The Doctor sat at the edge of his bed in the modest home that he now inhabited with his young son. He finally collected himself enough to pick Paul up from the Owens' homestead and walk the few steps it took to arrive at their own home right next door. Paul was currently asleep in his bedroom. The Doctor was grateful that Paul was still young enough that his Time Lord biology hadn't presented itself yet. He didn't want to think about having to raise a child that only slept a few hours...a week.
The tired father slowly sat up and made his way to the small desk in the corner of the room. He reached into the drawer and brought out a lockbox that he tentatively opened. Inside were letters, trinkets, and a few other odds and ins that he kept in memento of his dear Clara. Paul's mother. He pulled out a faded picture of Clara, back in Victorian London. It was from before she'd met him. He smiled at how proper she looked.
Once Clara came onto the TARDIS, she was more than happy to give up the Victorian garb and dress like a "modern woman," as she would say. The Doctor would laugh because the outfits she picked were still anything but "modern". Maybe more appropriate for the 1940s. He loved it, though. She looked so beautiful, with her hair slightly curled at the bottom as it reached just past her shoulders. She'd spent hours in the TARDIS wardrobe looking through all the different eras and styles when he first showed her the room.
"I may be a bit progressive for a woman from the late 1800s, Doctor...but not that progressive," she'd say when she saw some of the more, well, scandalous outfits. And by scandalous, they were just ordinary women's trousers. The Doctor smiled fondly at her as she pulled out a simple button-up dress that belted at the waist. Then he would pull her in for a kiss.
Now the Doctor was looking at the last picture he'd ever taken of her. There she was in a hospital bed with her swollen belly. She had the biggest smile on her face and was giving the thumbs up (she giggled when she learnt the gesture) towards the camera. The Doctor snapped her picture because even though she told him she looked terrible, he couldn't help thinking it was the most beautiful she'd ever looked.
Two months after Clara moved into the TARDIS, she began to feel ill. It started during one of their adventures on Hedgewick's world. They'd just gotten off a particularly dizzying ride, and Clara ran to the nearest bin to throw up. They assumed it was because of all the spinning, but after a week of still vomiting, they found themselves in the TARDIS console room looking over the results of Clara's recent scan.
"Pregnant," Clara whispered as she read the words. Tears welled up in her eyes. The Doctor thought she was upset and went to comfort her when she giggled happily. "We're... we're having a baby!" She said as they hugged.
"It seems so," said the Doctor. He couldn't help the happy tears that escaped his eyes. He didn't think they were compatible in that way. Apparently, he was wrong.
"Maybe...maybe we should take it easy a bit. With the...you know..." He gestured vaguely around the TARDIS.
"You mean stop adventuring? Never!" She then grabbed her stomach as she heaved onto the TARDIS floor. "Okay...maybe you're right." She chuckled then groaned from the nausea.
The Doctor and Clara spent most of the 9 months enjoying each other's company in the TARDIS. The Doctor would take them somewhere on Earth whenever they got a bit "tired" of each other's company. He also made sure that there was some element of wow factor to impress Clara because, more often than not, it was Clara getting annoyed with the Doctor, and he wanted to get back in her good graces.
As her hormones fluctuated and she was more irritable, the Time Lord's overzealous antics of trying to fix all her problems would cause her to inevitably shut herself in her room, saying, "I don't want you to fix it! I just wanted you to know how I was feeling!"
When the time finally came for the baby to be born, the Doctor insisted they go somewhere with the best medical care. Clara wanted to be back in Victorian London, where she was familiar with the customs, but the Doctor would not give in on this. He thought the risks of being born in such an era were far too great. He convinced her to go somewhere that the chances of survival for both mother and child were greatest.
Even with the advanced technology of the 22nd century, there were still risks. But, the Doctor determined that if he went too far ahead, the technology would be too advanced for Clara's biology. He also had to ensure that the baby's peculiar heritage would go unnoticed. Thankfully the baby had only 1 heart, so it would be easier to pass the child off as a full blood human.
The Doctor snapped a picture just as they were wheeling Clara back to the birthing room. They offered her all sorts of medications to make it a more pleasant experience, but Clara was adamant about having a natural birth. She'd gotten used to being presented with all kinds of new advancements in medicine but couldn't quite bring herself to partake.
Clara already conceded on the location of the birth. So, they compromised about the drugs.
Clara was now entering the transition part of her labour in the birthing room. Things had been progressing quickly, and within only 2 hours of her water breaking, she was now ready to push. She did her breathing while the Doctor held her hand.
"Okay, it's time," said the midwife. "Clara, you need to push now."
Clara had tears in her eyes as she gave everything with each push.
"I...I can't," she whimpered. She'd been pushing for nearly 30 minutes and was starting to lose her energy. As the baby came closer to crowning, the pain she felt scared her. "Please...I...I can't."
The Doctor reassured her calmly. "You can do this, Clara. You can do this. You're so strong. Clara. You can do this."
The midwife echoed the Doctor's words.
"Clara, you are doing so good! Just a few more pushes! Here, reach your hand down."
Clara brought her hand down and felt something soft.
"Clara, that's your baby's head," said the midwife.
Feeling the top of her baby's head changed Clara's whole demeanour. She was determined to meet her child. Clara gave another push.
"Good! Good! Clara, the baby is crowning! Keep going!"
The Doctor couldn't help his curiosity as he looked to the spot where the midwife was intently focused. He nearly passed out. Not because of the blood and just the general...well, whatever was happening, but because he couldn't imagine the pain she was feeling. He quickly returned to look at Clara's face.
"Clara! I saw the baby's head. The baby is a ginger!" He laughed as his eyes teared up.
Clara took a deep breath as she pushed with all her might. She felt an intense burning followed by the sudden release of pressure. She hadn't noticed the midwife had called the Doctor over where she allowed him to be the one to catch the baby. Once the baby's head emerged, the rest of the baby seemed to slide right out into his arms. He hadn't intended on catching the baby but was glad he'd changed into scrubs now that he was holding the child.
Clara saw the Doctor bring the baby up. Her only stipulation for the birth (other than no medication) was that she would be the one to announce the baby's gender. Clara and the Doctor decided they wanted it to be a surprise, so they chose not to find out. Although Clara had been tempted when she found out that it was possible. She didn't want to have any preconceived notions about the child before properly meeting them. Clara and the Doctor hadn't even picked out a name. She said once she saw the baby, she would just know.
Sure enough, without even missing a beat, she saw that the baby was a boy and blurted out, "It's Paul!"
The baby emerged with his eyes wide open, taking in the world around him. The midwife was in shock with how alert the newborn was. He wasn't even crying. The Doctor had a flash of concern, but the midwife gave the baby one good pat on the back before he started to wail.
"Good boy! There we go!" said the midwife. She then took the baby from the Doctor and laid him on Clara's stomach. The baby was already rooting around for his mother. The Doctor then cut the cord, so the midwife could place Paul closer to her breast, where he immediately latched.
"Hello, Paul," said the Doctor tearfully. He then kissed Clara's sweaty forehead. "You were brilliant, Clara. I love you so much." She just nodded and then closed her eyes as she laid back on the pillow. So clearly spent from the past 6 hours that went by terrifyingly fast but agonisingly slow at the same time.
"Okay, Clara. We're going to have you hand Paul over to your husband so we can deliver the placenta and make sure the baby is doing well. The Doctor didn't bother to correct the woman about the fact that they weren't actually married. Clara just nodded as the Doctor took Paul. The assisting nurse then helped wrap the infant up in a blanket as they took him over to a tiny hospital cot to check him over. Clara winced as the midwife pressed on her abdomen to help her deliver the placenta. She felt another wave of a contraction but this time, delivering the weird alien blob that had been attached to her uterus was much less painful than having an entire baby come out of her.
It was now an hour since the birth, and Clara moved to the recovery unit. It was a comfortable room with an equally comfy bed. She also had her own personal washroom. It was nearly midnight now, and the nurses insisted that both she and her "husband" got some sleep. The bed was big enough for both of them. Paul had his own little cot right beside the bed for easy access to feed. Clara was in considerable pain, so the Doctor gladly helped her pick the baby up each time he needed to feed.
The Doctor was wakened by Clara's sharp gasp. The assistant nurse was painfully pushing her abdomen to check her uterus and bleeding. The young woman made a face indicating to the new father that something wasn't right.
"Is she okay?" He asked. The fear already rising inside his chest.
"I'm... I'm just not liking the amount bleeding," she said honestly. "I'm sorry, Clara, but I'm going to try and massage your abdomen. You may have a blood clot that needs to pass."
Clara just nodded warily. She was feeling a bit odd. Almost lightheaded as the nurse began to painfully press on her stomach again.
"Okay, there we go," said the nurse.
Clara felt like she'd wet herself, but it was actually a large blood clot. The nurse cleaned her up and gave her new padding to absorb the bleeding. The nurse seemed satisfied and quietly left, saying that she would let the next nurse know to watch her carefully. The young nurse who'd been assisting the midwife was now going to go home while someone else would be taking over. Clara just mumbled something as the Doctor thanked the young woman.
Paul just finished another feeding, so the Doctor laid him back in the cot. Clara was already asleep again. He stroked her cheek as he closed his own tired eyes. Then, what seemed like mere moments later, the Doctor woke to the sound of Paul wailing. He blinked a few times as he fumbled his way out of the bed. He could see out the window that the sun was high. He must have been asleep much longer than he thought. The Doctor hadn't even noticed the nurses coming in to check on Clara, which they were supposed to do every hour.
He stood up and noticed his trousers were wet. He looked down and saw they were soaked with blood. The Doctor quickly sprang around the bed, pulled the covers back from Clara's body, and was horrified at what he saw. There was blood everywhere. He quickly pressed the call button while Paul was still wailing in the cot.
"Clara? Clara!" He was shaking her and trying to find a pulse. There was none. She was cold to the touch. The Doctor gasped a sob, not understanding what was happening. This was NOT happening. No. NO!
A nurse ran into the room and immediately called for a doctor.
A few more nurses entered the room. The Doctor was pacing back and forth with his hands on the back of his neck. Ignoring his son's wails, overcome with grief and the reality that was sadly unfolding. Maybe, he was just in too much of a shock to find her pulse? Maybe...maybe…
"Get him out of here." He heard a man say. The Doctor felt faint as someone grabbed his hand and started to walk him somewhere.
As he was being led down a corridor, he stopped.
"Wait, Clara, I...I need..."
The Doctor started walking back to the room, half expecting to find Clara there just sitting in the bed with Paul, nursing him with a smile on her face. Instead, he felt someone grab his arm and pull him away.
Wait, why can't he see her? What was happening?
The rest of the next hour was a blur. The Doctor kept hearing someone crying. Why were they crying? He then felt like all the air was knocked out of his lungs when he finally came out of his walking coma and realised he was the one who was crying. Crying because of Clara. He noticed the blood that had now dried on his trousers.
"Oh God," he wailed.
A man in a medical coat now entered the room with a few nurses behind him.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid Clara has passed."
The Doctor stared at the man who sat across from him. He could feel the tears falling down his cheeks, but he felt incredibly numb. The man then began rambling something about systems and failures. And now he was apologising for the "mix up". The Doctor's head snapped up.
"Mix up? Mix up?" the Time Lord questioned harshly.
"She... she's dead because of a mix-up?! What the hell happened? I...I don't understand!"
The Doctor felt someone place their hand on his shoulder. It was the hospital social care worker.
The man, who was apparently a medical doctor, continued to speak. "There was a piece of the placenta still inside your wife's uterus which caused her to haemorrhage. The nurse on the shift, well, as you know these days, most of the support staff are artificial intelligence. The hospital owner has been implementing A. I. into the nursing staff as well. Unfortunately, the nurse who was supposed to check on your wife had an unexpected update that prevented her from performing her duties. We've estimated that your wife passed away nearly 3 hours ago."
The Doctor couldn't help choke out a sob. Clara had begged him to deliver the baby back in Victorian London. He thought it would be too risky. He feared her doing an all-natural birth was dangerous. But she managed to deliver Paul naturally in the 22nd century anyway. And now she was dead because of some "glitch" with her apparent nurse bot.
Horribly enough, the Doctor couldn't even blame the hospital for such gross neglect. Apparently, he and Clara signed something that prevented the possibility of pursuing legal action for an unexpected update that caused harm or death to a patient due to a malfunction of any of the robotic staff. Of course, it would be a different story if the nurse was a living being caring for her.
The now distraught Doctor couldn't help think about the fact that if Clara had delivered in the safety of the Paternoster Gang's humble abode like she originally wanted to, Vastra or Jenny or, for God sake, even Strax could have prevented this. Her death was his fault. She died because he didn't listen to her instincts. His precious Clara trusted him completely, and now she was dead.
The medical doctor had long since left the room. The Doctor was now peering into the nursery window where Paul was sleeping in his cot. He looked so tiny compared to other newborns in the room. The social worker said something to him, but he wasn't paying much attention.
Instead, the Doctor was watching as baby Paul slept soundly. The nurses would now be using donated breast milk and feeding bottles. The Doctor sniffed at the reality that Paul would never know Clara. Clara gave her entire being to bring him into this world. And she'd never get to hold him again. Never get to kiss his boo-boos. Never get to read him bedtime stories. She was a children's governess for years before she'd met the Doctor. She would have been a great mother. When the phrase "would have been" went through his mind, he couldn't help breaking down again.
He felt the woman place a hand on his shoulder. She then handed him something.
"There's a private shower if you want to go clean up and change. Then, we can talk more about little Paul's discharge when you're ready."
The Doctor had completely forgotten he was still covered in Clara's blood. He wiped his eyes as he took the fresh set of scrubs and made his way to the private shower. The Doctor stood under the scalding water as he watched the mixture of blood and soap swirl down the drain. Clara's blood. Yes, her blood was all over him literally, but he couldn't help the feeling that he had her blood on his hands which would never be washed away, no matter how hard he scrubbed.
"I was right there!" He screamed into the shower. His voice echoed off the tiled walls. He'd been lying right next to her, sleeping, as she bled out. Had she woken at all? Had she tried to call for help, knowing that something wasn't right? Was she pleading with him to wake up?
He began to sob again, thinking about how she slowly and most likely painfully bled out while he just slept through it. The Doctor felt sick as he began to dry heave in the shower. He should never have brought her into the TARDIS. He should never have asked her to come away with him. He should never have been with her. This was why he never usually gave in to his feelings with the others. Yes, he would love and admire them. He's over 900 years old. Of course, he'd loved many wonderful people throughout his lifetime. But it was always at a distance.
He came painfully close to giving in with Rose, and look how that turned out. River, well, that was different. Their timelines were all wobbly, and she saw their love affair for what it was. She was part Time Lord, too. She understood the reality of the heartbreak that would and did come for them.
But Clara. Clara was different. She was utterly human. And utterly amazing. She brought him down off his cloud after he lost the Ponds. Rose was human too. He had lived with so much regret for letting her go, but now he was grateful. At least Rose was still alive, albeit in a parallel universe. But still. Clara died before her life really even began. He barely scratched the surface of all the wondrous places he planned to take her. And more recently planned to take them. Clara and the baby. The baby who was currently sleeping only a few steps away.
When the Doctor finally felt like he could enter back into reality, he exited the shower and quickly dried off to throw on the scrubs. He saw the social worker was just standing in the hall. He was embarrassed because he hadn't realised she was waiting for him the entire time! He didn't even know how long he'd been in there. She gave a warm smile as he followed her once again to yet another room.
"I'm sorry I took so long. I didn't realise you were waiting for me."
"It's part of my job." She said with a slight chuckle as she sat in the chair across from him.
"What? Waiting for distraught men to take hour-long showers?" He said, trying to make a joke, but his tone lacked any levity.
"My' job' is to walk people through the beginning stages of bereavement," she said matter of factly.
The Doctor rubbed his face and nodded as he rested his hands in his lap. Not taking his eyes off his fingers that were now picking at a loose string on his trousers.
The woman gave him some pamphlets and talked to him about the different stages of grief. He half-listened. Which she seemed to notice but didn't let bother her. He guessed this wasn't her first day on the job. Where was this woman after he lost the Ponds, or Rose, or River? Really any of the people he loved. All along his timeline. All in their own way.
The social worker's tone shifted when she began to hand him different pamphlets. These ones were not pertaining to grief but to taking care of a newborn and the upcoming stages of the next 12 months. When she handed him the first pamphlet with the picture of a young mother and a baby on the cover, the reality of his new life hit him like a ton of bricks.
He had a baby now. Clara's baby. The Doctor would soon be on his own with little Paul.
There was a soft knock at the door. It was one of the pediatric nurses that worked in the nursery. The social worker gestured for her to come in. The woman came into the room and pulled the little cot on wheels behind her.
Paul was still asleep, and the Doctor couldn't help smile at the little guy. He looked like any newborn, really. His only distinguishing feature was the thick locks of fiery red hair that was already beginning to curl. The Doctor wondered if Clara had actually miscarried and the baby regenerated in the womb. It wasn't impossible, given he was half Gallifreyan, just highly unlikely. Or maybe the universe was trying to make a joke. He'd always hoped to regenerate into a ginger, and now his son beat him to it.
A support staff member came in carrying Clara's bag and the car seat. They didn't even have a car, but the Doctor wasn't about to tell them he travelled in a spaceship through time and space. He figured that given how bumpy "Sexy" could get, it was probably still a good idea to have a car seat for the baby. That and the hospital required them to have one before leaving.
Now, as the Doctor entered the TARDIS with his newest companion, the TARDIS made a noise as if she knew why Clara wasn't with him. He could sense the old girl tugging on his mind. It felt like she was wrapping him in a warm hug for comfort while also congratulating him on the arrival of his precious baby boy. It wasn't until a few days later that the hospital finally released Clara's body to him. It was a brutal day. He considered phoning Vastra for help, but he was ashamed. The last time the Doctor saw the Paternoster Gang was after their run-in with the Great Intelligence and the scary ice woman. What would they think of him if he contacted them? Not only had he knocked up the young governess, but she also died under his watch.
The Doctor decided to have Clara cremated to have an easier time transporting her remains. He figured that it would be best if she were buried in her proper time back in Victorian London. The grieving Time Lord was shocked when he finally got hold of her papers and discovered that her middle name was Oswin. The voice of "souffle girl" rang in his head.
"Oswin Oswald, junior entertainment officer, starship Alaska..."
The poor girl had been fully converted to a Dalek. But she still managed to let her humanity seep through the Dalek's hatred and save him. How could he have not noticed before? It was her. It was Clara. He could still remember her voice in his head and the odd phrase she spouted before she finally died. The Doctor never saw actually saw Oswin's face but, still. Clara always went on and on about souffle, and he thought it was just an odd coincidence. He felt like an idiot. They had the same surname!
...
Back in the TARDIS, the Doctor managed to find Oswin Oswald's records of starship Alaska. There before him was her ID picture. She looked exactly like Clara. He thought maybe she was a future relative, but would that mean he had some involvement in her lineage? Was this "Oswin" a descendant of the little companion that slept at his feet in the baby cot?
It made his head spin.
Or, could it be something else? Something...unique to Clara. Something utterly...impossible. Maybe, Clara was living multiple lives? The Doctor didn't want to hope for something so unlikely. Because if she had managed to live different lives, could he then find her again? Would she know him?
The Doctor quickly found another impossibility. It was impossible to search all of time and space for his lost love while also taking care of a newborn. After a few frustratingly stressful days and much too much crying, and not always from the baby, the Doctor decided he had developed an unhealthy obsession. He needed to find a place where he could focus on Paul. Maybe when the boy was older, he could try again? The Doctor knew it was wishful thinking, but he let himself hold onto a smidgeon of hope he would find Clara again.