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Chapter 14

Clara headed for the shower after him and it felt good to wash the previous day off of her skin but the more she tried not to think about how much she had hurt the Doctor with her actions the guiltier she felt about it and that was something not even the hot water could rinse off. She combed her hair neatly and slipped into more comfortable clothes before she headed back into the main room to find the Doctor sitting at his easel. At first he didn't even notice her.

"What are you painting?" Clara asked him, trying to make conversation.

The Doctor let out a groan, dropped the brush and ran his hands through his hair. "Nothing, really. Random lines and shapes," he looked up at her, "Are you hungry? There's nothing in the fridge but I know of a nice little boulangerie just around the corner."

"You speak French?" Clara smiled at him.

"A little. I used to spend a lot of time here in Paris whenever I needed a change of scenery. Not so much in the past few years though."

She nodded. "Breakfast sounds nice."

Clara noticed how warm it was for an autumn morning as they walked outside and headed for the bakery the Doctor had been talking about and at first Clara thought nothing about how he held out his arm for her to take.

"I've been thinking," he said after a while, "How about we just skip the gallery event?"

Clara turned to look at him. "But isn't the gallery event the reason we came to Paris in the first place?"

The Doctor smiled at her mischievously. "No, the reason we came to Paris is because Missy bought the plane tickets and said I could attend. It's just publicity, I don't need to be there. They've got the paintings already. Whether or not they sell them I can't influence anyway. Instead we could go to Montmartre, see Sacré-Coeur, Notre Dame and of course the Eiffel Tower. I want you to enjoy this weekend, Clara."

He seemed so sincere and suddenly Clara became aware of how tightly the Doctor held on to her arm as if he was afraid to let go. As if he had been afraid to let go since last night.

"When does the plane leave tomorrow?" Clara found herself asking.

"7:30 in the evening. Why?"

"So," Clara said, "We've got all day tomorrow, yeah?"

The Doctor cocked an eyebrow at her.

"How about we just get the food and then go back to the apartment?" Clara suggested, "We could just stay inside all day, hang out, you could paint me, I could try to paint you."

She laughed at the idea of it.

"But we're in Paris," the Doctor said.

"Paris is still going to be here tomorrow. And don't tell me you're not feeling like painting. I know you are."

He looked at her as if he was going to protest and Clara decided she wanted to be faster than that.

"I want it," she reassured him, "We did the concert and the restaurant yesterday, so let's just do nothing today."

Finally Clara had convinced him and after some grocery shopping they went straight back to the apartment and settled on the sofa together, eating croissants, drinking coffee and sketching each other. Clara knew she wasn't bad at drawing but the Doctor's hair was starting to give her a headache. She groaned loudly.

The Doctor began to laugh. "You're torturing the pencil. Here, let me show you."

He leaned closer and wrapped his own hand around Clara's, leading her over the sketchbook pencil stroke by pencil stroke.

"There, that's better," he said as the curls of his silver hair were slowly coming together on the paper.

Clara giggled. "Your hands are huge!"

"They're not," the Doctor argued.

"Yes, they are. Look."

Clara dropped the pencil and took the Doctor's hand, holding his palm against her own.

"They're not huge," he said determinedly, "Your hands are just tiny."

He paused and lifted their hands up to press a swift kiss on her knuckles. "Tiny, tiny hands."

Clara smiled at him, loving this side of him that he was showing her right now. Something about him had changed, the possibility of losing her last night had changed him.

"Did you take Amy to Paris?" Clara asked all of a sudden.

She half expected the Doctor to pull back from her but this time he didn't. Instead he smile back at her.

"I wanted to," he explained, "But she was busy that weekend. Something about her job. That weekend was one of the craziest I've ever had."

Clara raised her eyebrows. "Coming from you that should mean something."

The Doctor laughed. "I went to the gallery on my own and met this woman there. Her name was Lady Christina de Souza. She was absolutely mad. I invited her to my apartment, I sketched her, she brought this stuff that we tried together."

He pointed at a rather bizarre and yet fascinating looking painting.

"And on Sunday noon the police came knocking on my door. Apparently she had had a Vermeer in her suitcase the entire time."

He was still laughing as if it was nothing but a joke to him while Clara's eyes widened. The Doctor simply shrugged.

"She had stolen it. And then she fled over the roof. I have no idea what became of her."

Suddenly the Doctor jumped up from the sofa and started looking through some of the drawers until apparently he found what he had been looking for.

"What is that?" Clara wanted to know.

"Salvia Divinorum," the Doctor replied with a grin as he sat back down next to her, "It's harmless. Just puts you in a kind of trance state for half an hour."

Clara felt somewhere between wary and mildly intrigued.

"That's what you took when you painted that?" she asked, nodding towards the picture he had pointed at just a moment ago. It was more colourful and less realistic than his other works despite deploying realistic themes.

"Well, after, but yes," he explained.

"Can I try it with you?"

Suddenly the Doctor seemed hesitant. "You don't even know what it is and what it does."

Clara shrugged. "I trust you."

For a moment he said nothing at all and then shook his head slowly. "Not at the same time. I want to be able to watch over you and I would feel better if you had an eye on me, too."

She frowned. "But you said it's harmless. What exactly does it do that you would need watching over?"

"It is and last time I just sat here, basically daydreaming. Doesn't mean it has to be the same this time. Would you be okay with that? If I used it and then you decide if you want to have a go?" he asked sincerely.

Her frown deepened. "I'm not sure."

"I don't have to," the Doctor replied immediately, "It was just an idea."

"It's not that," Clara explained, "I somehow hate the though of you diving into a world where I can't follow."

The Doctor nodded. "Then let's just forget about it."

He was about to get up from the sofa when Clara stopped him.

"No," she said determinedly, "It's okay. Do it. I'll have an eye on you. And I'm curious what you'll paint after."

Despite her decision Clara grew more and more nervous as the Doctor retrieved a hookah from one of the cupboards and continued to prepare it. She comforted herself with the idea that he would only be sort of daydreaming and that it wouldn't last long and yet she felt a little bit scared. She would have tried it with him without hesitation because somehow she trusted him beyond reason but he didn't even seem to trust himself.

She watched him as the Doctor took a long drag before leaned back against the sofa and turned to look at her.

"So?" Clara asked, hoping that her insecurity didn't show too much.

The Doctor smiled at her. "I'm fine."

She nodded and was about to look away and leave him be when he suddenly reached for her hand. He let himself fall backwards on the couch into a lying position and pulled Clara along with him. She would have landed next to him but there wasn't enough space, so instead she landed on top. He didn't seem to mind the physical connection at all.

"Doctor?" Clara breathed, "What are you doing?"

"Shhh," he whispered, gently cupping her face in his hands. He stared so intently at her that Clara thought he was studying her. "I just wanna look."

His caress was so soft as he stroked the hair out of her face and carefully outlined her features, her eyebrows, her nose, her lips, the area around her eyes with the tip of his thumb. He was studying her and he seemed to be completely lost in it. Clara needed all of her willpower not to act on the feelings his touch was rousing inside of her. Their bodies were pressed against each other, even more intimately now than they had been this morning and he was so gentle with her, so loving in the way he he touched her, looked at her that all she wanted to do was to bend down and kiss him. Yet she knew that it was wrong, that it was the wrong timing. The Doctor wouldn't want her to and Clara didn't even want to say anything that could disturb him, not when he seemed so utterly at peace.

Clara let him explore her face, her eyes and after a while she noticed that the Doctor's gaze lost its focus and he was beginning to wake up from his trance. Some part of her felt relieved that nothing bad had happened, that he was slowly returning to her and yet she knew that she would miss his touch as soon as it stopped.