Once he has dispatched Jessica (by her own admission, his best-always-scout) on her top secret mission, he turns his attention to Clara. Lets himself back into the quarantine room, props the door open with a fire extinguisher. She's sitting on a borrowed office chair by the bed, determinedly not looking at Adam anymore. Trying to be kind, and to make up for laughing, the Doctor says, "It really is better if you keep talking to him. He has only the tiniest scrap of humanity left to keep him alive. And it seems to be a bright and happy scrap, but we'd do well to nurture it all the same."
"Hard to know what to say," she murmurs. "Jessica was telling him history. It's not as though I can pick up with that."
"We found a newspaper with him that said 2013. Catch him up on Eastenders or something; it won't matter."
"Between you and the Maitlands, I could do with a catch-up on Eastenders."
"Right, that's it. I tried to be nice, but you've left me no choice."
"No choice in wha-?!" She gets cut off in her yelp, only just getting her feet off the floor in time to be wheeled out the door. The Doctor gets her into the hall before he lines up, giving the chair little practice shoves without ever letting go of it. "No," she mutters, "No, what are you doing? Doctor, don't!" But with a-one-and-a-two-and-a-three, he shoves off the wall and rides the back of the chair, steering them zooming right around the outside of the quarantine. The observing medics, still hanging about, jump out of the way while Clara screams, and with one more shove off the far corner the Doctor brings them safely back to the door.
Lizzie is in the act of taking away the fire extinguisher. "Some of us are trying to think," she says, but grudgingly smiles as she closes them out.
"And now that you're in a better mood," the Doctor tells Clara, "we've got some thinking to do too."
'Better mood' remains to be seen. 'Looking away in shame and embarrassment', yes. 'Still a tiny bit petrified', yes. "You'll be the death of me."
"Never."
There's a wheelchair sitting folded down the hallway. He fetches it over and plonks himself down. It nearly folds up on him and leaves him on the floor. "You have to lock the frame," Clara says. He knew that. He just chose not to lock the frame. Nothing like a pratfall to bring a sullen companion round. This time he locks the frame before he plonks. Her chair is higher up than his, so he reaches over and finds the lever, sinks her slowly to his level. Giggling, "All better?"
"Much better. But Clara?"
"Yeah?"
"I've got all these problems and mysteries and I need a hand unravelling some of it. Would you do me the great honour of helping talk it all through?"
She makes a big show of thinking about it, like there's a huge decision to be made. Then she puts out her hand and they shake like business partners. "'Course I will."
The Doctor bounds out of his wheelchair, producing his trusty felt tip from inside his jacket. "Mystery number one!" and he draws a big circle on the window around the patient in bed. "Your new boyfriend!"
"…Doctor."
"Oh, look, Lizzie's holding his hand. Don't get jealous, she's only reaching for information… Clara? Clara, what's wrong with your face? Your eyes, Clara, they've gone all flame-y. Clara, you haven't blinked in a while, are you alright?"
"I'm thinking of a new use for that fire extinguisher."
He raises his hands, bites down his smile. "No, in all seriousness, finding a man seventy years past his sell-by date perfectly unharmed and un-aged forty feet beneath a Virginia crossroads, that is a mystery, wouldn't you agree?" She nods, conceding. "Now, Lizzie's been able to divine what I already told you about the soul-"
Just to confirm for herself, "The element… Like when we met Jessica at university. His… what'd'you call it… nihilium stocks."
"That exactly. He's got next to none left. Enough to live on, which doesn't explain why he's still sleeping or why he's still young…"
"Hold on, how do you know it's enough to live on?"
Because they've seen it before. The incident she mentioned before, at Wise Star, introduced them to one Professor Dooblevay Carling, who had given up his store of self to a creature with no other source of sustenance. He was up and walking around and pretending to teach Peace Studies.
And they encountered it most recently on an English suburban street, chuckling, and telling them it was more than willing to play a game with them.
Clara shudders and looks away. There's been peace, up here in quarantine. Quiet except for the radio and the little chats, getting to know Lizzie. She had almost forgotten about Louis Sieverts. Now it comes back to her in a rush; what it felt like to stand next to him, what he promised if she didn't deliver. The conversation they're actually having vanishes in a sudden flash of fear. "Doctor, what about Angie and Artie?"
The Doctor settles back into his wheelchair. Pulls her head down against his shoulder, stroking her hair. Very gently, "They are in no more danger. You don't need to worry. Louis never wanted them, not really." And now the Doctor begins to lie. He says, "He wanted me. And if I'm here, he'll be staying near here."
It's only a little bit of a lie. Actually, it's not even a lie at all. Louis' after him. Louis will be sticking around this time and place in the hopes of getting him. None of that's a lie. It's only the guilt in his stomach that forces him to admit it's maybe a tiny little bit of a lie and he doesn't like lying to Clara. But she's been so worried, for long, long days. Fear makes time go slowly, and it hurts. It drags you down and exhausts you. He doesn't want to give her any more of that than she already has.
But there's nothing that says the Doctor can't be afraid for her, when he's got good reason. Still, he tells her, right out loud, "You have nothing to be afraid of."
That is a lie. Out-and-out and unequivocal. He thought seeing her smile might ease the telling of it, but it doesn't.
But she'll be safe up here. They're the only ones allowed in. And, after her encounter with the police drone, she won't try to go out and about without him. Clara will be just fine.
Maybe she doesn't want to think about it anymore, or maybe she just gets bored under his arm, but she sticks out her hand palm-up, demands, "Give me the marker." He gladly obliges, and she hops up to their make-shift whiteboard. Starts making bullet points next to the encircled Adam. 2013, one says. Soul extracted, says the next. Still sleeping/not aged?
He grins, "I keep forgetting you're a teacher now." It could open up into more friendly teasing, except she ignores him. Makes a new heading, Louis Sieverts. The points beneath, Also soulless, After the Doctor, Bloody Scary. "I hope you don't write like that in front of the children."
"Quiet down back there. It's your own time you're wasting."
"Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss."
"Now, what about the next mystery?" The Doctor tips his head, wondering which she means. Clara stretches up and draws a sizeable arrow over Lizzie's bowed, thinking head. "Lizzie. She says she's a witch."
"She can call it what she wants."
"And that you rescued her from burning at the stake."
"True."
"Whilst singing songs from musicals, making bets for Jammie Dodgers with Jessica, who cut her down with a blade made of Tirinnanoc ash grown organically from the anterior of the lateral portion of the left radius. These are her words, not mine. I would have said 'girl shot a sword out of her arm'. Now, how does a sixteenth-century witch know about the lateral portion of the radius, and all the words to Single Ladies?"
"She knows lots of things. I'm sorry, though. I can't sit here and tell you all about what she really is and where that knowledge comes from." Clara's face clouds over. Getting worried again, and he wanted to stop that, so he panics, "Oh, no, nothing nasty. But I haven't sat down with Lizzie and talked about all that yet. We've had conversations before about telling what you know about people."
Being really rather rude for a teacher, she rolls her eyes, "Well, when were you thinking of doing that?"
"I'm thinking the opportune moment is probably going to offer itself. She'll do something wonderful and have most of it figured out and I'll just have to fill in the blanks."
"What she's already doing isn't wonderful?"
"Oh yes! Matter of fact, it's very wonderful. What you're doing right now, with the breathing and the thinking and the continuing heartbeat and the white blood cells and the digestive system and the talking and sitting upright and all of these at once, that's wonderful. But there'll be even more wonderful yet to come."
She sits back down on her chair, takes herself for a little spin while she says, "I'd like to go on record as saying you're probably making a mess of that."
"Probably."
"Why did you want to meet her in the first place?"
"She has to explore in order to fulfil her potential. Has to keep discovering." That's not a lie, not in the slightest. It's just not really the answer to her question. The answer to her question would have been, 'I didn't know what to get Jessica as a graduation present and I thought it would be nice if someone could tell her her real name and birthday and where she's from and if she has any family'. That's private. He doesn't feel so awful about keeping that from her.
There's a moment of content silence. "Any other business?" Clara sighs.
He could tell her about Toffee Lees. He could tell her he went outside and met a creature dressed up as her, who didn't suit her pretty cheekbones as well as she does, and who was smoking too. Could tell her that Louis Sieverts has an ally, and one who can blur the lines between perception and reality so effectively that the world in which she stands is essentially her own creation. But how can he? How can he have sat her and tried so hard to keep her from worrying, only to give her that right here at the end?
No. They'll talk about Toffee when he's got more to tell. When Jessica returns from her top secret mission, they'll talk about Mrs Toffee Lees. …He still can't believe he missed that.
"No other business. Thank you very much for making the notes. This 'teaching' thing could be very useful, y'know."
"That reminds me. I have a stack of practice papers to mark, so when you bring me back you couldn't make it the night before, could you?"
Of course he could. How could he refuse her?
The Doctor wheels himself over to the door. Shoves it open and puts the fire extinguisher back where he wants it. Then he wheels back and gets Clara's chair between his knees, pushing her ahead of him and back into place by the bed. "You stay there, keep Adam company. Now, Lizzie and I are going to be leaving the two of you alone. So try and be a lady, won't you? At least until Jessica gets back, then she can keep an eye on you."
She watches him get up, thoroughly unamused, and grumbles, "So where are you and Lizzie going, then?"
Lizzie lifts her head to listen; she too would like to know where her and the Doctor are going. She too stares blankly at him when he proudly declares, "The Black Market!"
When she sees the same look on Lizzie's face, Clara says, "The black market's not an actual place, Doctor. It's just a term."
"I'm pretty sure it's a place too."
"I'm pretty sure it's not."
"Lizzie, help me out here."
The witch shrugs, tugs on her delightful hair again (he really can't stop looking at it, and there's something odd about this, but it's not odd enough to investigate just yet), "I suppose I could take you to one of the auctions."
"Ha!"
"But it's hardly advisable. They know what they're looking for, and they are looking for you."
He waves her off, "Oh, I'll disguise myself."
Clara sits back hard in her chair, plants both feet firmly on the floor, "Oh God. You go. You're welcome to him, Lizzie. I'll stay here. I've seen his disguises. I'm not going anywhere with him in disguise again. I'll stay here, wait for Jessica, that's an excellent idea."
The Doctor tries not to glow with pride; now she thinks it was her own idea to stay locked safely in the hospital. But he can't resist one last jab from the doorway, as he pulls away the fire extinguisher, "There's a book in your boyfriend's bag if you get bored." The soundproof door swings too and he doesn't hear her most unladylike response.