The rain pounded on the windows, on the pavement, on top of the umbrellas the few scattered people around were carrying, and of course it came down on Clara, soaking her hair and drenching the thin coat she wore over her dress. Her clutch wasn't big enough for an umbrella, and she hadn't looked at the weather forecast. And even if she had one, she probably wouldn't have the energy or wherewithal to use it. The cold rain was the last thing on her mind as she walked as fast as she could back home. Which wasn't very fast, she was wearing slight heels, her favourite actually, and she felt like collapsing in a puddle and letting the downpour wash her into the drainage system. But still, she wanted to get home as soon as possible, and also, in a way, never reach home at all. To get lost in the journey back and fade away into fog was also a tempting option.

The heels were for a date with her boyfriend, Danny, which had actually gone well- at first. She'd wanted to look her best, she'd wanted everything to be perfect. Despite a certain someone calling her a control-freak she hadn't really been a perfectionist before dating Danny. But she had wanted to minimise the chance of anything being off or wrong or anything. And due to that it had taken quite long to get ready but she was happy with herself. She'd thought it would have been smooth (ish) sailing from then on. She had almost skipped on the way there, but twisting her ankle and ruining a shoe wasn't part of a perfect date so she just kept tapping her fingers excitedly on her clutch.

The restaurant had been going well, she had said all the right things. She'd gotten good at that now, she was starting to catch on to what would make him happy and what would make him ignore her for the evening. Danny was jovial and charming, and she'd felt butterflies in her stomach at having such a nice time with her boyfriend. However, as they were leaving to go back to Danny's flat, Clara had noticed the downpour and had made a joke about a new umbrella the Doctor had given her, some ugly big thing after he destroyed her last one, tying it to the roof of the Tardis and babbling on about waves and energy and god-knows what else as she watched it be blown to smithereens. And how she had wished Danny was there because he was tall and stern and would have simply reached over to the roof and took it down for her. How he was also very useful for turning on the projector in school when she got tired of standing on a chair and tiptoeing to reach the buttons. And she kept laughing until she realised Danny was looking at her with a mixture of annoyance, disappointment and maybe disgust? A look that she was so familiar with that it shut her up instantly. Her heart clattered to the floor.

No words were said, at first, he just stalked forward, towards his place, as Clara struggled to keep up with his long strides. He had the only umbrella but even then she wasn't noticing the rain , preoccupied with apologising and asking, begging, him to slow down. The Clara of only a few months past would have been very disappointed in such a pathetic display, in fact some people were turning their heads to look and she felt a twinge of embarrassment. The real Clara wouldn't do this- she'd be calmed and composed and probably more than a little mad and would have already refused to play such a game and had walked home in a huff, and told herself off for bothering with such men and that she'd choose better next time.

But this wasn't the Clara of a few months ago, it was the Clara of now. She didn't want to lose Danny, the man she loved, the man who she hoped loved her, maybe, sometimes when she said the right things. She kept slipping up, kept saying things he didn't like. Maybe she just wasn't made out for this relationship business, because if she was, Danny would be a lot happier- it felt like he was mad at her half the time and disappointed the rest. And giving her the silent treatment all throughout.

The flat wasn't far from the restaurant, and Danny began to slow down. When Clara, drunk on relief, finally caught up with him and ducked under his umbrella, mouth ready to spew explanations and apologises and 'I'll be better, I'll be the girl you want- please don't be mad at me-' the expression on Danny's face made all thoughts and words - and some part of her very being- die in her throat.

It wasn't just the usual irritation and disappointment- there was resignation. Tiredness. The disappointment was expected. He was at a loss at what to do with her. Not an expression she was ever fond of being on the receiving end of.

She felt a chill, and not from the rain.

"I don't know why I thought this would work."

He was speaking more to himself than to her.

"I think it's selfish of you to continue this."

"I-"

It was not so much an interruption as a refusal to acknowledge she had spoken at all.

"I know I said it was alright to continue with him. But I don't want to have half of someone as the other half belongs to someone else. I don't why you'd think I'd be accepting of that. I've told you what I want, I told you ,you could go with him if you didn't let it…affect you…to such a level. I've tried so hard. But it's never enough for you, is it?"

He let out a sigh, apparently relieved of a burden as Clara felt at least a million settle on her shoulders.

"Bye, Clara. See you at work- as colleagues." And he turned, letting himself in through the door, and leaving her in the rain that she still did not feel.

And now she was surely approaching her own flat, half an hour after her boyfriend had left her. It was for the best. He deserved better. He deserves someone who could give him the best- something Clara would never be able to provide, no matter how hard she tried.

At least it was a Friday- going back to work right after this would probably kill her. Though immersing herself with marking and permission slips and forgotten homework did seem somewhat tempting as a distraction. At this moment there was nothing to do but go home, which allowed her mind to run rampant, to overthink and punish her. To keep dwelling-like an animal worrying over an open wound,making it sore.

As she approached her door she noticed her shoes were all scuffed and muddy. Even after a wash they'd never be pretty enough to use for an outing like this again. Apathetically wiping them on the welcome mat, she let herself into the flat, kicking them off. She walked straight into the bedroom and laid face down on the bed after throwing her coat in the laundry basket, not caring that her wet hair was coming undone and already soaking the pillow. Or that she was suddenly so cold. Or that the kitchen light had been on. She had no energy to cry and hardly any energy to feel. But the few things she was feeling hurt her like nothing ever had. She thought she could die here without even trying.

She had just decided that she could somehow will herself to become a non-sentient puddle when the bedroom door was opened.

"Ah there you are! Come on, come on, we better get started, I've been waiting for you for ages."

The Doctor walked in, like he owned the place. He had probably raided her kitchen cabinets again and wandered the house like an impatient animal in its enclosure waiting for her return.

"Where were you, dreadful day to go outside. Or do you prefer it like that? I never know these days, especially with you." He quickly made his way to the side of the bed Clara was laying face down on.

"It's not Wednesday." She moved her head slightly so her voice wouldn't be as muffled, and realised she actually did have energy to cry, and had been doing it for the last minute or so. The universe loved comedic timing.

"Wednesday, Friday, all the same really. And she's upset-" he gestured vaguely behind him, probably to the Tardis , which Clara assumed was parked in the living room again- " The umbrella thing, won't listen to me. Ended up in Ancient Egypt before landing here. Do you still have it? I need to try the thing again. Come on!" She was surprised he didn't physically attempt to pull her off the bed, though that was probably his next course of action if she refused to move,

She sat up on her elbows, about to tell him to bugger off and go annoy someone else but his genuine look of surprise, coupled with a "God what happened to your face? It's got black lines all over it." Made her lose composure and start sobbing with renewed vigour into her pillow.

There was a pause, though Clara could tell he was still there, and then she felt the bed sink slightly as the Doctor sat beside her. He didn't say anything, she realised he was waiting for her to speak.

"I had a date with Danny today." She managed to choke out after a long minute.

"He said he had enough." She sniffled, trying to regain control of herself- he can't see her in this state. She can't keep crumbling like this. She turned around and sat up, bringing her legs close.

"Enough of what? I don't-"

"He ended it. Said I was selfish. Said-" She choked and wiped her eyes, mascara staining the back of her hand. Saying it would make it a bit too real. She thought once more about becoming a puddle. Maybe the Doctor could play janitor again and flush her down a drain.

Clara caught his eye, his expression was one she had seen on him before. Sombre, quiet. He was thinking, he was considering emotions. She had gone accustomed to this face, to his expressions and mannerisms and those ridiculous eyebrows. Had often imagined putting a hand to his visage, feeling those lines and those sharp features. Save them in her tactile memory in case he changed again. But she knew he wouldn't let her. Just like he wasn't a fan of hugging, which she really needed at the moment. She wasn't in the mood of hearing him complain about it either. So she sat, looking in those pale blue eyes, the occasional hiccup filling the silence.

"I guess the thing can wait,I don't think she's up for the trip anyway." The Doctor said in a quiet tone. He had gone to look at his hands, resting neatly in his lap,his left thumb softly stroking the back of his other hand. His eyebrows were furrowed, and Clara could almost see the cogs turning underneath that silver hair.

Clara expected him to get up, say he'll come back at a better time, that he will leave her to her boy troubles. She'd be hearing that Tardis thrumm and humm and she'd be left in a silent flat, rain barraging against the windows. She didn't expect him to look back at her and tentatively reach out wipe a tear of her face with his hand, the ghost of a caress as it was back on his lap as soon as she blinked.

He suddenly got up, and she thought he was going to leave her to her breakdown after all. If it wasn't for the lump in her throat she might have thrown pride to the wind and begged him to stay.

"Where are your cotton pads?" He had walked a short way to her dressing table, running a hand to all the scattered cosmetics- carnage from earlier in the evening- and finding said cotton pads before she could muster a reply. Confused, she watched him find the makeup remover and glance at the contents cautiously. It must have passed judgement because he was back by her side pretty quickly.

Clara's voice seemed to come out on it's own as she looked up at him, strained from the crying

" He, he said he didn't want only half of someone." She sniffled, hand going to wipe her eyes again but the Doctor reached out and used his own hand instead.

"I thought if I could be perfect. If I made everything okay again, he would be happy."

"You would, you thought you could mould yourself to be a little more likeable." The Doctor tipped her chin up with his hand and with a surprising gentleness, started wiping the mascara running down her cheeks with the cotton pad.

"I'll have you know that never works. I tried that bargain with the universe-multiple times."

"He deserves better."

He didn't reply, continuing to clean her face. He was almost too gentle- but soon enough (too soon- she missed his touch as soon as it left) he was done he threw the cotton pad in the bin.

When Clara went to stand up she felt a sure hand urging her to stay put. The Doctor seemed to be looking around for something.

"Do you have a towel for-" he motioned to his hair.

"The green one in the bathroom."

He was back quite rapidly. He started drying her hair, carefully and thoroughly, not seeming to care that a lot of the water was ending up on him. Clara closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his fingers on her scalp through the towel. When he was done he set the towel down and seemed hesitant, suddenly dithering.

"What?"

"Your hair. Do you want- Do you want me to brush it?"

Honey-brown eyes stared at him inquisitively, and the silence between them, not heavy but known and very present hung for a second, before the Doctor seemed like he was about to speak and dismiss his earlier question. Something that Clara would never allow to happen, almost panicking in the speed to answer.

"Yes. That would be lovely. Please. I should get into my pyjamas first, though." The dress was not very comfortable to lay down in but more to the point, every part of her appearance reminded her of her failed date. As she got up she caught sight of her painted nails which she had done earlier that evening, whilst humming, looking forward to the date with her now ex-boyfriend. She needed to get out of these clothes before the tears started again.

The Doctor seemed to be at loss if he should leave her or stand there as Clara took her blue pyjamas off the pile of fresh laundry on her chair. She'd do that tomorrow.

"Can you help me?" The Doctor had apparently chosen to leave and was already near the door, but turned to see Clara trying to unzip the back of her dress. There was a moment and she felt his hands replace hers on the zipper.

"It's a pretty dress."

"I don't think I'll wear it again soon."

She shrugged off the dress and let it crumble to the floor. Tomorrow it will go to the back of her closet. The Doctor handed her her pyjamas, respectfully looking at the side as she put on the trousers.

"You had a dress. A long while ago- a red one. When I was younger, when I let you pilot the Tardis."

Yes she remembered- it was only a few years ago for her, though she realised for him it was lifetimes and centuries ago, which made it even more striking that he seemed to remember such a small and trivial detail.

"Yea." He had finally looked back and had started doing the buttons up on her shirt without prompting. Clara let him, peering up at that focused face she had grown to adore, now not so far from hers.

"I remember really liking that one. I forgot to tell you. Never too late I suppose. You looked lovely. "

Before she could reply, he briefly lent down and kissed the top of her head, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. She reached up to lightly touch his cheek, and he pulled away, face neutral.

"Here." She grabbed the brush behind her and pressed it into his hand. "Probably better if I sat down."

They took their places in front of Clara's three faced mirror, Clara sitting on the stool and the Doctor, behind her, already gently feeling her hair, as if worried he would somehow damage it with the brush. She had a three angle view of them, seeing his hesitation from all sides.

Before she could urge him, she felt him start to brush, slowly and tenderly, undoing the tangles the rain had woven in her hair. She closed her eyes, and lost herself to the sensation, he was surprisingly good at it. She could fall asleep like this, let everything melt away. Just her and her Doctor, brushing her hair, soothing her worries with the hands she trusted so much.

She didn't want it to end.

She didn't want to think of anything else.

Yet, she couldn't keep her mind from wandering. How had she ended up here, having to be taken care of by someone else, not even capable of keeping her boyfriend happy. It was so easy, it should have been so easy. She couldn't even love-be loved properly. Danny had said he loved her, why couldn't she be good enough? She couldn't love anything enough to make it stay. Even the Doctor would eventually finish brushing her hair, set the hairbrush down and leave. She'd be alone again.

"Clara."

She hadn't noticed the tears leaking out from her closed eyelids.

The Doctor set down the brush, and gently touched her shoulder.

"You're crying."

She turned to him, tears falling with renewed vigour.

"Why? I loved him-I thought." Choking on her tears, she stood up, taking the Doctor aback.

"I loved him! I-I couldn't do it. I couldn't. I tried , I really tried. I wanted to be perfect, I did my best. I did my best to be perfect but. I just don't. Have it in me."

Without thinking, because how could she think right now, she fell into his arms, finding them surprised but accepting. He didn't push her away, he pulled her closer with both arms, pulling her to him, letting her cry against his shoulder as she let herself sob openly.

"I ruined everything. He said I wasn't enough-why can't I be enough?"

She was gripping him hard,wanting to drown in him, in her own tears.

"Oh, Clara, Clara. My Clara. You're more than enough. I'd almost say there's so much to you it's impossible to be anything but enough." she felt his lips against the side of her head as he hugged her even tighter.

"You are perfect, well nobody is but you're the strongest contender if there ever was one. And even when you're not perfect, you should still be loved in those moments, especially in those moments."

He was murmuring the words, and Clara clung to them, clung to him. She didn't want to let go.

Clara's eyes were still wet but she had stopped sobbing. She just felt tired, like she had experienced a week in a singular day. Or a year. She settled into a silence, as the Doctor held her, stroking her back reassuringly. As she calmed, she turned her focus to the faint beating of his two hearts. Those four beats. She'd always wanted to feel it with her hands, put them on his bare chest and feel them beating underneath. It was reassuring and steady, and it had never let her down. Nor would it.

The Doctor was the first to pull back, but he didn't step away.

"Let's get you to bed, it's late." He held out his hand and Clara took it, holding it tightly, wordlessy begging him to stay as he led her to her bed, switching the pillow as her hair had rendered the previous one damp, pulling the duvet back and tucking her in- one handed as they mutually refused to let go.

He left her, letting go of her hand, to go and turn off the light. And she was alone, in the dark.

"Doctor?"

"I'm not going anywhere, don't worry." The bed sank as he once again sat near her. "I'll stay with you."

"Until I fall asleep?"

"Until you wake up."

"Won't you get bored? You're not gonna leave and just come back in the morning?"

"No I won't. Go to sleep Clara."

The Doctor reached out and started softly stroking her hair and Clara relished in the comforting touch. Her eyes felt just as heavy as her heart but the Doctor was here. And he'd be there when she woke up. She didn't exactly feel less hopeless but she did feel comforted, safe.

Even loved.

The Doctor's hand shifted slightly and ghosted along her cheek, slowly tracing her features, her nose, her lips, her closed eyes, appreciating every inch, taking its time. And soon his lips replaced his hand on her cheek, kissing her.

"Goodnight Clara, sleep well." And as Clara sunk further into a dreamless sleep, his continued to stroke her hair.