Warning: Skip to the line to remain in a PG-13 version.
Clara closed her eyes against the feel of his open shirt brushing lightly over her skin, sending jolts through her body, and she moaned softly as his mouth worked its way over her flesh. She'd forgotten how it felt, having someone who knew her well enough to know that a nibble at her right side would elicit laughter where one just inside her left thigh would lift her backside off the bed just long enough for him to slip her out of the last bits of clothes. Reaching out, she managed to grab hold of his hair, pulling him back up slowly, breathing erratic as he continued to lap knowingly at her skin, and smiled at the look he gave her when he finally met her eyes.
Drunk with love and eagerness.
She took a breath, his hand still at her waist, thumb swaying gently as he waited, and Clara nodded shortly, tugging at his shirt to bring him back down on her. And she sighed because everything inside of her that was screaming that this was a terrible idea wasn't nearly as loud as her heart, demanding every ounce of him as close to her as possible. She gripped at his back, laughing mutedly into his shoulder as he struggled out of his pants and kicked them aside, giving her an accomplished grin before nuzzling into her neck again, nipping at her ear because he absolutely knew it made her gasp.
Clara lost herself in every touch, every movement, every little whisper, and every chuckle that escaped him, and she found herself weeping silently as they rocked slowly together, holding onto him as if he might slip away on a breeze or a breathe, or disappear completely – like some dream. She let out an unexpected cry when she felt his release, knew she was right on his heel and she didn't want it because she didn't want it to end. Ending meant he'd eventually pull his clothes back on and cross that street and who knew.
Who knew what would happen then.
Would it be like before? The promise of so much as she stood on the Maitland's front step at dawn, kissing him good bye, telling him she had to go – she had to pick the family up at the airport – and knowing in her heart he'd be back one week later… and then he wasn't. The emptiness she felt every Wednesday for months that faded to a dull ache up until the moment he opened her car door just three days ago.
With a pained sob as he urged her on, Clara wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed his sides with her knees as her own convulsions rolled out over her body and left her heaving for air against the soft brown hair that tickled her nose. She watched him shift back, brow tightened with fear as he looked over her reddened face and her tears. The Doctor brushed her hair away, kissing each burning cheek and shook his head.
"Clara?"
She refused to answer, giving him a smile and a nod of her head to try and let him know he'd done nothing wrong. She could see he was concerned he'd hurt her, and she knew there was no way to explain the ways in which he had because she couldn't blame him for a mistake his ship made. So she merely tightened her grip on him, bringing him back down so that his chest crushed hers and she sighed against the weight of his body on hers and whispered, "I've missed you so."
The Doctor watched her drift to sleep, his knuckles sliding up from her chin over her jaw line and stopping at the trail of dried tears. He laid his head down against the pillow and frowned as she took a long breath and exhaled it, cheek nudging itself into her own pillow as one of her hands came up to curl at her neck, the other reached out absently for his. Slipping his fingers around hers, he watched the small smirk that touched her lips and he sighed a soft laugh.
"Oh, Clara," he whispered.
He brushed the fingers of his left hand over her dark hair, eyes closing a moment at the feel of it flowing over his skin, and then he laid his hand on her, cradling her head. The temptation to crawl into her mind, to pull out those memories of the days and weeks after his departure was growing darkly and he removed his palm, sliding it under the covers to curl around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She made a noise of confusion, brow coming together, hand coming up and fanning out to feel his chest before she settled.
"I would re-write time for you," he told her softly. "But it would come at the loss of your children," he smiled, "Your world for mine; a sacrifice I would never make."
He could feel the tears that threatened to spill over and he shifted away from her, turning to sit up at the edge, looking towards the window before standing and wrapping himself in a throw he found on a chest at the end of the bed. Staring down at her, one hand extended into the open space he'd been occupying, he frowned and moved out through the house in the silence of night.
Olive's room was filled with dolls and stuffed animals and all of the frivolities of little girls. He could see she had tool skirts of every color peeking out from the closet and various places. Scattered amongst crayons, little bracelets and necklaces covered a small desk that sat next to a fake baby pram stuffed to the brim with toys. And on her shelf, he spotted it immediately – Clara's book. Lifting a finger to it, he dropped it out onto his waiting palm, seeing the ages crossed out, through twenty four.
She'd given up on travelling altogether after he'd left, he realized with a lump in his throat. Though he suspected, seeing the ragged scribbles that now marred the pages, she'd had other things to attend to. She'd given her dream to her daughter as her mother had given it to her and he closed his eyes, feeling guiltier than he knew he should have. Turning the page, he smiled up at the neatly written words there before shelving the book.
My Stars, Olivia Oswin Oswald – age 5
Stepping out, he padded the few steps to Henry's room and allowed the grin to brighten his face as the chuckle broke the silence. The boy had lines of dinosaurs atop all of his furniture and a collection of robots tossed into a laundry basket in the corner marked "Prison" in Clara's handwriting with the boy's attempts to recreate the word on multiple sheets taped around it. He bent, knowingly, and reached under the bottom bunk and slipped out a shoebox of small action figures and an assortment of gadgets the boy had strung together with pencils, rubber bands, paper clips, and even some of his sister's hair ties and fake jewelry.
Sliding it back under, he went to the boy's desk and glanced over the drawings and tattered comic books and he knelt to look at the recent doodle of the Tardis hidden just underneath a colored page of a horse. With a sigh, he touched the image of himself peeking out of the door, hand extended towards three figures he knew were Henry, his mother, and his sister, and the Doctor rubbed at his eyes. Letting the page drop back on the pile, he glanced up at Henry's own collection of small books on a shelf to his right.
The Doctor laughed at the dinosaurs cover with the goggling eyes that danced about when he shook it, and he flipped through the pages of a book shaped like a robot that had small buttons inside that made noises. Pressing one, he turned swiftly when it emitted a loud buzz, and then shelved the book with a frown and a point of his finger before spotting, "Travel the Universe", a taller book with a felt cover. Old, and similar in size to Clara's – Olive's – '101 Places to See', it held photos and information about the planets in their solar system, pages on the constellations, and charts to learn the night skies and on the first page, Clara had written carefully,
My Stars, Henry Evan Oswald – age 5
Clara had given her son his own dream to follow and he watched the teardrop that splattered to the page and absorbed in before he could reach it. The Doctor closed the book and held it tightly against his bare chest as he felt the hands that slipped over his shoulders and wrapped around him.
"Come back to bed," she whispered into his ear as he shuddered.
He touched his temple to hers as she settled her head down next to his and he could feel her kneel behind him, body pressing against him. Wordlessly, he tilted the book back and he heard the small sound of her lips parting. "One day I'll take him beyond these stars," he wanted to say, but he knew it wasn't his place, so he simply exhaled as she stood again; taking the book from him and slipping it back onto the shelf. Clara stood over him and lowered herself carefully to sit in his lap and he lifted the throw to cover her as she hugged him, shifting closer and laying her head on his shoulder.
"You've done a wonderful job with them," he whispered, hand coming up to stroke over her hair.
She nodded.
"Their father is a foolish man," he added lowly.
"He is," she agreed.
"What happened, Clara?" The Doctor asked. "After I left, what happened?"
Pulling away from him, she watched his eyes and the sincerity there. He felt sorry for her, and she swallowed her pride, and then allowed, "I was a foolish woman."
"They don't have his name," he observed sadly, glancing towards the books.
"I didn't really know his name," Clara told him, voice barely audible as she looked away, embarrassed.
Studying the sudden wetness in her eyes, he dropped his hands over her naked back slowly, kneading as he went along and he shook his head, lowering it slightly, "I'm sorry," he told her.
Clara kissed his forehead, then shifted back, bending and tilting to press her lips to his lightly. He raised his head up to let her and she smiled, whispering, "Stop apologizing."
He shook his head against hers and she shifted even closer to him, teasing at him underneath her with a dip of her body before she kissed at his neck, nipping delicately at his skin. Falling back slowly, the Doctor shouted out as her lips began to drop to his torso and she straightened, watching his face contort in pain before he reached under himself to pluck a small police car into his hand and toss it aside before letting himself lay down to smile up at her, eyebrows high as she laughed.
Clara pushed her hands over his chest as she planted her knees at either side of his waist and laid herself over his body, resting her ear at his heart. She smiled, listening to the beats pounding out underneath her before lifting her head to look up at him, a small laugh escaping her as she glanced around and told him honestly, "I'd really like another go, but I can't do it in my son's room."
Holding her, he sat up and then shifted to stand, whipping the throw over his head and onto her shoulders and he wrapped it around her. With a devilish smile, Clara pushed backwards, leading him out of the boy's room and towards her bedroom. She laughed when he fell backwards before she climbed onto his thighs.
"Clara," he laughed.
"Doctor," she replied scandalously, hands coming down at either side of his stomach before she began crawling over him as he moved backwards on his elbows, grin playful on his face. "Come here," she growled, wrapping her palms around the back of his neck and crushing his lips with hers.
