The Doctor froze, the world around him spinning down to a singular burning point "My Doctor".
He breathed in sharply through his nose. It was her, his Clara, reaching out to him from across lifetimes.
"What did you say?" his voice was barely over a whisper, nearly drowned by the spatter of rain.
She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut like she was trying to push away an unpleasant memory.
"No no no," the Doctor hissed, "Hey! Come on Clara -damn it don't do this- 'You know me', you said that!" His fingers were digging violently into her arms.
She was looking at him now her eyes wild with fear and alcohol.
His hands dropped from her biceps and she slowly crumpled back down the wall, a look of dull shock on her pale face.
Damn it Doctor what the hell was that?! He took a deep breath. He needed time to asses the situation. He didn't have time. At his feet Clara shook violently. He needed to get her safe, he could worry about the rest of it later. He shrugged off his coat and placed it gently over the girls trembling shoulders then carefully lifted her to her feet. She threatened to collapse again but he balanced her weight with his own, letting her arm drape across his shoulders while his own slipped around her narrow waist.
The walk to the TARDIS was a tedious process. When finally the old police box stood before them the Doctor stopped and peered side eyed at Clara's face, hoping to see that spark of recognition once again. Nothing. The girls eyes were were barely open, her chin puckered and mouth tight.
The Doctor frowned but couldn't let his disappointment get in the way. Bringing his thumb and forefinger together he let off a snap that resounded sharply around dim room. Before him the TARDIS doors swung open revealing the warm familiar glow as the central column ground to life. Again he looked to Clara. Was she even aware enough to process the magnitude of his machines bigger on the inside technology?
Clara's eyes were wide taking in the enormity of what lay before her. Then they were squeezing shut, rejecting this odd new reality. The Doctor caught her as her knees hit the cold metal floor. He too was brought to his knees behind her. One hand holding the TARDIS banister the other arm pressed against her midsection.
Clara's hands, resting against the ground, clenched as a powerful spasm took hold of her body. She was violently sick, her back arching up towards the Doctor. Her bum suddenly rubbing against the Doctor's groin.
The Doctor's brain seemed to short circuit. His supporting hand snapped from its spot on her stomach and he fell onto his arse, back against the the TARDIS door. His breath came in a series of pained gasps. That subtle ache in his chest sunk low and his tenderness deepened to shame and despair. The Doctor dragged his hand through his soggy hair. Come on, he reprimanded himself silently, you can't help her like this you weak piece of shit! He shook his head, sending cold droplets flying, and hoisted himself to his feet.
Without the Doctor's support Clara had collapsed entirely. She lay curled on her side her nose ran and stuttering sobs broke from between clenched teeth. Her hands curled before her covered in her own sick.
The Doctor took a deep breath and lifted the girl into his arms. Jesus she was so light.
He worried she might struggle but what little energy she'd had seemed to have disappeared. She slumped in his arms head lolling away from his chest so that her hair dripped down his sleeve. He carried her through the Tardis until he reached the set of rooms undisturbed by time. He had no time to pay those old shrines reverence however as he shouldered his way roughly through the suite to the bathroom.
Slamming the door behind him he placed Clara on the edge of the bathtub and cranked up the heat, she was still shivering uncontrollably. She leaned her head against the wall beside her and closed her eyes as if trying to shut the world out. The Doctor observed her cautiously. He hadn't thought this far ahead. He knew he had to get her warm and clean but how?
"Clara," he paused, "Are you okay by yourself?"
No response.
He grabbed a handful of his own hair pulling it until it caused him pain.
"Okay," he said, "Okay. Stop me if you're- if you're not okay with what I'm doing."
He knelt down before her, his eyes trained upon her face looking for the slightest sign of rejection. She seemed more alert than her crumpled posture suggested. Although her eyes remained closed he could feel her focus on his movements.
He went slowly, starting first with her shoes. The cheap canvas material was wet to the point of disintegrating. As he pulled them from her feet, first one then the next, water trickled down his fingers warm with the heat stolen from his Clara. The socks were next, he couldn't help but to think back to the first day she'd stayed after school with him. How he'd watched the waggle of her foot and wished so fervently to be in the very position he was in now. He let himself give in for only a moment letting his hand gently caress her bare foot. He removed his now soaked and dirtied coat from around her shoulders then peeled off her cardigan. He discarded both on the floor beside him.
What next? He was left with her button up, already see through from the rain, or her skirt. His fingers twitched with uncertainty. Finally, he reached for the first button of her blouse his hands trembled so hard he could barely undo it. He watched her face as he moved down each button. Her eyes were still closed but her lips were slightly parted as she panted ever so slightly, the muscle in her jaw was taught. Slowly he exposed the small white swell of her breasts cradled within the shell of a plane black bra, down to her navel. His eyes focused carefully on a spot on the wall just behind her right shoulder. Carefully he pulled her shirt from the waist of her skirt and let it fall from her shoulders.
Now he looked at her, he couldn't help it, and he knew, as clearly as he knew that he would one day die, that he loved her more than anything he had ever seen or imagined on earth. She was only the dead-leaf echo of the his Clara from long ago, but he loved her, this Clara, pale and thin. She could fade and wither, he didn't care. He would still go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of her face.
He couldn't help himself, he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her to his breast and cried. Sobbed piteously into her bare shoulder. She was just as thin as he'd worried she'd be. His fingers fit the hollows of her ribs and her hip bone stuck sharply into his own flesh.
She was still at first, awkward around the intrusion of his own bony figure into her body, her arms stiff by her sides. Slowly she let out a tremulous breath and he could feel the tension fading from her body. Then it happened, her arms raised, slowly, cautiously, and wrapped around his shoulders. The sound which ripped from his throat was halfway between a howl and sob as he pulled her deeper into himself. He could have sat like that for hours, cradling his half naked student firmly to his chest within the safety of the Tardis. He had her now and he could never let go.
