The rest of the walk back to the cabin was spent in silence and the Doctor knew she was now contemplating what she had to do. Making a list of things, he thought to himself with a grin. First priority was getting her hand wrapped. If the Jeep was in need of repair, they would have to figure out how to get that done without any sort of real electricity – though he was sure he could finagle something for them. They would need to figure out where they were – but he had a sneaking suspicion she knew exactly where they were. They would need gas; theoretically she had cash in her personal back pack, one she'd not touched since they'd arrived.
He'd noticed; he hadn't asked.
If he had his Sonic, it would be easier.
"You rely too much on that thing," Clara had told him on more than one occasion. Of course she'd been right; she always was.
They arrived at the cabin and he worked on a late lunch while she cleaned her wound, hissing and grumbling on the couch with the first aid kit beside her. They were short on supplies, he knew, and he opened a cabinet to look in on the sparse cans there, the last bag of rice – they'd be leaving soon. He looked to the back of her head and felt his hearts drop in his chest, lifting a hand to touch the spot that ached and feeling the scar through his jumper. She could die again, he knew. Right before his eyes, he understood.
He had to take that chance.
To save her.
"What's on your mind?" She questioned loudly, and he frowned just before she turned to look up at him, giving him those eyes – ones that knew exactly what he was thinking.
So he told her honestly, "You."
Chuckling to herself, she stood and began to walk towards him, questioning bluntly, "Me, or her?"
He smirked and repeated, "You."
She merely nodded and he understood that she didn't believe him. Considering her with a long sigh as she approached him and came to stand just next to him, looking to the blackberry jam he was smearing on more bread, beside some layered with a sort of peanut butter they'd made with the nuts they'd been collecting, he was saddened. She truly didn't believe he could separate out the echo from the woman who created her. Was there nothing he could say to convince her he hadn't?
His Clara was dead, he'd accepted that begrudgingly.
"Now you're thinking about her," Clara told him knowingly, nudging him lightly with her hip. "You haven't talked about her in some time – do you..."
"No," he interrupted quickly. He glanced to the way she pursed her lips in frustration and turned away and he sighed, "It's not that I don't want to discuss her with you; I've merely chosen to move on."
Leaning away, brow rising, she stated angrily, "That quickly."
He slapped a jam covered bread onto a peanut butter covered one and nodded. "Best to do it quickly."
"Cheerful bloke, you are," she groaned, snatching the sandwich and walking away.
Closing the second sandwich, he gripped it in one hand and stalked after her, standing in front of where she'd dropped back onto the couch to take a bite and chew, her eyes drifting slowly up to him as he tried to put together a rational thought. An explanation, he knew. It was difficult, looking at that face – as though she were angry at him for putting her aside so swiftly for another. Accusing him of forgetting her.
"I've lived for over two thousand years," he spat, body bending towards her.
"So you keep reminding me," she shot back.
"I've lost a lot of people," he said on an angry laugh.
"Good that," she grumbled, taking another bite and looking away.
"What," he stated, shoulders dropping before he flapped a hand at her, "What is this? It's indifference filled with anger – at what? What have I done now?"
She turned sharply and he straightened, "See this? You're talking to her – what have I done now? This time." Clara laughed. "Don't tell me you've moved on because you've never stopped thinking about her, or talking to her, you just won't talk to me about her."
He knelt in front of her, taking a rough breath and asking her softly, "And what would you like me to tell you, Clara? That I think of her? That I remember how she smelled and how her dainty steps tapped across the Tardis console space behind me? Or how I can still hear her voice sometimes, telling me that I'm a fool – guiding me from doing foolish things? What is it you want to know? That I compare you? Is that what you're concerned about?"
"No," she told him, shaking her head, "It's not that, not entirely," she added honestly. Blinking away tears, she shrugged, "I know what this pain is, Doctor – I know what this loss means." She wiped at her left cheek with her bandaged hand and sighed, "I just thought I could help you."
His head lowered, ashamed, and he reached out for that injured hand, holding it delicately in her lap before he looked up at her and breathed, "I miss her."
"You should," she nodded, laughing lightly.
"You're so alike and so different – she would have been proud of you," he assured.
Dropping her head, she stated, "Probably not."
"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, Clara, she would have because you're a soldier, but you're fighting for what's right."
"Murdering people," she reminded, "That's what you said I'd be doing."
Eyes widening, he explained, "And what's why we can't go about it that way; that's why we have to find a better way."
Clara raised her head and sniffled and then she smiled when he reached with the knuckles of his other hand, still clutching a bent sandwich, to wipe at the tears on her right cheek. With a nod, she knew, "Her way."
Gesturing between them, the Doctor corrected, "Our way, Clara. You and me."
Laughing to herself, she nodded.
Shifting up to sit next to her, the Doctor told her quietly, "She'd have forgiven you," and his finger trailed along the scar on her left wrist. "She'd have understood."
Glancing up, she asked timidly, "And you?"
"Not my place," he told her politely.
Lips twisting, she accepted that answer and then inquired carefully, "Are you alright?"
The Doctor laughed at the question because he knew her meaning well. Clara understood what it was to lose the person you cherished most in the universe and Clara knew how that sat in one's heart. She absolutely knew he was not alright, but she was giving him the room to continue to lie to her and to himself about it, so he dropped his shoulders and sank back into the couch, taking a bite of his sandwich to look to her, watching him, taking a bite of her own.
Trying her best to be casual.
"I've been around for over two thousand years," he stated again, watching as she smiled shyly at his words before he continued, "And I've picked up a few companions along the way – friends, enemies, tin dogs." He leaned his head back a moment to laugh. "They've all left their unique marks on my hearts." He sighed. "Some good; some bad." He looked to her. "You're leaving yours now, Clara." Her lips dropped slightly and he understood that sadness – she thought she hurt him with her resemblance, but the truth was the opposite. "And afterwards... it's perplexing, the emotions."
Clara shifted next to him and she leaned into the couch, taking another bite to continue listening.
"Sometimes they leave of their own accord – those are the easiest – they just walk through those doors with a wave and a goodbye and I'm sad, but at ease with their decision." He nodded slowly, bottom lip pouting, "And some have that choice made for them. Circumstances that keep them from coming back. The sting of their departures, of having to accept their departures, it lingers, but they're alive." Laughing, he looked to her, "They can have lives."
"And then some die," Clara sighed.
"And then some die," he repeated, reaching for her hand as he stared up at the ceiling. "We were trying to save the native race of a planet against a rogue faction of Silurians that had gone out into the universe in search of a habitable new home for their people. They'd gotten a touch of space-madness in the process – like cabin fever, only in space," he smiled before saying, "We were trying to help; trying to bring peace." The Doctor took a breath, seeing the memory clear in his mind. "A fight broke out and we were forced to partake," he looked to her, "We had no intentions of harming anyone, just getting to a bomb to disarm it because we had the technology to. And she did," he smiled. "The native species had gained the upper hand in the physical combat, outnumbering the Silurians, and we'd disarmed the weapon and that should have been it. Celebrations and conversations about rehabilitation for the so-called prisoners and then off into the stars."
"My stars, Doctor," he could hear her shouting, "It actually worked."
"Oi," he'd shouted back, "Don't diss the Sonic!"
Swallowing hard, Clara watched his eyes redden and then water over and she tightened her grip on his hand as he told her quietly, "Coward stabbed her in the back. It was all over and one bastard lizard decided to retaliate and cut her through with his blade." He looked to her and she watched his lips trembled, "She died in confusion and pain and finally... acceptance. She died in my arms, smiling up at me as though she were merely going down for a nap, and there was nothing I could do about it."
"I'm sorry about Clara," she told him honestly, sadly, with a set of her own warm tears streaking over her face as she watched him offer the smallest of grins.
He shrugged and then nodded, replying, "I'm sorry about Charlie."
She laughed, the words striking her heart with their sincerity, and she asked, "Does my face make it harder for you to mourn her?"
Shaking his head, he sighed, "Oh, Clara, quite the opposite – it should be that your face reminds me of her death at every step, but it's like those stars out there in the universe. I should look upon them at every turn and be bored to tears, but I see them through new eyes and they're alive again, bursting brilliantly against the darkness and you... you, Clara, you bring her back to life for me." His head shook again, "You're not her, it's not that I can't distinguish between the two of you. It's that you give her life new possibilities through yours. You make it easier to mourn and easier to move on and I'm sorry I haven't been more open about her with you. You deserved that."
"I won't replace her," she warned.
He scoffed, "Never."
"I am my own Clara Oswald."
His hand gripped hers back and he nodded, "Understood, Captain."
She giggled and turned away bashfully, then turned back and admitted quietly, "Doctor, we don't need your Tardis."
Brow furrowing, he looked around and said, "Clara, while I'd love to consider a domestic lifestyle, I'm not quite ready to give up those stars."
She laughed then, raising his hand slightly within hers, "No, Doctor, I mean UNIT – I was thinking about gaining a bit of advantage and I realized we don't need the Tardis to hack UNIT, we just need another computer. Outside source, less risk."
He laughed with her, watching her smile widen as her eyes disappeared. The Doctor took a large bite of his sandwich, thankful for the burst of flavors, and he brought her hand up to his chest, at a spot just between his hearts, and he held it there, pointing at her with his sandwich telling her softly, "Captain Clarice Palmer, I do love you."
And she hesitated for only a moment before chancing to respond, "And I you, Doctor," and then, to his content smile, she elaborated, "I believe I do love you too."