December 13th

She'd not watched telly since he'd shown up. She knew how much he despised such a domestic entertainment option, so she'd respected that and left the television screen darkened for the past two weeks. Two weeks. Not that Clara was some kind of screen addict, of course, but in her own home, surely she earned just an hour or so of sitcoms right?

"No." The Doctor peeked his head around the corner, peering darkly into the living room the moment he heard the television switch on. His brow was furrowed in a no-nonsense demeanor, and he took a few angered steps forward. "No!"

"My flat, Doctor! I can watch telly if I want." She scowled, pointedly flipping through the channels, putting a bit more force on each button than necessary. "If that's just so horrible for you, you're gonna have to live with it."

He set a hard frown on his face, stomping straight up to the set and ripping a few wires apart that were tangled behind, sending a few sparks flying ablaze. "No T.V."

"What the hell!?" Clara howled, jumping to her feet and running to the wall to access the damage. "What was that for?!"

"You know I hate that thing."

"And?"

"So why'd you turn it on?"

"Because what you like and don't like, Doctor, doesn't decide what I get to do in my own home!" She shouted, raising herself onto her tiptoes in hopes of looking a bit more intimidating than a 5'1'' control freak.

"Look at you." He poked her forehead a bit roughly, sending her off balance. "So emotional just over a few torn wires. You're going domestic on me, Clara Oswald."

"I'm human. I've always been domestic!"

"Yes ma'am." He raised his hands slightly in mock-surrender, retreating a few steps.

Clara crossed her arms and sighed dramatically, kicking at the corner of the sofa before plopping herself down onto the cushions. She reclined against the back, gaze fixed on the ceiling, ankles crossing and uncrossing absentmindedly. "Fine, then." She said at last. "Looks like you have to find some way to entertain me now."

"I beg your pardon?" He quirked an eyebrow and his lips hitched downward in a confused frown.

"Tell me a story." She said hastily before her previous words could be misinterpreted.

"I don't do bedtime stories, Clara." He said dubiously.

"It's four in the afternoon." She noted with a shadowed smirk. "Doesn't count as bedtime." She shifted a bit and patted the seat next to her, casting him an inviting glance. "Come on, then. Quick as you like."

The Doctor's feet shuffled a minute during his indecisive battle before he let out a reluctant groan and did as he was told. He flinched when Clara pat his knee, and brought his eyes warily to hers.

"Go on." She encouraged, blinking repeatedly, smiling in a way that just screamed, I win.

"Can't I just fix the telly instead?" He begged halfheartedly. "It would give me something to do."

"I'm givin' you something to do right now." Her eyes widened a hair in what seemed to be now genuine interest.

"Well, what do you want me to tell you about?"

"Gallifrey." Clara felt him physically tense at the word, thick unease suddenly ringing in the air. His gaze was fixed on nothing, a huge, unexpected look of despair overcoming his features. "So?" She prompted not quite as eagerly, lightheartedly nudging his ribs with her elbow. "You manage a king title up there? Or queen?" She hesitantly went on when he said nothing, doing her best to keep the moment light. "Should I start calling you Mr. President now?"

The Doctor's features loosened ever so slightly, but his expression never changed. To Clara, it was readable even in the considerably dim light. Sometimes, the man was so impossible to read. She thought him to be bipolar from time to time, never seeming to manage to make up his mind, one moment being kind and gentle, the next being dangerous and heroic. But now, it was something about his eyes that sparkled in the faint darkness. The way his bottom lip trembled for a split second, only Clara's warily trained eyes managing to notice the movement. The way his breathing sped up and his hearts hammered so hard she could feel the echoing beat as she grasped his hand.

"Doctor?" She whispered, the word just barely making its way past her lips. She watched his face, watch his sad expression harden into an angered one, and gripped his hand a little tighter. Realization dawned upon her, and she battled for a few moments whether or not to address the suspicions. But she knew far to well that if she didn't, he never would. Opening up had helped her... maybe it would for him to.

"She lied didn't she?" Clara finally asked, voice barely audible, a little squeak of surprise catching in her throat when the Doctor returned the grip on her hand. "Gallifrey wasn't really there."

It took longer than she would have liked for the Doctor to finally speak up. "Yeah." He whispered in confirmation. "She lied."

"I'm sorry." She managed to say. She'd experienced loss again and again, and it had hurt so much. But still, she'd never understand the pain of losing one's entire home... entire species. Anything she'd been through was like crying over spilled milk compared to what the Doctor had to live with.

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?"

In a way, his words were slightly inspiring. Clara had felt pain. Felt such a strong emotional pang that she'd felt like the world was crumbling down all around her. Nothing had mattered anymore. She hadn't had anyone anymore. No one to look up to, no one to hold, no one to hug. And it had hurt. But still, she'd gone on denying both to the Doctor and herself that she was fine, constantly insisting again and again that she was okay.

But it wasn't pain and sorrow as much in his next words as it was admittance. Something it had taken far to long for Clara to come to terms with; the confession that she wasn't always alright. Which left her amazed and beaming with an odd sort of admiration as he finally spoke.

"To be quite honest, Clara," His words tapered off, voice cracking. "No."