Chapter 20

Amy and Clara were in the middle of a conversation about local pre-schools when suddenly the door bell rang. Clara checked her watch and frowned. It was past 10 p.m.

"Are you expecting someone?" Amy asked her.

Still frowning Clara rose from the sofa. "No, not really."

Of all the people she had expected to see when she opened the door the Doctor had been very low down on that list.

"Doctor!"

He looked decent. Not overly tired, not starved, just thoroughly nervous and shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

"Can I come in?" he asked carefully.

When she had swallowed the first surprised a very important question began to dawn on her. "How do you even know where I live? Have you been following me? Stalking me?"

"I, erm," he hesitated, "You signed up for the class with this address."

"Oh," she uttered.

"Is that the one and only Doctor?" Clara could hear Amy's voice quickly approaching from the living room.

When the Doctor had been looking nervous before he was now utterly terrified as Amy came walking into the corridor. However as Clara watched the two of them she soon saw a smile appear on both their faces and Amy slowly lifted her hand. Like she had mentioned earlier they greeted each other with a fist-bump.

"Geronimo," Amy said, laughing softly.

"Geronimo," the Doctor replied, "Good to see you, Amelia. I hope everything's okay at home?"

She nodded. "Rory and I will officially be parents after Thursday."

The Doctor smiled. "Good," he said, "That's. . . that's good. I'm happy for you."

"I should go," Amy concluded, "It's late. We'll all see each other around, I think?"

Clara smiled. "Of course we will."

The Doctor only nodded. Before Amy reached for her coat and headed out of the door Clara could see her mouthing the word "Talk!" and then the door closed behind her, leaving Clara alone with the Doctor.

"Soooooooo," Clara dragged the word out "You're here."

"I tried calling."

"I saw," Clara confirmed before they both fell silent again, standing awkwardly in the corridor.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said ruefully, "I, uh, I think I made a mistake."

Clara sighed and nodded. "Okay, that's a start. Go on."

He was avoiding her gaze and instead watched his own shoes with a growing interest. "What I did on Saturday, that was probably wrong and I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have let it go that far. I-"

His sentence was cut off when Clara punched him in the shoulder. The Doctor flinched and raised his hand to where she had hurt him.

"Ow! Clara! I said I was sorry!"

Again she punched him.

"That," another punch, "was," and another, "not what you should be apologizing for."

When she had stopped hitting him the Doctor finally looked at her and he seemed more confused than ever, causing Clara to utter a load groan.

"Doctor, I want you!" she said plainly enough for even him to understand, "I am attracted to you and what you did on Saturday was wonderful! I thought it was great and I loved it and I thought this was the first step in the right direction. I know, I know that you said you don't have a physical relationship with your muses but you have to admit that you are kind of giving off mixed signals. So when you did. . . what you did. . . I was happy, I was glad that you finally made a move and then you just turned around and resumed painting."

The Doctor stared at her for a long moment, frowning.

"So, you're not mad about that?"

"No, you idiot," Clara replied desperately, "I was mad that you acted like it never happened, that you didn't kiss me and didn't let me touch you in return. I felt used when you just went straight back to your painting, like that was only a way for you to make me look better on canvas!"

"I'm sorry," the Doctor mumbled again, "I'm really bad with emotions. I can't always tell what's going on in someone else's mind."

Clara took a deep breath and watched the Doctor for a moment. It wouldn't only be rude but also stupid not to accept his apology. It was sincere and he had come all the way to her flat just to get it off his chest as soon as possible and if she was honest Clara had already forgiven him while talking to Amy about it.

"Doctor, what are we gonna do?" she asked him after a while, "I have feelings for you that go beyond friendship and I think you do, too. Maybe not the way I feel them but in your own, slightly weird way. Ever since the roof incident you've used every possible opportunity to touch and to cuddle when before that you've been too afraid. Don't even deny it."

"I," he paused for a long time, "I've tried having relationships with my muses and every time I've lost more than I gained from them. I'm sick of losing people."

"What makes you think you're going to lose me?" Clara asked gently.

"The roof in Paris," he gave a shrug, "I thought you were going to fall. I hadn't seen that coming and it scared me how easily you would've dismissed you life that day. Everyone always leaves me."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I'm the first that won't? Or maybe that you're not the only person who's had his heart broken? I want to take a chance. Do you?"

Another long moment passed without either of them saying anything.

"Doctor, I think it's time you told me about what happened with the other muses."

The Doctor huffed and then he began to laugh. "You were right, Clara. You were absolutely right."

"About what?"

"I have feelings. And I'm scared. Terrified, even," he admitted, "I fell in love with you the second I saw you and I wanted you around but I wouldn't allow myself to touch you because I knew I'd end up wanting more. I've tried to fight it but when you almost fell I had no choice and then I didn't want to let go anymore but my past is my past and most of the time my fear of repeating it is stronger than anything else."

"What happened?" Clara insisted, "Tell me. Now."

The Doctor stared at her so long Clara was starting to see the tears in his eyes. His lips were trembling but no words came out.

"Tell me!"

"I can't," he said desperately, "Clara, you're asking me to admit my biggest failure in my entire life. I'll tell you about River, everything you want to know about her but not the rest. I just can't."

With a sigh Clara nodded. "Okay," she finally said, "Here's what we'll do. I'll get ready for bed, I'll make a cup of tea and we'll sit down and you tell me what you want to tell me."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to. . . stay over night?"

She shrugged in reply. "We've shared a bed at your place and in Paris. I don't see why this should be any different."

"Yeah," he breathed, "I suppose you're right."

15 minutes later Clara had changed into her cosy pyjamas, brushed her teeth, tied her hair into a bun and handed the Doctor a cup of tea. She lifted the duvet to crawl under it and join the Doctor who had already made himself comfortable in her bed.

"Your bedroom is nice," he noticed.

"No," she warned him, "No diversions. You wanted to tell me about River."

He looked away and set the tea down on the bedside table. Clara waited until he turned back towards her, still appearing just as troubled as he had standing in the corridor, apologizing to her.

She was ready for him to start talking, whether about his past or any random subject. What Clara wasn't prepared for was the Doctor leaning forward, cupping her face in his hand and locking their lips together in a kiss. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy it.