December 7th

He made no attempts to flee to the TARDIS this time.

Instead, the Doctor found himself watching Clara closer than ever before. Paying attention to every little movement, taking note of everything he'd completely dismiss on a normal day. He watched her expressions down to the very detail. He watched the way she walked. Increasingly intently listened to the way she talked. He looked inside her. He could see so much just through those dark brown eyes, and they were beginning to betray so much.

So very much. There were so many emotions raging inside her. It was like a chemical war with a seemingly never ending battle. It was far too obvious. He didn't even need to ask if she was okay since he knew for a fact that... she very much wasn't.

Those eyes. So droopy and low. Her voice, always so quiet, so timid, as if she were too afraid to speak aloud. Her steps, so unusually slow. The fact that she had only left the once once! Just once, in an entire week. Clara Oswald, the socially at ease, easy-going, friendly, energetic, pack leading sort of woman. The woman who could brighten up a child's day with just her smile. The woman that could brighten up his day with just her smile.

And that woman, that previously so lively woman, was dead inside.

And not only was he ignorant enough to not see it sooner,

He was ignorant enough to just now realize that it was all his fault.

She didn't want to tell him. She still couldn't bring herself to tell him. Part of her kept telling her that maybe she should tell him, but how could she? It wasn't exactly an easy topic to bring up, not matter how much she felt like she needed to let it all out.

Clara had done a pretty good job at keeping her emotions in tact in the past week, she thought. She'd put on a smile, she'd gone about her day, she'd even managed to refrain from crying. Maybe the Doctor just had that effect on her, she thought. Maybe it was because of him that it had been fairly easy to keep her feelings at bay.

She'd surprised herself, even. The weeks prior had been slow and dragging. The school was closed due to weather, and now the children would be going on holiday soon, so she hadn't had much to occupy her time. She'd rejected any social invites from even the closest friends, prohibited any family visiting, and just left herself alone to sulk. She was constantly angry with her self in the midst, of course. She's had months to heal. Months to mourn. She'd gotten a bit better, there towards the end. The very slow progression of her stages of grief had been finally drawing to a close. But the aftermath was no better.

Maybe she wasn't any better, after all. Maybe this was just her final stage of the struggle. Her attempts to finally accept the death of Danny, and the departure of her best friend.

But so far, the acceptance was refusing to successfully come.

The sky outside the window was blackened. The sound of rain in the background added to the burdened nature of the stressful auro. The emotional atmosphere was a ringing silence tension. An almost visible elephant in the room. An unasked question, that very much needed to be asked.

The Doctor cared for Clara. It was no secret, it was nothing he'd ever tried to hide, yet demonstrating that care could be an even more difficult chore than taking on an entire Dalek fleet singlehandedly.

He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to say something. He wanted to apologize for leaving her alone. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he hadn't talked to her sooner. He wanted her to know that he still cared. That he could still be consulted in her time of need.

As much progress as they've made, he still wasn't the same man he used to be. And Clara knew that. This lined face of his must frequently seemed stubborn and hardened, like he had a big wall in his mind that wouldn't allow anyone to breach. Not even Clara.

But oh, how wrong that was.

It wasn't until she had just departed her bedroom that he finally gathered up the sense to go after her. Clara's head had hung lower than normal that day. She knew that he knew, or was at least suspecting.

It was now or never, the Doctor decided. And with that, he stepped into her bedroom.

"Clara?" His knuckles wrapped lightly on the door a couple times before he earned a softly spoken permission to enter. He stepped in slowly, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the floor.

Clara looked up from her work of fixing the blankets atop her bed, and smiled in his direction. But the Doctor no longer ignored the obvious fake upward hitching of her lips. He was finally seeing through her. Seeing into her. That veil blocking her emotions was slowly beginning to lower.

"Need something?" She asked, seating herself on the edge of the bed.

"No." He replied, removing his hands from his pockets to cross his arms over his chest. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, lowered his hands back to his sides, then settled for rubbing the back of his neck. "But, er, we need to talk."

The nod she gave was full of understanding, and the sadness in her eyes seemed to shine through more than ever. "Alright." She pat the bed at her side, beckoning him with an encouraging lopsided smile.

He wasted no more time after that, letting the words finally spill out as he lowered himself to her side. "What happened to Danny?"

Her expression never changed. "I get the feeling you've already worked that out yourself."

"He didn't come back, did he?" The Doctor's voice was soft and lowered, allowing his rebellious sympathy to be revealed.

Clara blinked a couple times. The Doctor thought she might be trying to hold back tears, but her eyes never watered. "No. He didn't."

"What happened?"

She replied with nothing more than a shake of her head, and the half closing of her eyelids.

"Talk to me." His voice came out more pleading than he would have liked. "I may be old and grumpy, but I've not changed as much as you thought." He looked away, but only briefly. "You can still talk to me, Clara."

She shook her head again. "There's nothing to talk about." She pressed her lips into a firm line and shrugged. "He just didn't make it back."

"But what happened?" He prompted. "Why?"

Clara just smiled again and slid beneath the covers. "That's a story for another time."

"Clara-" He protested.

She just lowered her head onto the pillow and turned off her lamp. "Go to bed, Doctor."

It took a few moments of standing and staring before the Doctor finally convinced himself to walk away. Head lowered in submission, hands clenched into fists, he left her presence. He understood, he supposed. And he couldn't really blame her for wanting some time.

Because finally, after so many months of failed acceptance and shields that blocked all her emotion from the outside world...

The veil was been lowered.