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Chapter 7

The downside of choosing the earlier screening was that the cinema was basically empty and Danny had secured them seats in the last row with only a couple of other people sitting a few rows in front of them. A list of all the places she would rather be was starting to play through her mind.

"Are you sure you don't want popcorn or anything?" he asked when the movie trailers started, "Last chance to grab a snack."

"No, I'm good," Clara replied. Her thoughts wandered to the Doctor for a moment and she started to wonder whether he had remembered to eat today. He certainly had. His cupboards were thoroughly stocked now and it would be no effort for him at all to prepare something to eat. Right now he was probably in his studio, busy with another new painting. She had seen the one he had started on Sunday, a piece of landscape that he had explained was near where he had grown up in Scotland. Clara had asked about his youth but gotten no reply.

"Clara, can I ask you something?" Danny's voice tore her from her thoughts. She shouldn't be thinking about the Doctor anyway. He would be fine.

"Sure, what is it?" Clara turned to look at him. Oh no, she could see where this would lead already.

"Have you been seeing anyone since we separated?"

There it was. That question that would ultimately lead to him asking for another try. Clara had known this would happen. Suddenly she could feel his hand on her knee, reluctant and shy, testing the grounds.

"Because in the past two months I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I know you broke up. But I want you to know that if you change your mind about that I'm still here."

"Danny, I-" she stopped, considering, "I think I'm sort of seeing someone."

"Sort of?" he raised an eyebrow, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Clara took a deep breath. She couldn't tell him the truth, not Danny. He would never understand what had been going on the past few days, hell, even Clara didn't really understand it herself.

"It's complicated," Clara said, "I've only just met him. In painting class. He's nice and I'm not uninterested. But even if it wasn't for him, Danny, I wouldn't. My reasons are still the same and I stand by what I said. I'm sorry."

Quickly he withdrew his hand.

"But if you still have feelings for me we can't do this sort of thing, hang out as friends. It's not going to do us any good. I'll always be wondering if you don't have an ulterior motive and God knows how long you'll be hoping for there to still be something between us."

Danny nodded gravely.

"I know," he replied sadly, "I just didn't want to give up without at least trying. You're a wonderful woman. You can't blame me for hoping."

She granted him a smile. "And you're sweet, Danny, you deserve a nice girl but I'm not a nice girl. I should probably go."

"What about the film?" Danny asked, "Didn't you want to watch it?"

Clara shook her head. "I think it's better if I leave. I'll see you in school."

She grabbed her jacket and her bag and headed outside where it was already dark. Standing in Covent Garden Clara was faced with exactly two options. It would take her about half an hour to get home. Or half an hour to get to the Doctor's house. Even though she had told him she wouldn't stop by before Friday, even though her common sense told her she probably shouldn't Clara headed off in the direction of the Tube that would take her to him.

Clara rang the bell and a confused, slightly dazed acting Doctor opened the door after a long wait. It was obvious that he hadn't shaved since she had last seen him, the stubble on his chin had grown into a beard by now.

"I gave you a key," he greeted her, frowning slightly.

She shuffled her feet. "Wasn't sure if you actually wanted me to use it."

"Well, of course. That's why I gave it to you."

He opened the door a little wider and Clara stepped inside, taking in his appearance as she passed him. In the dim light he looked almost like a ghost.

"You've been painting, I guess?"

"Uhm," he paused, "I think I fell asleep."

Clara sighed, picturing him nodding off over his paintings. "You really shouldn't be allowed to live on your own, you know? You don't seem to take proper care of yourself."

"Don't worry," the Doctor smiled at her as if he had registered her presence only now, "Wanna go upstairs? I'd like to show you something."

He walked ahead, almost running up the stairs now in a sudden burst of energy and Clara had no other choice than to follow him. When they had arrived in his studio the Doctor pointed at the painting currently on the easel on front of his stool and Clara recognized herself immediately. It was a portrait of her, undeniably her, sitting in the café and staring off into the distance. She loved the way he had painted the sun shining through her hair.

"I painted this from memory. Well, memory and the few sketches I made. It's almost done. Do you like it?"

He beamed at her though Clara was hardly aware of it. Her eyes were glued to the painting and she could hardly believe he had remembered her in such detail that he could bring her likeness down on canvas like this.

"I love it," she said in awe and turned towards him, "Can I keep it when you've finished it?"

"Of course," the Doctor smiled happily at her, "It's yours if you want it. It's just the first draft anyway. I have a couple of ideas for how I want to paint you, I just need to practice your eyes until I get them absolutely right."

He sat down on his stool and picked his brush back up and Clara remained standing next to him for a moment, admiring his fingers as they worked their magic on the canvas. The Doctor was incredible and Clara wasn't entirely sure if she meant that in a good or a bad way. His art was beautiful and he was definitely a master at what he did. However he didn't seem as though he was quite made for the world they were living in, it was as if he was lost in it somehow and in need of guidance. It wasn't surprising, not with all those paintings living in his head. How could there be any space left for other things?

Clara ended up staying at his place. She fell down on the sofa while he painted, the earlier drowsiness of him completely forgotten by now as he was once again consumed by his art. The Doctor asked about her day and Clara told him about Danny. He agreed with her decision to stay away for a while and even though she tried to throw in a few questions as well most of them remained unanswered except with silence.

When Clara decided to go to sleep in the guest bedroom the Doctor was still painting, finishing up the picture of her in the café. She knew it probably was no good but still made him promise her to go to sleep as soon as he was done.

When the alarm on her phone went off Clara groaned. It wasn't even five a.m. and if she decided to go to school in the same clothes as yesterday she could still sleep for another hour. But she knew that the students would notice and talk and Courtney would come up with a story that Danny was bound to hear and she couldn't really use this sort of gossip. A weird thought crossed her mind about leaving some clothes at the Doctor's house and she brushed it aside immediately. No, she wouldn't do that. Not with a man she wasn't sleeping with. Not with a man she hadn't even known a week ago.

Yawning, Clara pushed herself out of bed. The Doctor would still be sleeping and upon waking up he would probably wonder where she had gone so she searched her bag for a notebook and tore a page out. Gone to work. Thanks for letting me stay. Clara, she scribbled on it.

On quiet toes she sneaked out of her room, leaving her bag by the door and turned the doorknob to the Doctor's bedroom. Clara had intended to just leave the note on his bedside table when she spotted him in the dim light, tossing and turning in his sleep, mumbling something that she couldn't understand. He was shaking violently.

Without thinking Clara rushed to his side and reached for his hand.

"Doctor," she said gently, "Doctor, wake up!"

He sat up straight all of a sudden, looking around the room in confusion, panting and still shaking a little.

"It's okay, it was only a nightmare," Clara told him as calmly as possible.

He needed a moment to realize where he was but eventually his eyes focused on her and he seemed relieved.

"Clara?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'm here. You just had a dream, Doctor. It wasn't real, whatever it was."

He reached out, his hands settling on her arms and Clara grew rigid. It was the first time he actually touched her but apparently he needed it as anchor to the real world.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked, still confused.

"I have to go to work," she explained quietly, "I came to leave you a note but then I saw you having a nightmare."

He let go of her and threw the blanket aside in a swift movement, standing up with a sudden energy that hadn't been there a moment ago. The Doctor rubbed his face in his hands and groaned.

"Doctor, go back to sleep," Clara told him, her voice more worried that she thought it would be, "It was just a nightmare, nothing more."

"I need to paint," he replied and reached for the hoodie lying at the end of the bed. Hastily he put it on over his pyjamas.

"You can't have slept more than three hours."

"And you need to get to work. Remember?"

When he stormed out of the room Clara realized something. His muses, or friends, they weren't just necessary to inspire him or to keep him company. The Doctor needed someone around to keep him grounded, to stay in touch with the real world while he was lost in his own. He was a lot more troubled than she would have expected.

Clara caught him already painting when she went into his studio to say goodbye, not with brushes but with a spatula and she could recognize the outlines of a rose slowly taking shape.

"I have to go to work," she said quietly.

The Doctor turned around and smiled at her, the earlier mood already fading away as it seemed.

"Okay."

"I'll see you on Friday?"

"Looking forward to it," he replied softly before he turned back towards his painting.