CHAPTER TWELVE

Author's note: I wrote this Chapter before the S8 opener aired, I decided not to edit it based on the new Characterisations and relationship as this is intended to be AU, hopefully the Characterisations won't end up differing too far on Clara though given the changes they are making or highlighting.

Personally whilst I loved the episode and their take on the darker Doctor and the new Companion relationship, I did have a slight issue with Clara taking on the audiences grievances about his 'age'. I think it had been made clear she wasn't into young men at Christmas and she had no such problems accepting Ten and War as 'the' Doctor. Also always felt that responding to Eleven's 'flirtations' was natural given as he was the one that practically dragged her into his TARDIS and was the one mostly obsessed (something he didn't explain for a long time), and unable to stop touching her in a more than familiar way, I think it'd be kind of hard not to get the wrong impression (glad they also acknowledged that was 'his' mistake in the episode). So for the sake of fairness to the writers trying to use the Companion as the viewers POV for the opening show, I'll just assume it was the trauma of losing him and stages of grief (denial, anger etc.) That and I think for her it was the issue of 'renewed' she'd just watched him die of old age, she probably quite rightly was worried that if he was already 'old' again that he wouldn't last long – not quite in her grief addled state, getting her head around the fact that he would have just as long no matter what apparent 'age' he started at in this form (Snapshots by Incendia Glacies also explored this point wonderfully which I fully agree with, wish it had been explained that way a little clearer in the epi – rather than Clara taking offence that she just didn't like him because he was old, rather than just being worried for him and at the clear and definite personality shift which is more startling than from some of his other most recent incarnations).

Also control freak and bossy I get... not sure about where the vain/egomaniac thing came in unless it's all related to the control freak bit. But hey her characterisation has suffered last series at the whims of the many writers so if this is them trying to fix that by finally defining and sticking to something then fine by me I still personally prefer her core character to a lot of the other Companions however muddled some of the extremities of it can be at times (Nightmare in Silver for example I think was totally ofc for Clara she barely seemed to care her 'kids' had been cyborged, not at all maternal, just ballsy and brave – apparently the timing didn't stretch to her showing both aspects) feel free to PM me or comment in the reviews if you have theories on this or any of the above or hell just to chat about the new series.

And no I'm not a fan of authors notes, rarely use them myself so I tend to skip them in others fics so no guilt if that's what you chose to do... just excited its back on and felt like sharing.

Anyway... Chapter 12 of a now very AU piece.

Clara was running, it took her a while to realise she still wasn't wearing any shoes as she darted along the empty streets of Cardiff Bay, until she reached the water, her hands clutching the railings as she stared over the moon dappled expanse. Her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't know what to think, much less what to feel. He was the Doctor, she was certain of it, but he was also something else, and apparently always had been. Somehow that felt worse, more of a betrayal than him simply taking a new name and striding out a different man with a new face.

She felt the bitter chill of the nights air against her blouse, she was hardly dressed for this, but it hadn't been high on her priorities when she'd fled. But she simply couldn't bear to see his smirk one more time, to feel the confusing touch of his hand, the utterly unchanged smell of him as he leant in too close.

"Wow, now I had no idea those little legs of yours could move that fast." Jack's voice drifted over to her and she bowed her head, clutching the railing tighter as if considering launching herself over it and into the water.

"Not now Jack." She all but whispered, not daring to look at him, not even rising to the little legs comment he loved to use to dig at her.

She felt his approach, the familiar almost comforting presence of him behind her, offering silent support. "I take it this has something to do with the Doctor being awake and out of bed?"

Clara sighed turning to look at him and he frowned at her tear stained face. "I just needed to get away, get some fresh air." She admitted quietly.

Jack nodded. "Without your shoes?" he quirked an eyebrow at her bare feet and she noticed they were more than a little scraped, she couldn't even feel it, but of course Jack had noticed. "That must have been some urge." He stepped closer and shrugged out of his large jacket stepping forward to place it firmly around her shoulders and she knew better than to argue with him about it, besides she really was cold. It practically brushed the floor on her and she laughed lightly at the ridiculousness of it.

"I don't suppose I'm going to convince you to go back inside and just leave me out here to wallow am I?" she shook her head hopelessly at him.

"Wouldn't be much of a partner if I let you catch your death of cold now would I?" he shrugged, his hands reached up and caught her face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs; the look on his face was almost too tender for her to bear and she pulled away.

"Please don't." She murmured, in no condition to deal with this.

"I take it those marriage bonds of yours are as strong as ever then?" he asked, she could hear he was going for levity but it broke somewhere in the middle into bitterness, mixed in with the smallest hint of pride, and she wondered if he'd just been pushing her just to be sure she knew what she wanted.

She nodded, clutching the jacket tighter around her and feeling the familiar and all too different beat of the Doctor's hearts within her. "Always." She added quietly. "For better or worse."

Jack let out a sigh that seemed close to exasperation and she felt his hands lower gently onto her shoulders. "What happened?" he pressed, his concern for her all that seemed to matter and it was comforting, to have someone just want to ease her pain.

Clara stared up at the night sky, it was so clear, she wondered how many of those stars she had been to, how many the Doctor had saved... how many he might fail to save? "Nothing," she admitted finally, "we had a fight that's all. It's different now, he's different. I just need some time to deal with that."

"I can understand that." He admitted, "I don't envy you," he sighed and she glanced back at him, "Oh we've all fantasised about it, his Companions," he added with a smirk, "about being that one Companion he can't let go, the one he wants to keep forever, the one he finally lets into that fortress he keeps around his hearts." He gave her a look that suggested it was a fools wish, "Martha was in love with him, did she ever tell you that?" Clara shook her head, startled by the news, "Totally head over heels for him; but he was too wrapped up in his grief about Rose to notice her, or the damage he was doing. He damn near destroyed her life before she woke up to the fact that he wasn't good for her."

Clara blinked back tears, she'd read about the 'year that never was', knew the kind of scars her friend hid, she just couldn't imagine what it would have felt like to go through that and have loved him in spite of it, getting nothing back.

"But if there was ever a case of careful what you wish for Clara, it's you and him." He pulled her into a hug and she let him, holding him close and just sobbing quietly. "He's all but a God Clara, and as unknowable as one and we are all just dust in his wake."

Clara had no answer for him, no response, she just clung to him and cried until she felt empty.

"Come back inside." He instructed quietly, his hand gently around her waist as he led her back towards the Hub. She winced as they walked, aware of the pain in her feet now, the nicks and cuts her initial flight created and he doesn't ask, just sweeps her up into his arms and holds her against his chest as he walks them back, making her feel like a foolish little girl.

"He won't like this." Clara whispered quietly against him, meaning their position even as she rested her head on his shoulder as he stared resolutely ahead, but his hands are gentle as they hold her firm. She doesn't even know this new him and she knows he wouldn't like this.

"I don't much care." He muttered back, "You're my friend, my partner and someone I care about, if he can't deal with that then he really doesn't deserve you."

They reach the entrance and he placed her gently back on her feet inside, his thumb rose to brush her cheek one last time, wiping away any remaining trace of her tears, before pushing her hair behind her ears. Sheepishly she handed back his jacket.

"Keep it for now, even though we both agree it looks better on me." He quipped and she can't help but smile despite herself as he pushed the button, entering his security details and sending her back down into the Hub as he stepped back, remaining up top; her eyes watch him until he's out of sight and she fell back against the lift, clutching the jacket to her and wondering what on earth she was supposed to do about the Doctor?

The Doctor hadn't found Clara in the Hub, not that he was all that surprised by this, he checked the internal sensors which revealed she had gone to the surface, followed shortly after it seemed by one Captain Jack Harkness. Irritation tugged at him, despite her desire to put distance between them, he had rather hoped to continue their rather charged discussion; but it seemed he would have to wait. He smirked stalking to the lifts, patience never had been a virtue of his.

He stood from a distance and watched their interactions with curiosity, noting every touch Jack gave her, every gesture he made. With satisfaction he noted she returned none of them, invited none of them. He had never doubted her, but Jack was always a wild card, if anyone could have swayed Clara's love or even a Time Lord bond he imagined it would be that man. He waited absorbing the quiet care Jack took with her fragile form, holding her close, keeping her warm and out of further damage, which he at least could appreciate. The words they uttered were unimportant, he could see all that he needed from the way they interacted; Jack loved his wife in that utterly foolhardy way of his, but fortunately he seemed content with whatever she would give him, even if friendship was all she offered.

Still, his hearts twisted, the man had clearly taken some dissuading. He cursed his ships inability to arrive anywhere on time, leaving his wife here for well over a year in Jack's company had not been part of any of their plans. He watched him place her in the lift and hang back almost expectantly. The Doctor smirked, he always enjoyed it when someone rose to a challenge. Clearly his presence hadn't gone unnoticed.

"You seem very familiar with my wife Jack." The Doctor called out within arm's reach of feeling his eyes narrow onto the man in question. Jack didn't jump but he was clearly surprised that the Doctor had managed to get so close, but his expression as he turned to meet him held nothing of the contrition he demanded.

"Your wife is a beguiling woman." Jack flashed him a smile that was all challenge and he had to admire the bravery of the man, the fearlessness. But then he wondered if it was truly fearlessness if you were convinced you couldn't die... did it instead become merely arrogance?

"Indeed she is." He didn't feel the need to add 'but she is my wife' it was implied and besides he was not some jealous school boy with a crush; nor his wife some simpering woman easily swayed by a smile and a corny line, or even Jack's insistent charms it seemed.

"Hello Doctor." He smiled tightly at him, the history laid bare and somewhat painful between them. "Been a while." he acknowledged.

The Doctor inclined his head in agreement. "That it has, a millennia give or take; but what's a thousand years between us boys eh Jack?" he smirked at the slightly nervous look that invoked from him, clearly his immortality was still a sore point; which was good because it still made the Doctor sick to his head just looking at Jack, the wrongness of the man itched at him to be fixed.

"That must have been some fight you two had." Jack pushed and the Doctor felt in the mood to push back.

"Just readjusting to one another." The Doctor gave him a look that spoke volumes, "she's grieving and yet not grieving at all. It's terribly confusing I'm sure." His smile was thin and he noticed Jack assessing him, clearly this new form was more imposing because he saw Jack waver just a fraction in whatever he'd intended to say, clearly deciding to go for a different tact with this new him.

"I've known Clara a while, survived a few scrapes with her Doctor, I don't have to tell you what a bonding experience that can be, the thrill of life and death chases." Jack's eyes danced over him as if trying to provoke an expression at the memories of his previous selves; it wouldn't work, he merely stared back impassively. "I've seen enough to know when she's afraid of something... or someone." He finally made his point and the Doctor couldn't help but admire him for it. He took a step closer and was rewarded by Jack tensing, even fractionally and knowing he had seen it.

"Clara is the woman I love, she has nothing to fear from me." He was as tall as Jack he noted as he met his stare with his own cold one.

"I never said she was afraid for her." Jack replied smoothly and the Doctor cocked his head, sensing that the man before him was much changed from the man he'd met so long ago. But he didn't like the insinuation, didn't like what he might be whispering into Clara's ear; the doubts she didn't need raising further. Cold rage washed over and through him, so much more controlled than the white hot rage of his other selves, but no less devastating for it.

"Do you know your fate Jack?" The Doctor hissed leaning into Jack's face and letting his anger dance across his features for the first time.

"I never was much for spoilers." Jack bit back, the phrase would have thrown his previous face, the sharp reminder of River startling him, but he wasn't that man and he remained unmoved, his heart was utterly Clara's.

"Oh but spoilers can be so much fun." He added quietly letting his words bite as he stared darkly at the man who had gone very still, expectant as the Doctor let him glimpse beneath for a moment. "However immortal you appear to be, please don't be fooled Jack, everything ends." He smirked at the hope he saw flash in the man's eyes. "But I've found fate can be such a fickle beast, the smallest thing can change it and who knows you might end up endless after all."

The look on the old man's face was priceless as he strode passed him, leaving Jack stunned, but he was at least convinced that he wouldn't push his wife when she was in a delicate state again; Jack for all his qualities for all he had changed was still that selfish frightened little boy he'd met with more bravado than brains. The Doctor knew his greatest fear, knew he feared he'd go on and on... and there were ways to make that happen, ways a Time Lord could easily manipulate if he so felt the need. He glanced back at the man as he stepped into the lift, seeing the utter desolation and the faint flickering of fear, apparently an undying man was easier to break, than to kill.

He found Clara lying on a bunk in the dormitory her back to the door, Jack's jacket still wrapped around her as she tried, somewhat unsuccessfully he noted, to sleep. He considered going inside, but he could hear the feint sobs coming from her, see the way her shoulders shook. His mind brushed hers gently and he felt the overwhelming grief coming from her. He withdrew, she was too caught up in it to notice his presence as he backed away, he'd give her anything he realised quietly, even his absence if it bought her peace. At least for a while.

He sighed running his hands through his short hair and turning to the control room, sliding into one of the fancy leather seats and examining the layout. He noticed the little touches throughout it that were all Clara, clearly she had made herself at home here and whilst it irritated him, it also gave him a sense of pride that she could hold her own so well without him at all. Boredom would be a problem in this form he realised quickly, something he and his predecessor shared as he twiddled with buttons and hacked into Torchwood's systems with relative ease. The video cameras were easy enough to bring up and he drew up the one of his wife finally sleeping and locked it onto the adjacent screen, his eyes drifting to it every now and again whilst he played with others. The one on him was interesting, he hadn't yet examined his face and he zoomed the webcam in, capturing sharp angle after sharp angle of his profile. Severe was the term he thought fit him best. Older... but not so old though, he still felt fresh as a daisy, save for the kidney's that was; but then he remembered what it was to feel old all too well now; to be achingly ancient. He was nowhere near that, had a millennia or so left in this face if he could figure out a way to die of old age again. Unlikely probably. He preferred the face on the whole, people wouldn't confuse him for an ignorant child and he most definitely could give gravitas a go like this.

He wondered if Clara preferred this face? She preferred his touch certainly, he brushed his fingers over the monitor watching her sleep finally and recalling every instance his skin had made contact with hers and the way she responded. But he was not fool enough to think he had settled himself in her hearts as well as she assumed; the bonding was powerful but so was the mind and she could still choose to push him away and reject her transferred feelings, she just didn't seem to know that aspect and he didn't feel inclined to enlighten her if his previous self hadn't. After all she had let him fuck her he knew that, but it hadn't been an expression of love for either of them, it had been a deep seated ache, a need that had to be answered. It would take time to have her touch him like she'd used to, to let himself slip into her embrace and feel like he was coming home. But at the very least he knew he wanted that still; no doubt somewhere in the back of his mind the Chin was crowing in victory.

But he was not unduly concerned that she would find him less attractive this way, had he not seen the way she had utterly ignored his age on Trenzalore he might have given the more apparent physical discrepancy between them more consideration, but he had never thought of her as a particularly fickle woman. Besides he recalled her saying once that she wasn't all that fond of 'boy bands' and soon enough she would have aged to the point where his previous self would have looked entirely wrong beside her anyway.

That bought him to his other issue. The Chin had considered it, looked into it and ultimately shied away from doing anything about it; too much of a coward to face the notion. He on the other hand was more pragmatic. Clara's lifespan was intolerably short. Already he could see the effects of age on her, it had been 5 years from her perspective since a monk had presented himself on her doorstep and whisked her away, and in that time she had changed from a girl to a woman. The soft impish cuteness of the girl had softened into a truly beautiful woman who could melt even his cold heart with those huge doe eyes of hers and her wit had only sharpened in the time spent sparring with him; he and the chin at least could agree, that she was perfect. But soon that scale would tip, her age would stop becoming a benefit and become a hindrance. Her health would suffer, her mind would become less agile and one careless act would be all it took to take her from him.

There were ways to extend the human lifespan, he knew them all in fact. Some less appealing than others. Tasha Lem's method for example being one of those 'lesser' ones. But age was just one barrier, injury and death were another and those were entirely beyond the human body's ability to endure no matter the technologies invented. They all had to give at some point. Which was how he'd come to consider his own rather more unique method. He glanced at his hand and willed the regeneration energy to pool as it glistened there. He was still well within his 24hour period where the excess energy continued to bleed from him pointlessly. Pointlessly that was until he'd thought to try and collect it. The answer had been obvious of course as he'd quite mercilessly chopped off his own finger and dropped it into the canister he'd prepped; much like the hand he'd lost Christmas Day two faces ago he noted watching the finger re-grow with morbid fascination. The energy needed a matching biological receptacle to cling to or it was useless. Containing it had proved more of a challenge in the ten minutes he'd had, but he'd saved the world in less. He'd siphoned off this excess energy giving him more than enough of a supply and crucially time to consider the best way to utilise it on his errant wife.

Clearly he'd succeeded in some form or another in a now defunct future, he recalled her mostly ageless face from the cell in his predecessors memories. And whilst it wasn't enough to discourage him, it did give him pause; he had no wish to see that fate befall either of them. He rather liked her wilful bossy side too much to see it so broken, particularly by him. Nor did he want to see her cringe away from his touch, cowering in fear of him, hating him to her core enough to wish her own death. Whatever that man had been who had done those things, he knew he hadn't loved her, not as he did now, obsessed over her certainly, but not loved her, not like he still did.

So perhaps that was the point of all this, that twisted versions final victory, as he considered the desperation he'd witnessed in the face identical to his current one, the lost adoration and longing for the 'toy' he'd broken; he was consumed by it; by the desire to fix it and utterly failing. The Doctor leant back and laced his fingers behind his head the images unsettling him as a darker part of him completely empathised with the monster on his ice covered world, trapped by it and by the woman who'd refused to love him. That version hadn't failed he supposed, not in the end, he considered Clara's words, 'a trap' she'd called it, perhaps it really had been, after all he was sat here, with the same monstrous mind... but a somewhat altered set of hearts, and a very different set of intentions. He supposed he had the Chin to thank for that; they had both set a trap it seemed just as Clara predicted and he was the one that was still caught in it, trying to decide if he was happy to be trapped, or if he would willingly gnaw his own arm off to escape.

Clara stirred on the monitor and he glanced at the clock surprised that several hours had passed, Jack had rather sensibly not returned, but the Jones' were likely to be back shortly. He flicked off the video feed and turned the monitor to something more unobtrusive as he scanned the hacked UNIT personnel files and recent incident reports, looking for something to occupy his time.

Clara awoke slowly, her head was still heavy and stuffy from the time spent crying, Jack's jacket still hung around her and she placed it guiltily on the bed beside her, pulling off the blanket instead and throwing that around her shoulders. She was more than a little surprised to find herself alone, she'd half expected the Doctor to have been sat in the room watching her sleep most of the night. Which sounded creepier than she'd intended, given as the Doctor she knew would have spent it worrying and trying to think of ways to fix it, to make her feel better. Unfortunately that was the whole point, he wasn't the Doctor she knew anymore. And he wasn't there. In fact by the looks of it he'd taken her plea to be left alone quite seriously. It was a curious feeling to actually ask for space and to be given it, perhaps there would be benefits to a more mature Doctor after all. She certainly hoped so because at the moment all she had seen were the more negative aspects.

The blanket wrapped around her in the still slightly cool air she headed to the kitchen, somewhat surprised to find him sat there, drinking a cup of what she highly suspected was tea. She came to stand beside the table his eyes watching her over the rim of the cup, again she was disconcerted by the idea of not knowing what he was thinking.

"Is that tea?"

He gave her a nod.

"You hate tea." She added quietly.

"Correction, he hated tea, but then the last face had a somewhat defective set of taste buds. I find it perfectly pleasant. Although maybe could do with a dram of whiskey." He added giving her a look that she thought might have been playful if he practiced it more. "Would you like a cup?" he asked her innocently and she nodded, sliding into the seat at the table opposite him, whilst he set about brewing her one. He placed it down in front of her and retreated to the other side of the table, watching her quietly as he finished his own.

"Thank you." She offered after taking a sip and deciding this version probably hadn't deleted cooking after all, the fact that he'd got it just how she liked it was a little more reassuring than it should be as well.

"What would you like to eat?" he asked after she'd drained half the cup in silence. Her eyebrows rose.

"You want to make breakfast for me?" she asked feeling utterly lost, she'd expected there next conversation to be many things, domestic wasn't one of them. Frankly this polite distance from him was also unnerving, she didn't think they'd had one conversation since his regeneration where he wasn't touching her or invading her personal space in some way, confusing her already thoroughly confused senses further, not giving her a moment to actually think about what it might be like between them now.

He smiled almost fondly at her as he got to his feet, "We might be having something of a lovers tiff at the moment my dear, but I assure you it hasn't altered anything. I often cook you breakfast, I think it might be one of our better traditions."

She didn't know what to say to that, she just watched him as he expertly made her bacon and egg pancakes and placed the honey rather than syrup down in front of her without so much as a flourish. Clara caught his trailing hand in hers as he made to move back to his seat opposite on the far side of the table. "Sit with me?" she asked gently, indicating the seat beside her after all he'd been nothing but honest with her so far, painfully so in fact, she felt the need to reciprocate. He nodded, taking back his hand and retrieving his own plate as he eased into the adjacent seat.

"You understand this is difficult for me?" She managed, staring at the perfect plate of food in front of her.

"Because of a lack of apatite or because I got the recipe wrong?" he let the question hang there and she blinked stupidly back at him. His hand covered hers, "I'm joking my Love. I think it is a rather more wry wit this time around, I'm sure we'll get used to it." He patted her hand lightly as if in sympathy.

Clara closed her mouth. "Yes, I understand Clara." He sighed at her when she didn't proceed to eat. "And whilst I don't seem to have patience for many things, which by the way is not a trait I have ever possessed." he saw her slight smile of acknowledgement, and he drew her hand to his lips drawing her gaze with it until her eyes were locked on his "But for you I can do anything." It seemed to be a promise and she felt the conviction behind it, which also gave her pause as she wondered just what that might mean. "You and I will take time Love. I am not the man you knew, nor am I quite the man you feared I would be; which has left you wrongfooted, am I right?"

Clara nodded feeling the need to find her voice faced with this more eloquent version of him. "Yes. I just... I may need time to adjust." It was hardly poetry that she was returning or the same unwavering conviction, but at least she had managed something which when faced with his almost penetrating attention was more than she expected.

He nodded. "Are you afraid of me?" he quirked an eyebrow at this, examining her face intently.

"Possibly." Clara admitted feeling ridiculous and guilty and a little bit afraid even now as she felt the touch of his skin against hers, wearing into her resistance and trying to steal her senses.

"Probably healthy." He admitted. "I imagine I'd scare me a little too." He leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, brushing her hair lightly behind her ear in a gesture that made her simultaneously want to flee and lean into him. "We'll work on that Love." He promised and she looked back down to her food. He didn't offer anything else but began eating his food and she decided to listen to her grumbling stomach and do the same. It was oddly domestic and it actually bought about a pang of nostalgia for the times they had done this before when her husband hadn't been dragging her off-world for some wholly out of this world or occasionally god awful alien breakfast. She glanced across at him, wondering if that was exactly the point. For all his talk of being a different man, he was certainly trying hard to remind her of the things about that man she'd loved.

"How did you sleep?" he asked gently and she blinked, this was all a bit of a 180 in tone and content from the previous day from him and she was scrambling to catch up with the nuances. At least previously she'd had some idea of how to predict his moods.

"Okay I guess." She replied and she tried not to jump as his hand dropped to her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze that actually had her catching her breath as she stared at what she surmised was his irritated expression.

"If you'd prefer not to answer my question, that would be preferable to you lying to me." He gave her a look that suggested he knew how she'd spent her evening.

Clara sighed leaning back in her chair, his hand remained warm and gentle against her knee. "Sorry. This is... a little strange." 'Strange' was the best adjective she could come up with for sitting down to breakfast post fight about the darker nature of your husband who wasn't quite your husband anymore, not having the slightest clue what would set him off into a rage, or leave him giddy or even what might bring on a bout of melancholy.

He smirked. "Try it with a whole new set of taste buds and less than efficient kidney's and we'll talk 'strange'." He murmured and she felt instantly guilty. After all she wasn't the only one going through this. From his perspective he'd aged a thousand years, died, been reborn and found his wife more than a little hesitant to pick up where they'd left off... their one brief, somewhat passionate interlude not withstanding; but she was chalking that up to shock and her desperate need to connect with him, and probably that she was currently one walking mess of neurosis.

"I'm being a terrible wife." She muttered.

"Terrible is a broad term." He replied giving her knee an affectionate squeeze before he removed it letting his hand drop harmlessly onto the table top and she had to look at his face to see the feint way his blue eyes danced to realise he was teasing her. She rolled her eyes at him in response and bumped her arm slightly into his.

"Definitely wry." She commented, "I suppose I could get used to that." She added gently.

He smiled, his hand moving to settle over hers instead. "I feel I should make myself clear." He started and she tensed slightly at his serious tone as she met his gaze. "That possible future you and I glimpsed..." she paused, yet again the conversation was swinging like a pendulum between them and making her dizzy with the emotional whiplash it left behind. She felt herself tense involuntarily at the memory at the words he'd rasped below the TARDIS console that had so frightened her. "I have no wish to see that come to pass."

Clara let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Oh." she trailed off not sure in the least what to say to that, 'thank you' came to mind but she squashed it, she wasn't about to thank him for reconsidering turning her into a prisoner fearing for her sanity. She'd given him that rope earlier in an effort to trust him, and he'd damn near hung himself with it already.

He sighed clearly realising that there was a long way to go between them before she'd blindly accept his words, if she ever had, "I know my, lapses, earlier were disturbing," she considered the idea that he was dismissing them as a lapse, some sort of blip in an otherwise sound frame of mind, she wasn't convinced, "but I assure you my memory is quite intact now, as are my feelings for you."

Clara nodded, her eyes on her breakfast not daring to look at him, feelings was a carefully selected word she noted, not an outright declaration of love, which she was actually relieved about, she wasn't sure how she'd feel about him staring intently at her and professing such a thing. Not yet. Although she was quite certain he did. Why else would he bother with any of this at all?

"Would a funeral help?" he asked in the same way that people might ask about the weather, completely throwing her again as he bounced seemingly between their conversations and her earlier trains of thought and she froze, looking at him like a deer in the headlights.

"What?" was all she could manage, staring bewildered back at him.

He smiled gently, reaching forward and stroking her chin. "You're grieving without grieving. A funeral for my last face may help." He was serious she realised.

"I don't think... well that doesn't seem appropriate given the circumstance." She admitted quietly feeling a little queasy.

He shifted in his chair, until his knee bumped hers and he turned her hand palm up, tracing a pattern over the skin and up to her wrist in a way that she found inexplicably soothing. She glanced down at it, realising that this version of him seemed to have a blueprint of her skin that his last self didn't and he wasn't above using it.

"Even in Time Lord society it was a practice occasionally indulged in for those who experienced a traumatising regeneration, or if the resulting personality was a significant deviation from those before. It could be therapeutic for both the family members of the 'departed' and for the effected. A way of closing a chapter of their lives if you will."

Clara closed her eyes, feeling the soft sensations of his touch all along her arm which was counteracting the mad desire she had to break down into a heap and sob for hours, again. Her eyes opened onto his curious ones and she saw nothing of the somewhat darker man that had so frightened her yesterday with his truth's. "Is this an act?" she asked quietly.

He quirked an eyebrow, fortunately he seemed to find the question amusing as opposed to offensive. "An act?" he repeated, leaning closer to her and drawing her hand into his chest until he could raise it to his lips and press a kiss to the back of it. "You think because I am perhaps capable of things my previous face was not, that I might love you less... want to make you any less happy than before?"

His declaration so soon after she had decided she wasn't ready for it was jolting. That guilty feeling resurfaced and she sucked in a breath, realising that whether she wanted to or not, she was more than a little attracted to this face, particularly as his touch kept reminding her of just what else he could make her feel. "So, not an act then." She replied as his fingers caressed hers.

"Hardly." He replied, "Eat your breakfast, it's getting cold." He added, releasing her hand and returning to his own meal, leaving her staring at him like an idiot.

"Stop doing that." She muttered, chewing quickly on the pancakes and deciding that he'd improved the recipe for them, it was actually a little jarring to realise he seemed to do everything a little more to her liking...

"Eating?" he quipped.

"Wrongfooting me." She replied, "And stop doing things better." She sighed, pushing the plate away, irritated now with her own inability to simply let this go, she'd thought it would be easier. But she really was a control freak and he wasn't letting her even get her footing enough to attempt an ounce of control. It was certainly uncomfortable for her to be so... lost with him.

He shrugged, "I regenerated more in tune with your needs my dear, it is a simple evolutionary benefit of being with a Time Lord." He glanced at her half empty plate and pulled it across, starting on it himself; apparently he was hungry after regenerating.

Clara ran her hands over her face in exasperation, "Maybe your right, maybe a funeral would help." She admitted, reconsidering the ridiculous idea he'd proposed. She half suspected it would actually make it worse, like putting a barrier between them she wouldn't be able to overcome because it would divide the two versions of him utterly in her mind.

They finished their meal in silence and she washed up the plates, not bothering to comment when he wordlessly began drying them. "I'm a little surprised Jack isn't in here, the smell of bacon is normally enough to draw him in from the opposite side of town." She noted keen to break the silence as she glanced at the clock and knowing he would have been asleep in his rooms a few doors over.

She caught the slight twitch of the Doctor's lips and rounded on him, "Did you talk to Jack by any chance last night?" she asked pointedly, unable to keep the accusing tone out of her voice.

He gave her a look that would have pinned lesser mortals to the wall behind her, "You were asleep in his jacket... yes we had a chat." He wasn't smiling and she rolled her eyes, but yet again she had to appreciate his honesty, whatever he was she sensed secrets might not be their problem. Not that it didn't make her any less angry at the insinuation.

"I can handle Jack Harkness." She jabbed a finger into his chest.

"Evidently." He replied, "I have no doubt the man would happily do anything you asked." There was a definite hint of jealousy there that she caught this time underneath the evident sarcasm.

"What did you say to him?" she snapped, although the question she almost felt she needed to ask was 'what did you do to him'; but she held that back, not willing to believe he'd actually hurt Jack, not yet and wondering when it was she'd let her mind even start considering such a thing of the Doctor, because if he was anything she was certain he was still that, because no one could infuriate her like the Doctor, whatever his face.

He smiled thinly. "Just some home truth's between old friends." He took the mug she was holding from her and placed it away in the cupboard she couldn't reach. "And a simple reminder that it is impolite to repeatedly hit on another man's wife."

"Jack is just being Jack. It wouldn't matter who's wife I was, he'll hit on anything that has a pulse." She bit back the irritation flaring with him again, because no matter how pleasant he was she kept getting the unmistakeable feeling that there was an undercurrent to it all, just simmering beneath the surface and she didn't want it to break through.

The Doctor nodded, "Perhaps, but rest assured he won't be including you in that category again."

Clara gave him a withering look. "I can fight my own battles, if and when needed thank you very much." She snapped throwing the tea towel at his face, which of course he caught before it hit. She moved to leave and he stepped in front of her.

"I'm sorry my dear." He murmured, his hand going to her elbow and halting her movement. "Was I mistaken in assuming you did not invite or enjoy his lecherous intentions?"

Clara paused, hearing that tone again as she stared up at him, his fingers curling around her arm. The old him had been possessive but as she felt the tension in his hand the way his eyes bored into hers, she realised it really might be a defining trait of this new him. "Get out of my way." She snapped gritting out the words from behind her teeth, not wanting to let him control her like this.

He cocked his head and leant in until his lips brushed her ear, "I assure you my Love, you have no need to look outside of our marriage for such intentions." She jerked away from him shocked and couldn't help but back away from him her mouth open wordlessly as she felt her pulse spike in fear and something else as his words seemed to slide along her skin and she realised with mild horror that it was a spike of arousal, she actually liked it when he talked to her like that...

"You are such an asshole." She hissed, covering her discomfort with defensiveness.

He seemed to consider it and her new distance from him. "Perhaps." He shrugged. "But we are married, that does come with certain vows my dear, I would be remiss if I did not remind you that there is a price for breaking them."

Clara felt her eyes narrow at the whisper of his threat and she rounded on him stalking forwards. "Get this through your thick head." She snarled. "I am not sleeping with Jack Harkness, not now, not ever. We are friends and I swear to god if you've laid a hand on him, husband, I will ensure that your lecherous intent is never satisfied again." She threatened feeling her chest heaving with anger.

He gave her a dark look, his eyebrows high as he crossed his arms defensively. "Don't make threats you can't commit to dear." He smirked, "We both know out of the two of us who is more likely to give in to such intents..." his words did something to her stomach and she wanted to tear her own hair out in frustration as he met her with that intense, suggestive stare. Of course it would have been too much to ask that he not notice how he apparently affected her in this new face.

The slap she gave him would have been justified, if he hadn't caught her hand. He tugged her into his chest with the offending limb and wrapped her firmly in his arms until she could feel every inch of him against her. "Now now Love, you know how I feel about violence, or used to feel." His voice was like silk even if his words were a taunt as his hands trailed down her spine and she felt the unmistakeable pooling of heat between her legs. She glared balefully up at him and he kissed her hard, pushing her back into the counter and forcing her to draw in a startled breath as his tongue swept into her mouth drawing a moan from her she never intended to give. She felt anger flare at how easily he could manipulate her body and apparently her mind, she bit at his lips, her hands in his hair tugging at it sharply, he groaned into her mouth and she could feel her willpower crumbling.

But it was just sex, desire... this was him trying to manipulate her, it wasn't love and she refused to play this game with him to let it even become a game he thought he had a chance at. "No!" she snapped, shoving him away and clutching herself around the middle as she tried to catch her breath, her hand on the counter; the whole thing reminding her eerily of how this had all started... in a kitchen, washing up. This would have been easier if she didn't feel so right in his arms, if his every touch didn't ignite something in her that demanded she simply accept him as her husband. Perhaps it was the bond, she didn't know, part of her suspected that was just wishful thinking on her part; maybe she really was just that fickle that she'd take the Doctor however he came to her, even if he was an insufferable git this time round. Another more masochistic part of her wondered if it was her fault he was like this at all, that he'd regenerated just like he said to be what she wanted, needed, even if she hadn't been consciously aware it was. But she couldn't deny this version of him was affecting her, getting under her skin like nothing else had before.

He hovered behind her, but he didn't press, merely waited with a cold expression on his face as she turned back to him wide eyed and flushed. Her rejection was carved all over his face she realised seeing for the first time his mask slip a little and the anger he clearly kept hidden within spill free.

"I'll see about arranging a funeral shall I, I'm sure there are some items we could contribute to a funeral pyre to see my previous face on his way." His words cut and she blinked back tears as he stalked away, certain that her rejection had led him to make that last jab sting as much as it had.