Clara woke with a small jump of confusion, the echoes of a child's laughter fading from a dream quickly drifting from her memory, and she looked around at the carefully made bed she was lying in, baffled to find herself back in her room, but she knew the Doctor wouldn't have slept long. He'd gone to find her and, she knew, he'd have known exactly where to. Letting herself drop back against the pillow, she raised an arm to drape over her eyes and she took several long breaths, surprised to find herself trembling.
Shifting her arm away, she felt the sweat at her brow and she brought her hand to her chest to feel the rapid beating of her heart. "Doctor," Clara called out.
She could hear his footsteps pounding up the steps and when he jumped into the room, she turned her attention to him and shook her head slightly, uncertain about what to tell him and he was by her side in an instant, feeling her temperature and taking her wrist to judge her pulse. "You've been tossing about with nightmares for the past few hours," he told her softly.
Nodding, Clara took in the residual puffiness around his eyes in the golden light coming in through the blinds over his pale face and she asked, "What time is it?"
His free hand twisted so he could look to his watch and he supplied simply, "Almost five."
She began to shift, to push up from the bed, but he smiled sadly and eased her back down as she argued, "It's five in the afternoon, Doctor, I should…"
"Rest," he interrupted. "Found you in the Tardis, after I woke." He frowned, "I'm sorry I hadn't changed the parameters on her door to allow you entrance, Clara; sort of got lost in the worry…" he trailed, meeting her eyes as he laid her palm back down atop her stomach. "I believe you're winding down from an anxiety attack."
Clenching her jaw, Clara nodded.
"Had you experienced this before?" The Doctor asked curiously.
"Sort of a tightening of the chest, hot and a bit sweaty for no reason, complete lack of focus…" she stopped her description because she could see the concern on his face, the brow that came together as his lips went white from pressing against one another. "Maybe once or twice since the accident."
"You should see a doctor," he raised a hand as she started to say Martha's name, and told her simply, "A different sort of doctor, Clara."
She shook her head, telling him quietly, "No, I know what you're thinking."
With a weak smile, he asked, "What am I thinking, Clara?"
"You want me medicated; you think it'll be easier if I'm medicated," she shot, pushing past his attempts to keep her lying down so she could sit up and stare into him fiercely. "I learned a long time ago that life doesn't always play the hand you expected and you have to learn to work with that."
He shifted sideways and sighed and Clara watched him struggle with what to tell her. It unnerved her that he didn't know what to say, or at least didn't want to speak his thoughts aloud. He was the Doctor, he was the man who always had something eloquent – something perfectly planned – to make everyone feel better, or at least feel as though there were hope. And now he sat with his attention trained on a space in the corner of the room, eyes glazed over with a muted thought as she waited.
"I'm not being medicated," Clara shot, shifting beside him so she could reach for her crutch to make her way into the bathroom to ready herself for a shower.
"Clara," he called weakly, the sound of his voice hollow through the closed door. She waited, hating how the silence made her head spin, and then he finally sighed sadly, "I'm going to pop off for a bit, look into something on Atraxia – be back for dinner." He stopped and she heard him take a breath before asking, "Is that alright?"
Pressing her forehead to the door, she inhaled raggedly as she closed her eyes and managed a high-pitched, "Yeah, alright."
He remained on the other side for a moment, his palm coming up to rub gently against the wood as Clara listened to his skin slip over the coarse surface, and then he stepped away slowly, making his way into the other room where, after a very long few minutes of silence, the Tardis dematerialized. Clara exhaled and pushed off the door, setting her crutch down against the wall to look at herself in the mirror. She could see why he'd been concerned – her face was tinted a pale green and she turned away from the emptiness in her eyes.
She should have offered to go with him, she thought as she plucked off her blouse and let her skirt fall to the ground. It was probably what he'd been expecting; it was what he'd been hoping for and instead she'd let him leave. Clara huffed angrily while carefully holding to the railings at the edge of the tub to swing herself into her seat and once she was underneath the hot spray of water, she cried softly because the anger had drifted to sadness knowing he was off by himself after what had happened last night.
Thinking she didn't want to be with him.
Thinking that maybe she'd let him be sad for the night, but now she'd give him the cold shoulder and shut him out bitterly just when he thought it might be ok for them to start mourning together. Squeezing the loofah in her hand, she concentrated on the soap suds that dropped over her legs and she controlled her breathing, not having realized how it had quickened. How she'd worked herself back up into a dizzying state where she could hear her heart thudding in her ears but couldn't hear the sound of the shower pounding down on her.
"Calm down, Clara," she urged, knowing if what she was experiencing became a pattern – an uncontrollable pattern – she'd be forced by her therapist onto drugs she didn't want. "Just breathe," she whispered, reaching out for the metal at either side of her to hold tight to them to keep herself steady because the small space had begun to spin.
It was several minutes before she was able to bathe, carefully and slowly scrubbing away at her body meticulously and when she stepped back out into her bedroom, she immediately shivered against the feverish temperature of her skin against the chilled air assaulting her. She quickly pulled on her clothes and set her prosthetic and then slowly made her way into the other bedroom, frowning because all of her daughter's belongings had been removed, placed back in her room on the Tardis… where Clara couldn't see to be reminded.
And she knew now he was trying to prevent that, the shock of those memories flooding her without warning when he was away. Clara smiled faintly, trying to think he was just protecting her, before she quietly moved down the stairs and into the kitchen where she found a covered tray and a note. Head tilting, she approached it cautiously and plucked the folded sheet up to slip it open in her hand and look over his writing.
I didn't want you to worry, there's a bit of a war I might be able to put an end to. Misunderstandings and such – you know how uncivilized populations can be. Quite frankly, just how civilized populations can be. Fighting over nonsense when a moment's pause, a moment's consideration, a moment's explanation could have both parties dancing a lovely salsa and enjoying chips instead of trading bombs and jabs. I'll be home as soon as possible, but not as soon as I could be. I know we still need to talk; I hope we'll still talk. – The Doctor
She laid the note down open on the counter and lifted the lid to find cold toast and scrambled eggs waiting underneath and she sighed, pulling open a drawer to secure a fork with which to pile the items together into a sandwich she ate lazily. After a moment she laughed to herself, mouth full, as she realized he'd made her breakfast in the evening because she'd just woken up, and she swallowed roughly as she began to cry again because the Doctor would be a fantastic, albeit erratic, father.
Clara swiped at the tears on her face as she set the plate into the sink and then moved back towards the stairs, already hearing the Tardis and by the time she was halfway up the stairs, he was urgently rushing from the bedroom to the space above her and she smiled up at him, uttering quietly, "Hello."
"Have I been gone long?" He questioned.
She shrugged, "I just finished my breakfast."
He frowned and checked his watch, "I'm so sorry, I'd intended to be gone an hour at most…"
"Doctor," she interrupted, "I just finished the breakfast you left me."
Smiling anxiously, he nodded and then gestured back, "Solved it."
"Casualties?" She questioned.
He beamed back proudly, "None to speak of."
"I'm sorry I wasn't with you," she admitted.
But he shook his head and climbed down the steps slowly to stop two steps beneath her so they stood at eye level to one another and he reached up to brush the hair off her shoulders before giving her arm a rub, "I would understand if you needed time," then his eyes widened as he shrugged and offered, "Or a few quick swings," he turned slightly and gestured at his shoulder, "Just try not to make them all in the same spot."
Clara laughed lightly, reaching out to plant her hands at his shoulders before she straightened him to kiss his forehead and then dropped her forehead to his. They sighed together before she told him, "Doctor, I don't need to beat you up, and I don't need time. I need you to tell me the truth, even if it hurts us. I need you to hope with all of the love in both of your hearts that I'll be ok. And I need to know that you'll be there for me if I'm not."
He was nodding slowly against her, his own hands rising to settle at her waist. "You have me."
She smiled because she knew he meant that she had all of him, for anything she wanted; she smiled because she knew there would be no more secrets. Clara smiled because he kissed her gently then and his arms slipped around her differently than they had the night before. Instead of the desperation, there was a unity behind this hug, a knowledge that they were no longer singular in their suffering and confusion, but joined as they should have been all along, to find a path out of the dark shadow of the past. To be each other's light, just as they'd promised each other when they'd wed.
With a quiet laugh, she shifted away to look down at the bright green of his eyes, reddened with the threat of new tears, and when he blinked she wiped at them with her thumbs before they could finish their trail over his cheeks and she sighed. Clara nodded slowly and then asked, "Could we go somewhere together? Take our minds off it all for a bit – I think we deserve that."
He grinned sadly and asked, "Time or Space?"
Clara managed a laugh as she responded, "You spend so much time trying to make me happy, why not go to your favorite place – I don't think you've ever told me where your favorite place is."
Glancing around, he narrowed his eyes and feigned disappointment as he uttered, "That's because we haven't really got far to move to get there."
She hung her arms around his shoulders and shook her head, but before she could tease him, he lifted her off the ground and rushed up the steps with her towards their bedroom, dropping her down into the tussled sheets and Clara released a howl of a laugh as he dug his fingers into her knowingly before falling to her side to rest his palm atop her stomach while he waited for her to chuckle away the last of her laughter to find his gaze and then lay her own hand atop his.
"Clara," he began slowly, watching their fingers twist together, "I'd understand, if you want to put a hold on our plans…"
She inched up to kiss him, pushing at him until he was on his back and she leaned over him, shaking her head and shifting to sit at his side, lying over his stomach and finding his hand again, bringing it to her lips and then mingling his fingers with her own at his chest. The heartbeats of one heart thumped just underneath her wrist and she sighed at the feeling, telling him, "Dad said she had two hearts, like you."
The Doctor exhaled and nodded, massaging at her hand with his thumb, "She was beautiful, like you."
Clara met his stare and her cheeks went hot as she took a breath to ask, "You saw her?"
His lips drifted up quickly at a memory before they fell into a frown and he turned his attention to the ceiling to admit quietly, "I held her for just a moment. Just over a half a pound and she fit in one hand," he laughed as his eyes welled and Clara shifted, turning and keeping hold of his hand as she rested her head in the crook of his arm, glancing up at him and waiting, "She held on, Clara. Made it through the first few hours and I thought maybe she would pull through, but the stress of the accident was just too much for you, for her..." Turning on her side, Clara swiped at her tears and she clung to the Doctor as he recounted his terror, thinking Clara wouldn't survive her own body's instinctual rejection of their baby to preserve Clara's life.
She quietly cried into his chest as he spoke about the paleness of Clara's skin and the way she laid deadly still in her coma as it all occurred. The Doctor told her she'd lost so much blood he'd been certain she would die and he spoke of the silence that fell over the room as the doctors and nurses dutifully did their best to keep their baby alive. He kissed her forehead and shifted to hold her because Clara had dissolved into sobs against him, finally hearing the most horrible of truths.
He stroked at her hair and told her proudly through his own tears, "For a few wonderful minutes she held on; she tried, Clara – she fought for us, but she was suffering and I told her it was ok to let go because I couldn't stand the thought of her hurting anymore… and she did."