The Doctor woke at the sound of a curse and when he opened his eyes, he could see the door swaying shut before he registered the warmth sprawled along his left side. He couldn't help the grin that spread over his face, or the way his fingers moved to caress her cheek, pushing a stray lock of hair away. Across the hall he could hear Dave readying himself for work and when the door finally re-opened, the man peered in, but stared at the wall to the Doctor's right.
"She snuck in during the night," the Doctor offered, "Nothing happened."
The words did little to alleviate the disturbed look on the other man's face as he nodded, jaw clenched as he turned his eyes to the ground and told him firmly, "Be back around six, yeah?"
"See you then," the Doctor replied as the man tightened his grip on the doorknob a moment before turning away and launching himself down the steps rapidly and through the front door as the Doctor sighed and looked to Clara. "You," he whispered, "Will be the death of me."
She sighed into his breast and her fingers shifted slightly atop his chest. It felt like it had been forever since he'd been able to hold her this way and he felt guilty for not wanting to wake her; to keep her left leg curled over top his waist, foot relaxed against the inside of his left knee and her body snug against him. He was tempted to pull her onto him, to wrap his arms around her or gently massage the aches in her back away before rolling over onto her with a shared laugh.
"Clara?" He whispered, knuckles nudging her jaw to lift her head up where he could see the confused look settling into her features as she tried desperately to hold onto sleep. "Clara?"
"No," she murmured, "Not just yet, Doctor."
"Your father's left for work, says he'll be back at six," he offered lightly.
He watched the smile that crept over her lips as she buried her forehead in his side and muttered, "He probably thinks we shagged in this tiny old bed, doesn't he."
"Believe so," the Doctor sighed.
Clara lifted her head to look him over and she leaned her chin into her palm, smirking. A smirk he returned before his eyes went wide and he began shaking his head as she laughed, "Am I that preoccupied with sex in my future that you're continuously thinking it's on my mind?"
He gave a nervous laugh and squeaked, "No."
She shifted, turning and sitting up at the edge of the bed to run her hand along her right thigh, over the shorts she'd changed into before she'd gone in to sleep with her husband, letting her fingers rest over the curved scarred skin at the end. It hadn't gotten any easier to accept that most of the bottom half of her leg was no longer there, but it was starting to feel normal and she imagined one morning she would wake up and look down and not feel that loss. Today was not that day.
"I know what you're thinking," Clara breathed without turning, hearing the bed groan under his movements and she could feel him sitting, just behind her, knew his hands were hovering at her back because he tended to be hesitant to touch her. Clara understood – she was nineteen in her head; hadn't even met him. And he was a good man. She smiled, grateful that she'd married well because her nineteen year old self was uncertain she'd ever marry, much less find a bloke who cared so much about her he would spend his every waking moment trying to ensure her happiness.
She turned when she felt his breath release against her hair, a warm exhale that sizzled over her skin in a wave of gooseflesh as he asked, "What am I thinking?"
"Wonderful things," she smiled, watching him, bringing her leg back up onto the bed to look down at it and continue, "Encouraging things about how I'm doing so much better. How proud you are that I've taken to the prosthetic leg so quickly and that I'm enthusiastic to walk again. How much you love my fighting spirit."
"How much I love you," he told her with a nod.
She giggled and rubbed lightly at her thigh as she repeated, "Yes, Doctor, how much you love me."
His hand met hers just at her knee and he wove his fingers between hers, telling her lightly, "It's just a part of you, a part of your body – all of what makes you you is still here and I still cherish you, same as I did the day I met you."
Clara tilted her head to lean against his shoulder, feeling his lips at her temple as she shrugged, "Sometimes when I wake up, I've forgotten what's happened – I suppose it's the nineteen year old memories overriding the reality of my thirty year old self." She laughed, "Then I look down and it's still gone."
She hadn't really admitted it to either of them because she could tell they both wanted her to recover physically, and they were both confident she would – but she also knew they both worried about her mental recovery. Her therapist had told her it would take time to reconcile the loss of her leg and she'd simply smiled and said everything was fine because shouldn't it be? She still had her life, she was alive and able to walk down the street and appreciate the odd smells in the air and the orchestra of sounds around her. She could eat at her favorite corner diner and she could call Angie up to see a film if she wanted.
Everything seemed fine most of the time, until she woke up in the morning with a cramp in her thigh or an ache in her knee or a soreness underneath her arm from using her crutch too much. Everything seemed fine until the Doctor began a sentence that tapered off with a look to her father, one he returned – some mention of a thing from a memory she didn't have. She could see the longing in his eyes then; wanting her to be able to remember that time they decided to take the tube to its end and spend a night in a new place.
"A sewer, we're going to sleep in the sewer? "
"To be fair, it's a particularly delightful sewer."
"Clara?" The Doctor called curiously.
She blinked herself out of her daze and then dropped her brow as she found him watching her oddly, his hand clasped around her right thigh, just above her knee, as his eyes remained trained on her while she refocused on where she was. It had been happening on and off like that, little glimpses of moments – snippets of dialogue – and she couldn't place them. She knew they were from memories not quite formed and she was afraid to ask because they seemed so insane she imagined maybe they were just dreams. Bits of make believe.
A sun with an angry face.
A lizard woman and a potato man.
A spectacle of lightning that blinded her as she'd leapt towards it.
With a smile, she shook her head and mumbled, "It's fine; I'm alright."
Lowering her head slightly, she glanced up through long bangs to see him turn away with an expression of concern paining him and she reached out for his shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he turned back and smiled, asking quickly, "Breakfast?"
"That'd be great, yeah," she told him on a nod, hand gripping his shirt as he instinctively moved towards her to kiss her and then pulled away and she admitted, "I wish you wouldn't do that. I get why, at the hospital, at first, but I know you now."
His cheeks tinted as he chuckled and said, "Sorry, I just don't want to move too quickly."
Clara glanced around and her lips pushed together in amusement as she reminded, "I climbed into bed with you, I don't think an occasional kiss is too forward."
She held tightly to his shirt as he shifted forward and planted his knuckles beside her hips to kiss her on a laugh and Clara leaned back, tugging at him until he dropped down clumsily atop her. Nestling her head into the pillow behind her as he lifted up slightly, she smiled at the shy look on his face and she wondered, not for the first time, what their love life had been like. There was the hint of an erection pressing itself into her hip and she considered working him up, testing those waters, but the instant the thought crossed her mind, he rolled away from her and quickly stood, darting out of the room.
With a sigh, she shifted on the bed and then reached down just underneath for her crutch so she could make her way back to her room to sit atop her own bed. Clara reached for the sleeve for her leg at her bedside after she laid the crutch down. For a moment she held it tightly between her hands, staring down at the long pin at the end and then she set it down on her lap, swallowing roughly against the sudden thought – the one that occasionally jolted her in the oddest way – this will be your life forever.
Clara huffed a laugh as she plucked a sock from her nightstand to cover over her scarring before rolling away the edges of the sleeve and securing it to the end of her right leg, slipping it upwards carefully over her leg and letting the limb hang over the side of the bed. She reached for the prosthetic that sat atop the nightstand and she cautiously slid it up over the pin and onto her stump before moving to stand, taking a few steps in place as it clicked, locking it on for the day.
Somewhere inside she could hear her father's voice urging her to use her wheelchair, because he was concerned she would overdo it too quickly on the prosthetic, but she shook the thought aside. Maybe it was stubbornness; maybe it was vanity – but she wanted to remain standing. Swallowing roughly, she made her way into the bathroom to stare at herself in the mirror with a small twist of her lips.
"You're old," she murmured before laughing because she knew thirty wasn't old at all, it just seemed so far off from the age in her mind. And her memories held a rounder, fuller, face that had become this woman staring back at her. "Alright," she told herself quietly, closing the door to begin her morning routine.
She was halfway down the stairs when she smelled the bacon and her stomach grumbled angrily as she smiled but when she entered the kitchen she frowned. She found the Doctor standing over the stove with a furrowed brow and a device held out to the controls.
Clara pointed, head tilting, as she asked, "What… is that?"
He swung around, body straightening as his eyebrows rose and the odd wand with the green glowing end extended with a click as Clara jerked back. "This," he gestured up at the item held tightly in his hand, "This, what is this?"
Clara watched him fumble with an answer as his head whipped from it, to her, and back to it, bangs flopping about comically and for a moment she thought to let it slide – obviously it was something from a time she couldn't remember – but there was something peculiar about the way he was ogling it. Something about the way he was holding it… something about the buzzing sound it had been making, that was all far too familiar to let go and Clara waited, eyes widening.
"I know what that is," she told him, "Why do I know what that is?"
He took a step forward, showing it to her, and Clara reached for it, expecting him to pull away, but he let her take it from him. She held it, lifting her other hand to wrap around the edge to knowingly pull the claws back with a small click before she flipped it in her palm, catching it and looking up at him. He had a half smile on his face as he nodded, asking her quietly, "What is it, Clara?"
She swallowed and shook her head, grasping at it in confusion because there was an odd feeling in her mind, an odd request for information she couldn't quite understand, but she knew it came from the Sonic she held. Setting it down on the table carefully at the sudden thought, she took a step from it and nodded, "It's your Sonic." Clara released a small laugh and looked up at him, "It's your Sonic – what's a Sonic?"
The Doctor nodded slowly and he lifted it, "It's a tool, a sort of diagnostic device, can do repairs and alterations to electrical components and some non-…"
"It can't do wood," she lamented automatically before gasping, "I know that; how do I know that?"
With a smile, he offered, "Because it's ours."
Breath quickening, Clara took a step towards him and she laughed excitedly before exclaiming, "You're burning the bacon, Doctor!" and she lunged forward to turn the knob just as he pointed the Sonic at it and when they both stepped away, watching the sizzling food on the pan Clara had shifted off the hot stove, they began to laugh together and Clara watched the hopeful joy in his eyes before turning away shyly. She wasn't sure, exactly, what the device meant, or why she'd suddenly remembered it and nothing else, but it came with an odd pang of anxiety and the even odder notion… this man could be dangerous.