Clara has stopped reading to Adam. Now she is rooting through the things on Lizzie's bench, and while she doesn't recognize most of them (and wouldn't know what to do with the ones she does recognize) there's something she knows must be here.
Outside the windows, the Doctor and Lizzie pace back and forth past each other. Lips moving, a muttered conversation. Clara thinks nothing of watching them, until Lizzie's eyes flicker to her once. That's when she realizes she's still moving things around the bench without actually looking at what they are. She lowers her eyes again. Moving Adam's medical files, she sees what she's looking for and weaves it out from amongst other bottles dismissed by the witch as useless. "Honestly, Jessica, I'm starting to feel a bit out of the loop with these two. Do you think it's because she's clever?"
Out of the background, soft with mumbling and with refusing to look up from the floor, "Doctor am to be protects Claraperson. Witch-Lizzie am not in any danger from Bad-Louis. But Claraperson would be being like yummy ice creams for him."
Which is alright, really. There are times in her life when she might take offence at the idea of being protected. She might charge out there and demand that they explain everything, in full, right now, before she gets very angry indeed and starts stamping her foot. But after what happened back in England… after meeting Louis Sieverts for herself… All of this needs to stay here, sixty years and however many thousand miles away from Angie and Artie and everything else that she cares about. Is that selfish? She looks at the Doctor through the glass and wonders. If she lets him protect her, isn't she letting him put himself in danger?
It's hard to think about. She grabs the chalky pink bottle from the bench and goes back to where she was sitting.
Jessica is still standing where the Doctor left her, still and silent until she's addressed. "Why don't you sit down?" Clara tries kindly. Jessica shakes her head. "Then will you at least tell me what happened?" No response, nothing at all. Clara opens the bottle, explaining. "In hospitals, there's always moisturizer about. They have to use this alcohol-stuff on their hands. It's quicker than washing and it kills germs. But it makes an absolute mess of your skin." Dispensing some on the side of her hand, she pushes Jessica's chin up. "Same way all that crying will. What happened? Did you get hurt?"
"Not hurts Jessica, no…" She suffers, just a minute or so, to be tended to before she steps back, ducking away again. "Why am being nice for her, Claraperson? Her am not even knows Jessica, not really. Doctor knows. Was knowing before, and yes, him was to be thinking that her was different and fixed, but him was being wrong, and her am-"
"Wait, wait, slow down. I don't understand."
"Yes, because can't even be proper talks."
She's depressed. Clara realizes this slowly, with difficulty. It just doesn't seem possible. Since they met she has seen Jessica happy and sad and angry and damaged and afraid, but nothing ever seemed to last. She flits between them, minute by minute. Clara's never seen anything take hold of her before.
And now Clara is full of pity, and doesn't know what to do. Jessica has just made her feel bad. Can't help but feel that this is typical of herself. It's just what she does. When she was being the Little Ghost, death went with her wherever she was. She's moved on from that, but only just. Hurting people. Always, all of them, wherever, no matter how hard she tries. And now it's starting here, with the Tardis people. Starting with Clara, who is has been so nice and always the sweetest. Of course it would get her first.
Jessica doesn't quite realize it, but her hand keeps drifting to the top of her head, where Louis Sieverts clawed his fingers across her scalp, trying to drain her. She thinks it's just an itch. Maybe she noticed, she'd ask herself if maybe he didn't take something away before she stopped him. The nice parts, maybe. The parts that were padlocks that kept the Little Ghost in its cage and protected people like Clara from it.
Clara steps close, arms open like she might hug her. Jessica steps back. Luckily, it's just then that the Doctor opens the door. He has given the golden vial to Lizzie. He pushes her past him towards the bed and Adam. Jessica fades back into the corner and is allowed to. Clara's got more on her mind now. She charges to the Doctor as he closes himself inside.
"Can I ask you a question?" she demands, and the tone very much implies that she's going to ask it anyway.
She is, therefore, more than a little annoyed to hear him say, "Not now, Clara."
"I beg your pardon? No. No, Doctor, we need to have a conversation now. About…-" She can't think of a nickname or a euphemism and just cuts her eyes at Jessica.
"Oh, that's all in hand, but please, Clara," he hisses, "this is a rather delicate moment and I think Elizabeth would like-"
"A little bloody hush, yes, if you all possibly could!"
Lizzie is sitting on the edge of the bed, and trying to concentrate. She has the vial in one hand. And there is a certain vibration from it, when she has peace to feel it. It is neither strong nor especially distinctive. She doubts very much whether she'll be able to do anything with it. But now, as silence falls, she tries anyway. Delicately, she reaches out and places her hand to that spot on Adam's chest where the warmth was strongest. That place where, she knew from the off, a little spark of self still lingers under the surface.
The Doctor seems convinced, she will know if the two signals match.
And if they do, they will finally have something against the enemy who can steal the truth out of their hearts, and the enemy who can alter the world they stand in.
She breathes deeply, concentrating on making a connection between the two. But there is more to work with in the vial. The body is different. It's cool and removed, and has been for so long now… Lizzie tries. There's something there to feel, but she's not a sensitive enough instrument. She is about to give up when she hears the rustle of clothes and the clop of two staggering steps; Clara, being pushed towards them.
The Doctor is whispering to her, "The book. Read to him, he'll react to it." Clara comes over. Slowly, doubtfully. But she's willing to try and to do what he asks.
Lizzie lowers her head again, goes back to concentrating. But she hears the second, less successful shove. Hears the order for Jessica to go and take the young man's hand. Jessica, it seems, finds him easier to refuse and comes no closer. But Clara has found her place, and now finds her voice. "But an affectionate glance at his wife, so happy and busy, made him resolute not to tell her what impended-"
There is more than just a reaction. The golden spark at the heart of him swells momentarily into a sun.
"He had been half moved to do it, so strange it was to him to act in anything without her quiet aid-"
It swells again, and takes Lizzie's breath away, and crosses the new vacuum in her chest, reaching for the vial. It's him. It must be him. She feels the striving in the vial, the parts of him that were removed.
"Early in the evening he embraced her, pretending that he would return, by and by."
There are gaps. Lizzie becomes aware of it, almost as though she saw him reconstructed in front of there. There are pieces of him which have been washed away and given up and are missing. But there's enough. There is, there is enough. She knows this and the soul itself knows too.
"-And so he emerged into the heavy mist of the heavy streets, with a heavier heart."
And now the soul cries out, and begs, "Please!" Lizzie takes her hand abruptly away and stumbles away from the bed. A voice. A man with nothing, without even his own thoughts, found voice from somewhere and asked for her help. "God," she breathes. "God in heaven, it's him… Doctor, he's still in there. He needs us."
"Yes, he does," the Doctor tells him. "And we need him too. We're back in the race." He goes and kindly takes the vial out of Lizzie's tight, trembling fist. He holds her hand while she stops trembling. Clara looks up from the book, but this time holds her page; if this is the effect it can have, she'll read him all the way to the back cover. "We're in a position now where we can help. And we can take the danger out of Louis Sieverts and Toffee Lees."
Clara makes a point of looking over, picking Jessica's shape out of the dark corner. "Well done," she says. "You brought that back." There's nothing but the movement of her hair; whether she's shaking her head or nodding is hard to tell. Biting back pity, Clara looks up at the Doctor instead. "But… and, you know, if this is a stupid question, just bear in mind you haven't actually been telling me anything… how we put what's out, if you know what I mean, back in?"
"Clara's got a point," Lizzie says. Extracts her hand from his to show she's steady again. "We saw those machines at the auctions, but you can't exactly go back there. Not, at least, in that same disguise."
"Oh, I've got a plan for that." He leaves these two adept carers by the bed with their patient and crosses the room. Stands sternly in front of Jessica until she steps out of the half-light. "Attention, Miss Apple." She straightens, feet together, arms by her sides. "Didn't I say 'attention'? Where should your eyes be?" She lifts up her head, eyes front, glassily starting into space. "That's much better. I'm going to need you along with me on a brief mission. It will not be difficult, you will not be required to do very much at all. You are to be my bodyguard and nothing else. Do you think you can manage to keep your stakes nice and short?"
"Right-yes, Doctor."
"Well, that's something. The other thing I need you to do, as the less-likely of us to be searched or have any attention paid to you, is to take this vial and keep it safe. Do you think you can do that at the same time?"
"Right-yes, Doctor." He holds it out. Retracts it slightly when she tries to take it from him before finally giving it up.
"Good girl. Now move out."
He'll meet her at the lift. Actually, he would like to be no more than a half-step behind her, but he knows what's going to happen. The Doctor had estimated it might happen when his hand alighted on the door handle. He is, in fact, still hovering towards it when Clara calls out abruptly, "Stop." The Doctor obediently stops. And she doesn't even have to ask him to turn round, he does that readily, does it all for her. And does she appreciate it? Does she rubbish…
Clara's got her disgusted face on. It is an expression which states, most plainly, 'I don't understand what you just did, nor do I like it, and should you attempt to offer an explanation it had better be a bloody good one, otherwise this face is staying on'. Which are a lot of words to cut around in one silent glare, and the Doctor is quite proud of her. He is staggered when, by simply waving her hand at the spot where Jessica was standing, she manages to ask 'What the hell was that?', still without opening her mouth.
She's a talented girl, his Clara. Not the same way Lizzie is, or the way Jessica is, but in her own frankly wonderful way.
"You don't trust me at all, do you?" he huffs at her.
"With my life, Doctor!" she breezes, grinning. Then the grin disappears and she adds, "Most days. Most days I trust you with my life, but pretend for a second you're me, and you just had to watch that-"
"Jessica was born and raised a soldier. Recently, she had a rather traumatic experience which has brought it back. If we treat her delicately, and lovingly, and the way I want to, which for the record involves a large cupboard, lots of pillows and duvets, two bowls of tomato soup and a big book of fairytales, she'll only feel like she doesn't deserve it and withdraw further. Hugs and presents will make her worse. What I need to do is make her feel useful, and like a friend, rather than a pet. I need her to know that I need her. And this is how I'm doing that."
Clara straightens her back. She nods, accepting his point. Then says, with grace and absolute conviction, "I don't agree."
"Duly noted," he says. This time he actually gets the door open before she shouts after him.
"Wait! Where are you even going?"
"Clara, I would take you with me. Someday, I will take you there. But I'm hoping to surprise him with Jessica. You're all sort of cute and sweet; it might detract from the effect."
He's halfway down the hall now and she's still going. "That doesn't answer my q-"
But the door, thankfully, has swung shut, and cuts off whatever she was going to say. The Doctor couldn't possibly guess. Oh well. He'll ask her what it was when they get back.
Right now, he's got Jessica waiting for him, with her hand holding open the door of the lift, giving him a little military nod as he slips past her.
Trapped in that little box, through the whole long descent from quarantine, he just wants to hug her. Very tightly, very warmly, very insistently, both arms wound right around her until she knows she's safe and loved and that it's all over now.
She stands silent, one protective step ahead of him, eyes front.