A/N - trigger warning self harm.

Crying.

It was a distinctive sound to Clara all right, with all the teenage girls around. She could never quite be the one who just let it go and walked on by when she heard that sound. For every two-week romance that's ended unexpectedly and every friendship that's broken in two, there was a real problem or someone really hurt. And anyway, it was all too easy to dismiss the broken friendships and romances, but Clara always felt that if someone was upset enough to be sobbing in the girls' toilets, they deserved at least an offer of help.

Still, she pushed the heavy wooden door somewhat wearily. It had been a long morning – well, a long morning plus the three days that she had spent in the Tardis. Getting cleaned off had hardly been fun either. At least it had only been sweet Sophie who had seen her. Some of the kids (Courtney sprung to mind) wouldn't have been tactful about the whole thing.

Whoever was sobbing seemed to try and stifle it a bit as they heard the door open. If anything, that was concerning. This wasn't something flamboyant or hysterical. Plus, the girl was alone – there were no comforting voices or gaggles of sympathetic eyes. Clara felt the drive in her rise up as concern started to fill up in her.

She chapped gently on the door of the only locked stall, where two small feet were just visible. "Hello?" she called out softly. "It's Miss Oswald, from English. Is everything OK?"

There was a long silence, only punctuated with heavily stifled gasps and snuffles. For a moment Clara thought there was going to be no answer, but finally the girl quietly managed to call out, "I'm OK."

Was that…? That sounded like Sophie. Panic rose up further. Sophie wasn't the kind of girl to be doing this flippantly. Something was going on, and Clara was fairly sure that Sophie wasn't OK at all.

She pushed gently at the stall door but Sophie had locked it. Despite what seemed to be her best efforts, sobs were still punctuating the silence. Something had to have happened. This couldn't just be a triviality.

"Please let me in, Sophie," said Clara, keeping her voice soft and calm despite her worry. It wasn't going to help to panic Sophie anymore. The thought niggled at her that she was taking her job too far, or getting more involved than she should be. But Sophie was hurt. That was the situation, Clara was sure of it. And she wasn't about to let that happen.

There was another long silence, Clara waiting anxiously at the door, watching the tips of Sophie's shoes for movement. And finally, like a miracle, there was a click and the door slowly swung open.

Sophie stared out at Clara, dabbing at tears that were still falling. She was shaking violently and chalk white, but her gaze stayed steady, unmoving, looking desperately at Clara for a response. Her voice caught in her throat, Clara finally crouched down in front of the girl to reach her where she sat on the bathroom floor. Her heart was pounding. This was not what she had expected.

Blood was slowly dripping from cuts all down Sophie's arm. None of them looked too deep, but there was no way they could have happened accidentally. To complete the picture, a razor blade lay on the bathroom floor in a little puddle of blood. Things couldn't be more obvious, but still Clara was struggling to wrap her mind around it.

"Do you want to tell me what's happened, Sophie?" she asked hoarsely.

Sophie swallowed hard and finally moved her gaze to stare ashamedly at the floor. "I'm really sorry," she breathed out at last, only just loud enough for Clara to hear. As she spoke, she dragged her arm back to clutch it in at her waist. Clara noticed Sophie's jumper balled up in a corner of the cubicle. It suddenly dawned on her why Sophie always kept her jumper on, even in the summer. It was to hide the wounds, the blood now smeared across her shirt.

Clara shook her head. "There's no need to say sorry," she said, again in that gentle voice, again trying not to spook her. "I just want to know what happened."

Though, of course, she knew what had happened. Or thought she did, at least. She tried to keep her eyes off of the gashes on Sophie's arm but her eyes kept flicking back. The poor girl… why did she feel this was her only option? And why hadn't anyone realised? Clara included. Clara definitely included. That arm, it was bloody covered in scars. How did Clara not know what this sweet young girl was doing this to herself?

"I hate myself."

Sophie's voice came half-mixed with a sob, but what she had said was unmistakable. Clara had to close her eyes for a second. She couldn't deal with this. Why had no one mentioned this in induction? The crying Year Nines had been bad enough, but this…

She took a deep breath. "How about we go and get you cleaned up?" she asked. Best to deal with the practicals first. "We could get you up to the nurse, or – or I'm First Aid trained. We can just go along to my classroom and have a chat if you like."

Now staring at the wall of the toilet, Sophie seemed to be holding back a wealth of emotion. She just stared for a minute seemingly unable to do anything else, but finally slowly brought her eyes down to Clara's shoes, and nodded. Clara nearly sighed in relief. Something. She had achieved something.

She got to her feet, creaking a bit. God, she wasn't a kid anymore, was she? She was the adult here. Quickly trying to brush this thought aside, she offered a hand to Sophie, who stared at it for a minute, but then clutched at it gratefully and pulled herself up, holding tight to Clara's hand for just a second too long.

Sophie pulled her jumper back on in silence, a couple of paper towels covering the cuts, still seeming shaky and – what was that, exactly? – almost frightened? She tugged the sleeves down so that they covered her whole arm. She was experienced at this, from the look of it. But that wasn't a thought Clara wanted to dwell on either. She was here, now, and she could help Sophie. That was what she needed to focus on. Not what she hadn't thought of, brought up, noticed.

They walked along the corridor in silence. Thankfully, it was a warm day for autumn, and most of the students were on the field (or snogging behind the bike sheds, no doubt). Anyway, there was nothing especially conspicuous about Clara and Sophie walking together to her classroom. Was there? Come to think of it, students didn't tend to come into her classroom during lunchtimes. But it wasn't unheard of. Anyway, it didn't really matter. No one was around anyway.

Clara was so engrossed in her thoughts that she barely noticed Sophie's little mumble beside her. Clicking back to the present, Clara looked up to see Sophie run to the bin just outside one of the doors leading to the mercifully empty courtyard. She flinched; teenagers vomiting everywhere wasn't an aspect of teaching she had gotten used to yet. Even after the traumatic incident where Chloe Nicholls had managed to accidentally puke right into Clara's lap. God. That had not been a fun lesson.

She tentatively followed Sophie over and gave her back a little rub. The poor kid was shaking like anything now. Was she… was she that scared? So scared that she was spewing up her lunch in the Maths courtyard. Clara just wanted to wrap Sophie up in a blanket and take her home. This wasn't right. It shouldn't be like this. She was just a kid.

Clara took a deep breath in, trying to settle her own fluttering heart as Sophie finally managed to stop throwing up, Clara's hand still resting on her back protectively. A few long seconds passed, as the courtyard thankfully remained deserted. Finally, Sophie started to straighten up, moving backwards from the bin. Reaching quickly into her pocket, Clara stuck out a tissue in Sophie's direction. With a faint and inaudible but hopefully positive mumble, Sophie took it and wiped her mouth, and – Clara's heart gave a pang again – forcefully scrubbing the tears from her eyes. Tentatively, Clara touched Sophie's shoulder, trying to guide her back into the building, back towards Clara's classroom. Back towards something with a semblance of normality.

Finally they reached the classroom. Now Clara was back in her own territory at least. Her high heels clipping on the lino, she walked quickly over to the corner to retrieve the First Aid box and a plastic cup which she filled with water. Sophie stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, looking like she didn't know exactly what to do with herself. It was a response that Clara could relate to right now.

She set the First Aid box and the cup on one of the desks and gestured to Sophie to take a seat across from her. Trying to be tactful about it, Clara also nudged the classroom bin to within Sophie's reach. Having to clear up sick was not going to make today any better. Everything was set up, everything was in place – but now what?

She nudged the cup towards Sophie. "Have some water," Clara suggested, still speaking extra gently. "It'll help."

Sophie nodded listlessly and lifted the cup to her lips, taking a deep draught of water. There was a long silence, as Sophie stared at her lap and Clara tried not to stare at Sophie. How was she going to broach this subject? How was she supposed to know what the right question to ask first was?

"Can I see your arm, Sophie?" she asked at last.