Clara was halfway toward the Doctor now, stepping shakily over the forgotten, flattened banana fudge. She had hated the pungent smell of it earlier, but oh, what she wouldn't give to see the Doctor eating it now.

Clara crept closer, hardly daring to breathe she was so focused on the Doctor. Her eyes were wide and unblinking with shock and her teeth chattered against each other. She still couldn't see his front, but she thought she saw his shoulders rise and fall, just fractionally.

Taking a deep breath, she hurried the rest of the way around the fallen Timelord and knelt on the cobblestones beside him. The corner of her eye caught the red of his jacket and for a second she nearly had a heart attack. The lining of that ridiculous magician coat looked like a pool of blood. Clara took another deep breath and pulled herself together, then rested her hand gently on his upper arm, careful not to apply too much pressure in case he was injured.

Her eyes darted over his body. He was lying awkwardly on his side, one arm splayed out on the ground beside her and one resting loosely on his abdomen. She couldn't see any visible wounds on his body, but his face revealed a different story. Three parallel cuts grazed his left cheek, small but bleeding. More of the red plasma dribbled out the right corner of his mouth. He was, however, definitely breathing, a fact that lessened a bit of the worry gripping Clara's chest.

Her hand moved up his arm to his hair, which she twirled around her fingers absentmindedly. The shock of the situation was fading away, sending waves of emotion through Clara's mind. Quietly, she cried to herself, holding back the sobs that threatened to wrack her body. Thoughts of Danny whirled through her subconscious, reminding her what he had gone through, and what she had gone through afterward. She couldn't do it again.

As if in answer to one of Clara's numerous prayers, the Doctor softly groaned, his head tilting up just a bit. Now Clara could see the dark bruise beside his right eye, and the deep gash just above it on his forehead. Blood trickled heavily down his face. Clara ignored that for the moment, though, and held him down carefully but firmly.

"Shh, you've gotta keep still. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

She'd seen medical dramas before, of course, but admittedly she had never focused on the procedures. Usually the doctors and nurses on those programs were much too distracting. She shook her head and tried to think. There were protocols for these kinds of situations. They always had to know them for school, in case one of the kids ever had an emergency. Clara knew she'd read some handbook or seen a film about this before. She closed her eyes and thought, then opened them a moment later with new determination and confidence.

"Right, I'm going to check and see if you've broken anything."

The Doctor merely murmured again, incoherent. A few more specks of blood ran past his lips and down his chin. Clara blinked back a few tears and got to work, running her hands up and down his arms, then his legs. "Okay, now the more serious part. Just hold still."

She gently felt around his neck and then down his back. He winced slightly, but nothing felt amiss. That was, until she ran her hands down his chest. He cried out and jerked away as her fingers glided over a few ribs on his right side that were definitely broken. Clara squeaked in a gasp, and then moved her hands back to his head, brushing his hair back soothingly. "I'm done; I'm done. I'm sorry. Hey," she caressed his temple with her thumb. He breathed shakily, still getting over the new pain she'd accidentally caused him. "Can you look at me?"

Slowly, his eyes drifted open. They were watery and heavily lidded, but Clara took it with a smile. "Hello," she said, still brushing her thumb through his bangs.

He coughed suddenly, weakly moving his arm to cover it. When the spasm was over, he stared dazedly at the blood now covering his fingers, then licked his lips with furrowed eyebrows, wincing as he tasted iron. Clara pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at his mouth, holding his head still with her other hand.

"Shh, it's alright. It's alright."

Clara's comforting words were as much for herself as they were for him. Her handkerchief was completely stained in red and his mouth and chin were still tinged with pink. She tossed the fabric into the street and went back to stroking his hair. This stupid planet could deal with the litter on their own. Them and their drunk drivers, doing hit-and-runs in a quaint little village…

"Clara," the Doctor gasped, eyelids fluttering and forehead creasing in pain. She took his hand in her own as he groaned and shut his eyes. "Hurts."

She squeezed his hand and looked him over once more, making sure she hadn't missed any obvious injuries. Then she turned back to his face and shuddered as his features slackened, eyelids drifting shut. Her hand let go of his and instead tapped his cheek a few times, avoiding the scrapes running across his face.

"Doctor? Doctor; stay with me. Doctor!"

She squeezed his hand tightly, and finally he responded, opening his eyes again. She almost jumped up in delight. "Stay with me."

They simply watched each other for a moment, then Clara bit her lip and looked around her for the first time in a while. They were still in the middle of the street. And running into aliens probably wouldn't be a good idea. Lord only knows how they'd respond to an injured Timelord. They had too many enemies to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Clara made a decision and looked back at the Doctor, who, gratefully, was still awake.

"Doctor?" She started, speaking slowly and clearly. "Do you know how hurt you are? You told me you have that bodily awareness thing or whatever."

He closed his eyes, squeezing her hand to let her know he wasn't falling asleep, and counted all the injuries he'd sustained. He seemed to gain a bit of energy as he rattled off, "Three broken ribs, one of them dangerous. Bit my tongue. Bruised scapula. And face. And then a few scratches on my head, one of them...hurting."

He gasped the last sentence through gritted teeth. Clara looked him over pitifully, but counted her blessings that it wasn't worse. A thought suddenly came to her and she shook his hand to bring him back to focus. "Wait, you said one of your ribs was dangerous. What does that mean?"

He opened his eyes again and slowly gestured to one of the ribs on his right side. "It's close to my lung. Best not to jostle it too much."

"Right." Clara chewed her bottom lip, glancing at the hill from which they'd arrived. "Okay. Okay. What should we do?"

He groaned again and brought his hand up to his face, covering the growing bruise over his right eye and the deep cut on his forehead. Clara grabbed his wrist and pulled it away. "Don't touch it, your hands are filthy."

Softly, the Doctor muttered, "Yours can't be much better."

She smiled at his ability to banter at a time like this, but he did have a point. Her hands were covered in grime and a layer of his blood. Tears blinked into her eyes. "Doctor, what should I do?"

"TARDIS. You can fly her. Telepathic circuits."

Clara's jaw fell open, her voice rising. "I can't just leave you here! What if another car comes?"

The Doctor sighed, taking uneven breaths and closing his eyes. Clara massaged his shoulder and whispered, "Sorry. Is your head still bothering you?"

"Worse than ever."

Clara glanced left, then right, and then knelt higher on her knees, taking the Doctor's hand. She stared deeply into his eyes. "I will be right back for you. I promise."

He nodded. She took that as her cue and forced herself to stand, a shaky breath emitting from her lips. She looked at him once more, and new tears formed. He was lying on the street, still halfway on his side, eyes like a lost child looking up at her. Earlier in the shop, not half an hour before, he had seemed so tall and heroic and goofy. Now he was tiny and broken, in the street with his hair matted and his face covered in blood and dirt. Clara tore her eyes away and looked up at the daunting hill, ready to be the Doctor's hero. Ready to be the impossible girl.

Her legs glided over the cobblestones, barely making contact as she sprinted past the greenery and the flower boxes and the old fashioned cars. She let the tears stream freely now, and heaved out a few sobs she'd been holding in. By the time her eyes locked on the TARDIS straight ahead, she was practically weeping.

She shoved her hands into the telepathic circuits as soon as she made it to the console, closing her eyes. She pictured the Doctor, her time travelling idiot, dashing around like he owned the place. She thought back to when they were at the North Pole, inside a dream, and he was so excited to fly Santa's sleigh.

So caught up she was in her memories, Clara barely noticed the TARDIS groan as they landed. She looked down to find the Doctor, his banana fudge, and that stupid, stupid alien tracker lying on the floor. She pulled her fingers out of the psychic goo and wiped them on her pants, then went to the Doctor.

He already seemed to be improving, his eyes opened wider than she'd seen them since the accident and his movements just a bit faster as he reached up for her hand. She took it with one of her own, tilting his head gently with her other. He grimaced, but she grimaced more. The right side of his face was caked in blood, and the bruising looked like a terrible eye shadow job after a heavy rain. Instantly, she went to the console and picked out a few towels and bandages.

"Doctor, you could've told me it was this bad. You let me just stroke your hair all that time."

"Ah, it's-"

He hissed as she set a towel on the wound, pressing down. "It's not as bad as it looks."

She raised an eyebrow as she dug through her medical pile for a bandage. "Well, it looks awful."

He smiled lopsidedly at her, making her feel almost guilty as she began cleaning the grime off of him with a different towel and some water. His smile was replaced with gritted teeth and eyes squeezed shut.

She finished wrapping a piece of gauze all round his head, then placed a few smaller bandages over the cuts on his left cheek. He was impressed, but not happy. "I must look like a mummy."

She scrunched up her face, putting her tools away. "It's not that bad."

She looked him over, then jumped as he made to sit up. With two hands, she firmly held his shoulders on the floor. "You said you shouldn't move-your rib."

He swatted her hand away but reached his arm across to hold his chest and laid back. "I can't just lie here until this heals. Even with my superior biology it could take hours."

She mockingly widened her eyes. "Wow, hours lying down. Sounds terrible."

He sighed, closing his eyes. "I hardly sleep for three hours in a week. In one day, that's highly irregular."

"Yes, but this has been an irregular kind of day."

He let her win that argument, leaning back against the grating. She still wasn't satisfied. "I'll be right back. Gotta wash up and get a few things."

He opened an eye to watch her go, but closed it as soon as she'd left the room. A few moments later, he felt something warm and soft being set on top of him. Without opening his eyes, he muttered, "What are you doing?"

She tucked the blanket beneath his legs and glanced up at his face. "Making you comfortable."

"Now I really feel like a mummy."

She smiled, so happy to have him back again, making jokes. Then she went back to his head and cupped a hand around the back of his neck. "Tell me if this hurts."

She raised his head gently and set a pillow beneath him, then laid him back down again. He didn't protest or make any comment at all. Quietly, she leaned down and listened to his slow, calm breathing. Her grin widened and she kissed his head, just above where the gauze met his hair. She chuckled at the way the bandage sent his hair all spiky and standing up.

"Sleep tight, Doctor."

As she rose, she heard a faint, "Night night, Clara." Then, padded across the room and sat on the second step, reading an old copy of Pride and Prejudice.