December 9th

They both had rules. They both had boundaries. But they both desperately needed to break those rules, and penetrate those boundaries.

Clara was at the peak of her grieving. She was so close, she felt. She almost felt better, but something was holding her back. Maybe she just needed to cry it all out. She'd kept herself from doing it for a good while, now. Made it a personal rule even, that she was determined not to break. But maybe it was time.

But she couldn't. She couldn't cry. She wanted to, she felt like she needed to, but the pressure and tightness behind her eyes and in her chest just seemed to become enhanced when she tried to allow her tears to flow.

She also felt a somewhat desperate need for simply... contact. Maybe all she needed was a good hug. Someone to tell her it was all going to be okay, someone to be there for her, someone to truly devote a bit of their time to just caring for her. But she had no one like that. Her family never came around anymore, she'd distanced herself from her friends long ago, so all she had left was the Doctor.

She knew he cared for her. She really did. But it didn't change the fact that he wasn't the man he used to be. He couldn't be the person she needed. Not anymore.

Clara sighed and buried herself deeper into the covers, pressing her head deep into the pillow. It was early, only eight o'clock or so, but she was already feeling so exhausted and drained. So why not go to bed? She didn't really have any reason for being up and about, anyway. Well, unless the Doctor got hungry... yet again. That man. She groaned at the simple thought of him. But not with distaste as much as a reluctant amusement. She didn't mind him sticking around as much as she thought she would have.

She was finally beginning to drift into very much welcomed oblivion when she heard her bedroom door creak open. She narrowly opened her eyes, squinting in the darkness at the small amount of light peering through the small opening. There she was met with the one icy blue eye and hardened brow that she could see through the crack.

With a little groan, she pulled the covers from her body and swung her legs off the bed. "Tomorrow, I'm teaching you how to make a damn sandwich." She mumbled in the midst of a yawn.

"No. Stay in bed, its okay." The Doctor stated quickly, opening the door wide enough so that he could slightly step through. When he shut it behind him, Clara began to eye him warily.

"What do you need, then?" She kept her voice low, not sure why her heart was racing as fast as it was.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Stuck his hands in his pockets, then pulled them back out. He scratched lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck, then brought his gaze to the floor.

"Go on, then."

"I need you to talk to me, Clara." He finally admitted.

"Isn't that what we're doing?" Her light attempt at humor fell flat. She knew where this was going, and she wanted it to stop.

The Doctor seated himself on the edge of the bed, as close to the foot as he could get without sliding off. He looked to his left, sad eyes boring into Clara's.

She just wanted it to stop.

"There's nothing else to talk about." She said halfheartedly, drawing her gaze away. But still, she managed to meet his gaze, and inch a bit closer to his side. "You can stop worrying about me. You need to stop worrying about me. I'm fine."

"Just yesterday you said that you weren't." He protested, then gestured to her face. "But those eyes of yours tell the story enough." He scoffed.

She shook her head. "I just need time."

"You've had time."

"Then I need more time."

"Clara-"

"No, Doctor. Please, just let this go." Her voice was pleading, but just as he'd said, her eyes told the story much better. She noticed that her voice cracked amidst her words, and choked back a sob rising in her throat. Why her emotions were choosing this time to finally succumb, she didn't know. But she wasn't prepared to let it happen; especially not in front of the Doctor. So with a shuddering sigh she straightened herself, blinked, swallowed hard, and turned her pained gaze into nothing but defiance.

"You haven't cried." It was more of a statement of clarification than a question. "Why?"

"Because I'm not that weak anymore, Doctor." She hissed. "I'm grown up since you last saw me. You've been gone a long while. You have your rules, I have mine."

"Ah, but there's a flaw, you see?" He smirked, then poked the center of her forehead, tilting his head slightly. "I know you." When she made no indication that she intended to reply, he continued on. "And I know that its about time you broke that ridiculous rule of yours."

Her gaze gradually softened over the course of the next few silent minutes. She ran a hand through her hair, played around with Danny's bracelet and her mum's ring, then finally brought her glassy eyes to his. "I'll break my rule if you break yours." The words were barely audible, obviously reluctant and pained.

But very much needed.

All she needed was the slight nod he gave in reply before she twisted her body in his direction and leaned right into his embrace. His hands didn't know what to do at first, sticking out awkwardly to his sides, but apparently he still had a bit of muscle memory from Bow Tie's regeneration. Because the next thing he knew, he was holding her tight.

Clara responded immediately, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and pressing her face against his shoulder. Alas, tears began to fall. Her face felt parched in a way, so aching for the warm feeling of painful tears. And once they began, they refused to stop.

She found herself sobbing roughly, chest heaving and shoulders shaking with every sharp inhalation. She twined her fingers into the smooth fabric of his jacket, gripping the material tight and holding on like a lifeline.

The Doctor chuckled slightly, pressing his cheek against her hair. "Never trust a hug." He muttered under his breath, seeing his own vision cloud and feeling the red rimmed outline.

"So much for... hiding my face." She choked out, slight smile on her face. She lifted her head and pulled back slightly to catch sight of his expression, feeling like crying even harder when she saw the tear begin to slide down his own face. She lifted her hand to his cheek and wiped the wetness away with her thumb, giving him a quizzical look. "Why're you crying?"

"I'm not." He defended, sniffing loudly. "What are you talking about?"

Clara didn't say anything else, just smiled brightly and emitted a half laugh, half sob, and fell against him again. Her hand slid up to press against his chest, feeling the wild, fast beat pounding beneath her fingertips. She pressed her forehead against him, then just held him tightly again. She never wanted to let go.

They sat there for seconds, minutes, hours, the Doctor didn't know. But soon Clara's crying subsided, and she fell limp against him. With a furrowed brow he tilted her head back to catch sight of her closed eyelids, tear stained cheeks, relaxed features, and hear her slowed breathing.

He laughed quietly, pulling her back to him and resting the back of her head in his palm. With slow, careful movements, he gently maneuvered her back into bed and tucked the duvet comfortingly around her.

He straightened himself, took a small step back and ran a hand through his hair. "I know you." He whispered with grin, brushed his fingers against the top of her hand, and walked away.