Clara knew she had lost her way. Just a second, the time to avoid someone running in the opposite direction, and she had left the Doctor's hand. Clara was small and the Doctor ran fast: and she had lost sight of him in an instant in the crowd. She knew he had headed to the Tower, but without him it was difficult to walk towards it because of the many people doing the opposite. She had got there after several minutes and there was no sign of him -or of anyone at all.

Clara supposed he had noticed her absence and had gone back to the TARDIS. Even if he were looking for her somewhere, he would surely return to the TARDIS in the end. The best thing she could do was go back herself, but she suddenly realized she didn't have a clue on where she was. Of course, she remembered from which boulevard she had reached the Tower square, but nothing more than that, nothing more than a direction. Sighing in resignation, she started to walk that way.

The girl didn't like the idea of the Doctor wandering alone. He always got into trouble. No matter how different this incarnation was, that was something that would unlikely change. Clara didn't know why she was so… protective, with him, a fully grown up man for possibly every species in the universe. She could only assume it was instinct, as she was a nanny and a teacher and he was a huge child inside, had been little more than a teenager even physically in his last body. Looking at it in a rational way, there was nothing rational in her desire to keep him safe, to protect him, to do anything for him. But love isn't rational, is it?

It wasn't like she didn't fear for herself, alone in a foreign city -foreign planet- with the night already dark and the streets empty… but she always forgot to worry about herself, someway. He came first, always, and she realized only later that she was in trouble herself. It was a wrong attitude, she knew that, totally against natural self-preservation, but she couldn't help it.

Clara knew she wasn't going in the right direction. She didn't remember a thing of the streets she was walking, which were getting narrower, darker, dirtier. The kind of streets that her Victorian echo's memories -and others- clearly identified as 'not to be walked alone'.

After a while, she noticed a sensation, like an prickle in the back of her head: that feeling you get when someone is watching you. She started glancing back every few steps, trying to confirm her suspects. She saw nothing at first, but then, just for a second, she took a glimpse of a shadow. The shadow of someone, following her. Clara started to walk faster, and she heard many hurried steps behind her. Running seemed useless, so she took a deep breath and turned to face whatever was chasing her. While moving, she heard shots and once she was facing the way she had come from she saw this: three Sontarans, who had apparently been following her, and behind them the Doctor and two men in grey uniforms. In order, Clara noticed the following things: the gun in the Doctor's hand, the frozen expression on the Sontarans' faces as they fell on their knees, dead, and the Doctor's eyes fixed on her, steel-grey.

~oOo~

"I can't believe you're leaving like this!" Clara said, almost shouting, as the Doctor roamed around the console, pulling levers.

The Doctor hadn't said a word or looked at her all the way to the TARDIS, but she didn't need anything else but his eyes, that second on the street, to know that there was a storm inside him, waiting to come out. So she had been silent, till now.

"I don't care about what you believe in, Clara Oswald. This is what I'm doing, and you're not the boss of me," he retorted coldly.

He was trying to hold back and stay calm, but he wasn't going to succeed, he knew that.

The second he had realized that Clara was in danger and he wasn't with her, he had hardly been able to think straight. He had needed all his self-control gained in centuries to think coldly, rationally. He had organised the defences of the city and took enough men to search for her. He had been mad with concern…no. With utter fear.

He was angry with himself because he had lost sight of her, he hadn't looked after her, he had…taken things for granted, taken Clara for granted, when he should know that he could so easily lose her. He was angry with himself, but he was in a way, in this body, which wouldn't allow him to regret anything or blame himself. So he blamed Clara.

"They're at war, you can't just leave!" she said, following him around the console.

"They're going to win," he answered, exasperated, briefly facing her before pushing another button, "What's the use of me messing everything up?"

"You could save lives! You always do! Many more could survive if you just helped them!"

"I can feel something approaching. What if it's a fixed point, hmm? We couldn't leave for God knows how much. And we would be in the midst of one of the most violent wars ever fought. I am not risking my life, and yours, for the ones of some strangers!" He pulled a last lever and the TARDIS began to dematerialize with her usual noise.

"You used to care about 'strangers'," Clara said, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket to force him to face her.

"Never, never over the ones that were closer to me," he replied sharply, his eyes a few millimetres from hers. "Never, do you hear me?"

He had always cared more about his companions, but he had made mistakes in the past. Tried to save the day despite his life, despite the life of the ones he loved. Ten and ten times more. Why didn't he just leave, and save them? What, just because he was the last of his kind -not anymore, by the way- he didn't have the right of being a bit selfish and choose who he wanted to save? He had thought he hadn't. He used to think that his hands were soaked with the blood of his own people and therefore he didn't deserve anything. But now, now he knew the truth and yes, he was going to be selfish, for once. For all the times he had been altruist and sacrificed himself.

"This isn't you. You know better than this," Clara stated, voice broken, eyes slightly bright.

"This isn't me, hmm? Let me tell you one thing, Clara Oswald: you don't know me. Not yet. I've spent centuries of my life on Trenzalore, you don't know what it did to me. I'm never letting time, or destiny, or whatever choose for me again. I will never end up stuck in a situation like that again."

"It was your choice to stay!"

"Can you really choose when you don't have an alternative?"

"You had one, but you used to know which the right thing to do was."

"The right thing? And who should tell me what's right and what's wrong? The law? I've never listened to any."

"You used to have rules."

The TARDIS landed with a small *tud*.

"My rules. And I can change them."

Clara shook her head. "When you'll cleared your mind, I'll be in my bedroom," she said, turning towards the corridors.

"No. You're going home."

Clara froze. "Are you leaving me?"

That shook the Doctor's spirit in a way he hadn't expected.

"No," he said, taking her hand in his and locking her eyes with his. "Never. Unless that's what you want. I want time for myself, to think. I will come next Wednesday."

The girl looked straight in his eyes, now of a surprisingly light blue. The Doctor had always been made of opposites, always been capable of changing mood in a second. And now like never before. Clara hesitated before asking the question that had been suspended between them since Christmas…

"Will you? Will you come back?"

"I will. I have no way to prove you that I'm telling the truth, but I will come back."

The Doctor wasn't even sure he could lie to her with this face the way he had done on Trenzalore: looking straight into her eyes, telling he would never leave her again when he had intended to leave her forever.

Clara glanced away. She would never stop trusting him, if with trust you mean keep believing a person won't disappoint you even though he has disappointed you again and again, keep believing he will speak the truth even though he has lied to you again and again.

The human left the Doctor's hand and opened the doors.

"See you."

"Yes," he replied.

~oOo~

The Doctor didn't travel fast-forward to next Wednesday, for once.

He went adventuring, testing his new body, taking his time to discover himself. He was reckless, nothing scared him. No danger was too much for him when he knew that Clara was safe at home.

And he took time to think, as he had said.

The Gallifreyan was more than worried by the way his young companion affected him. He should have noticed that something was wrong, that day in New Paris, but he hadn't. Why? Because when Clara was around he could hardly think straight. He had been too busy admiring the way the light played with the beautiful brown of her her hair at sunset to pay attention to what was around him. He didn't need to think much about it to know he was head over heels in love with her.

He knew that already, of course. He hadn't needed a lot of time to start fancying her, but he hadn't known who she was back then, and part of his hearts still belonged to River Song. He had needed a jump in his time stream and a tearful goodbye to his wife to clear up his mind…and the second he had understood, on Trenzalore, that he could never get out of that planet alive, he had also understood he was in love with Clara and he would never forgive himself if something were to happen to her. So he had sent her away, also because he couldn't bear the thought of burying her, of saying goodbye. He would be happy to know she was alive, somewhere, somewhen on Earth, even though he could not see her again.

No wonder he had fallen for her: she was clever, brave, cared about him like no one else and never accepted 'no' as an answer…just like a young blond girl who had stolen his hearts so much time before. Rose and Clara had so much in common. They were different, of course, but the story hadn't changed: a good, beautiful, gentle young woman had helped him in his darkest times, made him a better man; he had slowly, inevitably fallen for her innocence, so different from the blood-soaked man he believed himself to be, then he had regenerated and she had been the first face he had seen. When something like that happened with someone you already loved, your hearts would belong to that person. No way to escape. He could never love anyone but Clara Oswald in this life, just like he couldn't love anyone but Rose Tyler in his tenth.

It was a different kind of love -purer, tenderer- compared to his love for River. River had been a whole other business, being like him. A liar, someone ready to do any sort of things, especially if he was in danger, she wasn't nice or delicate or innocent. She wasn't shy and accommodating, she had pushed him in their relationship, not really caring if he was okay with that… and he had loved it. Because in that life he had needed someone to push him to do the things he hadn't the bravery to allow himself, and someone able to take every bit of him, good or bad, luminous or dark, and accept it, love it. And River Song had been that person.

After River, everything had been different. He had learned that it was useless to hold back and play the role of the best friend like he had done with Rose: separation hurt anyway. He wouldn't be able to hold back, anyhow: he didn't need much time to understand that this incarnation was a man of short temper and rough passions. Something that scared him, by the way: he had a feeling he could tear the universe apart for Clara, for her and her only, to keep her safe and alive and by his side.

The Doctor spent time figuring out how to behave. He was sure that Clara had loved the younger Doctor, but she would need time to get used to this new him. He couldn't rush things. And after all, he didn't want to. He needed time himself. Getting involved in a life-changing relationship wasn't something that he trusted leaving to a newly-regenerated, untested him.

When he had 'cleared his mind' -Clara's words- he went to her next Wednesday.