Clara was laughing heartily with Martha, neither caring about the looks they were receiving as they bent slightly towards one another. Shifting back in her chair, Clara wet her throat with warm tea and settled her palms on the table, watching the other woman wiping at the corners of her eyes while shaking her head. When they'd finally quieted, they shared a small smile of appreciation and Clara was grateful that she felt she was finally getting her life back.
She still didn't have all of her memories, but her classes were going well and her friendships were re-establishing themselves. And though she could still sense the tension in the Doctor, worrying when she'd remember their baby, the cloud that had been hanging over him for months had vanished with the truth and they'd resumed a casual affair with travelling and a salacious appetite for one another. Something the woman in front of her knew far too much about, though Clara presumed it was fair – she knew far too much about Mickey Smith and his antics as well. She supposed if the two men ever found out what Clara and Martha had discussed; they'd chose to travel together to the end of the universe.
"They made him a king, didn't they," Martha coughed.
Clara nodded, "Straight away, handed him a fur cape and everything."
With a swipe of her hand through the air, Martha said, "Oh, I bet he flaunted that for too long."
"Still wears it around the house in the evening – likes to tap that crown and I have to remind him I can swipe it off his head just as easily as I can a fez," Clara told her as she shook her head and sighed. "That man," she chuckled, "He'd wear it in bed if I let him."
Martha went red in the cheeks to tease, "Has he worn it…" and she nodded to Clara.
Biting her lip and looking away, Clara listened to the other woman break into another series of hoarse giggles as she took another sip of tea and shrugged, "Guess a little playfulness around the house is always welcome."
They both settled back into their oversized chairs and smirked at one another before Martha's lips dropped slightly and she winced to ask, "Aren't you two going at it a bit much? I mean, he's over a thousand, you don't want to go breaking his back – last regeneration, isn't that what you said?"
Clara chewed the inside of her cheek and blushed before admitting, "Sort of like it – how many blokes'll romance you by taking you to the moon just to tell you how beautiful you are in the Earth light? Bit of a turn on, really."
"Suppose if I'd been on the moon for that reason, we'd have had an entirely different relationship. Well, maybe not, but I see what you're saying," Martha laughed before shaking her head, "But also, you know about the baby now."
It was a complicated matter, Clara knew, and it was hard to explain to others. She felt sad about it. There were moments when she cried in the shower as she ran a loofah over her stomach, or she found herself sadly staring at the books on her shelf she'd want to read to her, or her lips trembled as she looked over an advert in the paper for little girl's clothes she knew she should be buying. And those were the moments it struck her hardest. It had been long enough since the accident – she would have had her baby girl; she should have had her, suckling her breast underneath a nursing blanket as she chatted with Martha about projectile vomiting and messy nappies.
Every so often she thought about it, about how she would have looked, how much she imagined she would have weighed in her arms, how she would have smiled easily and waved her limbs about clumsily. Clara knew odds were she would have had big brown eyes and a peppering of light locks that would darken with time and she imagined she'd have had chubby cheeks, dimpled by her parents. She saw that face often when she daydreamed and sometimes she imagined the small voice that would squeal up at her in delight and in those moments, she allowed herself a cry in private, or she went to find the Doctor.
To curl up into his chest and tell him what had happened because he would understand. He would press kisses into her hair and he would dance with her and distract her with stories of distant planets and peoples until she found herself wound up in asking questions. And they'd either travel to experience those places first hand, or they'd fall into bed to make love until her eyelids drooped and her body burned from exhaustion.
Taking in a long breath, Clara nodded and she supplied, "Yes, I know about our baby, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to be with him; it's quite the opposite, actually. I remember us and I know what we could have had – I know what we want and there's no reason we shouldn't still want it."
The other woman watched her a moment and Clara felt awkward, picking at her fingers and then reaching out for a bite of her sandwich as she listened to Martha ask lightly, "Clara, are you trying to get pregnant again?"
She shrugged and then smiled, shifting her eyes to take in Martha's excited expression before she nodded almost indiscernibly and offered, "We were hoping…" she began, but Martha let out a squeal and pushed away from the table to rush around, bending to hug her.
"The idea's still so crazy, but I'm so happy for you," Martha gasped as she shifted back and then fell into her cushiony seat, laughing, "Though, the Doctor – this Doctor – and a baby; you'd have your hands full," with a small shake of her head in amusement.
Clara's lips lifted automatically because she could see him clearly, pacing their living room, or the Tardis console space, tiny bundle in his arms. The Doctor working feverishly to tell their baby some wild story, his free arm flailing about, fingers occasionally shifting the blanket or brushing against a small round cheek, and she knew the man would be glowing. He would smile down at their child with enough adoration to make Clara's knees weak and she had a sudden thought, one that shifted Martha's glee to concern as Clara turned to look at her.
"He's a time travelling alien," Clara breathed.
Glancing sideways, Martha's jaw dropped as she uttered, "Uh, yeah, Clara – I really hoped you'd figured that part out before…"
"No," she lifted a hand, "I mean," she took a small breath, "Maybe he could fix my leg."
Shaking her head, Martha asked, "Like, stop the accident? No, it'll create paradoxes or something…"
"No, I mean literally fix it, like find some planet that re-grows limbs." Clara's eyes came up, "Martha, I could get my leg back."
Frowning, Martha looked down at the prosthetic hidden underneath a set of black tights, and she shrugged, telling her honestly, "I think if that were an option, he'd have told you already."
Tilting her head, Clara replied, "This is the Doctor – probably slipped his mind, or he hasn't wanted to give me false hope while he looks for just the right place to go."
But she could see the concern in Martha's second sad look down at her leg and she slumped back again as Martha shook her head, "You should ask him; if it's on your mind."
"You've travelled with him," Clara offered with a nod, "You think it can't be done."
"I don't know what to think," Martha answered honestly, "I've seen some pretty crazy things, but if there's something I've learned, it's that there are prices to pay for the wonders out there and I don't know if you want to risk it, for what, exactly?"
Clara straightened and her brow dropped as she uttered, "It wouldn't be for vanity."
Leaning forward, Martha touched her right knee, giving it a small squeeze and a sympathetic frown to show she hadn't thought that of Clara as she told her quietly, "Chances are, if there is a way to do it, it would be painful. There would be side effects. You might lose it again, and even if you didn't – you'd get back here and tell people what? Surgery that doesn't exist?"
Clara sighed and Martha took her hands and she admitted, "I always imagined I'd be a pretty good mum, but while I know I'd still be good, I wouldn't be able to run to her bedside straight away if she cries in the middle of the night. I'd have to…"
"Let the Doctor pace with her at two in the morning? Let him be the one to run with her if there's trouble because you're afraid you'll fall easier with your prosthetic and you'd want your hands free to get back up so you don't die? Allow him to be a pretty good dad?"
With a shy laugh, Clara mumbled, "Guess that's not so bad."
"You wouldn't be having a baby alone, you'd be with the Doctor and firstly, he rarely sleeps, so never worry about your baby waiting on someone in the middle of the night. Secondly, chances are he'd pick you and that baby up to run you to safety because he's insane and does insane things." Martha laughed with her as she shifted back. "You're a team, Clara. From what I've heard, have sort of been that for longer than you've been travelling together," Martha reminded, "Always there for one another – I'd say you've been married quite a while, and your baby would be in absolutely the best hands."
Releasing a long sigh, and watching Martha stare at her with an amused smirk, Clara lifted her hands and then dropped them on the arms of her chair softly, telling her, "You're absolutely right," and she pushed her lips together to add, "And he would, wouldn't he."
"What?" Martha questioned.
"Pick us both up, run manically down a corridor," Clara replied, nose wrinkling slightly in feigned annoyance before the two laughed together again. "He'd be a good dad, I know he would be."
"And you're still going to be a great mum," Martha assured with a quick nod.
Clara picked up her mug and took a long sip, turning to stare out the window at the cars and patrons and she shifted back to look at Martha as the other woman finished her sandwich and lifted her phone to smile at a message she'd received from Mickey. Lunch talk swung back to house repairs and how neither Mickey, nor the Doctor, understood how proper plumbing worked, with both women questioning whether the repairs would cost less if they'd hired plumbers.
When she arrived home, she found the Doctor shouting angrily upstairs and she moved up the steps as quickly as she could, stumbling and landing against the doorframe as he finished, "…And that's final!" with a finger thrust into the face of a slender greenish being who looked a lot like a mossy tree, standing just outside of the Tardis.
"Doctor?" Clara asked, watching both the man in front of her and the alien at his side turn to slowly look at her where she stood.
Hands coming together to clap, the Doctor turned on his heel to look at Clara, giving her a wide anxious smile before he tilted his head to his right to offer, "Bit of a mix up on a little trip to the forests of Haulen – he thinks I've adopted him and wants to plant himself in our yard."
"If he plants himself in our yard, will anything bad happen?" Clara asked, eyes narrowing slightly as she side-eyed him.
Shrugging, the Doctor stuttered, "Technically, no, once he implants, he'd be nothing more than a lively tree who occasionally sighs in frustration if he hears a bad joke or shakes when amused."
With a nod, and then a small smile at the ridiculousness of it all, Clara pointed back behind her, "Try to find yourself a plot in the back and don't uproot the fence." The Doctor's mouth dropped open and she offered, "You should supervise, as you're his father now."
Clara swung back away from the door and the Doctor's shoulders slumped in defeat as the tree began a shuffled walk towards her, the cracks in his surface shifting up into what Clara believed was a smile before he sluggishly made his way down the stairs. She stopped the Doctor and tugged him down for a kiss, slipping away as he lazily grinned back at her. "Hello, Clara," he sighed.
She smiled, head tilting to tell him, "You make sure he's safely tucked into our garden and then maybe you could plant yourself in mine."
His eyebrows rose slowly, understanding dawning on him, and she laughed when he leapt after the tree now reaching the bottom of the stairs. Clara listened to the Doctor as he mumbled, "Oh, hurry up, I've got to find a shovel!" and she went to drop herself into bed.