December 8th

The Doctor had sat just outside Clara's bedroom for the majority of the night. He didn't sleep, didn't eat, just sat with his back pressed against the wall with his head slightly cocked sideways. His knees were pulled to his chest and his hands hung limply atop, eyelids half lowered. He wasn't tired, really. Just feeling a bit drained. Something about the distressful and worrying conversation the night before just left him feeling... different.

It was something like a mixture between anger and sadness. Anger at himself, of course, for countless things. But that wasn't new. And then his despairing sadness for a close friend, who he could have been helping all this time. But no. He'd been his usual thick self, and left her alone to mourn and suffer.

He hadn't been there for her.

But that was about to change.

Clara's progression into wakefulness was slow and challenging. Just when she'd begin to open her eyes, it was as if someone was dragging her back down oblivion. She slept for much longer than normal, no longer finding the energy to really wake up. What's the point? Voices began to say. Sleep is so much more peaceful. They went on. So much easier. But the voice in her head was her own.

Finally, she forced herself awake. She wasn't really sure, really. The voices had a point. Why should she get out of bed, and face yet another day of empty depression, when she could just sleep the pain away?

The only thought that finally urged her to stand up was, The Doctor will be getting hungry. And with a little shadow of a laugh, she exited her room.

Clara's scream bounced off the walls of the small flat space, causing the Doctor to shout out in fright and press his palms to his ears. He flew to his feet from his strangest position seated outside her door, then raised his eyebrows with an incredulous stare in her direction.

"What the hell was that for?!" He demanded, lowering his hands.

Clara stood slightly hunched over with her hand to her heart and her breaths rapid. "You scared me half to death!"

"What did I do?!"

"I wasn't exactly expecting to see you on the floor right when I woke up, you know!" She straightened herself a bit and looked up at him with still wide eyes. "What were you even doing down there?"

He didn't reply.

A small smile flickered across her face, and she crossed her arms. "Doctor, are you guarding me?"

The same smile clouded his aggravated features. That smile filled with recognition, remembrance, and a hint of sadness. "Why, yes." He gave a firm nod. "Yes I am."

Clara lowered her head and looked to the side, burrowing her hands deep in the pockets of her dressing gown. She walked right past him without another word in that moment, and headed straight for the kitchen cupboards.

"Eggs this morning?" She questioned over her shoulder.

"I'm fine."

Clara gave a little nod in reply, preparing her usual cup of Earl Grey, and turning around to see the Doctor seated at the kitchen table. "You sure you're not hungry?" She asked with a quirked eyebrow.

He nodded. "Its not that, Clara."

"Well then, what is it?" She asked slowly, body itching to sit down at his side but her brain saying otherwise. "What's going on?"

He gave a little laugh at that. "What do you think?" He hesitated. "We need to talk."

The two stared at each other in awkward silence once Clara had convinced herself to take the seat across from him. There she sat, elbow braced on the table, tea raised to her lips, and the Doctor on the opposite side in the same position, trying hard to enjoy his coffee in the thick moment.

"You haven't told me everything." He finally announced, voice low. "And I need to know."

She gave an unbelieving shake of her head. "You know, Doctor, you really don't."

"But I do, Clara! How do you expect me to help you if you won't even tell me what's going on?"

"I told you everything you need to know." She looked away. "But honestly, since when do you care so much anyway?"

She expected some cheesy cover up line like, I've always cared, or, How could you say that? She knew that he'd do anything, say anything to save himself from a binding moment. And this was no different.

"Since yesterday." Was all he said.

And that took her by surprise, and angered her slightly despite her assumptions. "Excuse me?"

"Clara," He began hesitantly. "Clara, you know I've always cared about you. When Danny died, I was worried about you and what lengths you would go to to get him back. I cared. I was concerned, for you and the fate of the world at your possible actions, to be quite honest." He admitted. "But this daft old man has never really paid attention to what you feel. Your emotions." He looked down at his coffee, swirling the liquid around in his cup. "And I should."

"Why the change of heart?" She asked after a few moments of stunned silence.

"Oh, many reasons." He smiled sadly, shoving his distasteful beverage aside. "But enough of that." He leaned forward, gaze practically digging into hers. "Clara, tell me what's happened."

The sigh she emitted was an action of defeat and acceptance, but her eyes showed her reluctance. She looked down at her hand and began twirling Danny's bracelet around on her wrist, lost in thought.

"Look at me."

She made no attempt to move.

"Clara, look at me."

She drew her eyes up to his face, ready to wipe away tears that she felt inevitable, but they never came. Oh, the feeling was there. The burning pressure behind her eyes, the aching in her throat and chest. But she never cried.

"Now talk." His voice came out gruff, controlling, a bit of his normal self showing through. But his eyes still betrayed everything.

Finally, words spilling out all at once, Clara erupted into the full story. She told him of everything that occurred that night, from Danny's presence, to his refusal to come through, and finally ending on his action of sending the boy through in his place.

"He looked so scared." She sighed out. "Didn't know where he was, what was happening. Took a while to even get him to come near me. But he still never talked."

The Doctor nodded slightly, urging her on. "Where is he now?"

The Doctor thought it had all been about Danny. Thought that it was nothing but Danny's death and his own departure combined that had sent Clara over the edge. But apparently, it was so much more.

She shook her head and bit her lip, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" He furrowed his brow.

"I mean I don't know!" She snapped loudly, slamming her fist on the table. After a tense moment, her features relaxed. "He..." Her voice cracked. No, she told herself. She wasn't going to cry.

"Go on." The Doctor whispered.

"They never found his parents." She muttered, eyes closed and forehead resting in her palm. 'Turns out they died in the crossfire as well."

He remained silent, knowing where the conversation was heading, and unsure what to say.

"I didn't want him to end up in a children's home." She screwed up her face in disgust. I really didn't. So I started looking for a family to adopt him. And in the meantime, he was allowed to stay with me.

"He lived here for just perhaps a month. He didn't speak English, so we never really spoke. But he was the sweetest, friendliest child I've ever known." She let out a shuddering sigh. "We got on quite good. I even considered adopting him myself, actually, but." She broke off. "I woke up, just days before you came, and he was gone."

"He ran away?"

She nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

"Are the police looking?"

"Of course they are."

"But they haven't found him?"

"No, Doctor. They haven't."

The Doctor watched with clouded eyes as she stood up, turned her back, and made to walk away. But before she could take a single step, he snagged her wrist, and finally asked what he already knew, but needed to be confirmed.

"Are you okay?"

Clara snatched her hand from his grasp, and departed to her bedroom. "No."