A/N: Bit more whump in this chapter. Sorry if it's a bit drawn out; I'm setting the stage in this chapter and the previous two. The rest will be exciting. ^^ LavenderAndTime, first of all thank you kindly, I wasn't sure if anyone would like this idea; but I'm so glad you do. :D Since TNoTD, I was itching to write something with another echo of Clara's. And yes, this is supposed to be an unestablished echo. I figured there would be others.

"Doctor of what exactly?" She questioned, letting go of him now. She settled into a crouch, rocking on her heels.

"Well, I dabble, if I'm to be honest," he replied, making another attempt to get up. As he pressed down on the ground to give himself leverage to get up, pain shot through his arm and blazed in the vicinity of his shoulder injury. He bit back a shout and immediately abandoned the effort, curling into himself and cradling his arm. The girl only watched, wide-eyed and caught between wanting to help the man and being unsure of what exactly to do.

"I'm Clara, by the way. Clara Oswald. Hospital. Now; you need help, and I need answers. Hold on; got to check something. Don't. Move," she admonished, pointing a finger at the Doctor.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he panted, barely giving her so much as a nod. She flashed him a quick smile before dashing off down the stairs to retrieve the large cellular telephone

Fine, no hospital. Getting that. But even I can see, that looks like it hurts," she said, pushing herself to her feet. She closed the distance between them and stood over the man, concern written on her face. He tilted his head up to look at her, only giving her a nod in response.

"It's a pleasure, Miss Oswald. Are you squeamish?" he added in afterthought, holding her gaze. She slowly shook her head, her brows pulling together in a frown. The look in his eyes was beginning to scare her; she saw desperation in them, as if his life depended on her answer. Perhaps it does, she mused.

"No, but, listen, buddy, if you need me to take a look at whatever happened to you…" She kept her gaze on him as she spoke, but trailed off when the desperation she'd seen only moments before was replaced with hopelessness. He shut his eyes with a dejected sigh and muttered something to himself about a slim chance of survival. "What's that you said? Slim chance of survival? What even happened to you? I still don't know," she remarked, folding her arms over her chest.

"I don't have long. Not if it's as bad as I think it is," he groaned, "I think there's something lodged in shoulder. Can't reach it. Something sharp, actually. Do you think—could we go inside? It's awfully cold." The last bit came out more as a mumble, but she had gotten the gist of it. She hesitated only a moment longer, considering the choices before her. Help a man who literally fell out of the sky and whom she barely even knows—not to mention his life is hanging in the balance; or back off and leave him to his untimely fate. The second option sounded too cruel to her; much less, she didn't think she'd be able to live with herself. After all, the man hadn't tried to harm her. He'd done nothing of the like, in fact. With this in mind, she made her decision.

"Yes; no one's here, so that's good. Oh, what about your police box?"

"She can handle herself for now."

She held her hand out, and when he gripped hers, she wrapped her fingers around his hand and pulled. He slowly got to his feet, swayed slightly. Already, she saw him pitching forward, but before he could fall, she took his good arm in hers and in this fashion, helped him walk to the stairs.

"Stairs, just a warning," she commented as they approached. The descent was painfully slow; once his foot had slipped and he'd almost lost his footing."Whoa, steady. Almost there," she whispered as they continued. She spotted the restroom on her right hand side halfway down the hall. She propped him up against a wall and started to walk towards the open door. "Hold on; got to check something. Don't. Move," she admonished, pointing a finger at the Doctor.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he panted, barely giving her so much as a nod. She flashed him a quick smile before dashing off to check that the room was empty. To her satisfaction, it was. "Coast's clear. On your feet then," she directed, offering her hand in assistance. He waved it away and managed on his own to get back on his feet. It was when he took a step forward that he took her hand to steady himself. She led him inside and had him lean against the wall for a short while as she left shortly and returned, pulling with her a chair from the adjacent room. She had him sit down while she closed the door and rifled through a cabinet, searching for a first aid kit.

He'd begun to unbutton his suit jacket and pull off his tie. He was unbuttoning his shirt when she returned with her supplies. As he worked to pull the ruined shirt off, she caught a glimpse of a growing red splotch on his shoulder. She bit her lip as an ominous feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. He tossed the stained shirt in the pile of discarded clothing and glanced over his shoulder as best he could to look at the wound. Where she sat gave her a better vantage point of the extents of said injury. As he had said, the wound sat just above the space between his left shoulder blade and spine. Blood trickled sluggishly from the site of the injury. "This shirt's already done for, yeah?" She gingerly picked the shirt up off the floor and used it to wipe away some of the blood. That elicited a groan from him, to which she gave a quiet, "Sorry!" Once she'd cleared enough of it away, she was able to get a look at the wound and sucked in a breath, wincing as she did so. It looked as if something had been thrust into his shoulder and was broken off. She surmised this from observing the jagged end of the foreign object.

"Well? Is it bad?"

"I should think so. You've got something sharp and broken lodged between your left shoulder blade and your spine. How? You said you had a slim chance of survival. I see that now; judging by the location, it's close to your heart," she remarked with a note of worry coloring her tone as she started the water running to give it time to warm up.

"One of them, yes. The tip of it, the projectile or the foreign object is—at least it feels as if it's moving closer," he said in reply and gave a tired sigh. "If it continues, I won't be able to regenerate. No pressure." She dipped a rack under the warm stream of water and began to wash the blood from his wound. As she did so, she could better see the end of the object, sticking out an inch or so.

"You mean you have more than one? Doctor, you might want to hold onto something. This is definitely going to hurt," Clara said slowly as she thought of just exactly how she was going to remove the object.

"Must have rendered me unconscious when I received the injury; I don't remember the circumstances surrounding it," he muttered. "And yes, I've got two. Long story, Miss Oswald."

"Clara, please. Well, promise me this. Live and tell me that story; I love stories. Deal?"

"Deal. Now, if you would be so kind?"

Taking the damp rag, she draped it over her fingers and gingerly gripped the protruding end of the object. He was biting his tongue to keep shut, but she still heard a grunt—not that she minded. This was going to hurt, after all. She tightened her three-finger grip on it and pulled as hard as she dared. Slowly, the object slid out of his body, inch by agonizing inch. He gave a short cry when she'd removed the thing, which was now dripping dark red liquid. Clara laid the bloody thing on the sink. Then, she grabbed a fistful of dressings from the first aid kit. She dabbed at the wound again with the damp cloth until the bleeding had abated and pressed a fresh bandage over it, smoothing her hands over it and the muscles of his shoulder. She wiped away any other remaining blood and laid the rag too, on the sink.

"There. Think I just saved your life. You owe me now. That's the rules," said Clara, flashing a light smile. The Doctor looked over his shoulder, flexing it just a little. He smiled too and dipped his head in a nod. As she turned away to clean up, his hand shot out and captured hers. Startled, she turned and looked at him with slightly raised brows. The Doctor lifted his gaze to hers before inclining his head and saying, "I owe you my life, Clara." He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "Remember that. That's important." Her cheeks flushed with warmth, and she allowed herself a soft smile, only withdrawing her hand when he gently let go of it and reached for his clothes.

"Hey, you lived and you still owe me that story," she said. "Those are dirty anyway; you can probably borrow—"

"Thank you, but I can probably find something myself. Right! That's what I'll do. Clara Oswald, come along and I'll tell you a story," said the Doctor. He dashed out the door, not bothering to wait for her. Clara, left in the middle of a mess, looked about her with a thoughtful frown then back towards the Doctor running down the hallway and hopping up the steps to the roof. He was getting out of her sight, and she reasoned if she waited any longer, he'd be gone. The mess would have to wait, she decided as she ran after him.

A/N: Thoughts? Review pretty please. It encourages me to write more.

(Sorry about the formatting; it won't let me mess with it ugh)