As a child, Clara Oswald had been happy.

As a teenager, Clara Oswald had been broken.

As a young adult, Clara Oswald had been traumatized.

Today, she was happy.

Just happy.

And she was proud of herself.

She wouldn't say she was healed, but she didn't think about it anymore. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried about it. The memories of her trauma were stale; they were there, always there, but they didn't constantly lurk in the back of her head anymore.

She wasn't healed; no, some things were impossible to heal from , but she had coped with her past. She had survived, and, now, she was happy and proud of the person she had become.

It took her a long time to reach this sensation of serenity with herself, and it had taken everything from her within its course.

But it had been worth it; her struggles had been put to rest and she was proud to say that her past didn't define her anymore.

Only she did.

Of course, her haphephobia couldn't be magically erased. It was there, and it accompanied her everywhere. However, she no longer saw it as a curse or a misfortune that had fallen upon her to make her handicapped. At long last, she had accepted it, she had embraced it as part of who she was. Above all, she allowed her specialness to become her superpower.

Her haphephobia would always be there; the Doctor would remain the only person to ever touch her without any restraints because his touch reminded her of love, and how good it felt to be loved. When other people touched her… Well, their touch would always bother her, it would make her uncomfortable, but it no longer hurt her.

She would never heal, no. But she had found a way to move on.

She had come to terms with everything that had happened, she had come to terms with herself. Once upon a time, many moons before, she thought she would never reach the light at the end of the tunnel, that she was perpetuated to live within the shadows for eternity; now, she had finally got to meet the woman she would be for the rest of her life, and she was proud of this new woman.

She wanted nothing more than to travel back in time, find her teenage self, and let her know that everything would be alright. So long as she never gave up, so long as she never gave in — everything would be alright.

Just alright.

And wasn't alright everything that she had been searching for her entire life?

She was pleased to be alright. Nobody would ever steal it again, not even herself.

Clara learned, eventually, that life became lighter once she had allowed herself to be fully happy again. And she wanted other people, other women, that had been through the same as her to find the light within themselves as well. Hence why one day she woke up and decided to try and make a difference.

She started a campaign on campus, determined to bring awareness about crimes committed against women. It was a slow initiative, she didn't expect much to come out of it, but when women, young and bright women started to come to her, confiding in her about their own sexual assaults, Clara took them under her wings and promised, promised to herself that she would do everything in her power to help those girls find themselves again.

So, she started a support group on campus, aiming to help every survivor that sought help. She did it selflessly, she did it for benevolent reasons only. Because one day, a long time ago, an angel dressed as a linguistic professor knocked on her door and never left her side until she freed herself from her sorrows. If she had gotten better, so could them; if an angel had come into her life, she could learn from them and become the angel of somebody else's life.

And maybe, just maybe — it might just make a difference.

Indubitably, she was only a literature professor. She hadn't the power or the means to act as anything other than an advocate. So, she found a therapist willing to come to campus once a week to work pro bono in a support group, in which anyone in need could attend; and, if they found necessary, they could schedule their own private appointments.

Clara, however, didn't often attend the group sessions. She found it overall triggering, and she was so happy that she dreaded anything getting on the way of her happiness. So, unless she was having a really bad day, she would stay behind, and greet the young girls before and after the meeting. Only to give them a few words of support and maybe a hug, if needed.

If the Doctor had gone out of his way to help her, then so could she. She knew it wasn't about her, but nothing made her more proud than when somebody came to her and told her that they would no longer be attending the gatherings, because they had finally found peace amongst themself to move on.

She was so proud of them. Just like she was proud of herself.

"You're ready to go home?"

Clara turned around a little startled to find the Doctor standing there, with his gentle smile stamped on his face. That smile that could move mountains and always made her feel at home. He always met with her after the ending of the gatherings, either for moral support or just because he loved her and wanted to see her — and Clara relied on routines, and she didn't know what routines without him felt like anymore.

She met his smile and allowed herself to fold within his embrace. He gladly wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Yeah."

They began walking side by side, she leaning against his upper arm and he gently placed his hand on the small of her back.

"Bad day?"

She breathed in calmly.

"It's always a bad day around here."

And then, she hugged his arm.

"It's always a good day when you show up, though."

The Doctor smiled sadly, allowing his head to rest over hers as they slowly made their way out of campus.

"Thank you for always showing up, Doctor."

"Of course," he said, "I have a duty of care."

Clara chuckled softly; she had learned it from him — she also had a duty of care, for him, and for all of those that looked up to her and her story to find the strength to get better.

A duty of care.

"Let's go home."

They did.

The end.