They moved through the front doors with a small shared tremor at being in a warmer space, away from the cool night air and Clara smiled as he reached to help her shift out of her coat. She glanced around nervously, feeling a slight twinge of claustrophobia as people filled in around them while the Doctor asked for a table. When he began to push her along she stared down at her fingers and fidgeted with the thin black blanket tucked beside her legs, one she'd brought with her in case anyone decided to stare, or she simply became uncomfortable.
She knew it was a possibility, that someone – not meaning to hurt her feelings – would look to the stump of her right leg, currently wrapped in dark tights, and stare and she was thankful that she had the wrapping and not just another sock to cover the scars of her injuries. Her nurse had gifted her a set upon seeing photos of her in her regular attire from before the accident and she was grateful they existed because she'd looked at herself in the mirror before they'd left the house and was able to smile because she felt normal.
Bit of leg missing, but otherwise absolutely normal.
Her chair began to move and she gave a slight jump, glancing up to see the Doctor momentarily peering down at her with a lazy grin on his face that shaded her cheeks red as they worked their way towards a table where they were removing the second seat for her chair. Clara sighed as the Doctor settled her to the table and then swung around, sliding into the seat across from her with a quiet chuckle as they took their menus.
"Did we come here often?" Clara asked, giving the place a once over. It wasn't quite a fancy restaurant, but it was a good few steps above fast food and she turned to skim over the items available before meeting his stare. It always surprised her when she caught him staring and she bit her bottom lip anxiously as he shifted back and laughed in embarrassment.
With an unfurling of the fingers of his right palm, he looked about and shrugged, "We came in a few times, and you loved the chicken parmesan."
She smiled, "Then that's what I'll have."
Nodding, the Doctor replied, "Sounds like a plan."
They placed their order with the waitress and sat silently staring at the tablecloth and Clara chanced to look up, surprised to find him turning the ring on his hand with his brow knotted. She reached out across the table to stop him, asking him quietly when he looked to her, "What's wrong?"
With a timid grin, he shook his head and uttered, "Nothing's wrong, Clara."
But she raised an eyebrow and told him sternly, "No, it's something, what is it?"
She watched him take a long breath as he turned his hand over, letting her fingers land in his palm before he gave them a small caress and he bowed, telling her, "I want to talk to you as if you had your memories and it's a struggle sometimes, trying to work out what's alright to tell you – what's alright to ask – and I worry about us. That you'll grow disinterested in me because I'm not the man you met right now."
"What do you mean?" Clara laughed, "You're exactly the man I met; my mind just hasn't met him yet."
He smiled and nodded, hand now circling hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles lightly. "There's a place I want to take you. You could call it my home; we called it home for a time – still did, before the accident. But it's strange and when you see it, you might become frightened."
Clara shifted back as the waitress arrived with their food and she laughed politely, inhaling the scent off the steaming meal in front of her and looking up to see the Doctor already taking a bite of his own and nodding his appreciation. She chuckled before calling out, "Hey," and when he glanced up, she nodded, "After dinner, we'll go and I promise not to freak out."
She expected him to laugh, but his mouth fell into a frown while he chewed, and he offered a nod as Clara pondered just where he might be taking her. Who had he been when she met him? Was he going to reveal his secrets? Was this a secret? Why was he frowning like he was about to show her a dungeon underground with a shrine to the Queen. Clara pushed the last thought from her mind with a smirk and the Doctor raised his head to watch her curiously.
"What's so amusing?" He chanced to ask aloud.
She cut into her chicken and shrugged, "Imagining you have a secret lair somewhere."
"Like a bat cave?" The Doctor suggested.
Clara smiled and then laughed and told him, "Exactly like a bat cave!" She picked up a piece of chicken and slipped it between her lips, eyes closing against the flavor of the cheese and sauce melting into the just right meat. "I do love this," she murmured, not caring in the slightest if it wasn't polite or lady-like. Suddenly it occurred to her that the only meals she'd eaten in the past few months had been from the hospital or what the two men in her life cooked up or brought home and much of it was unappealing.
The Doctor pointed, "Don't enjoy that too much – your father's going to want your leftovers."
Shaking her head, she offered, "We'll take him a whole new one; this is mine."
He let out a belly laugh and began to say something that started with, "I forgot, you're," but the words disappeared in the air between them as he quieted and then smiled and offered, "We'll definitely get him his own."
Clara sighed and slumped in her chair, working at her plate slowly and avoiding his look because she hated knowing if she asked him what he was going to say, he'd make some excuse for the words, or some excuse for why he couldn't say what came after. He'd tell her it was a memory she didn't have; he'd tell her it wouldn't make any sense. She was tired of everyone telling her that her life didn't make sense and assuring that one day it would.
She looked up when the plate in front of her was cleared and found him staring solemnly at her, telling her sadly as he bowed, "I'm sorry."
With a shake of her head, she uttered in response, "It's fine, one day I'll get it, remember?"
"Clara," he sighed.
She was beginning to hate the way him saying her name affected her. The way it always said so much more than her name – please don't be upset, please be patient, please don't look thatway; the way it asked the questions he never actually asked – why are you upset, what was it I said, how can I make this better? She shrugged and folded the napkin that had been in her lap, laying it on the table and looking at him for a moment before sighing and telling him, "I worry too sometimes, you know."
"Worry?" He questioned.
"About us," she told him honestly. "I know we love one another, I know that – it's a truth I can't explain, but I know we do. But sometimes I worry I'm not the woman you met." She swallowed hard and finished, "I worry I'm not the woman you fell in love with, despite all the times you try to tell me that I absolutely am, even if I'm different."
The Doctor released a small chuckle, eyes lowering knowingly, and he shifted back when the waitress took their meals, asking her for another order to go and the check. When she'd departed, he spoke quietly, "And that's why you wanted to go on a date."
Clara leaned into the table, admitting, "I might never get all of my memories back; I might never become your Clara again."
Drifting forward slightly, he smiled and nodded, "Then who are you, Clara? What are you dreams? What are your fears? Your ambitions? Your favorite color…" he trailed as she laughed. "Tell me who you are and I'll tell you all the same: I love you."
"You're a romantic," she teased, "I don't think I've ever been."
With a light laugh he tilted his head and uttered, "Oh, now that's not true."
"When have I been? When will I be?" She countered.
"You keep a book in your room, a book your mother used to read to you and the first page of that book isn't a list of ages with a name written plainly atop it – it's a leaf. A leaf, you once told me, you blew into this world on. A perfectly grown leaf that withered at just the right rate to fall off in a precise way and drift flawlessly in the wind to land in your father's face, ensuring he met your mother." Clara smiled, remembering the story, but she'd never heard it from the Doctor and somehow his words enraptured her as he continued, "What you decided was the first page of your life is that very exact leaf, the one that brought your parents together and that, Clara, makes you a romantic."
"What brought us together?" She whispered.
"The universe," he responded lightly.
"The universe," she repeated on a laugh, "You always say the most ridiculous things."
"I'm quite a ridiculous man," he asserted with a grin, then he pointed, "And I hope you still love it."
"Obviously I do," she called back in amusement, as he plucked a small wallet from his inside breast pocket and rummaged through it for a card he stared at a moment in confusion before lifting it to the woman about to hand him the check. "You seem perplexed by ordinary things and completely at ease with the abnormal; is that part of your job? Are you some sort of wizard, perplexed by muggle things?"
"Muggle things," the Doctor repeated curiously. "You read those books when you were twenty one and change after Angie insisted they weren't children's books."
Her head swung back and forth slightly and then she realized it – she had memories from her twenty first birthday, memories that turned her cheeks red and sent a blush over her body that made her reach for her water to sip as she began to nod, "Suppose I'm twenty one now."
The Doctor smiled and mocked, "You'll be an adult soon."
"Oh, my memories have passed that," she murmured as his eyes went wide.
Clara released a soft laugh as the waitress brought their receipt and the extra food and when the Doctor glanced up at her again, she quieted, because it was with an appreciation that slowly dissolved into an agonizing look of anxiety as he stood. He was thinking about where they were going, she knew – this old home of theirs – and she swallowed nervously as he handed her the food and pulled her away from the table, taking her carefully back through the front doors where they collected their coats before emerging onto the sidewalk.
"Is it far?" She asked.
"No, but we'll have to stop at the house for your leg."
"Oh," she replied curtly, lips squishing together as she nodded and watched the concrete ahead of them wondering just where they were going. Had they lived in a desolate place? Had he been homeless? It couldn't be too far, and yet, she needed both legs to get there. Clara fidgeted with her fingers, listening to his breathing above her as they made their way through the streets silently and when they arrived home, they found her father seated in the living room watching a football match.
The man turned and began to grunt, "There you are," when he saw Clara in the chair and he stood quickly, dropping the remote and crossing the space between them with a quick, "Sweetheart, are you alright?"
Clara smiled, nodding, and told him, "Just resting a bit, I'm fine." Then she raised the bag, "Brought you dinner, dad," as the Doctor went into the kitchen to retrieve her leg and her sleeve. "We're gonna go out a while," she told the man as she wheeled herself towards the half bath at the end of the hall knowing she'd have to remove her tights to get the leg on and when she emerged, the two men were engaged in a series of harsh whispers.
The Doctor ending with, "She has a right to know," before they both went silent to turn to her.
Clearing her throat, she watched the angered look fade from her father's features as the Doctor held out his hand and she moved with him towards the back door, asking calmly, "Where are we going?"
He looked back to Dave once before they closed the door behind them, and he took a breath and gave her hand a squeeze, "Home, Clara," he smiled and added, "Long way around, as always, it seems."
"You're being nonsensical again," she replied with a smirk.
The Doctor began to walk and they crossed the grassy yard and he opened the back fence, taking her through it and down the alley way a few steps before they came to a tall blue box he gestured at. "This," he began, clapping his hands together, before continuing, "This is the Tardis."
"What's a Tardis?" Clara questioned on a whisper.
With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and plucked a key out, grasping her hand and settling it just beneath the wedding ring on her finger with a small grin as he nodded his head towards the door and enclosed the key in her palm. The Doctor raised her fist to his lips to kiss and then he exhaled and took a step away and Clara turned towards the Police Box with an anxious grin, shifting the key in her hand and moving to slip it into the lock.