The room around them stood silently in a way the Doctor had experienced more often than he'd like to admit – as though the world were on pause, stuck within one frame, refusing to budge to force his attention to the details, to remember the moment forever. The last time his world froze, he'd watched her crash – now it sat in limbo because she'd remembered it and he imagined, from all of her bellows and sobs, the wrinkled masses of his shirt slightly moistened by her tears, that that final moment had rewound and replayed itself over and over in her head.

As though she could find a way to erase it from time.

He'd watched her pass out, even as her body gave an uneven set of shakes with the ragged breaths she had left in her, and now she was lying with her head just underneath his right breast, body curled on its side between his thighs. One hand rested atop his stomach, the other settled limply in the space between his back and the headboard and her mouth sat slightly agape to allow the breathing her stuffed nose wouldn't. The Doctor stroked over her hair as he reached for the phone that sat on the night stand, bringing it slowly to a space in front of him to stare at the photo, blurred through unshed tears, of him and Clara from only the week before.

They'd been so happy then, in Venice on a gondola, full from a meal and exhausted from a day of exploring and her cheeks were pink and glistening with a touch of sweat from the warm night. He smiled for just a second before searching through her contacts for her father's number to dial and he brought it to his ear to listen to the ringing, each shrill set of notes sending a jab of terror through him.

The man picked up and took a small breath before uttering, "Hello, sweetheart."

The Doctor's face crumpled, lips pressing together tightly and he breathed plainly, "Dave…" before his voice left him and he bowed his head with shame. "Dave…" he began again, but there was a quick gasp of understanding on the other end of the line.

"I'll be right over," her father told him sternly, and then the line went dead.

He shifted, lifting Clara as she moped, and he settled her into the bed, yanking the comforter off his side to curl over her body because she was shivering. His hand pressed into her shoulder momentarily and he watched her sleeping, features reddened, but relaxed, and he swiped the long bangs behind her ear. The Doctor knelt at her side as he waited for her father to arrive and he sighed; thumb drifting over her cheek before he curled his fingers around her neck, frowning because she was burning up.

"Clara," he whispered, seeing her eyebrows lift slightly, "Your dad's on his way and I promise you, I promise you neither of us will leave your side so long as you need us to get through this."

He smiled when she took a long breath and then burrowed into the comforter, and the Doctor fell onto his backside, knees up against his chest as he wrapped his arms around them. Of all the things in the universe he wished he could turn back, Clara suffering for this was at the top of his list, and he bowed his head to stare at his knees, waiting for the turn of the lock on the front door and the quick steps of the other man coming up towards them.

"What happened?" Dave asked quietly, moving towards Clara and shifting the comforter back to look at the puffiness around her eyes and hear the unsteady breaths she was taking.

The Doctor leaned his head back and he offered a broken smile to explain, "She was toying with one of my bowties and she remembered when she'd joked, if we'd had a son, he would have better fashion sense." He laughed and his head fell forward as he cried. "He would have," he nodded to look up at her, "She'd have made sure of that if it'd been a boy, and our daughter," he smiled, "She would have found her the most perfect little dresses. She would have…" he began again, his voice caught in his throat as Dave watched him.

Dave moved timidly around him as the Doctor cried into his knees and he knelt just behind him, slowly curling an arm around his shoulders to hug him and tell him quietly, "And she might still buy those dresses one day or you'll still go behind her back and buy that clip on for your son, or your daughter 'cause I know you'll find some hair barrettes or something with those foolish things," they laughed together, "What she needs right now – what you both need – is a bit of hope and I'll be damned if I let either of you give up on that."

"She thought because she knew," he told Dave softly, "Because she knew before hand, had figured it out, and had gotten our stories – collected all of the little details – she thought it would be easier, but Dave," he glanced up at the other man and shook his head, "I watched the life drain out of her eyes and then it drifted out of her body – a sorrow worse than death replacing it and I had always thought I would be capable of healing her. I always thought, I'd seen the worst the universe had to offer – I've seen a mother lose her child before, but this…"

Dave silenced him with a gentle shushing and he closed his eyes to shake his head, telling him honestly, "It's different when it's you, when it's yours. Nothing prepares you to lose a child and nothing prepares you to see that loss in your wife's eyes."

Turning slowly, the Doctor watched the man who stared at Clara with a sad acknowledgement as he asked, "Before or after Clara?"

"Before," Dave offered with a huff as he dropped to sit at the Doctor's side, "Early on, early enough that we'd barely known, but Ellie'd come out of the bathroom one morning with my name shaking on her tongue," he crossed his legs and fiddled with his fingers in his lap, "Dunno what it would have been, but I knew Ellie already had plans either way – think that's what they do, when they find out. Start planning out a life," he shrugged with a frail smile.

The Doctor looked to Clara and whispered, "I'm sorry; I didn't know."

"Not something you talk about; not something we have the right to – it's more their loss than ours, isn't it? They hold onto it differently because it was a part of them." He shifted his gaze to the Doctor, "I should have told you before – it's why I wanted Clara to know sooner, rather than later."

"Would it have made a difference?" The Doctor asked him rhetorically as Clara inhaled roughly and then released the breath shakily. Then he asked him, "Did she know?"

"Clara?" Dave questioned, "Ellie told her once I think – when she asked about why she'd never gotten a brother or sister. One of the joys of a shared menstruation, I suppose. I taught her how to kick a soccer ball and punch a boy and amongst a million other things, Ellie taught her how life is made and how quickly it could be taken away… she taught her that lesson one too many times."

Both men looked to the carpet underneath them and the Doctor was the first to look up at Clara because Dave was right – she'd planned a life already, all in her head, for their daughter… but she needed hope and while he was certain Clara would recover, she would need his help – something he couldn't offer if he allowed himself to fall apart with her.

He shifted slightly and then stood, looking down to Dave and then nodding to Clara, "I'm going down to make some tea – milk and sugar?"

Dave smiled and bowed his head in a half-nod before he moved towards the bed, settling himself against it and leaning his elbows to his knees. He turned and raised himself once the Doctor had gone and he rested his hand at her shoulder, bending to kiss her head before whispering, "Your husband's an idiot, Clara." He watched her a moment, the frown set on her lips, and then he added, "Think your mum wouldn't have had it any other way for you because he's just the perfect idiot for you."

He sighed and shifted the comforter back to watch her sleep and he brushed her cheek with his knuckle, seeing the shiver it caused and he uttered, "Good thing too, us idiots make pretty good husbands, least I think so. Stubborn and arrogant sometimes, a little slow to come around, but always there. And that's what he is for you, isn't he – bloke who's always gonna be there." He smiled, "I imagine your daughter would have been a handful to take care of. A storm of wondrous notions and uncoordinated limbs."

Dave let his hand slip down to fold against the other on the bed at his chest as he chuckled and then he heard her tell him softly, "She'd have been amazing."

Head rising swiftly, he looked into her eyes, already wet with new tears, and the small sad smirk on her lips and he sighed as her brow came together knowing she was imagining the little girl dancing around the coffee table in the living room, or around the time rotor in the Tardis. "All floppy brown hair with her tiny upturned nose. Ah, she'd have had your eyes, Clara – big man downstairs would never know what hit him when she asked him for things."

She chuckled, blinking a set of tears away as she nodded. "Ava would have had us both wrapped around her tiny fingers, wouldn't she have."

With a laugh, Dave watched Clara as she took a long breath and reached for his hands, smiling when he cupped both of his around hers warmly. "Ava," he repeated, "Ava," he breathed, then teased, "Yeah, she'd have been like you that way."

The Doctor entered the room with two mugs and he smiled when Dave shifted back so he could see Clara's red face grinning up at him. "Tea for the Oswald's then," he offered as Dave helped Clara sit up so she could take the Doctor's mug – Yoda's head – to hold in her hands as she bent to inhale before the Doctor gestured back at the door, "Be right back."

He returned and Dave had kicked off his shoes to climb onto the bed, back resting against the foot and he smiled fondly at the duo who were sipping silently at their tea. Walking around, he sat at his side, carefully inching closer to Clara and crossing his legs on the other side of Dave's as he uttered, "Adding a bit of danger to the equation," as he raised his own travel mug, watching both sets of dark eyes widen slightly before he hissed, "It's got a lid," and pointed as they laughed.

The Doctor turned to see Clara's smile, taking in the wet trail her tears had travelled over her cheeks and he reached up to dab away a droplet that clung to her chin with his forefinger. Her lips came together tightly to meet his gaze and she nodded slowly and he understood – she was hurting, but the initial shock had worn off. The memories were there, but for the moment they were standing still after their initial assault on her heart. Clara tried to tell him, with one simple nod, that she was ok and eventually, she might even be fine, and he nodded in return to let her know he understood and he would be right there by her side through it all.

"Sweetheart," Dave called, right foot tapping her thigh lightly as he began, "Do you want us to…"

"Stay," she interrupted quickly, looking between the two men before bowing her head, hands gripping tightly to the mug she held to continue, "I know you're both afraid, been afraid since I woke up, that this would break my heart and it has," she raised her head to offer a crooked smile to them both, "I wanted to hold her so badly; I loved her more than I imagined I ever could." Clara laughed, thumb stroking over the green ceramic and she heard the men sniffling against their own tears, tears – she knew – they were holding back on her account and she shook her head at the mug. "Ava was loved and she knew that," she looked to the Doctor, "She would have known that, wouldn't she have, Doctor?"

Clenching his jaw, he dropped his head slightly and told her honestly – for whether or not he believed the child she'd carried maintained a shred of the psychic connections a Gallifreyan child might have towards their mother, the Doctor believed the words with both of his hearts – "Yes, Clara, she did."