"Let's go on a date."
The words were out of her mouth before the Doctor had shut the back door and Clara sat patiently in her chair with her hands resting on the wheels, waiting for him to turn and look at her. He wore a slightly shocked look that shifted to one of concern that then melted into one of appreciation as his eyes came around to meet hers before his brow dropped and he stated, "You're in the chair."
With a shrug she allowed, "Martha thinks it might be a good idea to give my right leg a rest from the prosthetic and my left a rest from counterbalance… just while I'm at home, and for now I'm willing to try."
He smiled, honestly, and – she noted – released a sigh of relief. "So," he said slowly, hands coming together in front of him to rub as a twinkle grew in his eyes, "I've been thinking about a date."
"Have you?" Clara teased.
Nodding, he straightened and gestured to the ceiling, "Thought to myself just the other day – we should go on a date, go on an outing. Just the two of us; someplace… awesome," he ended with a smirk in her direction.
"What's awesome when I'm thirty?" Clara asked lightly.
He let out a guffaw of a laugh before quieting himself and Clara side-eyed him as she waited for him to contain himself and tell her sincerely, "Date could be a night in Paris, or a spin around the moon."
Clara repeated, "Spin around the moon?"
"Oh, Clara," he told her seductively, "There's always the possibility of a spin around the moon."
"Like to see you try that," she responded in amusement.
He took a few steps towards her and knelt in front of her, hands on her knees as he grinned up at her with satisfied eyes and asked, "Where would you like to go?"
She tilted forward and told him, "Was thinking a bit more traditional – dinner, maybe a walk."
"Well, you love Italian," he nodded, and then asked, "Do you still love Italian at nineteen?"
Laughing, Clara nodded.
"Fantastic," he breathed, "Know just the place," before he frowned. Because the Doctor was thinking of a place in Italy two hundred years into the future.
"What is it?" She asked.
His eyes shifted, coming back up to meet hers to brush away a thought she wanted him desperately to share, but when he spoke, it was with a quiver as he simply said, "No, nothing," before he leaned forward and pecked her lips lightly, "Tonight – there's a place, not far from here; could walk if you'd like?"
As he stood, Clara asked, "Doctor, would you mind if I stayed in the chair?"
His forehead wrinkled with concern and he asked quickly, "Did Martha say something about your leg?"
She shook her head as she told him simply, "No, Doctor," because she didn't know how to explain that she needed to know Martha was right and she could spend time in the chair without being considered less of a person to her father and her husband.
"Then no," he told her with a soft grin, "I don't mind at all – even push if you'd like." Clara laughed as he moved around her towards the kitchen and declared, "Have you had lunch?"
"Martha and I did," then she laughed, "Doctor, it's almost five in the evening."
He stopped in mid stride and turned with a sheepish grin to ask, "Nearing five?" and she turned to see him flip his wrist over to check his watch, eyes finding the ceiling again as he considered the time differential and something about it seemed amusingly familiar – as thought she knew he had little concept of how time worked; as though he were somehow capable of manipulating the time and when it didn't bend to his will, he was perplexed. Turning back to stare at her hands, fidgeting nervously in her lap, Clara sighed at that notion.
Why would she have that idea of him? It was ridiculous.
As ridiculous as a spin around the moon.
"What do you do," Clara began quietly before lifting her head and asking, "Doctor, what do you do, when you go out during my appointments?"
A cabinet opened and she heard a package ruffling; shifted her chair around to find him standing a few feet away pushing a cookie into his mouth, chewing as he mulled over an answer and it turned her stomach to know he had to consider an answer for her. He smiled, but she waited, and when he waved his hand and flippantly explained, "Just go on errands, you know, trips to the market."
She straightened in the chair to point out, "You never return with anything from the market."
He stopped chewing and stared at her a moment before allowing, "Clara, I go out – meet with friends and the like."
"Who are your friends?" She questioned, lifting her chin and waiting.
His head did an odd roll, as though the question were ridiculous, before he realized – or at least she perceived he realized – Clara honestly wouldn't know. "I have loads of friends; they're your friends too," he chuckled, "I go to see Jenny, Vastra, and Strax. Sometimes the Maitland's to make sure they're growing up proper, because you'd insist," he pointed, "And there's Sarah Jane and her son, and their lot, and there's…"
"Do you have a job?" Clara asked firmly, eyes darting away before elaborating, "I mean, I know you have a job, but dad's gone back to work and you're still…"
"I'm your husband," he interjected, gesturing to her, "I can take a proper leave to look after you."
She watched him, the steely resolve in his eyes at even the suggestion that he not stay home with her to make sure she was alright. Then she asked quietly, "What's your job?"
He was silent, watching her, and Clara knew he was trying to work out in his head what she was getting at because he was the sort to try and solve puzzles and, for him, the greatest puzzle was herself and she continued to pick at her fingers in her lap as she waited and he finally told her, "We've gone over this; I work with Martha, at UNIT – that's how I'm able to pull strings to get you…"
"But what's your job?" Clara interrupted, raising her eyes to meet the perplexed look in his before she elaborated, "What do you do at your job? You keep telling me you work at UNIT; you work with Martha; you make enough for us to be alright if I never work again – you tell me reassuring things, but you don't give me the details."
He wrapped the package in his hands and dropped his arms casually at his sides, asking her with a look of suspicious curiosity, "What's brought this on?"
Clara lifted her palms and then slapped them back lightly into her lap, "Dunno, I suppose I'm getting restless here and you and my dad, you both get to leave, but I don't know where you're going and it's frustrating that I can't remember." She pushed her lips together as she swallowed roughly and straightened, leaning back in the chair to ask him again, "What is it that you do, Doctor?"
He set the cookies down and took a long breath before telling her honestly, "It's mostly top secret defense projects – UNIT works to ensure the safety of the people on Earth and that is what I do: I ensure the safety of this planet through projects, scientific in nature…"
"That why you have the Sonic?"
The Doctor smiled, "The Sonic is my own invention, sort of my pet project."
She nodded slowly, feeling somewhat relieved, and then she asked, "Could you tell me about the projects? About your office? Your typical day?"
Moving towards her, he let himself drop onto the couch, offering her a kind smile as she wheeled herself to him and settled herself a foot away as he nodded. "Now," he pointed, "They're mostly top secret, like I said. Only the Queen can have all of the details," he smiled, "But we've developed anti-missile defense systems, weaponry I'm not allowed to discuss, and enemy detection instruments." The Doctor sighed as Clara nodded, "We simply try to keep people like you – your family; your students – safe, and that is what I do, Clara. My day is going into the office, it's going out into the field, it's a lot of busy work with theories and testing and nonsense paperwork and getting around human arrogance."
"And we travel to get away from that."
He leaned forward and gave her leg a small tap, "Yes, Clara, we travel and we remember that life isn't all rigid teaching regiments and threats to the world – it's wondrous and magical and never-ending and we should be out in it. We should be exploring it and learning from it and existing in it and not held back by the restrictions of Earth."
Clara laughed, "Sometimes it sounds as if you've travelled beyond this planet."
"Perhaps," he teased, "We have."
She shook her head with a smirk and responded, "If that were true, I don't think I could forget."
"Perhaps," he repeated, "In time, you'll remember."
"You're being weird," Clara asserted playfully.
She watched the way his eyes brightened and she knew – she'd learned to recognize the moments when there was a memory in his eyes that repeated itself through her words – that it was something she'd said to him before and it was something that brought a vivid recollection of an event to the front of his mind. Clara longed to retrieve those memories in her head because they always turned his lips up. They made him glow in a way that made her forget the frustrations of everything missing and reminded her that not everything was: despite her doubts, the man in front of her was someone who made her tremble with fear; not of him she knew, but of losing him. And she smiled with him despite not understanding and watched him duck his head bashfully.
As though possibly he felt the same tremor in his heart and he could no longer look her in the eye in that moment because he almost did lose her. Clara knew there had been the absolute possibility she could have perished in that crash. She tried to push the thought aside, but she knew the possibility was real – the truth was her heart had stopped twice: once in the ambulance and once in the ER, and she knew without remembering, that it was this man who willed her on.
"And you love it," the Doctor told her with a quick nod and a point of his finger before flipping his wrist over and exclaiming, "Blimey, it is almost five – we should ready ourselves for dinner."
Turning, Clara wheeled herself to the edge of the stairs and then stopped. When she glanced back, she found the Doctor already behind her and he sighed as she did, both looking to the steps in front of her. Without her crutches, she might be able to hop up carefully, but she waved a hand back instead, telling the Doctor, "I think Martha left my leg in the kitchen."
"Would you be opposed to me carrying you, just this once?" He asked, voice quiet in the silence of the house around them.
She gripped the wheels at either side of her and turned them slowly to bring herself to look at him, at the frown on his face and she understood – as much as she needed to function as an individual, as much as he wanted her to function as an individual – he also knew it was important that they functioned as a team. Clara bit her lip as she nodded, lifting her arms to grip his neck when he pulled her free from the chair and began to slowly and carefully climb the steps.
"I know I've been insistent," he whispered, "You, using the prosthetic and the crutches and the chair, and any other means you can to get back to a normal life, Clara, but you have to understand, I would carry you for the rest of your life if it would take a burden off your shoulders." He exhaled when she smiled, "To see that smile I would do everything in my power and I'm sorry this has been difficult," he stopped at the top of the steps, "I'm sorry that I've been difficult, but your world – the one you've forgotten – isn't as simple as answering a few questions and you have to be patient with me." The Doctor nodded and Clara reciprocated, "One moment at a time; one memory at a time; one detail at a time. One aggravating step at a time, Clara, and I promise you'll have all of me, all of yourself, in the way that I know you need."
Clara watched the sincerity that pained his eyes; the sorrow he felt knowing she was distrustful of him in even the slightest of ways and she shifted to hug him, feeling his fingers tighten against her as his arms bent her closer to him. His lips pressed into her shoulder just before his forehead and he exhaled warmly against her, sending a shiver over her body as she shifted back and smiled through the beginnings of tears, "So let's start with dinner."
He nodded with a laugh, "Let's start with dinner."