After changes upon changes we are more or less the same. – Paul Simon The Boxer

Clara shuffled the shopping bags as she dug in her handbag for her keys.

"Yes, Monica," she said into the phone secured between her ear and her shoulder. "I'll be there at 7."

It was her friend Sarah's hen night, and she'd been put in charge of all the ridiculous bride-to-be paraphernalia. She'd bought an unbelievable amount of penis shaped items, an inflatable man, and a new dress.

"I know. I know. I'll be there." She found her keys, and struggled to get them in the door. "Yes, I got the straws. You did make reservations right? It's going to be busy."

She managed to push the door open and dropped the bags just inside. She stretched her arms out before reaching for the bag with her dress. A quick shower and she'd be heading out.

Monica carried on about the restaurant before taking a quick detour about her boyfriend giving her a hard time about going out. Clara was hardly listening but couldn't keep the smile off her face.

It felt good to be spending time with her friends again. Not that her life with the Doctor wasn't exciting, the exact opposite actually, but it was distracting. All encompassing. She'd missed the normality, even if she hadn't realized it at the time.

She walked into her kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and stopped dead.

"Monica," she interrupted. "I'm going to have to call you back."

She hung up without waiting for an answer and dropped the phone onto the counter.

The Doctor was sitting at her small dining table, forehead resting on his arms, snoring softly. He wasn't wearing a shirt. She took a step to the side and was relieved to see some item of white clothing covering his lap, and then frowned at the giant purple bruise on his neck, almost gagging when she realized she could see the teeth marks surrounding it.

It wasn't a bruise.

"Doctor," she said in her regular voice, shocked when he didn't move. She'd never seen him sleep for more than a few minutes.

"DOCTOR!"

His head shot up, the chair jolting back as he was suddenly standing, looking around frantically.

"What?!" he demanded before locking eyes with her.

She glanced down, saw he was wearing boxers, and was relieved again that they wouldn't be falling off.

"You're late!" he snapped, looking at his bare wrist before searching the room frantically for the time.

"You're naked," she replied, dropping the bag with the dress onto the table. "And covered in," she paused, "marks." She eyed the bites across his chest and even one dipping below the waistband of his boxers. She shuddered at the thought.

He glanced down his body and frowned. "River was…"

"I do not want to know," Clara interrupted, holding up her hand. "Under no circumstances do I want to know."

They were quiet for a moment and she looked around the room.

"Where is River?" she finally asked, half expecting the Doctor's naked wife to appear in front of her.

He frowned and crossed his arms.

"The thief took my Tardis," he said.

They stared at each other, and Clara crossed her own arms.

"What did you do to her?" Clara asked.

"I didn't do anything!" he snarled. Clara stood her ground. She knew him too well to believe he was completely innocent in any conflict. River might not be blameless, but the Doctor was at least partially at fault.

"It's different," he said simply, sitting back down in the chair and reaching for her bag. She didn't stop him as he pulled the dress out and started looking it over before tossing it back on the table. "That's too short," he said. "You're an adult."

"It's a hen night," she said, letting herself be momentarily sidelined.

"So you're going for easy-to-have-sex-with look? Understandable, I guess."

She didn't take the bait and the moment he realized she wasn't going to, he frowned again and leaned back in the chair.

"She's different," he said finally continued. "Timid and doubting one moment and then," he gestured up and down his body, "so enthusiastic the next. She hardly reacted when I told I'd had to put her back into the database. I tried to explain about Trenzalore, but she said it didn't matter." He frowned. "She always says that, even when it clearly matters."

Clara pulled the chair out opposite him and sat down. She leaned forward and waited. She knew he wasn't done.

"She wanted to go to Luna, see her house. Get her things," he sighed. "They aren't there though. I don't know what happened to them. I never went back."

"What?" Clara asked, and he looked momentarily distraught. "You never went back to her home afterwards? You never sorted her things or kept what was important?"

"I kept what she'd left on the Tardis. And I just never got around to it. She'd left me."

"She died for you," Clara said. "She deserved bett–"

"I know that," he snapped again, glaring at her. "She's always deserved better."

Clara's heart ached for a minute. The Doctor's doubts weren't new to her. She'd seen the insecurities through the cracks in his ego many, many times. But never in anything like this. Never in something so personal. Never with someone who so clearly adored him.

"You're different too," she said because it was the only thing she could think of. "I know you're the same, but you aren't."

"I can't regress."

"I don't think anyone wants you to," Clara said. "But it is an adjustment. And she was isolated, secure. You've lived your life. You not only have your regeneration but also the time."

"Six hundred years," he inserted, shaking his head.

"That's a long time even for you."

"She won't talk to me," he said.

"You didn't really do feelings before," she said. "Not grown up ones." She thought of her description of his changes that she'd given to River and realized that was a pretty big one she'd unintentionally left out. "You need to hash everything out. Maybe have a big row and…"

"Oh," he said, standing up again, "we had that. Hence my standing in your dining room only partially clothed. This is only slightly worse than with the otters"

"Wait? Worse?" Clara said, shaking the thought away. "What was the fight about?"

"She doesn't want to stay on the Tardis," he said quietly. "I knew she wouldn't. She liked having a planet-based life. A home. She loved the adventures too, but never wanted to live on the Tardis full time."

"I can understand that," Clara said, thinking of her excitement over the hen night and being with her friends. The fun she used to have with Danny. All very different and not found on the Tardis.

He nodded as he walked over to her window. She suspected he understood it now too. The boring life on Gallifrey, going round to Gallifreyan shops and doing Gallifreayan chores, didn't seem quite so tedious now.

"She doesn't have anywhere else to go," he added. "Her home was on Luna. She can't go back because they knew she died. That history is written and can't be undone. She could go back and start over, but it's been so long. She doesn't have anything, less even than when she got out of prison. She isn't who she once was. I changed too much and she was affected along the way." He paused and finally turned back and looked at Clara. "She wanted to see her parents."

Clara knew about Amy and Rory. She knew the story and what had happened. And she certainly understood River's desire to see them.

"We've visited locked time before," she said. He started shaking his head.

"It's different." He didn't expand on that. Didn't explain. "She's going to try anyway, I'm sure. The Tardis won't take her. It's too dangerous and the Tardis protects River. But the vortex manipulator is in the drawer. She saw it. She might be able to get through with that, but she won't be happy there. As much as they loved her, she was never really their daughter. Their friend sometimes, my wife others. She'll still be older than them. Still an equal and not a child. That's my fault, she was taken because of me. Trained…"

"Not everything that happens is your fault, Doctor." He turned to look at her. "What happened to River, the little bit I know, sounds horrible. But it she seems to have become the type of woman who makes her own decisions. Instead of killing you, she married you. She didn't let anyone dictate what she did or wanted, even you. She gave her life for you in the library, for you and the life that you shared with her. She did that for her, not just you."

He shook his head and turned away. "That's what River said, but if I hadn't..." he trailed off and the dismissive gesture annoyed Clara and she grabbed for her dress.

"Maybe you should have listened to her. Instead you're stuck here without your flying box and with no clothes." She stood up. "I have to go out," she said. "I'll be back late. There are sheets in the closet for the spare bed, help yourself."

"You're leaving me, now?" he asked. "You have to help me…"

"Everything isn't about you. I don't know River, but I think the answer to your problem is pretty simple. Love her, but make sure she knows it. She showed you with her actions how she feels about you, and her reward for that is your complete disregard for what she did, what she gave up. It hurt you so much that you didn't even respect her enough to pack up her belongings. And talk, for god's sake. You talk about how she deserves better but put no effort into finding out what exactly she wants."

He read the name on the package and made a mental note to acquire more 'Hob Nobs' at his earliest convenience. They were a mighty fine biscuit, much better than those jam things he'd liked before. He was glad Clara had stocked them, even if she'd left him to figure out the coffee contraption on his own. He'd mastered it, finally and even managed to clean up the mess he'd made in the process. It would do him no good to get kicked out of the only place he had to live right now. He sincerely doubted his ex-grandfather-in-law would take him in.

And Martha, well she'd hardly recognize him, assuming he could find her. He shook his head, and dismissed the thoughts. His guilt over his wife was enough, he didn't need to drag all of his horrible history up.

He hit the button on the channel changing device and switched programs on the television. He'd never been a particular fan of the medium, but the continual array of programs discussing paternal relations and which of the selection of men had provided the DNA necessary to form the new human was tedious. No wonder humans were still stuck on this planet. It really was a wonder that they'd eventually be so influential.

The woman who killed the Doctor.

"I used to be somebody," he said, recalling her words to him just before they'd lost Amy and Rory. He should have been more considerate of her then. He always should have been more considerate really.

She had always deserved better.

But oh did he love her.

Maybe Clara was right in that regard. Maybe he should have spent more time telling her. She was the smartest person he'd ever met. She certainly knew what she was getting into. He'd undone her actions without her consent. Once before he knew who she was and once in a way he didn't even understand yet. He'd use his children to carry out his ideas. Rip her from her life once again, without her consent. And he'd still do it, even if she never talked to him again. Her life was all that mattered. It was the choice he'd make every time. He'd do it all again and simply hope like hell she'd still choose him, just as she always had.

He did understand her hesitation. Eleven hadn't done this. He didn't do grown up feelings. He'd hid from them like he hid from everything. The idiot had chosen to forget the worst moments of his life. Ignore the burdens instead of carry them. But he understood that weakness now and had corrected it. He could take on aspects of their relationship that he hadn't before.

But she didn't know that, because he hadn't explained it to her. He'd been too afraid that she'd hate the changes. Hate the things he hated about himself.

He had to make her understand.

Six hundred years was a long time. And still so much hadn't changed.

He was still an idiot. And they were both still psychopaths. He sighed and hit the channel button again.

He thought about his children. He could have them come here. To Clara's house on this day and bring him the Tardis. They obviously had the Tardis themselves or at least access to it. Come here. Find Dad. Find the Tardis. But their lack of sudden arrival assured him he did no such thing. He'd even considered searching through Clara's books or digging up her half dead bush-like being in the corner to see if they'd hidden something for him. But he knew better than that too, or rather he knew they knew better. They'd been manipulating time since this whole thing started, but he suspected they'd know when they'd gone too far.

He couldn't do anything until she came back. And River always came back. It might take her a month, but he had food here and shelter, and, he glanced downwards, his boxers. That was more than she'd left him with when she'd dumped him with the otters. He'd had a bit better company then, but the fight hadn't been as severe. He'd been too friendly to a prostitute on one of the sin planets. He hadn't realized what happened until his wife had joined them. After putting the woman in her place and shooing her away from The Doctor, River had stormed away and eventually kicked him out of the Tardis.

This seemed a little more complicated. This wasn't him being stupid, this was him being a bad husband.

This was two strangers who happened to love each other figuring out how to get to know one another.

Again and like never before.

It was simple and so complicated.

And he was stuck without his damn Tardis. He aimlessly tossed a bit of biscuit wrapper and settled back into the TV show. Food preparation. He groaned. Humans really sat on their couches and watched other humans prepare food.

The sun was up when Clara finally made her way home. The Doctor was ashamed for her and the embarrassment she must have felt walking through the streets in that dress. But she had an easy smile on her face, and while tired, she seemed very far from inebriated.

That, at least, was a relief.

"Have fun?" he asked, because something was required.

"I did," she answered easily. "And now I'm going to bed."

He watched as she turned toward her room. She'd only taken a few steps when whomping noise filled the flat.

"River," he said, jumping up from the couch, the Tardis starting to fade in and out in Clara's hall. He started towards it before stopping suddenly. It sounded wrong, too fast, too quiet. The pattern was off, something was…

He spotted the flames in the window and took off. He managed to get his arm around Clara's waist just as she reached for the handle. The door opened just as he pulled her down. Flames shot about their heads, the roar deafening, the heat searing his back as he covered Clara. It was only a moment before the burst of energy was gone, dissipated in the equilibrium.

"Doctor?" she asked, alarmed beneath him. He didn't reply, pushing himself off the ground. He made a quick glance around to see that nothing inside the flat had been engulfed, just a wave of smoke filling the air. Then turned his attention back to the Tardis.

"River," he called, darting around a small fireburning in the entrance, his lungs adjusting to the smoke as he made his way into the control room. The far wall was scorched, burn marks seared up to the ceiling.

"River!" he shouted again, spotting her bag on the floor by the console. He stopped by it, picking up a piece of leather that he recognized from her vortex manipulator.

Alarms started going off all around him, and he knew with a swell of panic that River wasn't here. It wasn't just that she wasn't in this room, she wasn't on the Tardis anymore. And his beautiful machine had sought him out the second it had all gone wrong.

"What happened?" Clara asked, appearing in the doorway with a fire extinguisher. He should have thought of that. Should have thought containment. He couldn't though, even now.

If the vortex manipulator malfunctioned she could be anywhere. Anytime. She could have been lost in the vortex. Lost in space. The panic was welling in his throat again, his arms and fingers itching with anxiety and anticipation.

He had to find River.

And to find River he had to stop the fires.

"Fire repression system," he shouted at the ceiling and a second later white foam started to fall about them.