A new nightmare was unraveling behind her eyelids. She had memorized her nightmares, which only made them worse—the helpless impossibility of knowing the outcome and being powerless to stop it. For every dozen times she had to relive one of her sacrifices to save the Doctor, the occasional twist came when she would relive the one in a dozen times she had failed at the task, and the emergence of his next incarnation sprang forth.

This dream was unknown to her though. Trapped in an endless maze of TARDIS corridors, chasing the back of the Doctor in his navy trousers and his indigo jacket, his lapels snapping in his wake, always meters out of her reach despite his casual pace and her racing steps. Shouting his name to no avail, desperate to get his attention, he tried his other name. Not the one she knew brought him such dishonor and resentment, but the nickname she had given him in their days after Trenzalore to signify he was her Doctor, to separate him from all his former countenances.

"Eleven!"

Finally acknowledging her shouts, he stopped and turned, half shadowed by the uneven light of the hallway fixtures, and retraced his step back towards her. As he passed under the red wash of one of the lights the glow illuminated a head of silver hair and she met the eyes of a stranger. This was not her Doctor—not the Doctor she loved and had died a hundred times over just to once more see the sparkle of his smiling hazel eyes. Yet, she knew instantly he was the Doctor, despite never having seen this face. How she knew though, that she could not explain.

"Doctor?" she whispered cautiously.

"Soon," he replied.

A wrenching shriek rebounded off the metal walls filling the corridor, and she recognized it as belonging her Doctor. She turned instinctively towards the noise, but when she turned back the stranger Doctor was gone. The screaming continued. Her footfalls rang like cannon fire as she drew nearer to the noise, and she could see a golden aura spilling into the hall from a room around the last corner. It made her stomach lurch—she knew its significance all too well, and she came to a stunned halt at the entrance of the Console Room.

Buckled at the waist, gripping the railing for support, the Doctor wailed in pain as golden tendrils of energy curled like smoke from his skin.

"No, Eleven!" she raced towards him knowing she could not switch places with him this time, "I can't lose you yet!"

"Clara! NO!" he thrust out his hands to stop her just as the eruption of regeneration energy burst forth.


The sound was enough to stop his hearts, and he instinctively pulled his sonic from his pocket, charging towards Clara's horrendous screams. They seemed to be radiating through the TARDIS' systems like an amplifier. Panic gripped him as he came upon the scene in the Console Room—the TARDIS' doors flung wide open, Clara standing in the open expanse screaming towards the red dwarf they were circling, backlit by its fading light.

"No, Eleven!" she cried painfully, "I can't lose you yet!"

Upon her words she let go of the door handles and threw herself towards the light.

"Clara! NO!"

Fallen from his hand, the Sonic Screwdriver bounced and clanked against the floor just as her body caught the weightlessness of the vacuum of space. With grips of death in both hands, the Doctor tethered their floating bodies to TARDIS with his left hand while his right hand clasp her narrow wrist. Exhaling his held breath, he mentally thanked the Old Girl for her timely extension of the environmentals into a bubble around the open door. Frozen with fear he watched the undulating waves of Clara's hair and nightgown, so reminiscent of his long lost Pond, reminding him of the ever present importance of keeping this one safe.

Counting to three, the Doctor yanked Clara into his embrace, holding his breath again when he had to release the door handle to catch her, banking on his split second calculation that the resulting momentum would fling them back into the safety of the TARDIS. Once again at the mercy of gravity, they smashed against the floor as the doors slammed shut behind them locking immediately. Splayed out on his back, still pressing his hand against her cheek to hold her head against one of his braces, he exhaled his second held breath with exasperation.

His mind was racing with the million and a half ways that terrifying experience could have ended without her safely in his arms inside the TARDIS, and the fear pinched the air in his lungs, stinging and burning his chest. At the thought of coming so close to losing her again he closed his eyes, pressing a long kiss to the crown of her head. She could whinge all she liked, but as soon as she woke up they were having a very serious conversation about what the hell was happening, and if she was anything less than honest, he was going to blow a gasket. Then again, what right did he have to be angry at all? This was his fault. He had no one to be angry at but himself for letting her go into his time stream in the first place. A cursory Sonic scan did not tell him much more than she was unconscious, so he once again settled for depositing her back in her room and keeping his vigil.


The Doctor was not amused. Clara did not seem as small and light after a vexing fifteen minute search for her room. The TARDIS had chosen a poor moment to throw one of her tantrums, and the Doctor huffed as he readjusted Clara's dead weight in his numb arms, prickling from stifled circulation.

"That's it, Sexy! This is your last chance!" sliding down the wall to sit against it, "I'm begging—please give me a room to put Clara, or I swear on the Seven Sisters of the Pleiades that things are going to get ugly!"

No reply came to his request.

Gently placing Clara on the floor, he wrung his hands in agitation, "I warned you!" he pulled open the nearest wall circuit panel, "You really brought this on yourself, you know," and yanked loose a handful of wires.

The TARDIS whirred angrily.

"Don't like that, eh? Well, I'm just getting started!" he growled, "Oh! Doesn't this look important!"

Another handful of frayed wires snapped from their connections. Sexy responded by shocking him when he reached for the next lot, followed by a cascade of sparks, which produced a short round of cursing in Gallifreyan, but he soldiered on.

"Oh no! Please stop!" he raised the pitch of his voice like a girl, mocking the TARDIS, "Not that one!"

The defeated sound of an unlatching door came from behind him. He freed the wires he had targeted with a proud, satisfied smirk. Taking Clara back into his arms, he turned to take her into what he assumed would be her room.

He assumed wrong.

"Well played, Sexy…" he sighed, the smirk falling from his face as he looked into his own bedroom.