It was past midnight when Clara finally managed to fall asleep.

The Doctor hadn't left her side ever since he had brought her home – apart from the lift he was obliged to give to her father, but he was sure to come back seconds within her timestream. Bringing her dinner as well, assuming she was sick of hospital food; and he knew there probably wouldn't be any eatable food at her place.

Clara had been thrilled at the sight of some actual meal, even if she was on a strict diet and wasn't allowed the good tasting aliments she was so fond of. He couldn't hide his happy expression as he saw her devour an entire bowl of salad at the sound of one of his tales from across the universe.

She had been pretty adamant about showering on her own, to his dislike, although he had no alternative than to allow her the space she needed. Even if he was still unable to unglue his ear from the bathroom door, just in case she would call for him – which, obviously, she didn't. From the great amount of time spent there, he could only guess it had been ages since her last proper bath.

She came out of there wearing a black rope, limping, eyes shamefully and silently asking for him to relief her from her own weight. He helped her into bed, changing the bandage on her leg whilst prompting they should get inside the TARDIS so he could take better care of it, but her expression at the mere idea of the long journey's exhaustion was already enough of an answer. He chose to give it slow massages instead, which seemed sufficient to alleviate the soreness.

Clara curled up next to his alien body in her king size bed, and somehow the telly ended up on some silly romcom, to which the Doctor failed to crack a smile, not even once, but would still feel her chuckling against him. Until she stopped, and he found her fast asleep just as the clock marked ten after midnight.

The Doctor was just watching her sleep. She looked peaceful, at last, tugged under two layers of blankets - she had been complaining about how constantly cold she was ever since she got his heart. Her hair was messily falling onto her face and her lips were slightly open.

He carefully moved her head away from his shoulder to a less hard surface, praying she wouldn't wake up. She didn't. He wrapped the covers even tighter around her, giving her the sensation that he was still there. He felt guilty. Guilty he wasn't there next to her to save her and now she was suffering the consequences of his absence. And he endured her struggle down to his own chest.

He stole one last look at her, before heading back to his time machine parked in her living room. He got inside, being greeted by her silence, for she knew what he was about to do, and she didn't get a saying. The Doctor's brows knitted together in his face as he pulled down the lever, taking deep breaths not to lose his mind.

The moment the TARDIS landed, he stepped into a hazy morning in London. Whether was it the weather or just the perception of what happened that day, what was still to happen, he couldn't tell. Neither did he know why he had come there, he just knew he had to see it for himself.

His face got lost within the others passing by. She wouldn't be able to see him, but he would never miss her. His eyes were fixed on the not so cramped road ahead as the loud motor of a car penetrated his ears. And then, he saw her.

Clara didn't seem to be traveling past limit, but she was still going fast. And yet, not even half as fast as the car a few yards behind her. Even though he already knew what was bound to happen, the Doctor wasn't mentally prepared for the moment he saw the car hit her on the back and send her flying across the pavement. Presumably dead.

His heart ached inside of his chest, his heart tying up in knots. Somehow, it was suddenly impossible to breathe.

There was only one thing he knew for sure; when he saw the driver tipsily trip out of his car, not a single scratch on him, he couldn't let him anywhere near his hanging by a thread companion.

The Doctor rushed his way through the now immobile cars, frozen because of them, because of her. He didn't have a hard time locating her, stuck underneath a motorcycle twice her size, god knows how many times her weight. He fell on his knees next to her.

Her body was convulsing, but she wasn't having a seizure – or at least he assumed she wasn't. He tried to assess her injuries with his eyes, but there was just too much blood, even if he already knew all her wounds.

A crowd was beginning to form around the injured woman; he didn't know whether they were there out of curiosity or just desiring to help. Being already too familiar with humans, he concluded the former. His brain was running so fast he was uncertain if he should help her or get them away first.

He eyed the closest man. "You! Phone 999, now! And get all these people out of here."

The Doctor didn't even wait for confirmation before he turned back to her. He looked at her and he had no idea how to help her. More than ever, he just wished he could bring her fragile self into the TARDIS and save her, just like she had saved him so many times. For a few milliseconds, he just watched her struggle to stay alive.

"We should get her out of there," someone said, taking him a while to track down the source of the voice.

"No," he quickly stated, finally bracing himself to study her torso stuck underneath the bike. He could see a sharp piece of metal stabbing her right in the chest as he felt his own bust hurting. "If we get her out, she will bleed to death. I'm not going to let that happen."

Even if he knew she was going to live, being there next to her made him just as scared as he had been when he first saw her in that ICU room. He wanted to touch her, to feel her alive, but he was terrified at the idea he could distress her even further.

He was taken aback by the sudden sound of her coughing. Oh god, he had assumed she was knocked unconscious after she hit the floor. His despair only grew at the idea of all the pain she was enduring. He had to help her.

Carefully, he removed the helmet from her, laying her head gently against the ground. Her eyes were shut and he wasn't surprised to see the blood leaking out of her mouth. He whispered words of comfort to her, but she didn't appear to have heard them. Too busy just trying to remain alive.

The Doctor could listen to the sirens in the far distance, causing him to squeeze his eyes in attempts of seeing them approaching; he didn't. When he locked eyes with her again, her eyelids were open, and yet her pupils didn't seem to be processing any images of her surroundings. Tenderly, he took her hand on his, giving it a strong and tight hold. For now, he didn't need her to know he was there, he just needed her to know she wasn't alone.

He saw the paramedics nearing, kneeling next to her, but he made no effort to leave. They placed an oxygen mask on her, and for the first time, she eased down a little. He could have only guessed how hard it was for her to do a simple task as breathing. Then, they slipped her neck into an extrication collar, presumptively so she wouldn't have her head fall off from the rest of her body.

"Ma'am? Stay calm, we're going to get you out of there. What's your name?" the younger man pleaded, but when Clara's chin began to shake, he doubted it was in attempts of saying her name.

So the Doctor became her voice. "Clara. Her name is Clara."

His presence there appeared to be just noticed. "And you are…?"

"I'm her friend," he spoke fast, before they tried to get rid of him, "I'm a doctor."

It wasn't a complete lie, he still had a degree from Glasgow university. They evaluated him for a brief time, "Fine. You just get her to stay calm while we free her."

The Doctor nodded, shakenly removing dark hair locks from her face. "Alright, Clara, I need you to pay attention to me," he instructed, his voice betraying his confidence. He waited for some sort of confirmation from her, but it never came. "We're going to free you now, and I'm not going to lie, it's going to hurt like hell."

He paused, knowing the paramedics to be working on the best way to save her. He swallowed hard, "Your injuries are being held together by the motorcycle, and when we remove it, they're going to become messy. It's going to hurt like hell, and you're going to feel like fainting, but you can't. You hear me, Clara? You have to stay awake."

If he didn't know better, he could have sworn he saw her consenting. He heard a countdown and the bike was lifted in the air. Clara gasped at the sudden removal of the weight above her, and the Doctor was quick to put his hands on her now open wounds, trying to impede her from losing any more blood. His attempts barely made any difference. "Easy, Clara, just breathe."

She started coughing again, because the piercing got to her lungs too. One of the paramedics removed the mask from her face, so she wouldn't choke on her own blood. The Doctor carried on applying pressure to her chest as they slipped a hard spinal board underneath her. He saw her wince in pain at the abrupt movement.

It didn't take her much to fall into unconsciousness, the tears immediately starting to pile up in the corner of his own eyes.