He was rambling, as the Doctor often did, and Clara moved with him, smile set on her face as she glanced around at the oversized flowers on either side of them on their path. Visiting 'safe' planets had become a weekly event. Every Wednesday they hopped into the Tardis, just as it'd been at the start, and Clara looked forward to those trips because between maintaining her physical therapy and her studies to re-certify for teaching, their trips had become her relaxation time. Drifting with her husband through cloud planets and flower planets and sponge planets.

She sighed as she looked up at his free hand waiving about. His eyes widened as he smiled, words tumbling easily from his lips as he bent to look at her, "… millions of years, developing under the watchful eye of the Nefreem and Clara are you even listening to me?"

They slowed to a stop and she laughed, offering, "Of course I'm listening, Doctor."

He straightened, giving her an amused smirk before gesturing back, "You stopped listening about five minutes ago, some thought in your mind distracting you from the history of this planet – what is it?"

Clara waved a hand, "No, go on, Nefreem, watching the planet; blooms and bees and birds, standard planetary development speech."

"Standard?" He huffed.

"Doctor," she laughed as he began to walk ahead of her, taking hold of his lapels to tug roughly at his suit before he turned back and she smiled at the frustrated look on his face.

They'd fallen into a comfortable routine; one she now knew had always been just their way of co-existing. She'd tease him mercilessly and he'd become flustered until he realized she'd been teasing and then she'd get that look – the one he was giving her now. As though he'd just caught on to a joke and he felt foolish for falling for it again and, as he made his way back to her, he asked lightly, "Really, Clara, what's on your mind?"

A baby, she wanted to tell him, except the subject had become a sour note in their relationship. She'd asked him on the afternoon she'd finished her mural in that second bedroom, if he thought maybe they could start planning a family and he'd frowned, cutting off the notion with something muttered about their space. They needed a larger home already for her wheelchair, for the accessibility, and if they were to start considering children, they'd definitely need the larger home before that.

And they'd been looking.

Over the weeks they'd gone to visit several homes, but some were too far, some were too pricey, and some simply didn't seem a good fit, leaving them both wrinkling their noses at one another before apologizing to the real estate agent who, Clara thought, was becoming tired of their requests. Of course, they wanted it to be perfect and, of course, they knew they might have to make their own modifications, but they needed a larger master bath, something that would be comfortable for her, and wider hall spaces.

"Clara?" He questioned before touching her cheek softly and telling her with a smirk, "Don't worry; everything will fall into place when the time is right."

She nodded slowly and then glanced to her left, "So are these flowers in bloom all year?"

He laughed at her diversion and offered, "All year, all of the time." Then the Doctor pointed and gasped at what he had been about to tell her before, when he noticed her eyes had glazed over with some thought she was still obscuring, "The flowers here are actually a fairly good predictor of meteorological change – they bend away from oncoming heat waves; point to the sky before widespread showers; wither altogether before plagues to cocoon themselves for rebirth after the damage is done. Quite productive at preserving themselves."

Watching the small pelvic thrust he offered, a look of pure admiration on his face, Clara released a laugh strong enough to bend her slightly before she nodded towards them, hanging lazily with their petals staring out at one another, and asked happily, "So this, yeah, regular pose or should I worry?"

"Definitely regular pose," he assured before reaching out to take her hand to pull her along as she carefully considered her steps.

She'd become more comfortable with the prosthetic and she knew in the coming weeks she'd be getting a new one; one, Martha guaranteed, would be somewhat flexible. Just enough to allow her to feel each step softly, naturally, and – she'd whispered – it would help in case they needed to suddenly run. Thankfully, Clara thought as she gazed up at the man who was now going on about the weather on the planet, they hadn't found a reason to do more than take a few quick steps as he strove to show her something exciting.

And, she found, there were so many exciting things to be shown. It'd been almost a month since she remembered the first time she'd laid eyes on him and in that month she'd remembered the Old God who'd devoured her mum's leaf and she'd remembered the Ice Warrior they'd convinced not to destroy their planet. Clara remembered the 'ghost' they'd helped out of a pocket universe and she remembered being lost in the Tardis, but those memories seemed jumbled and contradictory in a way that made her assume something had gone terribly wrong.

"You're not listening to me again," the Doctor sang as he came to another stop, releasing her hand and twirling back to point at her to question, "Clara, what's on your mind? Please, tell me."

For a moment she bit her lip and looked to the ground, knowing broaching the subject she wanted to would only end in them taking a silent walk back to the Tardis, with him suggesting she needed a rest or that he'd forgotten he had to fix something. Because the Doctor was seemingly convinced, at least to her, that if they had a baby before they bought a house and she regained her memories, the world would fall apart. So she settled her mind on something else and took a long breath to meet his eyes again.

"That house on Lubbock," Clara called calmly, "You said it was too big, but I think we ought to give it another look because it's in the perfect place and maybe a little extra room would be good. You could have your own space, to tinker," she smiled as he approached her, a grin settling on his lips, "Or maybe we could…"

He silenced her with a kiss she laughed into, his arms circling her to hold her against him before he inched back with a long sigh to nod, "We'll give it another look then."

His eyes seemed to sparkle and she knew, instantly, that he'd been thinking about the place as well. It was one of three they seemed to keep coming back to, but he continually argued about the space and she constantly replied that it was like his Tardis – just a bit bigger on the inside. And wouldn't that be wonderful, she tried to assure. Because Clara had already imagined how she'd fill those rooms and she hoped at least two would belong to rambunctious youngsters with floppy hair and penchants for destroying everything in sight with their gangly legs and innocently ridiculous grins.

At least two, she thought to herself while considering the face in front of her, the one smiling into her confidently in a way that made her understand that now that they'd settled on the property, there would be no question it would be theirs. At least two, she grinned as he stared down at her – maybe two little girls who would twirl around just like him with wonder in their eyes to learn about everything; maybe two little boys who would take apart the toaster and trip over their own feet just walking from their bedrooms. Maybe one of each because Clara wanted to know how he would cherish his little girl and adore his little boy.

The way he was looking at her then.

Clara then took the chance to utter, "I want to stop my birth control – I want to…"

He released her, holding her long enough for her to regain her balance before he turned away and looked to the oversized sunflowers to their right and slowly he finished the turn and looked to her to state, "You want to have a baby, I know, Clara. I know."

She felt as though she might bite her lip off as she nodded, watching the way the inquiry affected him – the way it always did – as though she'd just punched him in the chest. She couldn't understand it, except to think that the idea of them having had a child before the accident, a child who could have lost their mother… he couldn't fathom the idea. Clara imagined the Doctor considered what that loss would have been and he was afraid of just the idea becoming a reality, and she understood the fear more than he could.

Sighing, Clara explained, "I know you want me to be back at work at least a year before we start trying, and you want us to have the house ready, but…" he opened his mouth to interrupt, but she raised her hands, stopping him with a smile, "Doctor, you told me before that we'd left it to the universe; I got the impression we were having troubles conceiving and I thought if we started trying earlier, we'd increase our chances – or give the universe more room for the wibbly wobbly," she ended on a chuckle.

He looked to the ground as he laughed weakly and the sound broke her heart. Because it sounded like he had no hope of having children with her and the notion stiffened her body. Clara watched his hands lift slightly and then slap back against his thighs as he nodded and repeated, "The universe. She's not often as kind as we hope she would be."

"Was that the truth? Is the universe cruel because we couldn't…" Clara began and his eyes rose instantly, offended, and she looked away with a muttered apology.

He shook his head and told her gently, "It was the truth, Clara – we were trying, we were…"

"Well then," Clara began, stopping him defiantly and seeing the surprised look on his face as he watched her while she straightened confidently to finish, "You like plans. You've made your plan and I disagree with it and since I'm your wife and since plans aren't made solely by the husband, let's make a plan then – one where we meet halfway between right now and next year."

"A plan; a together plan?" The Doctor questioned, grinning at the way she fidgeted, fingers picking nervously at each other in front of her stomach as she nodded.

Smiling and taking a quick breath, Clara suggested, "After I've been back at work three months, and gotten used to the new prosthetic UNIT is making for me, and after we're settled into the house on Lubbock, then we'll start trying."

He reached out for her face, palms caressing her jaw as his thumbs traced over her cheeks and he could see the sadness in her eyes. Clara reached up to wrap her hands over his wrists as she tried to smile for him because she knew something was wrong and he felt horrible for making her feel that way, realized he was keeping her from a happiness she deserved over a sadness he knew was just around the corner. A sadness that still ate at his heart. The Doctor closed his eyes and he could instantly see the look on her face, seeing their unborn daughter on a screen, watching the grey and white outline that shifted about happily.

"Is that normal," he'd asked, eyes drifting down to her belly as she laughed.

"Absolutely normal, sir, and… looks like, yup, definitely a girl," the technician had assured with a quick snap of a photo of what the Doctor presumed were genitalia and he'd turned his eyes to Clara then.

Her lips had trembled as they drifted into a satisfied smile. Her eyes were wide and bright, twinkling with the shimmer of hopeful tears, and she'd sighed, "Our girl, Doctor."

Opening his eyes on a laugh, he dropped his forehead to hers and he kissed her, a light meeting of their lips, before he nodded against her. He thought to tell her then, to try and explain why he'd been hesitant, but he chose not to spoil the moment for her – the moment he decided she deserved that hope she'd had before, and he sighed, "Alright, Clara. That's our plan."