A/N: (26 Feb 14) Just edited to add the lines where the setting/narrative switches. Sorry for forgetting!

She didn't tell him she loved him enough.

That was all Clara could think about as she held him throughout the night, his chest rising and falling heavily as she stared, unblinking, up at the ceiling.

The Doctor told her all the time—not just with his actions, but with his words. 'I love you' came easily to him, and although she never had trouble saying it back to him, Clara could only remember one time she'd ever been the first to say it.

She didn't have to wonder how that made him feel.

Around 4 am, she pulled herself from his arms so she could roll onto her side and have a good cry. She didn't know if she was crying from lack of sleep or from stress or because she felt like she'd failed the man she loved more than anything. She hated the role she played in fuelling his anxieties, especially she knew how effortlessly they could cripple him.

She was surprised all her crying and shaking didn't wake him. His nose and mouth were pressed into his pillow when she turned back around… he was oddly still. Panicking, Clara lifted his head to make sure he was still breathing. He was.

She fell asleep shortly after that and awoke hours later with a dull pressure in her head. The Doctor was still asleep sound asleep, his expression more relaxed than it had been for most of the night. Clara pulled him close and settled his head against her breast like she had the night before. He stirred slightly but seemed to fall back asleep until his arm snaked around her waist and he groaned into her chest.

She stroked his hair, smiling. "Feeling rotten?"

"Hrrrrmgh."

"Serves you right," she teased.

The Doctor lifted his head to look at her. Clara had to bite back a smile when she saw his bleary eyes, mad hair, and the sheet marks all over his face.

"Joo sleep?" he asked groggily, narrowing his eyes as he looked at her.

She could only imagine how she must look if he had to ask. "A bit."

He groaned in disapproval and then lowered his head back to her chest. Perpetually groaning, he clung to her like a baby koala and peppered the swell of her t-shirt covered breast with sleepy kisses as he mumbled something incoherent.

"I'm gonna fetch you some breakfast," she said, kissing his forehead.

He groaned loudly in protest but relinquished his hold on her when she slipped from the bed. She glanced over her shoulder before she left and chuckled at his lanky form splayed diagonally across the bed, his face buried in her pillow.

She padded into the kitchen with a yawn and put the kettle on, prepping his usual breakfast of milky tea and buttered toast. She found a breakfast tray leaning between the last cabinet and the wall and placed everything on top, adding her own cup of tea and a glass of cold water for him to drink to help him re-hydrate.

Amy appeared from her bedroom before Clara could take the tray to him. She looked much like the Doctor did—bleary eyes, messy hair, and a general dissatisfaction with the amount of light in the room.

"Hey. He OK?" she asked groggily.

Clara nodded with a rueful smile. "Bit of a zombie. I figured he might come back to life if I can get him to eat something

Amy crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. "Ha—good luck, yeah."

When Clara lifted the tray and took a step towards the doorway, Amy stepped in front of her and blinked nervously. She looked more awake now.

"But I mean—is he OK?"

"I think he will be. He gets scared."

Amy looked like she was going to cry. "Of people leaving?"

"Yes," she replied delicately, sensing Amy's guilt.

Amy blinked rapidly and nodded, offering her a tight smile to signify the end of this brief conversation. Clara shot her a sympathetic look before returning to the guest bedroom with the breakfast tray.

The Doctor was now stretched out on his back, his forearm draped over his eyes as he inhaled and exhaled slowly. She almost thought he'd fallen back to sleep until he peeked at her from under his arm. "Whassat?"

"Breakfast—you need to eat."

She set the tray on the other side of the bed and then sat on the edge of the mattress next to him. He hummed softly in response to her hand rubbing soothing circles on his belly, reminding her of an enormous house cat. She gave his belly a pat and then let her hand rest there.

"Got to get something in there."

The thought of eating elicited another groan of protest, and the Doctor lifted his head to frown at the tray. Begrudgingly, he pinched a piece of toast between his fingers and gave it a sniff before taking the tiniest bite off the corner. His nose crinkled and he chewed more times than necessary, but he was eating. Clara encouraged him to sit up and drink the water, suspecting he would feel better once he was hydrated.

"Thank you," he said after taking several large sips. He continued nibbling his toast and sighed at his lap. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, heaving a sigh when he tensed and then relaxed against her. "Oh, Doctor."

There was still so much that remained unspoken, but the tension between them ebbed as they took comfort in each other's embrace.

Clara rubbed her hands up and down his back and buried her face in his shoulder. "I love you," she murmured into his t-shirt.

Speaking those words caused her to relax, but she felt him tense in her arms. "Why?"

She would have been angry with him if he hadn't sounded like he genuinely needed an answer. Leaning back, she examined his features for a moment before placing her hand on his cheek and smiling as a host of replies flooded her brain. "Because you're a kind and loving man who takes care of the people he loves. Because you've allowed me to be one of those people."

His eyes were on her face like she was radiating light and he was captivated by what he saw. Clara raised her other hand to his face, her fingers brushing his hair from his forehead before she continued.

"Because you make my life better. Because you're clever and brave—" He scoffed in disagreement, but she shushed him, her features glowing with unabashed adoration. "You make me very, very happy, Tony."

He swallowed hard, eyes shining with unshed tears as he stared at her with a sort of awed disbelief. She smiled faintly, and he released a wet laugh. "You only ever call me that when you're being serious," he said. She chuckled and his grin widened at the sound. "Or cross."

Clara giggled and gripped his face in her hands. "I am being serious."

He laughed again, the sound barely more than a shaky exhalation that expressed relief more than amusement.

"I love you," she repeated softly, bookending her declaration with the words she said so infrequently.

He expelled another shaky breath and then pulled her close, kissing her lips and cheek as he held her tightly to him. He released a series of sighs against her shoulder, each one heavier than the last, as his body settled against hers, the weight of his doubt lifting from his shoulders.

"Oh," she said, sniffing back tears as she pulled back to look at him. "I forgot to mention one other thing."

"What's that?" he asked curiously.

"You have got the most glorious bum I have ever seen."

The Doctor bowed his head and laughed loudly, his smile crinkling his eyes.

She rubbed the back of his neck and goaded him further. "No, honestly—words don't do it justice. It's extraordinary, really. Exquisitely crafted."

He bit the inside of his cheek and he looked up at her, grin firmly in place. Clara beamed at him, but her gaze softened the longer she stared into his eyes.

"Are we OK?" she asked.

He nodded soberly. "Yes."

She gripped his shoulders. "Are you OK?"

He nodded again, although more reluctantly. "Yes."

"Will you tell me the next time you're not, instead of poisoning yourself with alcohol?"

He breathed a little laugh, but nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Thank you," she said in a playful tone.

She laid her forehead against his and closed her eyes, the pair of them sighing into each other's faces.

"And you?" he asked, sliding his hands up her back. "Are you OK?"

"Now that you are, yes. You really scared me."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. You made that quite clear."

"I'm—" He huffed. "Not going to stay it again."

"Thank you."

He kissed her, his lips continuing to purse softly against hers even when she spoke again.

"Mmm—you just—promise—to talk to me next time," she said, her arms circling his neck as his lips moved to her cheek. "If something's the matter, just tell me."

They both felt rather lightheaded and giddy as the tension between them evaporated. The Doctor hummed deeply into her ear and Clara's eyes fluttered shut.

"Well, something is the matter…" he said.

"Oh?" she replied in a shuddering breath.

His hair grazed her cheek as he nodded. He met her eyes and said very gravely, "I've got a terrible headache."

She suppressed a grin and brushed his hair away. "I bet you do."

"And oh, my glorious bum—how it itches."

"Stop it," she giggled, swatting his arm.

He kissed her again, this time slowly and deeply. Clara struggled to breathe as he leaned into her and slid his hands along the curve of her waist, fingers dipping down and then rising underneath her t-shirt to graze her skin.

"Did I ever tell you all the things I love about you?" he said in a low, gravelly tone.

"No," she lied, biting her lip and grinning as he whispered into her ear.

Amy wasn't eavesdropping. She wasn't. The wall between the guest bedroom and the bathroom was just that remarkably thin.

She had postponed her shower in favour of sitting on the tub in her towel as she listened for raised voices or tears or, potentially, both. The Doctor and Clara were both so quiet, but soon she heard them sighing and laughing.

Good… so they were good.

She stared at the phone in her hands and dialled Rory's number, hoping he had time to chat. She turned the faucet on as the phone rang and breathed a sigh of relief when he answered.

"Hey, what's up?"

"You busy?" she asked.

"Not at the moment. Is… Are you in the shower?"

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "I'm in the bathroom. I don't want the Doctor and Clara to hear."

"Oh. Is everything OK?"

She nodded and opened her mouth to say yes, that the Doctor was feeling better and that he and Clara were laughing and working things out, but instead of speaking, she slammed her eyes shut and fought back a sob.

"Hello?"

She sucked in a loud, shaky breath that didn't go unnoticed over the phone.

"Amy, what's wrong?"

"It's all my fault. He's so messed up, and it's all my fault…."

"What? What are you talking about? Amy—"

She couldn't speak, so Amy cradled the phone to her chest and bent forward as her shoulders shook with sobs. Rory promised he'd be home as soon as he could and she choked out that she'd be fine, that she'd see him when his shift was over, and he told her he loved her before she replied the same and hung up the phone.

Amy washed the tears from her face as she showered, and when she was finished, She wrapped her hair and torso in red bath towels and grabbed her discarded pyjamas from where she'd dropped them in the sink. She then opened the bathroom door with a squeak of surprise when she saw Clara leaning against the doorway to the living room, waiting.

"Sorry—didn't mean to scare you," she said with a laugh. "Just really need the loo."

Amy laughed softly and brushed past her as Clara entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Amy then got dressed in her bedroom and ran a comb through her hair, staring at her reflection as she thought of the months that had preceded her and Rory moving to New York. It always made her feel hollow to think of that time, like she'd been scooped out of her body and all that remained were grey-coloured emotions.

The Doctor was sitting on the sofa when she entered the living room, his arms stretched across the back cushions as he watched something on TV. When he saw her enter, he quickly sat up and shut the TV off. "Hey."

"Hey," Amy replied. She sat next to him and guarded her expression so he wouldn't guess that she'd just cried in the shower for fifteen minutes.

"I'm really sorry about last night," he said. "I got a bit caught up in my head."

"It's OK," she said, curling her legs beneath her.

He shot her a funny look. "You OK?"

Amy nodded. "Sort of." She'd meant to say she was fine.

He frowned with concern. "What is it?"

Amy shook her head, regretting saying anything, but it was like her mouth wasn't listening to her brain. "I feel like I've messed you up."

"What do you mean?"

The sound of Clara running the shower drew their attention to the bathroom door, but then his curious eyes landed back on her.

"You asked me if it was OK if you proposed to Clara on Christmas day," she explained. "And then you didn't do it. Then you tell me you don't think she wants to marry you, even though she seems perfectly happy with you to me and Rory and…" She sniffed. "I know you. I know how that funny head of yours works. You're scared she's gonna leave you…." Her features crumbled. "Like I did."

"Amy…"

He didn't tell her she was wrong. He didn't reach forward and reassure her that she was being silly, that she shouldn't cry or shouldn't think such horrible things. He didn't do any of this, because she was right.

Amy wiped the tears from her face and turned away from him, eyes glued to a spot on the rug. She hated crying in front of other people, especially the Doctor, because he always had a way of making her feel like a little girl; something she quite liked sometimes. Other times, he made her feel helpless.

His hand rose to her shoulder and she closed her eyes. "You did leave," he said simply. "But you're not gone. You never really were."

Her eyes were dangerously close to flooding with tears again. "That's really nice of you to say, but that doesn't change anything."

He leaned forward. "No, it doesn't." He huffed a funny sort of laugh. "You know, I've been dreading this conversation, because I thought I'd get angry or not know what to say to you. Because you're right; you did leave. But I never blamed you."

She shook her head. "I wish you would. Stupid man," she muttered almost fondly. "You always blame yourself."

He didn't deny it. "You and Rory seem really happy here."

Amy smiled. "We are. We've made a lot of friends but… none as great as you are."

"Oh, see, now you're just buttering me up."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

As her smile faded, Amy felt her lips moving once again of their own accord. "So… You and Clara are OK?"

His lips twitched into a smile. "Yeah."

"You ever gonna ask her to marry you?"

He took a deep breath and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Eventually."

"Are you and I OK?" She poked him in the thigh. "Don't lie."

The Doctor's gaze grew very sad, but he smiled. "Amy, of course we're OK. Aren't we?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I guess we are."

"Good."

Amy and Rory groaned in unison when the Doctor spoke of their plan to join the crowds to watch the ball drop in Times Square. Clara's grin of excitement melted as she watched them both scowl at their plates of pasta.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing," Rory assured her. "We just did the whole Times Square thing when we first moved here. It's one of those things you only want to do once."

The Doctor wrapped his arm around Clara's shoulders. "Well, you too fuddy duddies can stay here and watch it on TV while Clara and I have all the fun."

Amy snorted.

"Fuddy duddies?" Clara said, eyebrows raised.

"He must be feeling better," Rory teased, swirling pasta around his fork, "if he's back to talking like some kid from a fifties sitcom."

They stayed up late talking and drinking wine. At one point, Amy broke out her laptop and started showing Clara old pictures from when she and Rory had lived back in London. A lot of them featured River, but instead of growing melancholy at her memory, they all laughed and told stories about her that only made Clara uncomfortable because she hadn't been there. She didn't mind hearing about the Doctor's ex-wife; she really wished he'd speak of her more often.

She went to bed that night with a belly full of wine and a smile on her face. The Doctor drew her into his arms and she laid her head against his shoulder, the room spinning as she languidly drew circles on his chest with her fingers.

"You gonna miss New York?" he asked. They were flying back to London the night of the first.

"I will," she said, eyes closing as her hand slid up to stroke the side of his neck. "I really like Amy and Rory."

"Good. They like you."

"Good."

She rolled on top of him and sucked on his lower lip, making him moan and effectively putting an end to their conversation. The Doctor's hands lowered to her hips, his long fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her pyjama bottoms and pressing into her soft flesh.

"I love you," she whispered for the third time in less than twenty-four hours.

He nodded eagerly in agreement as his fingers slid the hem of her shirt up her back and he hummed against her lips as his palms swept across her skin. Clara's responding grin of amusement seemed to remind him he ought to say something back. "Oh! I love you too."

Across the hall, Amy pecked Rory on the lips and wished him goodnight before rolling onto her side and settling into her pillow. Rory immediately wrapped his arm around her waist and curled up behind her, his lips soft against her neck as she released a contented sigh.

"Did you talk to the Doctor?"

She nodded and a grin spread across her lips. "Yeah."

"Everything get sorted?"

"Not really, but—we're good."

Rory released a sigh of relief and hugged her tightly. After a brief silence, he muttered against her shoulder, "We should have invited him that first Christmas."

Amy closed her eyes, smiling fading. "I was too scared he'd say no."

"So was I."

She turned and grinned at him, her eyes shining with adoration. "I love you, you know."

Rory kissed her nose. "I know."