"I suppose it has gotten easier. Not easy, because there isn't a day that goes by that doesn't come to a grinding halt at some moment or another with a thought about her – about how she felt or how I imagined her personality or how I envisioned her in our lives." Clara smiled. "But it's gotten easier."
She picked at the arm of the leather chair and then laid her hand down flat on it, glancing up at the older woman watching her – a UNIT therapist with knowledge of the Doctor; with knowledge of her, staring into Clara in a way that always made her slightly uncomfortable because she was, Clara knew, analyzing her. And she offered another weak smile as the pen came up and the notes went down and Clara sighed. She'd gotten used to that, to knowing every word that came out of her mouth in that room was being picked apart, even as she spoke, and that somewhere there was a file filled with pages of scribbles trying to assess how she really felt.
Smiling warmly up at Clara, the woman asked, "How's the house coming along?"
Clara lifted her chin and tried to sound enthusiastic as she replied, "We furnished the last room this past week. Nothing fancy, just a spare bedroom for visitors. Picked up cornflower blue for the walls, tan rugs and accents, reminds me of a sunny beach in the afternoon actually, which is nice. Calming," Clara nodded, "Peaceful."
"And what of Ava's room?" The woman asked her delicately.
Clara's smile wavered and then it fell and she admitted, "Painted it blue as well."
"A lot of blue in your home now, Clara," she pointed out.
"It's a delicate blue," Clara stated, eyes drifting to the window behind her, "Sort of like a pale winter sky, with white wood paneling – I like blue." She landed both of her palms in her lap and gave her thighs a light tap, "I like blue," she repeated, feeling queasy at the implication of her words.
Smiling, her therapist nodded and told her plainly, "I'm not questioning whether or not you like the color."
Narrowing her eyes playfully, she gestured at the notepad, "You took notes; something about the color. Wagering you're questioning whether I'm literally painting myself into some sort of delayed post-partum depression."
The woman laughed and settled her pen down to ask, "What have you done to Ava's room? Aside from paint it and add the paneling – what is the function of her room? The others, one is your husband's 'man cave' and then you have a guest room, but you haven't told me: what are you using Ava's room for?"
Clara leaned back in the chair and bit her lips together tightly before licking them and letting them fall open to take a small breath after which she admitted, "I'm not using it."
"It's ok to hold onto her, Clara, for a while…"
"But I have to give the room a new function," she finished with a nod.
Her therapist stared into her sympathetically and asked, "Do you have plans for the room?"
"Do I have plans to let Ava go," Clara corrected, then shrugged, "We've got books, thrown about; I thought about turning the room into a library, or a crafts space?"
The pen came back up and her therapist asked lightly, "Have you given up on having another child?"
Fingers coming together in her lap, twisting into one another in a way that stopped the writing on the pad the other woman held so she could observer her behavior – Clara knew – to balance it against whatever she said, Clara hesitated, a small croak escaping before she inhaled. She smiled, waiting for the grey eyes that came up to meet hers expectantly, and Clara shook her head, "No, we haven't given up on having another child; we simply understand the complexities involved, the likelihood of it occurring." The therapist gave her pen a squeeze as Clara continued, "There's no point in preparing a nursery just yet."
She wrote a few sentences and then leaned back in the chair as Clara watched her fingers fiddling nervously against her skirt and she was already nodding when the woman spoke, saying, "Clara, have you given up on having another child?"
"Have I," she repeated awkwardly, "Have I?" She giggled nervously and shook her head, "No, no I haven't. I want children; I still want children."
"Do you still want his children?"
She laughed, suddenly, and her fingers froze in her lap as she frowned and told the woman blankly, "Of course I still want his children. I love him, he's my husband. What sort of a question is that?"
Offering a long sigh, the therapist set her pad aside and tilted her head slightly, watching Clara as she tried to hide her offense at the accusation and she smiled, "I have no doubts that you love your husband, the way you speak about him…" she laughed, "But in all honesty, Clara I think you should ask yourself why you so easily defend him while hesitating over what you want for yourself. Do you want children?" The woman nodded, "I believe you do, but I don't believe you're quite convinced you're prepared for them anymore. You've prepared for visitors in your home and locked Ava up in a room aboard the Tardis that you visit – you've admitted yourself – everyday. If you turned her bedroom into a library, would you change the color? Would you paint on the walls? Your friend Martha is expecting; your friend Nina has a toddler – would you create a space inviting for everyone, or would it simply be books?"
"That's what a library is," Clara muttered defiantly.
"Clara," the woman urged.
She frowned, turning away, "Ava is in our home; we're not shutting her out of it. She's on our mantle and in our albums and she's…" she raised a hand to her chest, but it fell away wordlessly as she choked on tears she held back. "I don't know if I could have children and not feel as though I were replacing her. How can I create a room for a child and not have it break my heart every time I walk inside?" and then she let out a frail laugh and nodded to the woman watching her knowingly.
"All of the time we've spent talking, what I know without a doubt is that your heart is filled with love for your husband, your father, and for children – all children. You've told me yourself, your work at the school does wonders to heal your heart and should you conceive a second child, it would be out of love, not as a replacement." The woman leaned back in her chair and her head shook lightly as she grinned, looking over Clara, "It will always break your heart just a tiny bit, knowing what you've lost – you can't avoid that – but you know what you can do? You can think about what you'd want, for another child, any other child. Make a library, or a craft space you could share with them and even if it breaks your heart for a moment each time, you keep walking into that room," the woman ended lightly.
"Keep living," Clara whispered.
With a small nod, Clara wiped at the corners of her eyes and settled back into her chair to sniffle as the other woman handed her tissues and picked up the notepad again, tapping her pen lightly instead of writing. Considering her instead of analyzing her and Clara was grateful for that then – the moments when the woman across from her broke past the doctor and became just another woman she could confide in without judgment, but with sympathy.
An hour later she was closing the door on her SUV, smiling at it before making her way towards the front door, through which she could hear the Doctor shouting out in annoyance and she closed her eyes, preparing herself for the mess she might find. Because it was always a mess. Opening the door, she heard a quick, "Osmond, no!" before the scraping of nails across the hardwood of the first floor came trampling towards her and she set her purse down to prepare for the oncoming attack.
"Hello," she laughed as the fluffy black Labrador puppy leapt around her feet, assaulting her knees with its large paws. Clara knelt carefully and pushed her hands over its head and body as it licked happily at her, making small whines of adoration until she lifted him fully into her arms to hug, "You'll be too big for this soon, Osmond," she warned him, watching his head tilt slightly before his tongue came out again to try and lap at her face.
"Get a real dog, they said; much better than a robotic one, they said." The Doctor came stomping down the hall with a shoe in one hand and an odd contraption in the other, both, Clara could see, torn to shreds. "Our lovely dog has decided my belongings are chew toys."
"Doctor," Clara sang, "He's a puppy," and she cradled him against her chest.
"No," the Doctor pointed the shoe at her, "He doesn't get to use his adorable puppiness to get out of trouble – he is old enough to start understanding that daddy's spectral anomaly detector is not a bone!"
Laughing, Clara stepped closer to the Doctor and watched the anger melt out of his features as she sighed and stepped on tip-toe to press her lips into his, feeling the puppy she held licking at their chins. Slipping back from him, she giggled with him as she cuddled the dog and then set him back down and watched him scamper into the living room where he immediately set himself to the task of gnawing on a red rubber duck that squeaked lightly.
"How was your session?" The Doctor asked, looking to the mangled mess in his right hand with a pout before straightening to wait for her answer.
Clara stepped into the living room, feeling him just behind her, and she dropped onto the sofa, glancing up at the Doctor and seeing the apprehensive stare he was giving her, because normally she easily shared with him little details. Patting the couch, she waited for him to settle his shoe and the detector on the coffee table and he sat beside her, taking her hand in his as she sighed, "Do you think we're ready to have a baby, Doctor?"
He smiled, looking away a moment before offering, "Well, got married, got the travelling, got a house, got a dog, and a plant – or rather, a living tree – the latter two we've managed to care for well enough. Think we're quite prepared."
"But is it just another notch on a belt, us having kids?" Clara proposed, shrugging when she felt him staring into her for more.
The Doctor turned and looked her over, smirking when she finally met his eye, and he shook his head, "I want to have whatever life offers, with you – and if that includes, one day, a little girl with your smile and your wit, or a little boy with your pensive stare and your curious questions… Clara, I would be beside myself with joy. But having children isn't a box unchecked on a list; it's an addition to something already wonderful." He lifted her hand to kiss, "What we have, everything we've had, and whatever we've got to look forward to in the future – however our path weaves, as long as you're by my side, I am beyond satisfied."
"You're overtly romantic when you want to be," she teased on a ragged laugh.
His hand came up to catch the tear that rolled over her right cheek and Clara looked away sheepishly a moment before she shifted back and inched closer to kiss him. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her and tugged her forward, laughing with her when they fell into the couch and he raised his eyebrows as he smirked. And then he asked quietly, "Do you feel it's another notch?" Then he questioned, "Is it not something you want anymore, Clara? Because if it's not, I'm aligned with your wishes. Either way," he finished on a nod.
Releasing a long sigh as she looked him over, one hand rising to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over the space underneath his eye, she shook her head, "A little girl with your dances and your wonder; a little boy with your clumsiness and your cleverness?" Clara leaned into him, kissing him and then laughing when Osmond gave a yelp of a bark and they both turned to look at the puppy now laying his head on his paws.
"I understand it won't be easy for you," the Doctor told her softly, "That you'll have moments of self-doubt and moments of sadness and moments of guilt – and moments of fear," he tilted his head forward to stress the words, because he knew there would come a point where she'd be terrified of losing a second child before she'd even gotten the chance to hold them. The Doctor caressed her waist and dropped his head back, telling her firmly, "I'll be right here with you, Clara."
She smiled, nodding, and whispering, "We do make a good team."
"We'll be rubbish parents though," he teased, watching her laugh and smiling because he loved hearing her laugh dissolving into giggles as she bowed her head into his chest. "Always letting them stay up past their bedtimes and giving them far too many sugary treats and the recklessness…" he continued, listening to her laugh again as she rested her head at his breast to listen to his heartbeats. "Maybe those are the best sort though, you think?"
Clara grinned at the tingle of anticipation that tickled her abdomen and she laid her palm against his chest, feeling for the strong beats of his other heart as she nodded, "Yeah, I think they are."