what he was talking about, saying he did come to fetch her that day.
Now he knew why.
Landing on the Wednesday, he pulled up the handbrake and stepped out the doors, trying to act normal. Trying to act like he hadn't just attended her funeral.
And Clara was sitting there, at the foot of her bed, her face all colored in, wrapped in a tight skirt and ready to go.
"Come on, Clara. We haven't got all day."
As she skipped into the TARDIS, he tried not to cry upon smelling her shampoo, a lovely scent of honeydew.
He took her to a restaurant situated in the orbit of Saturn.
She ordered a chocolate soufflé.
As she ate, he watched her lovingly. Taking in her hair, her hazel eyes, her lightly tanned skin. Memorizing it, knowing he would never see her again after today.
When they returned to her bedroom, Clara realized something.
"Doctor? Why are you so quiet today?"
He plastered on a smile and mumbled something about having a sore throat.
As she sat at her makeup table (He sighed as he recalled his constant teasing of her having three mirrors) and carefully removes the myriad of colours from her face, he just gazed at her, before saying.
"Goodbye, my Clara."
Then, he quickly stepped into the TARDIS and let out all the sobs he'd been holding back.
Although he is sad she is gone and he can never visit her again, he smiles as he realizes that she lived her life to the fullest.