Her father drove.

The detail seemed odd to her when they'd emerged from the hospital and the Doctor had held the passenger side door open for her to slip into the car, because she imagined she'd go home with her husband. Maybe her father would meet them there, following her and the Doctor in whatever car they owned, but Clara watched the man drop into the driver's seat.

"Aren't we going home?" She'd questioned.

"Of course we're going home," the Doctor had responded, climbing into the back seat.

And her father drove.

Clara felt the tickle of excitement in her stomach as they drifted away from the tall building she'd been longing to leave and it grew as they emerged out into the city, making their way through the streets. There were places that were absolutely familiar to her and then there were places that somewhere, in the back of her mind, she thought maybe she should know, but she didn't. She looked to the Doctor in those moments and she found him watching her with the same loving look he'd been giving her from the moment she'd woken a month before.

As though she were the most precious thing in the universe to him.

The thought brought an instant blush to her cheeks she was glad he couldn't see past the bright beams of sunlight flashing in through the window against her skin. It was cool outside, but that sun was warm on her face in a way she hadn't realized she was missing and she had the urge to drive to a beach and switch into a suit and lay there soaking it all in, except the thought came with the glance towards her leg and the overwhelming notion that it would be an awkward trip. Her crutches would dig into the sand and her balance would be off and she'd end up a sobbing mess on a half arranged blanket as her father and the Doctor – because she couldn't think about a situation where they weren't both hovering around her – would try to make her feel better.

"Almost there, dear," her father supplied and she was surprised when she found them pulling into the driveway of her childhood home.

Clara shook her head as he put the car in park and emerged, "No, I thought we were going home," she told the Doctor, who had gone around the car to open her door for her and now stood gripping the edge of the door beside her.

He looked to the ground a moment before telling her softly, "We thought it best you start your rehabilitation here – a nurse will be coming once a day and your father's house is better suited…"

"What's wrong with where I live?" She interrupted, "My home."

Dave pulled the front door open and gestured up with a nervous half-laugh, "Clara, this is your home."

"No," she told him slowly, head nodding back at the Doctor, "My home with him."

The Doctor sighed before nodding to the man, "Give us a moment, Dave?"

Clara watched her father and the Doctor stare at one another, passing some sad acknowledgement between them. The Doctor, Clara knew instinctively, had wanted to take her home and her father had convinced him it was better to bring her here and now the man was staring into her father with a silent resentment churning just under the tight smile he offered as he waited for the other man to shift around to the trunk for Clara's belongings.

Once Dave had departed, the Doctor knelt in front of her and he frowned, explaining, "We have a flat, it's up several flights of stairs and yes," he stopped her, "There's an elevator." He smiled up at her as she shook her head slightly, "But your father had a valid point – it would be easier for your initial therapy sessions if you were in a two story house. Closer to the hospital, only one set of stairs – which is good practice space – and with your memories where they are, you'd be more comfortable here."

"I don't care about all of that, Doctor," she sighed before stating firmly, "I thought it would be better if I learned how to function in my own home." Clara then muttered, "With my own husband." With a shrug, she added, "How am I supposed to get my memories back if everyone keeps me in the past?"

He laughed, "I knew you'd say that."

She nodded, taking in the look of quiet frustration he held as he turned away, before she glanced up at the house to ask him, "Will you be staying?"

The Doctor reached for her hands, grasping them tightly, and he told her earnestly, "Of course, yes. Of course I'll be staying, Clara. Wherever you are," he began.

"You'll be there to catch me," she interrupted with a smirk.

Giving her hands a squeeze, he nodded, "Always."

"There's a guest bed, probably where dad will want you," she explained with a nod and a shy smile, "It's next to my room. My Gran used to stay there sometimes, so it might smell of little old ladies."

He smiled, "I love the smell of little old ladies; haven't I ever told you?"

They shared a chuckle and he stood, holding her hand as she reached for her crutches with the other and when she stood next to the car, staring up at the home that felt at once immediately familiar and nostalgically distant, she sighed. Waiting until she'd taken a step away from the car, the Doctor closed the passenger side door and moved with her towards the front door, hands out as she hopped up past the threshold and walked into the narrow entrance hallway. She made her way into the living room and frowned at the wheelchair settled beside the couch.

"What's that for?" Clara asked.

"Might be easier," her father offered, "Not all the time, but while you're adjusting…"

She shook her head, "No, I want the prosthetic. I don't want to be stuck in a chair."

"It's not for all time, Clara," her father assured, "Just to give your arms a rest – your legs…"

"I want to go to my room," she interrupted curtly, turning away from him and looking to the stairs with a huff of determination before moving to the first step as both men shouted out because they both saw what was coming before it happened.

She was unaccustomed to moving with crutches and she planted them hurriedly on the first step and then moved to swing herself up, but shifted back instead. The Doctor caught Clara around the waist to keep her from falling, but she pushed off him, landing against the wall with an exhale of frustration as the crutches fell to the ground. Instinctively, she tried to shift her right let out to balance herself, but found herself slipping onto the stairs, landing painfully on her side and crying out at the shock of pain that jolted up her arm when it connected with the steps.

"Clara," the Doctor called, "Are you alright?"

"No," she screamed angrily. "I can't get up the bloody stairs."

Dave shifted forward, but the Doctor held a hand up to stop him as he told her firmly, "Let us help you."

Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands and muttered, "I just want to get up the stairs," but the Doctor knew what she was thinking – I just want to walk up the stairs… with full use of both legs, just like she'd always done in her memories.

They had warned them it would be difficult the first few days; they'd warned them that even when it seemed they'd developed a pattern for her, there would still be breaks. There would be occasional tantrums of frustration as she re-learned how to walk and function as she used to in a whole new way and the Doctor watched as she took several long breaths – refusing to let herself cave into the anger and embarrassment she was feeling.

"Well," the Doctor laughed, "You're going about it all wrong."

Clara managed a small chuckle as she rubbed her fingers over her features and then let her arms cross over her knees, glancing down at her stump resting awkwardly on the second step. "Then how, Doctor?"

"Slowly," he nodded, reaching out a hand and smiling when she took it, allowing him to lift her up on one foot as he handed her one of her crutches and settled the other against the wall. "Take hold of the railing," he nodded, waiting until she did to instruct, "Just like walking, one step at a time."

He glanced back at Dave, seeing him with his knuckles pressed tightly into the counter at his side, head turned away so he couldn't judge his expression. Looking back to Clara, who'd gone up three steps, he sighed and moved behind her, following her up to the top of the stairs with her other crutch. When she reached the top, she took a long breath and turned to see him grinning up at her and then her eyes drifted to the space behind him.

"Where's dad?" She asked quietly.

"Let's just get you to your room, eh," he offered, "Have a nice nap in your own bed."

Clara smiled, but there was a lowering of her brow that let him know she understood he was hiding something from her and the thought made him chuckle as she took the other crutch and swiftly moved past the first door on her right towards the door farther down the hall. He heard a heavy creak just before he entered the room and he watched her set the crutches down against her nightstand before planting her palms into the lilac bedding beneath her.

"When do I get my leg, Doctor," Clara asked him, "You said the people at UNIT were going to make it fancy with all those scans they took."

He watched her look down at the stump of her right leg sadly before she shook the frown away to meet his gaze as she waited for his answer. "Martha should come by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she breathed, "Wow, that is fast."

Raising a finger, he warned, "It's just the first fitting – it might need to be taken back for adjustments."

Clara patted the bed at her side and the Doctor leapt towards her, sitting carefully beside her and smiling down at her as she sighed and looked over her bedroom. "I know, went through all the details with Dr. Smith when she came to do the scans." She grinned up at him mockingly before glancing around again.

"What is it?"

"Dunno," Clara groaned, "I just get a weird feeling about it all sometimes – suppose it's the memories I've not yet gotten back." She shrugged and looked up at him, "It's like I remember it all, remember it like I'd been sitting in this room just yesterday making plans about university and travelling and sitting for the Maitland's, but at the same time, it feels like it's been forever since I've looked at it all."

He nodded and he reached for Clara's hand as it slipped over the small space between them for him and he asked quietly, "What's the last thing you remember?" It had become an almost daily question, one that pained him because after going from fifteen to eighteen in a short span of time, she hadn't advanced any further in her memories and they'd warned them: she might never get them all back at all.

The smile on her face was instant as she said plainly, "Nina and I had made plans to go ice skating. Suppose it was winter." She glanced up at him, "Just signed up for my second semester of classes."

"You graduate, English degree and all," he nodded, head lowering as he lamented, "I know," then he added, bowing his head further, "Spoilers, but you do."

Clara stared at him a moment as he peered up through the thick curtain of hair now half obscuring his eyes and she released a bellow of a laugh he hadn't heard in what felt like forever. Her hand came up to her face after a moment, knuckle rubbing just underneath her right eye and she pointed at him as she told him, "You're silly, you know that."

The Doctor shrugged, his hearts thudding roughly in his chest at the sight of her continued laughter as she waited, and he finally sighed, "And what's wrong with silly?"

Lips drifting into a calm smile as the last of her chuckle subsided, she replied, "Nothing. Still talking to you, aren't I?"

For a moment she watched him simply smile at her, and then she straightened, brow dropping as if she remembered something and he perked up, asking hopefully, "What? What is it Clara?"

"I feel as though I've said that before," she told him honestly, turning back to look up at him, "Have I?"

Giving her hand a squeeze, he nodded and laughed, "Yes, yes you have."