It felt like a few weeks had passed in the Tardis since Clara had watched the Doctor tear apart the console. In reality, it had only been a few days. Maybe, at most, thirty-six hours. Clara never knew for sure just how much time passed when she was in the Tardis. All she'd had to do was remember what time she'd left home, and then she was free to not care, to ignore the ticking of the clock while the Doctor laughed and spun and made jokes and showed her the world.
Clara spent most of her time avoiding the console room: she didn't exactly want to see the destruction that the Doctor had inflicted on his precious ship. She knew it was all because of her, and that made Clara's insides feel sour. There was another thing, as well: she didn't want to see the concern in his eyes… or the pity. Definitely not the pity. It would be another reminder that Clara had lost something important, another reason to break down crying, and to shut herself off. That small amount of time when she'd been completely numb to the world had terrified her in retrospect, and Clara has no desire whatsoever to return to that state
On one of her many trips to the kitchen, Clara saw a quick flash of familiar paint out of the corner of her eye. She whirled, clutching her mug desperately. Her room had still been missing since she'd gotten on board, and she could have sworn that she'd just seen the door appear, but now there was nothing left but a blank wall.
"Thanks, old girl," Clara sighed, turning and resuming on her trip to the kitchen. "Your sympathy is very appreciated."
There was a low hum, one of those sounds that the Tardis made that could have been taken as either a positive or a negative sign. If she'd seen the Doctor at all recently, he would have said that the Tardis did everything for a reason. If Clara wasn't already on flaky ground with the Tardis, she would have probably made a bit more of an effort in trying to get her room back, but since their relationship was now completely out of whack thanks to Danny, Clara felt it best to just leave the ship alone.
The Doctor had beat her to the kitchen, and was leaning over the stove as he frowned at something in a small pan. "Morning," he said gruffly, ignoring the slightly gobsmacked look on Clara's face. "I'm making breakfast. Do you want any?"
Clara leaned against the doorway, suddenly feeling rather faint, though it was probably just the scent of the eggs wafting towards her. "You're making breakfast," she said weakly, because even though, way back when, she'd often considered what the Doctor (or rather, his eleventh incarnation) would be like if he'd ever settled down and led a normal life, having the actual visual in front of her just seemed wrong.
"Yes, I've just said that I'm making breakfast," the Doctor said, sounding cross again. "Can't you hear?"
"Of course I can hear," Clara said, sliding into her seat at the table. "It's just a little unexpected. The great Time Lord, making toast."
The Doctor made a weird sound under his breath. "I'm not making toast," he said. He snapped his fingers, shutting the flames off and found something to set the pan down on as he stiffly walked away from the stove and set the pan down at the table.
Clara pulled her leg under her, rising in her seat slightly to look into the pan. There were a few sizzling eggs that made her stomach whirl again, some weird potato concoction (the recipe for which probably from some unknown planet), and some ham.
"I'm not making toast," the Doctor said, looking somewhat proud at his attempt at breakfast, "but there is some bread in the cupboard. The Tardis is keeping it fresh."
"That's fantastic, Doctor," Clara said, leaning back in her chair. "Really. Thanks for trying, but I'm not really that hungry."
The Doctor groaned, walking away from the table and returning with two plates and some silverware. "I'm not having any of this," he said, raising a fork and waving it threateningly at Clara. "I've left you alone to do your silly human moping, but this is where it crosses the line. Have you seen yourself recently?"
Clara looked down at her front self-consciously, but didn't see what the Doctor was going on about. She was just wearing one of her usual black sweaters, but she had brought out a pair of jeans instead of her tights and skirt. Still, it wasn't enough of a change to concern the Doctor.
"Um," she said.
The Doctor laughed, though there was something off in his voice, kind of like he was holding back.
And he was.
The Doctor's throat was impossibly tight: it was a miracle that he'd been able to get any sentence out that day sounding halfway normal, but it seemed as though he'd succeeded, because Clara didn't seem to be looking at him any stranger than she normally did. She actually seemed as normal as she ever did, being his impossible girl, but there was that… layer of something over the normal, weighing her down, pulling the corners of her lips down and clouding the joy and wonder that the Doctor normally saw in her eyes.
It worried him.
Clara wasn't supposed to be sad: it had tugged at his heartstrings, that day, years ago, when he'd gone exploring to try and find out the truth behind Clara. It had led him to that dreary day in the graveyard, where Clara had been standing with her father, sobbing quietly as she clutched her mum's book tightly to her chest. He'd been glad, then, of the tree that had been there to help hide his troubled face from the broken family, and then the Doctor had zoomed straight off to pick Clara up, to see her happy and excited and ready to see the universe. It had always hurt the Doctor to see his companions sad, but it pained him more with Clara. It was like she'd already been through enough before she'd met him, and there was something about her round, childish face that was unsuited to unhappiness.
The Doctor had gone looking for Clara after venting his frustrations out on the console, but she, and her bedroom, had been nowhere to be found. The Tardis was playing games with both of them, but the ship probably knew better than the Doctor that Clara needed a few hours to just digest everything on her own, so the Doctor had roamed. He'd spotted a glimpse of her a few hours before, rounding a corner with her arms tightly wrapped around her torso, and that small sighting had almost brought him to his knees in distress.
Her healthy glow had been replaced with a sickly tinge, and her eyes looked tired and swollen. It was in that glimpse that he'd first realized that Clara seemed smaller than she normally was as well, and it made the Doctor wonder just how well she'd looked after herself in the few days it had taken the Doctor to pick her up after Danny's death.
Not well enough, by the look of things.
"Eat," the Doctor said, shoving a piece of ham onto Clara's plate and thrusting a fork into her closest hand. "That's an order."
"I don't take orders from you," Clara said, pushing her plate away. "You're not my dad."
"I'm not trying to be," the Doctor snapped, sliding her plate back towards her and using the spoon in his hand to lift an egg from the pan onto her dish. "I need you to eat. You're turning into a stick and Danny wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."
Clara flinched slightly, but today the Doctor wasn't going to let that manipulate him. "Clara, I'm warning you. I will shove this meal down your throat with my fingers if that's what it takes."
"Try it," Clara said, though one corner of her mouth tipped up in an amused grin. "Besides, you're one to talk. You're a bit of a stick yourself, always have been."
"You've seen every single one of me," the Doctor said. "You know that's not entirely true."
"Stick," Clara teased.
"Eat," the Doctor repeated, pointing his fork at Clara's plate. His face softened, watching Clara carefully. "Please. I'm not asking you this as your father. I'm asking you this as a friend. You look like you haven't eaten in weeks, and you're only human. I don't need you getting sick on me."
"There's the Time Lord I know," Clara said, making a face even as she pulled her plate right up to the side of the table. "Just concerned about whether or not his companions can keep up with him and his time machine."
The Doctor bit down on his tongue, fighting the furious remark that threatened to spill out of his mouth. He wanted to shout at Clara that this wasn't about him at all, this was about her and Danny, that stupid git that had managed to get himself run over in broad daylight. The only part about all of this that was at all about him was his failure to save Danny, but saving Danny would have been one paradox too many for the Tardis to handle. He wanted to snap and angrily rant that this was him trying to fix Clara, to help her mend her broken heart, but he knew that raising his voice would just send her running, and if she ran, he wouldn't be able to help her.
Instead, he clenched his fingers tightly around his spoon and watched Clara pull the ham apart in her plate, holding back everything he needed to say.
Clara reached the eggs and was about to push a spoonful into her mouth when nausea welled up inside her and she gagged, letting her spoon droop and the egg slide back onto her dish.
"Clara?" the Doctor said, standing up and scooting around to her side of the table. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," Clara said, reaching for her glass. "Completely, honest. Just adjusting, I think. Eggs are a bit too much for me at the moment, dunno what you've put in them."
"I haven't-"
"Could I have that bread now?" Clara asked, looking down at the Doctor, who'd knelt by her side.
The Doctor frowned, grabbing her wrist and measuring her pulse quickly. He made one of his strange faces at her before getting up and moving over to the cabinet to find where the Tardis had left the bread.
"Fresh as the day it was baked," he grumbled, dropping the bag in front of her.
Clara smiled weakly at him, reaching out to get a slice. The Doctor slowly sank back into his seat, watching all of her movements carefully.
"What?" Clara asked after a moment. "You're scaring me."
"Your heartbeat is a bit off," the Doctor said. "Nothing to worry about, I shouldn't think. Expected, considering the mess of chemicals you are right now. I don't think you're sick, which means that you look like shit because you haven't been bothering, not because you're ill."
"Hmm," Clara replied, gnawing carefully on the edge of the slice of bread in her hand. "Thanks a bunch."
Clara continued to nibble quietly, and the silence was killing the Doctor. "Is that all you're going to eat?" he asked incredulously. "Just bread?"
"There's nothing wrong with eating just bread, Doctor."
"You're hardly going to gain any weight by just eating bread."
"Who says I'm trying to gain weight?"
"I say you need to. Listen to me. I'm the Doctor."
"Are you trying to fatten me up? Are you planning to eat me or something?"
"Or something," the Doctor said, and before the conversation could die out again, he added, "So, all of time and space. All the distractions the universe has to offer, right at our fingertips. I'm sure we can find just the thing to cheer you up. Where to, Clara?"
The Doctor waited, wondering vaguely what Clara would choose. There was that ice planet they'd visited a few weeks ago, and Clara had been absolutely rubbish at helping him figure out what was melting everything. She'd spent the whole trip complaining about how the cold was distracting her and numbing her limbs. If the Doctor were Clara, that's where he'd go to get his mind off of P.E. Or they could visit the Rings of Akhaten, a short hop into the future from when they'd left ages ago, just to see some familiar faces and make sure that everything was going as it should be. Or, as it had happened before, Clara would open her mouth and ask to be taken someplace 'awesome', and the Doctor would shoot her a grin (the grin hadn't changed very much: it was still as infectious as always to Clara), pat the Tardis, and carry them out into the far reaches of the galaxy.
"Actually," Clara said slowly. "Actually… do you think you could take me home for a bit?"
The Doctor sagged slightly against the back of his chair, one eyebrow going up. "Home?"
"Yeah," Clara said. "My flat. Earth. The day I left, preferably. My gran's still hanging about and I don't want her to worry. She'll get dad to bring in the army if I don't get back within twenty-four hours."
"That won't happen," the Doctor said absentmindedly. His mind was still struggling to shift from the furthest corners of the universe to Clara's boring little flat on the tiny rock of a planet they called Earth. "A call for help of any kind from your address gets rerouted straight to UNIT. They're watching your address."
"Sorry, they're what?"
"What?" the Doctor said, snapping out of his trance.
"Did you just say that UNIT's watching my flat?"
The Doctor fidgeted, for a moment resembling his last incarnation. "I didn't say they were watching it."
Clara sighed. "Home, Doctor," she said.
"Home," the Doctor said. "Yes, home. That. I can bring you there. No problems."
"I thought there wouldn't be," Clara said. She finished up her piece of bread and pushed her plate (still containing the eggs and a few bits of ham) towards the Doctor. "I'm going to get some of my stuff… if I can find my stuff."
Clara got up and started heading towards the console room. She paused by the door. "I thought the Tardis liked me now," she said. "Why is she acting like this?"
The Doctor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The Tardis… I've explained it before, she doesn't like paradoxes," the Doctor said. "It doesn't matter if that particular paradox will eventually resolve itself harmlessly. The Tardis doesn't like that chance. Saving Danny would have thrown her a big one: he's too close to both of us. If Danny were just some random pedestrian getting mown over, we might have been able to save him without destroying the planet. The Tardis doesn't like the fact that we kept trying to go after him even when I knew what would happen. She understands why, of course, but she likes working out her irritation anyways. She'll be good in a while."
Clara made a disbelieving noise and left. The Doctor picked up the pan, sliding all the uneaten food into the trash. "Home," he repeated incredulously. "Home? All of time and space and she goes home?"
The Tardis made a laughing sound somewhere in the back of the Doctor's head, and he chucked the pan into the sink, frowning at the ceiling.
"Stop it," he said, but the Tardis kept going and going and going. The Doctor growled irritably and followed after Clara.
He was stalling, throwing levers and pushing buttons as slowly as he possibly could. He reached for one and realized that he'd torn it off, and winced.
"Could you?" he asked the walls, and the Tardis made a disapproving sound even as she activated all the other switches he'd destroyed.
The Tardis landed, the Doctor grinning slightly at the sound. River Song could go straight to hell for that one comment she'd made, years ago. The sound of the Tardis landing (with the brakes on) was one of the best sounds in the world.
The Doctor raised his head when he heard footsteps, and turned to see Clara standing behind him, holding a small bag. She raised it at him, smiling slightly.
"You found your room?" the Doctor asked.
"No," Clara replied. "The Tardis left this in the hallway."
"Good for her," the Doctor said. He swung his arm toward the doors. "We've landed."
The Doctor followed Clara over to the doors, and they peered out at the grass they'd landed in, staring up at the flats.
"What day is it?" Clara asked.
"The same day you left," the Doctor replied. "Within the hour. Cross my hearts."
Clara made an approving noise.
"So I was thinking that we'd swing by the shop and get something not-eggs to eat," the Doctor started, his mind running through the mental list he had prepared to stave off boredom at Clara's.
"Actually," Clara said, "I was thinking that it'd just be me, alone."
"Alone? Why would you want to be alone?"
"So that I can think without all of your timey-wimey getting in the way," Clara said. "It's distracting, Doctor. I'd like a few days to remember Danny without distractions, please."
"But you're not looking after yourself," the Doctor blurted, naming the first reason that came to mind.
"I will, I promise," Clara said. "I'll make something as soon as I head up. Besides, Gran's here. She'll look after me. I just need some time."
"Without me."
"Without you," Clara confirmed. "The universe doesn't revolve around you, Doctor."
"No," he said, "it doesn't."
"Good," Clara said. "No coming after me or sneaking around, okay? Just give me some time."
"Time," he repeated.
"Yes, time, you daft old man," Clara said. "You can swing by on Wednesday."
"Wednesday?"
"Doctor," Clara said warningly, clutching her bag to her chest.
The Doctor shook his head. "Right, sorry," he said. "Wednesday. Got it."
"And don't just pop off in your time machine and go straight to Wednesday," Clara said as an afterthought. "Go visit Mars or something before coming back."
"Fine," the Doctor grumbled.
Clara smiled. "Goodbye, Doctor," she said.
"Don't say that," the Doctor said. "It's not goodbye. I'll see you next week."
"Right," Clara said. "Next week."
Clara took a few steps away from the Tardis and turned around, as though expecting him to start dematerializing. The Doctor was still leaning against the door, watching her go, so she just smiled at him and kept walking.
The Doctor stood leaning against the doors of the Tardis, and didn't head back into his machine until Clara had disappeared from view. He sighed, closing the Tardis doors gently, and moved towards the console.
"Where to, old girl?" he asked, running his hand down a few levers. "I haven't chosen something just for myself in ages. Where do you think we should go?"
The Tardis dematerialized: the Doctor leaned against the console, ignoring the rattling of the ship until it landed again, and he spotted a familiar reddish glow outside the windows on the door.
"Really?" he said. "Here? You could have at least brought me to the planet. There aren't any people on a piece of orbiting rock."
The Tardis whirred again, before landing at it's final destination for that trip.
A/N: Here we go. I've worked it out... I think. This story will probably be updated every Friday, with the occasional, odd mid-week chapter, just because I'm ahead on my writing or it's a short chapter and there's no point holding it for a week.
I'm personally not that fond of this chapter mainly because of the amount of times I go "Clara just wants to move on from Danny ASAP". Not really, I don't think. I mean, she wants to remember him and be sad about him dying, but she doesn't want to let that control her life, or just kind of shut everything down for her (and Jenna Coleman wins everything for the beginning of Dark Water because she just looked so frickin empty it was actually terrifying for me to watch). So just letting everyone know that I'll probably be coming back and reworking every time I say that, but it's not something to worry about since it won't affect the plot of this particular story.
Anyone excited for the second new episode tomorrow? I CAN'T WAIT! Have a good weekend, guys :)