AN: I'm sorry it's been so long! I really didn't know where to go with it and honestly, I'm still not quite sure. I like the way this started, not as much at the end :/. But I hope you guys like it!

She's shaking as she opens the door, her legs barely able to hold her up. It's quiet in the Maitland house, so she limps silently into the sitting room and collapses onto the couch, the tremors beginning to take over her entire body as she presses her hands to her face. As hard, as desperately as she tries, Clara can't get the feeling of violation and utter pain away from her body. She can still feel his hands, his lips, his body, everywhere. Her chest is in exceptional pain, but she doesn't want to lift up her blouse to check the damage. Doesn't want to see what he did to her.

"Clara?"

She looks up to see Angie standing in the doorway, her phone dangling from her fingertips. Her face shows slight worry, but it's nothing that Clara can't quickly fix by covering everything up.

"Hey, Angie." She knows her smile looks forced, but it's the best she can do at the moment. "Is your family around right now?"

"Just me." Angie's eyes narrow, her lips pursing into a tight line. "Are you okay? You're really pale."

"I'm fine." Clara says, pushing herself off of the couch and wincing as slightly as she can manage. It hurts, her stomach contracting as white hot pain radiates through. But she holds her ground, folding her arms across her chest but making sure not to make contact. "I'm just feeling a bit ill, I must've had something odd in my lunch." And then she notices where Angie's begun to stare; the upper right side of her neck, where she distinctly remembers him sucking on viciously.

Oh. Oh no.

Clara quickly presses her palm to the spot, but Angie's already raised an eyebrow.

"Is that a hickey?" She walks closer and Clara tries to move behind the sofa but oh god, it hurts, and she shuts her eyes tightly.

"No, of course not!" It comes out as more of a moan then she meant it to be.

"Yes, it is!" Angie exclaims, sounding almost excited as she grabs Clara's arm. She pulls away, holding back a whimper. There's definitely bruising there, she can feel it. "So, who gave it to you? Your boyfriend?"

"Angie, please-"

"So that's where you've been then? Off snogging the Doctor? You could be a little more subtle, you-"

"Stop, Angie." Everything's hurting, and it's just way too much. She's determined not to dissolve into a sobbing mess in front of Angie, but she can't stop the hot tears making their way down her face. "Please. It wasn't him, I don't even know who it was."

"What?" Angie's face turns from joking to horrified in a second, and she's moving, standing right in front of Clara. "No, you couldn't have been ra-"

"Don't say it!" She exclaims, and she knows that now she sounds hysterical. But her chest hurts, and her head hurts, and everything is just hurting so much that she can't be bothered with putting on an act anymore. "And don't go completely horrified on me, it's the last thing I need right now."

"I need to call Dad." Angie's voice is shaky, but she's holding her composure a hell of a lot better then Clara is. "He can help, he can take you to a hospital-"

She stops suddenly, eyes widening in obvious shock. "You're bleeding."

"What?" Clara's breath hitches, and her eyes move down towards her chest, where the pain, now fully acknowledged, seems to blossom fully across her stomach. There's a rather deep red stain growing on her blouse, and she can't help but clasp her hand over her mouth. Everything's beginning to crumble in, and she can feel it, so heavy on her shoulders.

"I'm calling emergency." Angie's voice tugs her back into reality, and she grasps the determination in her tone like a lifeline. "Just...sit still, Clara." and she pulls out her mobile. Clara listens, staying as rigidly as she can. She's gasping as gently as she can, her chest burning every time it heaves with breath. It hurts badly, real, proper pain, but she doesn't want to look down again. She's never liked blood.

Angie's murmuring things into the phone now, not taking her eyes off of Clara. She looks so scared, and despite everything, Clara just wants to hold her and comfort her and tell her everything will be fine.

The thing is, she really doesn't know if that's the truth.

:-:-:-:-:

It turns out the blood had been coming from a deep knife wound below her collarbone, requiring no less then seventeen stitches. They make her lie down on the bed after the procedure, only raising her torso slightly so she can see around her. They tell her that apart from the cut, there seems to be no major internal or external damage. A couple ribs are bruised, which is more painful then serious, and somehow her thumb's been dislocated, which she honestly hadn't felt at all. There are small cuts and bruises all over her body but nothing that can't be fixed in time.

Then they bring in the police. They sit in chairs next to her bed, holding clipboards and pens. She tells them everything she can remember, every traumatizing moment. They nod and look sympathetic, and by this point she's seen so many faces like this that she wants to throw up.

Clara hasn't cried since she's arrived at the hospital. She hasn't had a breakdown, didn't even shed one tear when they put in the stitches. She's holding herself quite well.

That is, until her father walks through the door to her room.

His eyes show so much worry, so much heartbreak, that as soon as he took a step towards her, she bursts into tears.

"Oh, Clara." He's immediately beside her, taking her into his arms and pulling her into his chest as gently as possible. She's bawling into his shoulder, ignoring the pain from her stitches and her ribs and her thumb. None of that pain compares to the internal, emotional pain that's overwhelming her. "My little girl." Her father looks so devastated as he holds her close that she can't help the overwhelming wave of guilt that seems to crash into her mind.

"I'm s-sorry." Clara stutters, her voice thick from all the tears. "I'm so sorry, Daddy." She's sobbing again, and he pulls her even closer, gently stroking her hair with his palm.

"Don't even begin to blame yourself." He murmurs, and she could hear the strain in his tone. "This was not in any way your fault, Clara. God," He leans away from her and inhales shakily, wiping his eyes. "I can't believe this happened." Clara leans back against the pillows, wincing as pain flares in so many different parts of her body. She's tired, tears still making trails down her cheeks. It's been such a long day, and exhaustion seems to be setting in. She doesn't even know what time it is, but it feels like it could be late into the night. The spot where she was cut is throbbing, and Clara lets out a gentle groan, attracting her father's attention.

"Do you need anything?" He asks, taking her hand. He's letting go of his own feelings, his own hurt, to make sure his daughter is alright. And Clara normally hates it. She hates people being concerned, comforting her. She's never liked it. But this is her father, and she's just so tired and upset that all she wants is for her dad to hold her. So she leans forward and he wraps his arms around her and presses a soft kiss to her forehead. He smells familiar, like spice aftershave and mint toothpaste and something lovely and warm that she can't quite place.

She really just needs to be held. Just this once.

:-:-:-:-:

She didn't even know that she had fallen asleep.

When she blinks and opens her eyes, it's obvious she's in the TARDIS. It's even her old bedroom, the one she hasn't entered in over a year. It's overwhelmingly familiar, and she smiles gently, shifting to one side.

There's something new on the wall. A bright white door that stands out against the deep purple that she personally chose. Slightly intrigued, Clara pushes herself up with one hand and immediately hisses at the sudden, sharp pain. She looks and sees the tiniest, most precise stitches curving into her palm. Clara frowns slightly. She doesn't quite remember cutting her hand.

The door in question creaks open, and the Doctor enters, his eyebrows raised in concern. Ellie's lying vertically against his chest, and his large hand supports her head very carefully.

"I'm sorry about the stitches." He begins, moving into the room and sitting on the bed next to her. She can see now that Ellie's sound asleep, her tiny nostrils flaring as she exhales. "I didn't know how long you would be out, and I didn't want to leave you bleeding." His eyes are almost pressing into hers now, and he looks as though he's trying to figure something out and can't quite decide where to start.

"It's alright." Clara responds, moving her stitches-free hand to rest against her daughter's miniature one. "You're not half bad at stitches either, you know that? I have to say, I'm rather impressed."

"You don't think I took on the title Doctor without any qualifications, do you?" He's smirking, and she can't help but smile. He's really such a sweet man, the Doctor. She didn't realize how much she'd missed him until he came back.

Then his face grows serious, and he takes her hand tenderly, adjusting the baby to one arm. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright." Clara moves her gaze down to their hands, fingers entwined gently. "I don't know what came over me, Doctor. It was like I didn't have any control anymore."

"Something was a trigger." His eyes have begun to glaze over, a tendency that happened mostly when he was in deep thought. Or when he was worried. In this case, it certainly could be both. "Something that you did or saw or felt or smelt or anything like that. It caused a reaction that you were not in control of." She nods, biting her lip. It was her fault. Her body's fault for not being able to control her own emotions.

She wants to cry.

Almost as soon as the thought registers in her mind, Ellie begins squirming and fussing in the Doctor's arms. Her eyes scrunch together, and her face begins to grow red. She opens her her mouth widely, and Clara immediately recognizes it as the prelude to a rather loud sob.

"Oh, my baby." She quickly plucks the infant from the Doctor's arms and pulls her to her chest, softly bouncing her torso up and down as she knows the little girl enjoys. "It's okay, Ellie. Mum's right here." Ellie's whimpers fade to tiny murmurs, and then to nothing at all. Clara smiles and presses a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "That's a good girl." The baby yawns, big eyes looking into Clara's with the slight curiosity that automatically appears in wide eyes.

She loves Ellie, loves her with a fierceness that seems impossible. Every time she holds her and feels her tiny weight, she has to take a deep breath and just let the fact that she has a daughter, a perfect little daughter, sink in. Ellie's so much like her that it makes her ridiculously happy, and, to be completely honest, has given her a whole new way to think about the phrase 'what goes around comes around'. The little girl can be rather fussy, and usually will only completely settle when in Clara's arms. Usually being the operative word, as the man standing in front of her seems to be the one exception.

"She's been sleeping for quite a while now." The Doctor leans against the doorframe, his hands somewhat awkwardly by his sides now that he's not holding Ellie. It's really reassuring that he's still an awkward man, that that hasn't changed since before.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"A few hours now. You needed it, so don't apologize." She smiles slightly at that, her knees relaxing as she slips into as what she refers to as 'the baby bounce'. Ellie, in turn, seems to relax as she feels her mother's action. The Doctor smiles too, though there's an undercurrent of concern that has been present since he entered the room. "I can watch her, for a bit longer. She likes me."

"I'm okay now, Doctor." But he reaches for the baby, and takes her into his arms before she can object. Ellie hardly even notices the switch, and she starts cooing, her tiny lips puckered. Clara folds her arms and leans back against the pillows. "Come on. You don't need to look after her anymore, she's my daughter."

"But I care for her, Clara." The Doctor looks up at her, with his big, sad eyes that can pull her in anytime. "I care for you, and anything or anyone you believe is important is important to me." And then, hesitantly, he presses a soft kiss to her temple. Then he pulls away, back, as though he's burned her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"Doctor, it's fine." Clara leans forward and places her head against his shoulder. "I'm not a china doll."

"You're not rock hard either." He counters. "You're just a young woman, Clara. A young woman who has faced too many awful things for anyone."

She doesn't answer, reaching across his torso to lay her hand on the little girl. He's being sympathetic, and it makes her bite her lip.

"I just want to help you." His voice makes Clara look up at him, and he's not even looking back at her. He's looking across the room, eyes glazed over once again with some type of mysterious concentration. "I know I wasn't there, and I want to help you now." Her head only nods in response, and she bites her lip harder as she feels the unfortunately familiar sense of tears approaching. He's trying so hard to be helpful, and it breaks her heart. He really, really doesn't know everything about what happened.

"I'm sorry, Doctor." Clara stands up rather suddenly and hastily wipes her eyes. "This isn't your problem, and it's not fair to subject you to all of this." She reaches for her daughter. The Doctor doesn't object, but his face is expressing so much confusion that she just wants to break down.

"Clara, what's-"

"I can't do this. I'm sorry."

She just manages to leave the room before the tears begin to fall again.

AN: I hope you all enjoyed, please please PLEASE leave reviews, they really motivate me to continue.

xoxo,

J