A/N: Funny thing happened while writing this story. I realized that while "Dinner" was largely just Eleven/Clara, their love story simply couldn't be limited to that anymore (darn you, Peter Capaldi, for being so awesome!). The legacy of her time with Twelve ended up being imbued throughout this tale, because I felt that being loved by the Doctor in *both* his unique incarnations is what's changed her to the person she is now. And I think that no matter what body he's in, she just sees the man she loves- all of him. Now, on to the happy!

Clara stretches under the covers, her body relaxed and humming beside the Doctor's. She can see the sun coming up through the window, and realizes that they'll probably miss the daylight entirely, unless they hurry up to the roof. And watching the sun rise and fall quickly over their beloved lake is a ritual that they rarely miss.

But the Doctor isn't moving. He's laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, one arm slung behind his head the other wrapped around her shoulder, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. It's odd because he's usually never this motionless when he's contemplative. Normally, in fact, his body moves at the same whirling pace as his brain.

She lays her head on his shoulder, letting him think, wondering what's so enthralling in that brilliant mind that it would cause this unnatural stillness. His hearts are beating steadily, and she listens to the familiar thump-thump-thump-thump that always makes her smile, simply because it means he's alive. It's a sound she's grown to love as much as the wheezing groan of the TARDIS, the one sound she knows she'll never hear again from the original.

"Clara?" The Doctor's voice breaks her out of her reverie.

"Yes?"

"Does it still bother you… that I might outlive you by a long while?"

She frowns in surprise, head still on his chest. "What?"

The Doctor is still whirling patterns on her shoulder, and he continues softly, "A long time ago, you said that the reason you were afraid to be with me was because my forever wasn't the same as yours."

She presses her head against his chest, remembering the anguish she'd felt, wanting him so greedily for herself, jealous of every woman who had ever been loved by him.

"I remember."

"Do you still feel that way?"

She doesn't hesitate. "No, not anymore."

"What changed?"

You did, she thinks. You regenerated because I begged the Time Lords to save you, because in that one moment I knew I didn't care if you lived forever, with a hundred more companions or lovers ahead of me, so long as you just lived. But she holds back the words with the skill she'd learned, and just tells him a small truth.

"I realized it was more important that you were alive," she says softly, "than that I got to keep you."

She hears his breathing become more even, and yet she also hears his hearts begin to speed up, thrumming against her cheek.

"Clara?"

"Hmmm?"

"Would you like to… keep me?"

Her head lifts, and she looks into his eyes. They're green and hopeful, and his mouth is twisting in that dear, funny way that means he's nervous.

She smiles. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I was just wondering…" He pauses and sits up so that he's leaning on his elbow, facing her.

"Yes?"

"Would you… would you like to join with me?"

Clara can't help but laugh. "Erhm… we do that all the time already, don't we?" She says, leaning forward to kiss the side of his neck and smiling devilishly. She nearly laughs again as he blushes madly, then holds up his hands, shaking them.

"No, no," he says, sighing. "That might not have been quite the right word. In fact, there isn't a word for it in English, because it's a Gallifreyan concept, specifically."

"Well, say it in Gallifreyan, specifically. I might remember it."

He says the word, and she blinks.

"Sorry. Nothing." He sighs loudly and she tries again. "Just tell me what it means and maybe that'll jog something."

"Well, it means…mating."

"Again," she says, making a sweeping motion over their bed, "all the time."

"It's not…argh, you're not listening," he says, getting up out of the bed, and actually pacing, making her suppress a giggle because he hasn't even noticed he's still in his pants, sagging comically on his hips. And yet never has his face looked more serious. "The word doesn't mean the…", he stops, rolling his eyes, "….the physical act."

"Shagging each other senseless, you mean," she interrupts, and his shoulders drop, his face scandalized.

"Clara!"

She grins unabashedly. "Alright, I'll be serious. It means mating but not exactly," she says, pursing her mouth and waiting patiently.

The Doctor eyes her suspiciously, as though waiting for another barb, then finally ploughs on. "Yes, well, as I said it means…" He pauses again, and flails around, apparently trying to come up with the right phrase.. "joining yourself to another person. It's something that can't be undone. Understand?"

Clara shakes her head, watching as he kneels at the side of the bed beside her, his voice dropping. "It means being joined to one another, and only each other… in here," he says, touching his bare chest, then hers. "Listen again." He says the word again, and suddenly, a memory blooms in the back of her mind.

She remembers now. Through the eyes of her Time Lady echo, she remembers that the people of Gallifrey had another ritual besides the brutal one of feeding their young to the Time Vortex- a beautiful, rare, and life-changing ritual that was just as defining.

Her eyes widen. "Doctor, are you…. are you asking me to marry you?"

She sees his mouth quirk, and then grin broadly. "Well… yes. I am. Sort of."

She laughs. "Sort of?"

"Well, only because it's not just saying words and then undoing them later after you call a lawyer. Don't you remember? It's a joining that can't be undone by anything. Well, except death, really."

"Wow, no wonder you always had such commitment issues."

"I don't have them with you."

And she heals some more.

But his eyes are soft as his hands take hers, wrapping them in his own. "Clara, try to remember what this is. Time Lords are a telepathic species, that's what makes this something that changes us psychically, physically. It means joining part of yourself to another person so that you're only whole when you're with them."

She's smiling at him until the last word washes over her, because just then, another memory fills her. She remembers lying in bed with an older version of him while he speaks of the time he'd been most happy, and he'd told her, "I was more than happy, I was whole."

She nearly gasps at the implication, as everything becomes clear. When he'd spoken of his happiness that night, this was what he'd meant. He hadn't been talking about Gallifrey at all. He'd been talking about Trenzalore. And his life with her.

Was this why? Was this why he'd so immediately told her that he wasn't her boyfriend after he'd regenerated? Because all along he'd been her husband? Was this why he'd been so delighted in thinking she was interested in her fellow teacher Adrian, who looked so like his last incarnation, believing that somehow, she sensed the bond between them? And most of all, was this why he'd spent so many years being both maniacally devoted to her, and yet always preparing to push her away until she thought she was going insane?

Her mouth drops open with amazement until suddenly, another paralyzing realization hits her.

All that time she'd been his *wife*.

As she looks at his face, so beloved and dear, she sees not the green eyes and broad chin, the sweet mouth that she's kissed a thousand times. She sees the anguish that had been in his eyes when they had become ice-blue in his next incarnation, when she'd yelled at him that she loved someone else, when she'd told him to get in his bloody TARDIS and leave, when she'd betrayed him horribly and he hadn't even cared, and most of all, when he'd spent four and half billion years in abject torture and agony simply to save her… it had all been about this- because he'd still been tethered to her, trapped in an anguish about which he'd never been able to tell her.

Oh, Doctor, what did I do to you?

She sucks in a breath. He's offering her everything she's ever dreamed of, and yet how can she knowingly put him through such hurt again, knowing what's to come? The thought fills her with torment of her own, that he'd not only loved her, but had been physically linked to her the whole time, helpless against the bond between them, watching her try to form a life with another man, and then, even when he'd had her to himself again, knowing he'd have to send her back. She raises a hand to her temple, feeling tears nearly spring to her eyes.

"Doctor…"

"Yes?" he asks, his face like an eager puppy, all hopeful eyes, and eager mouth and knobbly hands and a brain the size of a continent. And she loves him so much there are no words big enough to tell him. But if she does anything to hurt him, she's not sure she'll be able to live with herself. She's supposed to protect him, not doom him.

She feels herself chewing her own lip and sees him frown.

"What's the matter?" he asks softly, then smiles again, still confident as ever. "You already said you'd marry me ages ago."

She sighs, remembering how they'd laid in bed, much like this, in 18th century Bath, planning for a future with a cottage by a lake and the TARDIS in their back garden, so long before…

"I know, but that was before…" she stops sharply, reigning back the truth.

"Before what?" he asks, and Clara's eyes close, because he can't know what's to come.

"It's just…," she says, scrambling for enough of the truth to admit. "It's a big decision."

The Doctor laughs. "I know. Why do you think I've only done it once before?"

And now she frowns, her curiosity creeping past her worry, as she opens her eyes, realizing something just as important. "Wait, is this what you meant? When I mentioned all the times you'd been married, you said that only the one on Gallifrey counted?"

He nods slowly, his face becoming more serious. "Yes. Because this is what true mating is for a Time Lord." He clasps her hands in his, and his eyes look urgent, as though it's important she understand. "This is the real thing, Clara, the paradox of Gallifrey. We live for centuries and we change and grow and learn and almost nothing about us is permanent, except for this. This is where our promises mean something, where we never, ever lie."

"I know," she says slowly, because even if the memories of her echo from Gallifrey hadn't told her his words were true, she'd know they were because of everything he'd done for her when he became another man. "I remember now."

"Then you know what it means when I ask you."

She breathes slowly, as the memories rise in her brain, because he's right- what he's asking isn't just if she'll marry him. It's so much more. It's the literal offering of his body, mind, and soul, his willingness to mark himself as hers, as long as she's breathing. Just as she is his. As long as she's alive, she knows, he will remain part of her, his soul tethered to hers. And as much as it terrifies her of what it might do to him a thousand years from now, the fact that he wants this with her somehow heals every dark space in her heart that had ever wondered how temporary she was to him, someone to fill in the empty void until he moved on.

Because here he is, her Doctor- warm, alive, holding her hands and telling her that it doesn't matter that he might live centuries after her. As long as she is alive, he wants her, only. The magnitude of it nearly takes her breath away.

But she has to be sure, has to try one last time to go against everything she wants, for the sake of his hearts later on.

"Doctor," she whispers, hating every word, "why do you want to do this, when we might be stuck here for years, anyway." She swallows again, wanting him so much she aches in her bones. "It's not like I can leave you."

He looks down, surprise on his features. "Because it's not about whether you're right next to me or on the other side of the universe."

There's so much love in his eyes she thinks she'll cry in his arms at any moment. "What's it about then?"

He smiles gently. "It's about what you mean to me." He leans forward and brushes his lips against hers. "And taking the chance to show you while I still can."

And just like that, she understands. He couldn't show her how he felt in his next incarnation, because he'd known she was going to have to leave. And she'd done the very same, pushing him away in anticipation of him leaving to find Gallifrey. But now, here and now, he can show her how he loves her, and finally, at long last, she can show him, too.

She can almost hear the older Doctor's voice in her head, whispering, absolving her of what he would endure on her behalf later on.

Take this, for both of us, he'd told her when he brought her back. And don't be afraid.

He'd known this was coming, what it would cost him, and had taken her back, anyway. He'd prepared her for everything, even this decision.

Oh, Doctor, she thinks. Your love could fill twenty hearts, let alone two

Her heart beats faster, overwhelmed with how much she feels for him, how much she wants this. He loves her. He wants her. It really is that simple, if she lets the rest of it go. She takes a deep breath, and lets it out, thinking that with it, all of her fears are escaping, too.

Gathering her courage, she closes her eyes for the briefest moment, and then opens them. "Doctor?"

"Yes?" he asks, his face full of hope, and she realizes it's because she's the one thing in this war-torn universe that makes him whole. His eyes, his old, ancient eyes in the too-young face, are so eager and beloved that he takes her breath away.

You make me whole, too, she thinks, then brings his hands to her own lips, kissing them softly.

And then she whispers,"Yes."

She sees his eyes widen. He stares at her, as his mouth slowly stretches into a smile so wide she thinks his face might crack. "Yes?"

"Yes!" she laughs, pulling him in and kissing him, her arms wrapped around his neck. "Oh, Doctor, it was always yes with you." She leans back once more and grins. "I would love to be permanently changed by an ancient alien ceremony that means I'm psychically and physically stuck with you until I die." She laughs and kisses him again, and when she pulls back, his own grin is lopsided.

"Well, you know, we're all about the romance on Gallifrey."

"Hmm, that's what all their travel brochures say," Clara says, smiling, then bites her lip as she thinks of the cold, hated creatures on his home planet. She has never ceased in her daily litany to the Time Lords, whispering through the crack in the wall, telling them of the Doctor, of his bravery and his goodness. But nothing challenges her ability to hide her feelings like that particular ritual, when she must plead to the people whom she will never forgive for what they once did to him, and to whom she will be forever grateful because they made it possible for him to keep on living in the first place.

He frowns indignantly, unaware of her thoughts, and she hears him protest, "Oi, I can do romance when I want!" His floppy hair falls into his face and instantly her malice at his people is forgotten. There's no room in her heart, just now, for anything but how much she loves him.

He has shown her wonders beyond imagining. But at this moment, she knows that even without ever seeing another alien world, another amazing corner of the universe, nothing will ever awe her as he does. This is the man, she knows, who will one day spend four and a half billion years fighting to save her, the woman he loves. She will spend every last minute of her life being worthy of him, she swears it.

"I know, Doctor" she says, her eyes dancing. "it shows." She pulls him on top of her, arching her back into him, hearing him gasp and groan as she pushes against him.

"I'll show you," he growls.

"Oh, do," she dares him. "Please, please do."

And as he quickly dives beneath the covers, assaulting her with kisses, Clara has to bite back tears of happiness. She is in the arms of the man she loves.

And she's going to marry him.

Hours later, Clara lays against him in the moonlight, and he listens to the sound of her breathing as she sleeps. The Doctor is naked beside her and her leg is draped over his, the sheets tangled around them.

He's smiling in the darkness, thinking of what he's just promised her, because it's the ultimate irony. Centuries ago, when he'd started to run, making this promise to anyone had been the only adventure he'd sworn to himself he would never follow again. During all his travels, he'd never once allowed himself to think that he would even want this again- to belong to someone as he'd once belonged to a family on Gallifrey. Who, after all, would want to be joined in such a way to the Predator of Worlds, the Oncoming Storm, the man who had destroyed his own people?

Belonging to someone else was a notion he'd called one word, in fact: Impossible.

He chuckles softly. Because now, his Impossible Girl is in his arms, willing to be his for the rest of her days, just as he will be hers.

For the first time in a long time, he's even glad of the presence of the Time Lords on Trenzalore, that split-skin link to his home that will be part of his promise to her. The Doctor's mouth quirks as he thinks of the glowing crack in the wall, the Time Lords waiting behind it with ever-lessening patience. He's seen Clara sitting in front of it, rocking in her chair, nearly every day since they've been here. Of course, he'd asked her why the whispers of the Time Lords has been so fascinating to her.

"If you want to know anything about Gallifrey, all you have to do is ask," he'd said.

But she'd simply smiled at him, that inscrutable smile that said she was only half-telling the truth. "I don't need to know about Gallifrey."

"Then why all the interest in the Time Lords?" he'd pressed, her motives a complex puzzle that even his brain hadn't been able to work out.

Clara had shrugged, still smiling. "I'm only interested in one Time Lord," she'd told him, and this time, he'd seen nothing but truth in her eyes. "Promise." Then she'd kissed him and, as usual, his brain had gone strangely blank.

He sighs at the memory, and the power she already has over him. She's not just impossible. She's positively formidable. And yet his hearts are hers, gladly given. He couldn't take them back now, even if he tried.

As he holds her, he also wonders why she'd seemed to hesitate when he asked her to join with him. He knows without a doubt that she loves him. He knows that marriage and children are something she's always said she's wanted. And while it's not the Lake District and he's not a human, and there seems to be a possibility that the only children they might ever have are the ones that regularly stomp through the Tower for stories, marshmallows, and teaching lessons from Clara… he also knows that she's happy with him here.

The Doctor gazes down at her sleeping face and he searches for the answer, because he's learned every flicker of every muscle in her face, and there's no doubt within that the reason wasn't because she unsure of her feelings. He'd seen worry, not for herself, but for him, in her eyes, and something tells him that it was about that gray area of the future of which she never speaks, except in the broadest terms possible. She knows something that's coming, and it's something she can't tell him.

So he strokes her hand with his fingers, and whispers. "Even without this, Clara, I was already yours."

She sighs in her sleep and the Doctor wraps his arms around more tightly. She's so tiny against him, with a spirit that's impossibly huge. He hopes with everything he is that he'll be worthy of her.

He breathes in the fragrance of her hair, and smiles when he feels her stir.

Clara's dark, lovely eyes flutter open and look up at him.

"Did you say something?" she murmurs.

The Doctor smiles. "I was wondering, do you think the town has a place where we can register for a toaster?"

Clara laughs, and he loves the sound of it. "And pick out our china pattern?"

He nods. "I do love a good china pattern," he says happily. "Maybe something with blue boxes on it."

She laughs again and it actually causes his body to respond with desire. It never fails to amaze him, really. He is over a thousand years old, a worn, gnarled old man inside the body of a lustful young boy who stirs to life every time she looks at him. And though Clara Oswald's soul was once so young compared to his, her million lives have aged her, too. Centuries of wisdom now exist in her, as well, flowing through the veins of her mortal body that he craves as much as light and air.

She is, as he always suspected, utterly perfect for him. And whatever is left of this last life of his, he will devote it to making her happy.

Clara rolls over, leaning her chin on his chest. "She'll be back on day," she promises, "The TARDIS won't let you down." Her face changes, almost imperceptibly, but of course, he sees it - that something about the future that she knows but can't say. It pecks at his brain as he tries to work it out, then sighs because right now, it just doesn't matter.

"Well, I can think of lots of ways to pass the time," he says, smiling, and her mouth quirks as she teases him.

"Ah, so that's what this is about," she says, her eyes dancing. "I knew this was just because we're stuck here, I'm available and you might as well make it official?"

His mouth falls open in feigned indignation. "Are you joking? Have you seen the way Mrs. Harper looks at me? I could marry her in a second if I wanted to, and she's much less bossy and a far better cook than you are, I might add."

Clara smiles at him. "You're impossible."

No, Clara, that's all you.

"And you," he says, eyes dancing, "are very beautiful."

"Nah," she says, sighing and kissing him again. "I'm yours, Doctor. I'm just yours." And he realizes he was wrong. He loves her more now, this moment, than he ever has before.

As she rolls on top of him, bringing his body to life once more, the Doctor's hearts beat faster in his chest.

Whatever I've done to deserve this, he thinks, with a gratitude that would have brought him to his knees had he been standing, thank you.

Thank you with everything that I am.

to be continued...