Pain burst across his knuckles.
Pulling his hand up, the Doctor prodded over the bruising skin. He winced, watched as blood dribbled out and down the back of his hand. It vanished beneath his sleeve.
He blinked, dropped his hands back to his sides.
He'd been angry. He could still feel it, taunting him from the edges of his mind. The cocktail of it still stormed his veins, still had his hearts hammering inside his ribcage...but he couldn't remember why. He kept coming up with a missing link between source and eruption.
It should matter. He knew it should.
It didn't.
Keep moving
She needs you
He took a step.
And then another. It took all his focus, all his energy to maintain forward momentum. His feet had grown too heavy to belong at the ends of his legs, felt thick and useless inside their shoe casing.
Likely, he just needed sleep. That would be enough to clear out the cobwebs between his ears, and stop the persistent screaming pain inside his entire body. He would rest, after he found Clara. When he got them back to the TARDIS, when he knew she was safe, he'd lock himself away for a day and sleep. Not a moment before.
Curling his fingers into his palm, pain flashed across the knuckles. The skin cracked where it drew tight. Odd. He glanced down, found fresh blood oozing out over dried and a trail leading to a dark stain where his cuff began.
He didn't recall the injury.
Still, days or maybe weeks without sleep...he couldn't expect himself to remember every bump and bruise.
It bothered him. He ignored it.
He took another step, stopped.
The distance between trees had shifted. The air remained the same. Silent and still. It smelled of nothing. That bothered him the most, like inhaling the abyss. Everything smelled of something. So why didn't this forest?
His brain started itching again. It had been doing that far too often. If he let his mind stray to the sun that didn't rise or set, or thought a moment too long about the river that flowed, but never over his fingers when he dipped them beneath its surface, it would start up.
Logic suggested he should focus on the forbidden. Instead, he thought only of her.
He coughed, wheezed out a breath.
The cold, it had to be the cold. It had sunk into every inch of him, his lungs wouldn't be the exception. He tried to ignore it. Ignore it, and the way water seemed to rush around his ears. No. Not water. Thicker. Colder.
It ached, deeper than his bones, freezing the very core of him. The Doctor coughed.
The cold, it had to be the cold.
He stumbled, dropped to his knees. His fingers dug into the dirt. Closing his eyes, he tried to force air in past whatever had blocked off his lungs. Another cough. His vision darkened at the edges, the dirt seemed to be crawling up his fingers.
Clara
The Doctor pulled his head up slowly. He must have stumbled again. His knees and fingers ached where they met the ground beneath him. Leaning his weight back over his heels, he wiped his palms clean.
Pushing himself up, he aimed for the river. He could rest there, not sleep, but maybe if he could just close his eyes for a few seconds he could-
He tripped, over something real and solid. Glancing back, his breath caught in his chest.
Clara. He'd tripped over her shoe.
Oh, Clara
Her cheeks were deathly pale, her head lolled against the tree she'd propped herself up against. She looked - no, he refused to even think it.
He shifted himself forward, dropped to his knees at her side.
"Be alive," he whispered. "Please. Please, Clara. Just...be alive."
Reaching a hand out, he ignored the way it shook, and fumbled for a pulse at her neck. It took a moment to feel to it, but when he did it thumped soft and steady beneath his fingertips.
He swallowed thickly, brushed hair back from her face. She'd nearly frozen to death, might still if he didn't take some action.
Yanking his jacket off, he tucked her into his chest and worked it between her and the tree trunk. He leaned her back gently, pulled it snug around her.
Don't leave me
He willed warmth into her, would give her his if he had any to offer.
She groaned. After a few more breaths, she pulled her eyes open.
"Doctor?" she asked, blinking slowly at him.
"Clara-"
She threw herself against him, arms wrapping around his back. Her fingertips pressed hard into his sides, and he inhaled sharply. Don't run. She needed this. He needed this. He pulled her in closer, kept one hand stretched over her spine, and used the other to wrap his jacket back around her.
"I'm here."
DW
"Eat."
Clara looked down. She had a bar tucked into one hand, the other curled around a cup that appeared to be filled with water. She blinked. He'd just been - by the river? Talking to her about a plan, she thought. She shook her head, took an obedient bite.
She'd just not woken up properly, she reasoned.
Or the cold had left her thoughts sluggish. Anything, really, might explain away such a small gap in her memory. She opened her mouth to mention it to the Doctor, took another bite instead.
Clara looked up at him. His fist tightened and loosened again as he searched the forest for something he'd never find. She'd given up days ago. Maybe longer. Or maybe it had been hours only. Time had left her behind. Hope had vanished. Clara had stopped expecting the Doctor to finally catch up. She'd stopped glancing nervously behind her for pursuers that didn't pursue.
She stopped being afraid. For a brief and terrible time only she had existed. Then he found her.
Clara swallowed, dropped the bar into her lap. She wiggled her arm free from the extra material of the borrowed sleeve, and reached out to touch his leg. Solid. Real. As real as the sound of his double heartbeats had been. Trailing her fingers over the rough and damp material, she forced herself to breathe. He didn't vanish. He didn't turn to dust at the point of contact.
She didn't wake up.
"Clara?"
Yanking her hand back, she felt certain her cheeks would flush if they had the blood flow to do it. Instead, she scooped up the final bite of the bar and pushed it into her mouth. She heard him shift, glanced at his face as he kneeled beside her.
The circles under his eyes had never been quite so dark, and he blinked too slowly as he searched her face. His hand squeezed tighter at his side, his tongue touched his lips, and then he shot up again.
"We should get moving."
She nodded, dumped the last of the water from the cup and shoved it and the trash into his pocket. She did feel better. Not great, of course. But better. Good enough to accept his hand, and let him pull her to her feet.
He didn't let her go right away.
She coughed. The tightness that had been building in her chest expanded rapidly, it seemed to grow with every breath she inhaled - an ice balloon cutting off her airway. Digging her fingers into the tree, she watched a chunk of bark break free. It floated down, slow as a feather, exploding into dust before it could hit the ground.
No. That didn't seem right. Her vision clouded. She heard his voice, felt fingers press roughly against her back.
"Breathe, Clara."
She tried to obey, pulled in a breath at last.
"Clara? What's wrong?"
Clara jerked her head up. Her palm hurt where the bark dug in, and she pushed herself upright and rubbed at the tender skin.
"Clara?" he repeated. She could hear him shift. "Do you need to stop?"
"Fine," she said at once. "I'm fine."
He nodded, kept his eyes focused only on her.
"I'm fine," she repeated, hurrying to catch up.
She slipped her hand into his, heard him inhale. Right, she hadn't been thinking. She went to pull it free again, when his fingers curled up around hers. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. After a moment he gave her something he probably thought resembled a smile.
His hand felt nice in hers. Warm. Nearly hot, actually. Hadn't he always been the colder one? She tried to remember, but as feeling returned to her fingers it didn't seem important. She held on a little tighter, even as the heat stretched up her arm.
Eventually they stopped. She looked up at him. She'd been so focused on the warmth invading her chest that she had lost count of their steps. How long had it been? She glanced at the sun, found it in the same position as always. Did the planet not move at all?
Her fingers ached. She ignored it, watched as he pulled the glasses out and pressed them against his face. She heard a small buzz. Her arm hurt.
The Doctor gave her an actual smile and squeezed her hand.
"Nearly there," he said.
She believed him.
Her chest burned.
Pain exploded across her body. She gasped, pulled herself away. He reached for her, hesitated as she pressed harder into the closest tree. It dug into her spine, and the Doctor flickered in an out of her vision, a few steps closer each time he returned.
His eyes were so soft. So full of worry and love, and she tried not to recoil when he reached for her again.
His hand hovered between them.
"Clara!"
Her world imploded.
