Once they finally got to the parking lot where their car was parked, Clara immediately decided to be the driver on their way back to the farm. Despite yawning and rubbing his eyes all the time, the Doctor tried to convince her that it was perfectly fine for him to drive. Nevertheless, only five minutes later he was sleeping soundly on the passenger seat, while Clara was directing the vehicle through the moonlit forests.

The night was beautiful, she thought, as her hand firmly held the steering wheel.

There was however one thing in her surroundings she appreciated more than the undeniable beauty of nature in this time of year. From time to time, her eyes would peer at the Doctor's sleeping form. It was the first occasion in a very long time when she could have a proper glance at him without risk of being caught, and she couldn't help but admire the view.

The tragedy Luas brought on her was still her worst nightmare, but having the Doctor and his friendship back, even for a brief moment, made her start to see things in a less dramatic way. Maybe that was the chance she was silently praying for over all these years? She couldn't tell yet, but the thought that he knew about her existence and maybe even cared about her a little made her stiff heart dance in joy.

"Doctor, wake up. We're already home." She was gently disturbing his sleep when the car halted in front of the house.

"I wasn't sleeping." He said with a trembling voice.

"Yes you were." She pointed out while his skinny frame shook slightly from the cold, woken up from its sleepy state.

The short distance between where they stood and the front door seemed to take ages to cover. The porch in front of the house was blinding him immensely with the lanterns hanging from the walls.

Reaching the house, as they soon discovered, wasn't the only problem on the Doctor's way to bed this evening. He leaned patiently on the wall with his eyes closed while Clara was fruitlessly looking for the keys in her bag.

"I guess you want to go to bed." She told him playfully as her hands were digging for the item, now in her pockets.

"I won't say no to that." He yawned.

She opened the doors for them and soon they both found themselves in the warm hallway adjacent to the kitchen. Clara took off her jean jacket and sat on the bench by the doors while the Time Lord stood aimlessly in the middle of the room.

"Oh, just go to bed." She laughed. "You look like zombie."

The Doctor however didn't move and still kept swaying in front of her. After a moment a perky smirk appeared on his face. "I have a proposition." He stated proudly.

"You're not in a state to do anything, believe me." She told him snootily as she took of her shoes.

"Do you want to sleep with me?" He shook his head and started all over again. "Sorry, it sounded better in my head. On Gallifrey we used a method of shared dreams in psychotherapy and I think I could use it on you if you want to."

"I don't need a therapy." She dismissed him.

"That's not what I meant." He said. "You can't sleep, right? With this method I would be able to join with your mind while I slept and project some of my dreams onto you."

"Do you want to do it?" She asked him.

"Would I propose it to you if I didn't?" The Doctor mumbled.

Clara huffed and knitted her eyebrows, not sure what if she should accept his offer.

"Please, make up your mind. I'm suffering fatal exhaustion here. Besides, my body clock is distinct from humans and no one can say when another opportunity like that will happen." He nudged her.

"It would be great. But wouldn't it be awkward?" She continued questioning him.

"Awkward how?" He asked disoriented. "It's my subconscious which is going to be displayed."

The woman breathed in the air heavily. "Okay, then. My room or yours?" She asked.

"My bed is bigger."

The Doctor led her upstairs to the attic and kindly opened the doors to his bedroom for her. Clara was once again impressed by the work the person who designed the property did. The room belonging to the Doctor was stunning.

The ceiling was made of dark oak and consisted of beams which along with few pillars spread around the room supported the roof above their heads. The entire interior was illuminated by only one single window in the shape of a rosette. The floor was covered with material similar to the ceiling, nonetheless the wooden surface was hardly visible from beneath a crème leather carpets. In the centre of the room stood a heavy rustic bed with a metal frame that was painted grey. The crème cotton bedding matched perfectly with the rugs on the floor.

The Doctor advised Clara to make herself at home and sat leisurely in the light-patterned armchair by the bed. He took of his boots, which were joined by his coat and jumper shortly after. Just in his trousers and thin t-shirt he approached the bed and removed the bedspread covering it.

On his right arm Clara noticed light tree-like marks which were leading under his shirt. Likely, a side effect of the neural block since she saw similar signs on the bodies of lightning bolt survivors before. Seeing them on his skin made her realise how potent the device must have been.

Once the bed was prepared and ready for their experiment, he walked over to the wooden night table and unbound a blue band which embellished the ceramic vase with dry flowers in it. He took the streamer in his hand inspecting it carefully and sat on the bed.

"It should be fine." He said as his hands were shifting along the silky ribbon.

Clara approached the bed and took a place next to him.

"What is it for?" She asked him intrigued by his actions.

"We need to stay in physical contact all the times. Keeping our hands bonded is the easiest way. Do you have your favourite sleep position?"

The woman took the band from his hand and started to twist around her palm. "To be honest I don't remember." She told him as her hand was more and more entwined in the beautiful fabric. After a moment she slipped it back into his hand.

The Doctor closed his fingers protectively around it and came to the other side of the bed. He kneeled over it and lifted the duvet slightly, so he could bunk down under it. Clara followed him shortly after.

"Do you have any?" She said calmly when they both were lying already under the blankets.

"I usually sleep on my side." He answered her whereas his other hand was binding together her right and his left hand. Their fingers intertwined involuntary in response to the close contact.

The Doctor shifted a little and turned out the night lamp standing on the bedside table which illuminated the room. The room was immediately covered with pitch-darkness characteristic for the countryside. They told each other goodnight and both focused on falling asleep.

Clara was lying on her back staring at the ceiling while the Doctor's face was turned towards her, so near she almost could feel his hot breath on her arm.

Despite his sleepiness just fifteen minutes ago, the sleep didn't visit and the Doctor kept moving nervously in the bed unable to fall asleep. His loud grumbling and groaning was disturbing the dead silence filling the bedroom.

After a while Clara picked herself up and turned on the light.

"Are you alright?" She asked him.

"Except for the fact I can't force myself to do something as pathetic as sleep?" He mumbled through his teeth.

"It's fine. We can try some other time." She comforted him. "Is there anything I can do to make it easier for you?"

"I'm sleepy. Why can't I fall asleep?" He loudly fell down on the pillows.

"You got excited that's why." She placated him. "Do you want something to drink? Hot milk would help, I believe."

"I'm not a five years old." He moaned in anger.

Clara untied the band and linked her other hand with the Doctor's palm. Once done with her task, she quietly laid down in the bed beside him and turned off the light.

"Turn around." She ordered him firmly.

"Why?"

"Don't ask why. Just do it!" The woman continued.

He whispered something under his breath, but pivoted as she asked, so that his eyes weren't facing hers anymore. After a moment, he felt her arm move and rest on his torso just below his armpit.

"It won't help." He hissed like a snake as her grip around him tightened.

"Shush." He heard her rustling behind his ear. "Just try to sleep." He waited for her to stop, but Clara's grasp didn't seem to wane even slightly. Instead she moved closer to him and now their lower bodies were touching as well.

He closed his eyes in resignation still hopeful to prove her wrong by ostentatiously panting, Clara however didn't intend to back off at all. She only squeezed him harder and rested her head just behind his. The scent of his shampoo and hair, she missed so much over last months were filling up her lungs. Before long her soothing breathing was taking its toll on him and his gasping for air subsided. Her own thoughts were less intense and started to be divided by longer and longer periods of blissfulness.

Then the pictures before her eyes arose. They were in some kind of alien meadow where every leaf and grass-stalk was purple. She swore it was just the Doctor's imagination, but maybe it was in fact a distant memory of a place or experiences?

Later, they ended up in an underwater land where half-human half-fishes had their kingdom. They had a feast with the king himself, consisting of colourful wrack and sea fruits.

After a while, the visions stopped and her mind started to direct itself towards the surface along with his. They were now surrounded by an endless darkness filled with the sounds of what she thought belonged to the real world. Then this part also finished and her eyes began to slowly open in response to the daylight.

Clara woke up entirely and looked around the room. The Doctor was awake already. She couldn't see his face in the dim light, but she could tell that his silhouette was sitting peacefully on the bed with its back leaned against the metal headrest.

"Morning," She mumbled merrily as she stretched her limbs on the bed. "Slept well?"

The Doctor didn't say anything, he didn't even move. His eyes were aimlessly staring into the space as if he was hypnotised.

"Doctor?" Clara called his name again, this time a bit concerned with his sudden change of mood. "Is everything alright?"

He turned around and looked at her. There was something grim and utterly terrifying in his stare. "I'm fine." He whispered, so quiet she could hardly hear him.

Before she could do anything, he turned and nestled into her, burying his face in her shirt. His long fingers balled into the fabric of it with speed and force, as if his life depended on that. He didn't say a word more;- instead his miserable weeping broke the silence.