"The Doctor will be exterminated! Detect him! Detect him! EXTERMINATE!"

Multiple dalek shouts reached her ears, and Clara knew they were close. Her legs were weak as she tried to hold herself up, supporting herself with one arm on the wall. She wiped up her tears brushing her face with the sleeve of her shirt, trying to bury all the painful memories of her echoes dying shot by Daleks, and especially the memory of Oswin Oswald, turned into a Dalek puppet.

"EXTERMINATE!"

They were so close now, that Clara could hear their movements. Trying not to panic, using every inch of her self-control, she started to walk, slowly, turning left where she had previously turned right, dragging her feet on the floor to avoid any noise that could alarm the aliens. As soon as she turned the corner, she began to walk faster.

"EXTERMINATE!"

Fear made her blood rush madly in her veins. Her heart pounded relentlessly with absurd strength and speed in her chest, as though afraid that each heartbeat could be the last. After a few metres, Clara couldn't take the tension anymore and she ran, ran with everything she had in her legs, her lungs forgetting to breathe, her mind completely blank with terror. The Doctor always said, always thought she was brave: she wasn't. She was for him, with him, when he was in danger or when he was by her side, and everything was going to be okay. Not now. Not like this, alone and hunted by the memories of her echoes and overwhelmed by the thought that the Doctor was alone as well, that he wasn't safe, that she wasn't there for him and that, even being with him, there was nothing she could do. What could a humble human do in front of a group of Daleks, apart of being shot in his place?

Something she would do gladly, anyway. Because, gods, she still loved him. Even with a new face, even with a new him running around that she didn't know yet, Clara knew her feelings hadn't changed. Because she had saw all -all- his faces, and loved each of them. Even meeting his Time-War-self, the one that even the Doctor had despised and abhorred, not for one second she had felt repulsion or disgust. She had talked to him like to an old friend, understanding what his older selves hadn't understood yet: that he hadn't done it yet. Even when her Doctor, the loving boy, the madman, the wise young-ancient man, had his hand on the big red button, she had cried, but not because she was deluded or frightened of what he intended to do. No. No, she had just cried because she was sorry. Sorry for him, who didn't understand he was better than that and that he was, always had been and always would be a good man.

"Exterminate!"

The voices were trailing off, and Clara noticed that she had been running for long and that she was breathless. She started to breathe heavily, having forgotten to do it at all while running, sharply inhaling cool air, her legs suddenly aching for the effort of such a run. Before she could realize it, her knees were hurting more than ever in her many lifetimes, lifetimes spent running towards the Doctor.

Without noticing, she was walking again, her feet barely capable of keeping her standing. How far had she run? Clara didn't know. She kept walking, afraid of what could happen if she stopped, if she looked behind.

'Don't stop, don't look behind' the Doctor's words echoed in her mind.

'Brave, brave Clara.'

"I'm not brave," she sobbed, "not when you're not with me."

Clara kept walking, not knowing where she was going, trusting that for once, just for once, the Old Girl could help her, hoping that the ship wasn't too busy with her regeneration to keep an eye on her. But, if Daleks could enter so easily…no. No, Clara didn't want to think of the worst, not even in the most desperate situation. No, she wouldn't give up to pessimism. She did still have hope. She had always been there for the Doctor, but he had always been there for her too. And Clara trusted him with her life. He would come.

Her steps became surer as the pain lessened and her hope grew: she hadn't heard Daleks in a while and more time passing meant more chances for the Doctor to wake up soon and find her, to be together once again.

Clara waited, walking, for long minutes.

Then for never-ending hours.

At some point the human decided she was walking in circle. Same doors, same turns…almost. Clara understood that somehow she was going back where she had started to run. Unwillingly, but inevitably.

She was so tired and so lost in thoughts of how much she wanted the Doctor to be on her side, holding her hand, making her feel brave again, that she didn't notice the voices becoming close again.

"Exterminate!"

The shout abruptly shook Clara from her thoughts and, unintentionally, she let out a scream.

Clara ran, fast, forgetting exhaustion, knowing that the Daleks would now chase her. At an intersection, she tuned left, ending up in a long corridor, turning right, then left, then right again, then go straight on for a long while and then… then, even before turning right again she knew that she was in the same corridor where she had previously been. She turned right and, as she expected, she found a wall.

Her heart stopped. No escape. No way out.

"Exterminate!"

Clara tried to run back, retracing her steps, but she knew. She knew that the Dalek was close. Too close. Too late.

"EXTERMINATE!"

The Dalek was in front of her, a few metres away. It turned towards her and its blue-lighted eye stared at her, almost staring into her soul. The human swallowed and shuddered, not knowing if it made sense to show bravery while being killed like this.

So, no good heroic death for the brave, brave Clara Oswald. She had started to imagine her end as a good one. Saving the Doctor's life, dying in his arms, watching tears roll down his cheeks for her loss, maybe telling him she loved him. Nothing of that was going to happen. She was going to die alone, in a damned corridor of that blasted ship, and she could never say goodbye to the Doctor. Maybe he didn't like endings, but sometimes they were needed, and Clara felt guilty about going like this, without saying goodbye, without a good word of consolation for him. After being with him always, she was going to leave him alone right when he needed her most.

The Dalek came closer. Clara broke down on her knees and her eyes became bright with tears. She wasn't ready. She didn't want to go. Not like this.

"EXTER-"

"Oi!"

Clara's heart skipped a beat, and she glanced at the Dalek. If Daleks had emotions -and they weren't supposed to have any- the one in front of her was frozen with fear.

"Oi, I said. Turn to face me when I'm speaking" the Doctor said, a gruff Scottish accent on his lips. He had a TARDIS-blue mug in his hand. His eyes were pure steel. "That girl, she is under my protection" he said, threateningly but never raising his voice. Because this is the Doctor's wrath: unexpected and silent like a sudden tropical storm. It arrives abruptly, without any warning, and it doesn't leave survivors.

As everybody could expect, the Dalek turned, but it wasn't to obey to the Doctor. It was to shoot him.

The Doctor was faster, though. The Dalek wasn't even half-turned when the Gallifreyan threw his mug, hitting the Dalek in the eyestalk, letting the mug hang there, a green, viscid liquid slipping out of it.

"Help! Help! My vision is impaired!" the Dalek yelled.

"Permanently, I fear. Out we go!" the Doctor exclaimed, gesturing at a wall as if opening an invisible door: a doorknob appeared under his fingers, and a door materialized. Before Clara could see what was behind it, the Doctor pushed the blinded Dalek in and closed the door, which returned invisible.

Without a second glance at it, the Doctor ran towards Clara, who was already stepping towards him, and pulled her into a tight hug. The tightest he had ever pulled her in. Clara found the dignity to not cry in front of him again, simply burying her head in his chest. His solid presence against her body was so reassuring that it quickly gave her the strength to suppress her sobs and search for his eyes.

Two ice-blue irises where already waiting to meet her brown ones. He kissed her forehead and tried to smile at her.

"My brave, brave Clara. It's alright now. I'm here."

"I know" she answered, desiring to forget everything as soon as possible. "You're okay?"

"Yes. Perfect shape. This time for real. I slept even too much."

"Wha-what about the other Daleks?" she asked, suddenly remembering hearing more than one voice.

"They are...indisposed" he stated, very coldly, an Oncoming-Storm-glare in his eyes.

Clara shuddered. "What's behind that door-"

"Believe me, you really don't want to know."

This wasn't exactly reassuring. Clara shuddered again. She had suspected something would have changed after the centuries of war on Trenzalore but…she shook her head. Not the right time to discuss. Plus, this wasn't completely unexpected: the Daleks, his oldest enemies, had entered his ship, taken advantage of his weakness and tried to kill not only him, but his companion too, and the Doctor could not bear this. But…Clara knew he didn't give second chances, but this time he didn't seem to have given the first either.

She held him for some more moments, trying to wipe away the nightmare of the last hours, then she broke the hug and let him firmly grab her hand and guide her along the corridors. Clara immediately noticed that his grip on her hand was different. Firmer, surer, tighter. It wasn't the gentle and shy hold of his former self.

After some minutes of awkward silence, Clara had recovered enough to try a conversation:

"What was that green rubbish you got in that mug, anyway?" she asked, fully certain that it couldn't be worse than fish fingers and custard, only to discover she was completely wrong.

"Cabbage-shake" he answered, smirking.

"You're kidding."

"Nope. It's good for my kidneys. They're still miscoloured."