A/N: This takes place sometime before The Doctor, Bill, Missy and Nardole landed in the colonization ship, as I judged best to write a chapter about it once the serial is over. Needless to say how pissed and annoyed I am at Bill's death, but hopefully I'll write about it next week as well.

"Loving you was the most exquisite form of self destruction." – David Jones.

"Doctor, slow down!"

The Doctor stopped dead on his track and finally dared to look behind him. Clara was standing a few feet away from him, obviously trying to keep up with his pace, but failing given the shortness of her legs. Reluctantly, he judged better to wait for her; she didn't look at all fatigued by their recent running. Perks of not having a body, he guessed.

Never once she let the smile fade from her face, "Are you going to tell me what we're doing here?"

Deciding he was no more in a rush, he let himself wander away side by side with her. "I told you; I want to show you around."

She cracked a giggle, crossing her arms against her chest, "We're breaking into a university in the middle of the night, Doctor, we haven't at least been able to turn on the lights. I sincerely hope you know where we're headed because I can't tell my shadow apart anymore."

He gave her a look that said how can you still doubt me after all these years, only to be returned by a you damn well know why I still do one. "I know my way around, don't worry."

"You don't know your way around your own TARDIS, I'm sorry if I'm having a little time believing you," she reasonably argued, using the excuse of the cold weather to lean closer to him, regardless if she hadn't been able to tell hot from cold apart for ages now.

He whiffed, disbelieved, "Are you seriously telling you can walk around your TARDIS without getting lost? At all?"

She frowned her lips, "Of course I can. Unlike you, I don't go around forgetting where I've put rooms and such."

He didn't have to be a genius to understand that, by such, she had referred to herself. Despising where that statement would potentially lead them, he abruptly changed the focus of their conversation, "Well, in my defense, I've been coming here every day for decades now. I'm pretty sure I'm past the point of getting lost, by now."

Clara rested her head against his upper arm. "Is that why we're coming in the midst of darkness? So you can show yourself off to me?"

"Nah, you've already seen that too many times," he shrugged, his words being truer than ever, "I've brought you while it's still dark so we will remain unnoticed."

She turned her head to stare at him; more precisely, at his jawline. "Are you hiding me from your friends? Is that what it is now? You're ashamed of me or something?"

"Of course not, Clara," he snorted, feeling slightly hurt by her accusations. He would never be ashamed of her, why would he? "But Nardole can be really, really annoying."

Although she tried to sustain a straight face, the amusement had gotten over her, "If he's so annoying, why do you keep him around?"

Scratching his chin as he passed the same hall for the third time in the past five minutes – she made sure to let it slide that time –, he elaborated, "You know when you step onto gum when walking down the street and there's just no getting it out of your shoes?" he waited for her nod, "That's Nardole for you."

She grinned softly as they finally made it to a complete stop, in front of a big wooden door. Clara looked at it curiously, expecting the Doctor to take the first step, but he never did. "So… What exactly are we looking at?"

He was smirking like a proud child, "Do you like it?"

"Do I like what, the door?" she raised her brows, glancing at it up and down several times before she finally let any sound come out of her mouth, "It's… A very interesting door."

"I know right, isn't it," he was smiling to himself more than to her, "This, Clara, is the door to my own office."

"Your office?" she was confused, trading looks between him and the entrance, "Why did the university give you an office?"

The Doctor seemed offended at her lack of comprehension, "Because I work here!"

Clara almost gasped at his affirmation. "You? Working? An actual proper work? Wow, that is surely some improvement. I would have never expected you to settle down."

He made a face at her choice of words, "I haven't settled down," he corrected her, "I was just taking a break from traveling and one thing led to another."

She hummed, not truly believing him. "That looks like settling to me," she hissed, "Why a university? Why a professor?"

For a moment, he allowed the quietude to overflow them. "Because, somewhere in my mind, there was an English teacher who taught me everything. Who taught me about myself. I couldn't let that legacy die with them; someone had to carry it on, might as well be me."

Clara was thankful for the penumbra so he wouldn't see her blush tremendously. "That's… That's noble of you," she whispered, unable to tell what kind of emotions were flying through her body.

The Doctor completely ignored her assessment, "So? Want to take a peek inside?"

Her face turned into a foolish smile, "You say that as if you already didn't know the answer."

Taking her hand in his, he took her inside, finally turning on the lights. They both had to take a moment to adjust to the blinding brightness, and then she smiled. Breaking out of his touch, she wandered around, studying every single of his things, wondering why he had placed any and everything, chuckling to herself when she would understand his reasons.

Her eyes stopped dead on a certain object hanging in the wall. Her lips opened wide as she pointed at it to ask him, "So you're a music professor?"

Whiffing, he followed to retrieve his guitar. "Personally, I'm not exactly sure of what I teach. Whatever feels like being taught, actually."

Clara leaned against the edge of his desk, "Why am I not surprised," she pondered, "Do you still play?"

"From times to times," he confessed, sitting down at his big chair to place the musical instrument atop of his lap, "When it feels right."

She nodded, wondering if she were reason enough for him to play some tune. "I've always loved hearing you play. I don't know how, but you've always brought magic to whatever you were performing. It was lovely, yeah."

The Doctor's smile met hers. As he pulled his sonic glasses out of his coat, he asked her, "Would you like to listen to it?"

Her joy couldn't have been expressed down to words, but he could read it written all over her face. He played the first notes, "They say music is medicine for the soul."

Clara bit her lower lip at the sound feeding her ears. She had heard it already, so many moons before. She remembered vividly how she watched him compose the song during some lazy dawn at the TARDIS. She reminisced painfully how he had played it to her when he had no idea who she was anymore. "What if you don't have a soul?"

He seemed to think for a while. Not about the upcoming chords, no, he already knew them off the top of his head. "Then I guess music outlives the soul. They're so much more. It's just a matter if you're actually hearing them or not."

She nodded, letting the vibration of the strings be the only sound in the room for a while. "What am I supposed to be hearing right now?"

The Doctor made a face; wasn't it obvious? He sighed, "You. This is your song, Clara."

Her lips fell from the glim they were holding. She hadn't expected him to remember it. "It's beautiful."

He kept himself back from rolling his eyes. "Of course it is. It takes its beauty after its namesake."

Clara's cheeks reddened, but she didn't seem to be uncomfortable by his statement, unlike him. She looked for his eyes, but they were too focused on following the strings. "Thank you," she whispered, too softly, so daintily she didn't expect him to hear her.

He mumbled some words, ones that she couldn't quite understand, feeling a little intimidated by her eyes on him. He just let his focus remain down to his guitar. "How could I have forgotten your own song, Clara?"

She let out a restless breath – he knew her too well. "I don't know," she shrugged, almost adding, how could you have forgotten me?

"I didn't forget it, Clara, but neither I remembered it," he said and she frowned, "But when I first picked my guitar after whatever happened that tore us apart, it was the only song I knew how to play."

"Memories become songs when we forget them," Clara concluded, using the same words she had when they first met inside her diner.

For the first time, he dared to look up and find her eyes. He wasn't surprised to see them waiting for him. "Clara?"

She only sustained their glare.

"I'm afraid the memory of you will hurt too much once I remember you and you're gone," he wasn't trying to sound pitiful. He was lost inside of his own body and mind.

Clara stepped down from his desk, lowering herself so they would be at the same height, "Isn't that the purpose of every single memory? To hurt and haunt us until we cannot breathe? To teach us how we took for granted everything that we had until we had it no more?"

He stopped performing all of a sudden, leaning his head closer to hers, his fingers no longer able to play. "That doesn't mean we come to terms with them."

She smiled sadly, cupping his face with her cold palms, "No, it doesn't."

Silently and without asking for permission, she took his guitar from his lap and placed it away, taking its place on his skinny legs. "Lucky for you that I'm not going anywhere."

As she was a few inches taller than him, the Doctor took the opportunity to lay his head against her chest. He couldn't help but to feel a little discomforted at her lack of a heartbeat. "I can't have you forever, Clara. You said it yourself."

She wrapped her arms around his head, tugging him close to her, letting his energy flow to her energy-less body. "What do I know? I'm just as unsure as you are, about anything. About everything."

The Doctor allowed her to rock him like a scared child. In most days, he was nothing more than one. "I'm scared, Clara."

Clara buried his nose in midst of his curly grey hair. "I know. I'm scared to."

He closed his eyes, trusting her enough to take care of him. To be his guarding angel. "Time is our greatest asset and our worst enemy."

She agreed with a bow. "Don't let time intimidate you. If you do, you might run out of it by trying to run away from it."

The Doctor held her tightly, letting her sent invade his nose, if she still had any. "When did you become so wise?"

She grinned against him, "I've lived a long time. Perhaps even longer than yours."

Although he couldn't know whether she was joking or not, he agreed, "Isn't it awful being this immortal and this... lonely?"

Clara felt the oxygen get stuck in her throat as she heard the most truthful words in her not so short life. "Yes."

He knew her words were just as hollow as his. More than never, they shared not only a story, but their loneliness as well. It was, at least, better than being lonely, alone.