*See end for Author's Note

She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She could only watch as John took her hand, prising the fingers open and placed the ring in the center of her palm. He closed her fingers round it, an echo of a gifted TARDIS key from long ago. He fished inside the sack again, and Clara's eyes widened as he withdrew a second band, slipping it onto his ring finger.

Her brain caught her up, finally allowing her one small squeak of a word: "…*again*?"

This seemed to be all he needed, for he was out of his chair, kneeling at her feet, forehead pressed to her hands like the previous night. "Yes. Let me be your husband again. All I want is for you to sleep in our bed - by my side again. For your clothes to hang next to mine in our cupboard." He kissed her hands, gazing up at her, his eyes full of emotion. "My darling, I love you more than my own human existence. Please come back home."

This time Clara couldn't hold back the tears that sprang into her eyes, one of them slipping from her lashes onto her cheek.

John seemed to take it as a positive sign, and he reached a hand up, wiping it away with his thumb. "I promise I'll spend the rest of my life making sure I never make you cry again. But I can't do it when you're not here. So, my dear – my *darling* Clara, please say you'll come back. Come back to our home permanently."

Clara's mouth worked, but no sound came out as she grappled with all of the impossible words that sentence contained. Our. Permanent. Home.

Now he enclosed her waist, his head in her lap. "We can even try for a child again…"

And that was it. Her breaking point.

She stood up suddenly, upsetting his balance so he fell back on his hands. She stared at him so hard she didn't blink. Tears fell freely as she struggled to breathe. As she struggled to think. As she struggled to remember how to carry on living. She wanted to kick him. Smack him. Scream at him and beat him with her fists and tear his clothes and tear her own hair and…

"I…" she began, her voice no more than a breath. "I need…" She tore herself away from him, then, making a headlong dash for the stairs, taking them two by two, reaching her room and slamming the door before throwing herself onto her bed.

Hugging the pillow to herself like the previous night, her shoulders shook once more. But though the pillow was wet again, she discovered her shaking wasn't sorrow but anger. She desperately needed to yell and beat something and she was trapped in her tiny little room with nowhere to go but –

She stopped, remembering. She had another option. Could she risk it? Glancing wildly about the room, she dove under the bed, fumbling in her satchel. There was one more irreplaceable item in here…

It was then that she became aware of her other hand, closed tightly in a fist. Sitting back she opened up the hand and stared at the simple circle of gold. Holding it up to her face, she saw she had been clutching it so tightly that it had left an imprint on her palm, as though it would leave its mark before she chose to wear it. Which she wouldn't. She wouldn't.

But then – the Doctor. His words to her.

Once I've defined the relationship, you cannot go against it.

There: the source of her anger. Well, that and –

Don't let me fall in love.

Made a good job of that one, too.

Now she did clutch at her head, fingers digging into her scalp as she wrestled with reconciling the two. She cycled through all the equally mad replies she could give –

Sorry, but I'm already in love with an alien trapped inside a watch. Looks like you, though.

I actually promised a friend that I would make sure you didn't get involved with anyone.

This gave her pause. Because – he'd made her promise not to let him fall in love…but not for his sake.

I don't want anyone to live through that again.

She almost felt a smile tug at her lips as she considered what he'd been implying: if he fell in love, then surely the woman would fall for him, too. Because he naturally thought himself that irresistible.

Well - she was in no danger of that happening. Except…

Except when he acted like the Doctor. Except when he said something that was Doctor-like, or shared a Doctor memory, or used a Doctor mannerism. All of which occurred frequently. Which was why she'd let last night go as far as…

Smacking a hand to her forehead, she suddenly had startling clarity about what had transpired with John over the last few weeks. Why he had been so moody; why any mention of leaving or – God – saying they could only be friends – or – even that silly country Western song which had caused his mood to take a nosedive –

Isn't it about a cheating husband?

She clapped her hands over her mouth now, realising how carelessly cruel she must've sounded. She was the estranged wife in his mind – left him over the affair with River (that was something she'd have to parse out later) – and returned to take care of him and work on her book. But he was hoping to win her back, and so fell all over himself with gratitude, cooked her breakfast, bought her flowers (had her mention of their inclusion in her mum's wedding bouquet somehow translated to a memory of her wedding bouquet in his mind?), and when it seemed like things were going his way, he was happy, cheerful. Doctor-like. But when she made comments that indicated her stay was temporary or questioned his behaviour – he became upset, angry, frustrated – but never said anything because…because he thought she was the wronged party, and so he must've felt he had no right to.

All this time…all this time she thought she'd been the one dancing around him – but he'd been engaged in the same dance, constantly monitoring her moods, her words, too, to see if he was gaining ground. Must've done with the way he insisted that the book she was writing was a love story – and his constant prodding to know why her two characters couldn't be together. And he'd taken everything she'd said to heart, too: kissing her instead of talking about things; sharing his war experiences and his prior loves. Yet, he thought their marriage was the massive elephant in the corner of their tiny room – and that's why he'd never used explicit terms. There was no need to say, "I'm your husband – why can't you forgive me and come back home?" He'd been saying it for weeks.

And she had to admit…she was at fault as well. She could easily have checked her understanding somehow – used the word "friends" to refer to them at some point – have done with this far sooner and avoided all this misunderstanding and heartache.

But…but she hadn't. Because she'd wanted it to be the same as with the Doctor. And she wanted to believe he was still the Doctor, using his warped memories and mannerisms to convince herself that he was. And so she'd played on the ambiguity of their relationship, pushing at the boundaries of what one would call "friendship," because…

Well. Because she was in love with him.

Oh…right. That was the real source of her anger.

She opened her palm again and stared at the ring. Something she could never have. Something she would never have dared wish for. And it was being offered her by the wrong...

Because if she'd had doubts before – if she had held onto a last shred of hope that she could interpret any of John's words or actions about her as somehow stemming from the Doctor's thoughts and feelings – well…she no longer had such delusions. She had to start thinking of John as a different man. A man who reminded her of the Doctor, like Amy and Rory had said. But who was not him.

Which meant – she needed a plan. And fast. She couldn't deny the relationship now that he'd named it, but she could play the part of the woman scorned. She could use it to her advantage: she assumed that in his mind, she'd learned about River but didn't know her context. Well – this was new information; she needed time to digest it. To consider how they were going to proceed. And in the meantime, she could maintain a plausible excuse for needing to sleep in separate beds. For placing a moratorium on any physical contact.

But…could she do it, really? Could she refuse the advances from a man who looked, talked, walked and acted exactly like the man she…loved? Could she look into those eyes that gazed on her adoringly and full of love and not feel anything?

Her eyes brimmed afresh at the thought – at that image burned forever into her mind. Him, on his knees before her – My darling, I love you more than my own human existence…

Even his word choice pierced her heart like a perfectly fired poison-tipped arrow: like she could still believe it was the Doctor speaking through John.

She peered again at the ring in the center of her palm, before tentatively extending the finger of her other hand and poking at it. Tipping her palm, she let it slide down her finger, just to see if it fit. Once it moved past her knuckle, though, she immediately tipped it back, letting it land in her palm. She balled her fist around it, resting her forehead against it.

Just then, there was a knock.

Well, time to face…her husband then.

*Author's Note: WOW – 30 reviews for one chapter?! THANK YOU to all of you who have left me feedback – it means so much to me! I will be able to post the next chapter sooner because my company leaves after tomorrow so never fear – more love-sick John is on the way. ;)