*Hello peeps. I'm so sorry about the late update but the site kept crashing on me and I was drowning under feels from Time of the Doctor (don't worry, no spoilers here). I hope you all enjoyed Christmas and that you all got good present hauls. As ever, thanks for reading, reviewing, favouriting and following. Now I left you on a nasty cliffhanger, which I'm going to resolve...in a bit ;) As the title suggests, this is another chapter exploring one of the fundamental problems of Clara and the Doctor's relationship. It's unsustainable. Enjoy! TPD*
The Doctor stroked Clara's hair gently and glanced at the clock. 8:30. He wasn't going to get any more sleep that night, he didn't really need any. Clara was going to feel awful when she woke up, so he figured the least he could do was make sure she had a gorgeous breakfast waiting for her when she woke. The Doctor slipped out of bed, pulled on some trousers and a shirt and then fumbled around for a bow tie. He was as quiet as he could, so as not to wake the sleeping beauty on the bed and when he was dressed, he grabbed his waistcoat and slipped out the room. He went downstairs and peeked his head into the lounge. Jack and Clara's friends were still asleep on the sofas. The Doctor figured he had plenty of time, especially if he arrived back maybe a minute after. Nobody need know he'd been gone. He slid open the double doors and headed out into the garden.
The old girl whined at him as he threw open the door and walked inside. She'd been itching for a run out, he knew that much. She was resentful of his life with Clara, and how he was spending less and less time travelling with her. But she'd have to get used to that, they both would. "Now," the Doctor said as he pulled a few levers. "France, 1926, croissants, what do you reckon eh dear? Would croissants make Clara feel better? Oh who am I kidding, of course they will, fresh French croissants from 1926 would make anyone feel better."
He landed the TARDIS and stepped out the front doors. He'd made a terrible mistake. He was ten years too early. It wasn't 1926, it was 1916 and there was a war on. The Doctor fumbled for his key, as there were shouts on both sides. He'd landed right in between two trenches, he was in the No-Mans-Land. Bullets flew and he ducked and flattened himself against the TARDIS. He got the key in the lock and turned. He, then felt staggering pain in his left shoulder and then his world went red. Another bullet crashed into his hip and he tumbled into the TARDIS, slamming the door behind him. He delved his good right arm into his pocket and pulled out the sonic, yelling in pain as he activated the fast return protocol. The TARDIS wheezed into life as the Doctor fell to the floor, pain shooting through his shoulder and waist. He tried to stay conscious. He couldn't die. He wouldn't leave Clara behind. He couldn't do that to her. The TARDIS landed with a jolt and the Doctor roared in pain, kicking open the door with his stronger left foot and regretting it instantly.
"Doctor!" he heard Clara shout as he stumbled out the TARDIS, yelling in pain. He fell into her arms and he felt himself begin to blur. "Doctor, what is it?"
The Doctor found words difficult to come by. "Shot. Bullet. Shoulder. I'll survive. Get. Inside." He managed, as Clara was joined by Jack. They were talking above him, about him and he struggled to make out most of the words, but he heard Jack say the word: regenerate. "No regeneration. Last body. Last life. Jack," he was in agony but it was crucial that Jack understood how important it was. He couldn't bank on the Doctor regenerating, or Clara would lose him. "Don't let me die. For Clara's sake." More words were spoken as the Doctor felt his hearts weaken and his brain went increasingly fuzzy. He heard the TARDIS wheezing and the doors shutting. He could feel her breath on his face. His Clara. He couldn't see her face properly, but he could imagine it, framed with her gorgeous chocolate hair and her beautiful, deep brown eyes that he could get lost in. He reached out to touch her face but his arm failed him and it just flailed helplessly by his side. The Doctor needed a transfusion of some sort, it was a good thing he stored his own blood on the TARDIS for a rainy day. He tried to say this to Jack, but all that came out was a mumble. He felt himself being placed on a table and then he heard Jack say the word: breathe. And then what little remained of his lucidity left him and all there was left was black.
Clara was trying desperately hard not to panic, but every ragged breath the Doctor took sent a little dagger through her heart. Luckily for both of them, Jack was fully under control and took the situation in his stride. As they set the Doctor down in the medical bay, Jack told Clara to do exactly what he said when he said it and they could save the Doctor. Clara summoned all her courage and self-control and took several deep breaths. Her hangover had seemingly evaporated the moment she'd seen the Doctor in pain but it had returned with a vengeance now, spurred on by her pain.
"Just keep breathing Clara," Jack urged. "Breathe. Relax, I've got this. He's going to be just fine. Now, cupboard to your left, there should be packs of blood, hand me four."
Clara nodded and delved into the cupboard, pulling out the blood Jack asked for. She guessed it was the Doctor's, she'd seen him stick himself with needles a few times and when she'd offered to help and asked what it was for, he'd smiled wistfully and told her it was for a rainy day. She assumed this counted as a day it was pouring. Jack transfused the Doctor and smiled at Clara reassuringly. She needed that, to be reassured. Jack was such a calming presence that she almost forgot the gravity of the situation as she carried out his instructions, handing him various instruments. Clara focused all her attention on the wall when she wasn't handing Jack tools. She blocked out the noises Jack's work made, ignored the Doctor's weak mutterings and she didn't even glance at him. Jack asked him to hold out a basin and Clara tried not to vomit as he dropped a blood-drenched bullet into it.
"Hang in there Clara," Jack encouraged her. "We're nearly there now. Bullets missed everything vital, the shoulder one went straight through, the hip one lodged itself somewhere nasty but I've repaired most of the damage. I just need to tie off this bleeder, hand me that needle and thread. Clara did as he asked and accidently caught sight of the Doctor's wound. She turned away and wretched, losing control as she sobbed and vomited. Jack didn't say anything as she tried desperately hard to pull herself together. Clara took a few more deep breaths and felt an arm on her shoulder. She turned and Jack shot him a grimace.
"He's going to be okay Clara," Jack promised. "I've patched him up as best I can, but there's nothing more we can do. His vital signs all look good and he just needs to rest and recover. Then, you'll want to throw him into a pool of something restorative, his body needs to heal. How're you doing? You just saw your fiancé get shot after all."
"I'll be fine," Clara insisted, trying hard to look at anything except the unconscious Doctor. "I mean, as long as he's okay, I'll be okay. Why does this keep happening Jack? He just wanders off somewhere or he'll take me to a gorgeous planet and then next thing you know, one of us is nursing the other back to health from a serious injury. Is it always going to be this way?"
"Clara," Jack bit his lip. "You know what his life is like. He doesn't want to give up the travelling, but he'd do it in a heartbeat if you asked him to. But you don't want to give it up either I can see that. He's usually better at dodging bullets than this, but the simple truth is, you two are never going to have an easy life while the TARDIS is in play. You can get married, but that won't change the fact that the Doctor will keep getting hurt. He'll do anything to protect you Clara and he'll keep throwing himself into harm's way to save you. I know this time he probably stumbled into a war zone by accident, World War I judging by the bullet I pulled out of him, but the simple truth is, this won't be the last time one of you has to nurse the other. And I think you knew that when you signed on."
"That doesn't make it easier," Clara sighed. "It's addictive," she admitted. "He's addictive. I can't get enough of watching him strut his stuff. The truth is, the domestic stuff bores me almost as much as it bores him. I love the fact that he's willing to throw the towel in for me, but I want to spend my life on this TARDIS. Damn him," she cursed. "I bet he wanted to get me breakfast and got his times all mixed up. This always happens. Stupid machine. You hear that?" she yelled as the TARDIS whined. "This is your fault. If your stupid navigation system worked properly, he wouldn't have got shot!"
Clara stormed out the medical bay and powered through the console room, tears hitting her again now. She hated it, all of it. She hated seeing her Doctor hurt, knowing that it was probably because of her. He'd gone to get her some flowers from the 15th Century or coffee from the future or something else stupidly extravagant. He was trying so hard to impress her that he'd stumbled into World War I. She kicked open the TARDIS door, ignoring the machine's apologetic wheezes. She didn't want to hear it. She slammed the TARDIS door behind her and it dematerialised behind her. She screamed in frustration but she didn't let the tears fall until she was upstairs, in their bed and then she threw her head into the pillow and sobbed.
Clara cried for about an hour. She'd blocked out everything, thrown her headphones in and listened to music to try and take her mind off the Doctor. After what seemed like an age, there was a knock on her bedroom door and she swivelled, sitting up and her jaw dropped, her eyes widened and misting up again. It was him. The Doctor.
"Hello," he smiled apologetically. He looked weak but his wounds looked completely healed. She leapt to her feet and threw herself into his arms, which he gratefully accepted, pulling her into a tight hug and returning the fluent kiss she pressed onto his lips. "Sorry I took so long."
"You've only been gone an hour," she sobbed with joy, her head pressed against his chest. "What happened?"
"Jack took us away," he replied. "When I woke, he said I'd been out of action for a few days but that we were landing about an hour after we'd left. He did a good job of fixing me up too, I feel…refulgent." Clara smiled at this. "I took a trip to Glistening, did wonders. Jack told me that he didn't want you to see me…as I was. So he left you behind so that you wouldn't have to be there for the painful stuff. I wanted you there," the Doctor admitted. "But I didn't want to put you through that any more than Jack did. I was only supposed to nip to 1926 and pick up some croissants. Timing went a bit off…"
"You shouldn't have done that," Clara insisted. "Any of it. You shouldn't have gone to get me scones and got yourself shot and then let me skip the recovery. I mean, I didn't want to see you in pain but I wanted to be by your side so you weren't alone. You promised you'd let me put you first!"
"I said I'd try," the Doctor corrected her and this earned him a blazing look as she stepped back from him, punching him on his right arm. "I'm sorry, you're right, that's not good enough. But Clara, I didn't want you to see me like that. You didn't want to see me like that!"
"No I didn't!" she shouted. "But you got shot! So I didn't exactly have a choice! Things like this keep happening Doctor and yeah, that's hard to accept. But what's harder to accept is that I'm going to keep missing it because you're too worried about me feeling a bit queasy! What if there are complications? What if something happens? Are you going to stop me from watching you die? Would you even let me say goodbye?"
The accusations were meant to sting but Clara hadn't prepared herself for his stunned and horrified reaction. He looked like she'd punched him a lot harder than she had and in the gut and he walked over to her, burying his head against her shoulder. She bit her lip and kissed his head, feeling guilty about her harsh words.
"I would never stop you saying goodbye," the Doctor insisted. "But you shouldn't have to. I don't plan for this to happen. It just does."
"I know," Clara said quietly. "And I don't hold it against you. Not for a second. I just don't want the day to come when you don't come home. Or where you die in my arms." She frowned as she remembered something. "Why can't you regenerate?" she asked him. "You said you couldn't regenerate, that you were on your last body, what did you mean by that?"
"Time Lords only have thirteen lives," the Doctor informed her. "Thirteen is our full set. Then we die. Properly die."
"But this is only your eleventh life," Clara insisted. "You're the eleventh Doctor."
"And what about the me I don't talk about?" he asked her. "The War Doctor? He was still me. He might not have thought he was the Doctor but he was still me, he still had my life. That makes twelve. And there was one more. I was shot by a Dalek in my previous body, the one you met, Sandshoes. And I regenerated, but I siphoned the excess energy off so I didn't have to change my body, long story I had a hand, literally." Clara raised an eyebrow. "The point is, I've used up all my regeneration energy, all my lives. If I die now, that's it. And this body of mine has been fighting for a long time. I should stop."
"Stop what?" Clara almost whispered. "Stop fighting? Die?"
"No Clara," he smiled. "I'm not going to die, at least I'm not planning on it. But I should stop starting fights, I should stop with all the fighting. I should give up the travelling. Even the TARDIS is getting weary. We're battle-hardened, tired. We need to give it up, settle down."
"No." The Doctor looked surprised at Clara's vehemence but she wasn't having it. "I'm not going to listen to this pity party!" she snapped. "You're the Doctor. That's what makes you, well you. It's why you're so incredible. You should never give up, never stop fighting. Because even if you die, at least you'll have died the way that you lived. Don't get me wrong, I want more than anything for you to be safe, but if that means giving up who you are, what you are, then I don't want it. If you don't keep travelling, keep saving worlds, then who will?" He smiled at this. "You and me, we're going to keep travelling, keep saving worlds. Because it's what we do. And I wouldn't trade one month of life on that TARDIS for twenty years of normal life. More than that, I know wouldn't trade a day of it for another century of normal life."
"Clara," he kissed her lightly. "My Clara. You just keep on reminding me who I am."
"Well someone has to," she smirked. "Sometimes I think you'd forget to dress yourself in the morning if I didn't remind you."
The Doctor chuckled at this. She was probably right after all. He kissed her gently and she responded in kind, their lips barely brushing but the simple contact sent an electric pulse through both of his hearts. Clara slipped her tongue into his mouth and his forced it back, his own tongue invading her space, relishing the soft moaning that she made as he pressed his assault, forcing her back. She bit down hard and he grunted, his hands moving to her skirt as hers slipped under his shirt and raked down his back.
"Did you lock the door behind you?" Clara gasped, as his mouth moved to her neck, biting down hard and turning her on. He shook his head and went into his jacket. "I've got it!" Clara grabbed her sonic off the bedside table and soniced the door. The Doctor pulled away from her neck and for a moment they were frozen, staring at each other in longing.
"You have no idea how much it turns me on when you do that!" he informed her and then their battle resumed, Clara nibbling at the Doctor's lips to gain access and this time she put her whole body into it, wrestling him over so she was on top. Clara yanked at his trousers and they skidded off, before she removed his upper clothing. He slipped a finger up her skirt and she gasped, writhing in pleasure as the Doctor set about removing her clothing with his left hand. Clara turned her attention to his boxers and he groaned as she removed them. She kissed him again and then flattened herself on him, screaming as he flipped them so he was on top and then thrust her. She moaned and then yelled his name, as he worked to pleasure her. It always took more for him, but he was struggling to contain himself and then he erupted, roaring her name at the top of his lungs. He collapsed beside her, both of them panting and Clara kissed him gently.
"Would you two keep it down?" Clara heard Jenna yell from the bathroom. "Some of us are trying to vomit!"