CHAPTER TWENTY
The booth rose and settled into position in the restaurant and the Half-Faced Man stood, turning to notice the only living, breathing occupant in a room full of deactivated robots. The Doctor grinned at him, lifting a glass of whiskey to his lips and appreciating the taste of alcohol for the first time in a number of regenerations as it burned down his throat.
"The restaurant is closed." The Half-faced man barked utterly unphased by his presence.
"Pity and it seemed such a fine establishment, what with all these rubbish barely functional robots, I take it the organ harvesting business has been some deluded attempt to repair them. You know you boys need to get a new idea, it didn't work before and it won't now." He took another sip of his whiskey and poured a second glass holding it out to the creature.
"What are you doing?" It asked, clearly confused by the gesture as it strode to one of the far walls the Doctor assumed concealed a control panel.
"Well you see I have this horrible feeling that I'm going to have to kill you. I thought you might appreciate a drink first." His smile was razor thin as he stared at him. The Half-faced man gave him a moments consideration before turning to pull a small lever exposing the control panel and causing the whole restaurant to shudder as the roof began to open. The Doctor looked up faintly impressed.
"So rubbish robot... you're from the Fifty First Century right? A time-travelling spaceship crashed in the past, you're trying to get home the long way round." He reasoned recalling vividly the unfortunate fates of the human crew of the SS Madame de Pompadour.
"I go to the Promised Land." It told him stiffly as the Doctor approached downing his whiskey and throwing the glass to shatter with satisfaction against the wall.
"So you say. So you've what turned your ship into a restaurant, patched it and you up with the spare parts stolen from the unwary diners you've lured into your honey pot. You're deluded, it will never fly." The Doctor assured him with a sneer.
The Half-faced man cocked his head. "You are the Doctor she spoke of."
The Doctor felt every molecule of his body go rigid at those words, his lip ticked the only expression his face could manage as he felt his eyebrows draw together in fury as his hearts beat painfully hard in his chest and he reached out, lowering his mental barriers that he had slammed in place after so foolishly leaving his wife unattended in his rage. Her heartbeat stuttered and slammed into his mind and he reached further, pulling on every ounce of his mental abilities to reach out, looking for her. All he got back was pain, a jumble of incoherent thoughts and blinding white hot agony and despair.
The Doctor charged forward and grasped the robot by its lapels, every instinct in him roaring at him to do something... anything to find Clara. "She said you would come." Its lips almost turned up into a smile and the Doctor felt fury like he'd never before allowed consume him.
"Where is she?" He bit out, rage turning his words into a near growl.
"She is being recycled, she will repair us indefinitely. We have no further use of this restaurant." And with that the whole room shook, taking them both off balance and causing the Doctor to lose his grip on him as they fell apart. The Doctor looked up in time to see the grotesque site of human skin woven into a giant patchwork of a balloon being ignited above his very head, as the clockwork mechanics of the room turned and the whole building lifted free, rising up into the air like a macabre kite. Utterly making a mockery of his declaration, because this restaurant was indeed flying it would seem.
"You will assist us." The Half-faced man turned to him, eyeing him with all the understanding of a dung beetle. The Doctor closed his eyes, not suppressing his rage but letting it course through him until he opened them again on the robot.
"I am the Doctor; the Oncoming Storm, the Predator, the Valeyard. And you have my wife. I will assist you in one thing only... dying."
"How would you kill me?" the foolish creature asked, utterly failing to understand the hornets nest it had kicked, the monster it had unleashed in him. "I am not human, not alive to die... I will reach the promised land."
The Doctor smiled, it was a twisted thing and he saw a flicker of uncertainty in the robots lifeless eyes. "Oh I think you've been around long enough to know, there is no Promised Land. And if there were, I would never allow you to reach it." They charged at one another, the Doctor had no need of his screwdriver, he wrapped his own bare hands around the bastards throat, intending to tear his damn head off. The restaurant doors swung open and gave him a view over London as they grappled and he slammed the arm containing the blowtorch which had sprung to life away from his face.
"You are stronger than you look." The Half-Face man grumbled, trying and failing to shake him off.
"Oh you have no idea." The Doctor snarled.
"You could help me Doctor, help us. I have seen what you have done to the human woman, show us how to repair as she does and we will have no need of parts." Perhaps it thought it was appeasing his ego, perhaps it would have, had Clara's words not been on accusatory repeat inside his brain all night long. Now having this monster throw it back at him in the same way she had, was doing nothing to ease the white hot ball of rage inside of him, or the gnawing guilt that perhaps he had taken something precious from her after all.
The realisation made him want to lash out, and this thing was conveniently in his grasp. "I was going to throw you off this flying slaughterhouse to your death, but I've reconsidered." The Doctor growled reaching into his pocket and retrieving the laser screwdriver he'd forced the TARDIS to return to him. "Death is too good for you, and I did promise you'd never reach your Promised Land..."
The robotic creatures tormenting her fell silent and Clara fell still alongside them, her body a quivering ball of liquid gold as the energy sought to repair the damage they had ruthlessly inflicted. She kept her eyes firmly closed not willing to see the pieces of her that littered the floor all around; or the parts they'd already begun to appropriate and store away. All she cared about was that they'd stopped and she was breathing without pain.
Hands came down on her shoulders and she screamed, thrashing wildly. "Clara, Clara, shhhh." His voice, that deep Scottish timbre was enough to send her scuttling into the recesses of her mind in abject horror. If he was here, then it was real, if he was holding her then she'd survived it... and she wasn't so sure she should have. She reached out and clung to him desperately, searching for the comforting solidness of him against her.
"You're ok, it's ok, I've got you." He whispered and she could feel his trembling hands in her hair, tracing along her face, holding her close as he lifted her almost effortlessly into his arms. "Keep your eyes shut my love." He whispered against her temple, understanding what she had known instinctively; that she simply couldn't see it. Shouldn't. "They're gone I promise, he's gone. You're going to be ok, I've got you." He mumbled pointless comforting words against her hair as he walked, keeping her pressed tightly to him, until his fingers slid more intently to her temple and she felt the insistent push of his mind. Perhaps she should have fought harder, put up a block, but right now she agreed with him, the best thing for her was to be unconscious; so she let him in, let him make it all go away for now.
Clara awoke in a large bed, in a mostly unfamiliar house to the alien sounds and smells of what she realised was still Victorian London. Slowly she sat up and carefully examined the two hands in front of her, shoving aside the bed clothes she took in the expanse of two fully formed legs and feet, blinking her eyes which were working perfectly as she ran her tongue along her mouth, testing. Her hands drifted as she examined every inch of herself beneath the voluminous white nightgown, checking, making certain. There was a large mirror in the room and she stood on perfectly stable legs in front of it removing the overdone Victorian nightgown to stand naked. There wasn't a mark on her to show for the horrors she'd experienced. Nothing. It left her feeling oddly void and without a sense of closure, how could you heal mentally from something if there was no proof it even happened?
There was a soft knock on the door and Clara responded her eyes still on the mirror. Madam Vastra entered the room and paused at what Clara realised was the obvious sight of her naked. But the lizard woman wasn't human, and she clearly assumed that if Clara had called her into the room in this state then she was perfectly fine with her seeing this, and so her eyes didn't lower and she didn't stammer out an apology. Instead she merely closed the door and came to stand beside her, observing through the mirror much as Clara had.
"It is a remarkable." Vastra offered quietly her eyes tracing over the flawless skin, not bothering to ask her how she 'was' because the woman was astute enough to know the answer wouldn't be helpful to either of them, denial was safer. "I must confess when the Doctor called us to dispose of the remaining evidence of the robots presence we found the chamber you were held in. What they had done. I can scarcely believe you are standing her before me, unblemished by the experience." Clara imagined the state she had been in, the clothes that had been shredded and blood soaked, she wondered if Vastra or the Doctor had been the ones to bathe her and dress her, although she suspected the latter.
But Clara found herself snorting derisively at Vastra's assessment, half in self pity and half in exasperation. "I'm hardly unblemished Vastra, I'm afraid the damage is just up here... far more dangerous." She replied tapping her forehead. "A human being shouldn't be expected to live through something like that."
Madam Vastra sighed. "But live you have and shall." She replied, again the difference in her alienness at the fore, clearly the lizard believed that living was the important thing, not how scarred you were from it. "I am however profoundly sorry that it has caused you such distress."
Distress, Clara thought the word fitting, but she had a more pressing concern, there had been one obvious thing missing when she had awoken. "Where is he?" Clara turned staring Vastra in the eye and noting that the lizard woman took the opportunity to scan her eyes down the new view of the expanse of flesh on offer for a brief moment quite unapologetically.
When her gaze returned to her face Vastra's expression grew pinched, clearly she disapproved of the Doctors actions, Clara herself had expected to wake and find him sat at her bedside. "He did not feel he was welcome in your bedroom, or in your presence. Not until he had an explicit invitation it would seem." Clara absorbed that quietly with a nod as she turned to the wardrobe, opening it to the vast array of Victorian outfits that seemed to have been procured for her. "He stayed with you through the night, to ensure that you were physically well." Vastra added, her voice with a hint of something like fondness in it. "Will you be inviting him back?" Vastra pressed when she didn't respond and began pulling a dress out of the wardrobe.
"Is the TARDIS still here?" Clara asked pointedly.
"No, but he left your telephone with us, he asked that you call him when you were ready to begin to forgive him." Vastra winced at the words, clearly she thought the chances of that were currently slim given Clara's disposition.
Clara nodded, "Madame Vastra," she turned to look at the lizard woman, "If I chose to perhaps stay here a little longer, would that be an imposition?"
Vastra looked mildly taken aback, but her face settled into something closer to grim acceptance. "Of course my dear, you are most welcome here, always, you know that."
"Thank you." Clara replied, "Would you mind," she glanced at the door pointedly, "I think I'd like to dress and perhaps make myself more presentable." Vastra glanced once more at her nakedness and smiled admiringly.
"Oh my dear, I assure you there is no one in this house that would protest your current state of undress should you chose to grace us with it again." With that last parting remark she left and Clara stared at the closed door with something almost close to a smirk on her own face, it was almost refreshing not to be coddled after something so traumatic, to be actively flirted with for the body that had been so damaged so recently, but then Madame Vastra was always full of surprises. Although the idea of Strax seeing her like this wiped the smirk right of her face and she hurriedly slipped into her gown, deliberately choosing one as different from the one she'd worn when it had all happened to her as she could find, and something with a lower collar, she couldn't stand the constriction of it right now.
Her eyes were drawn to a chair that had been placed close to the right side of her bed and had obviously held the Doctor, her mobile phone was indeed sat on the nightstand as promised. Crossing to it Clara hesitated, she wanted to call him, needed to call him. In fact the very idea that he had come for her just as she'd known he would, had comforted her through the night and yet left her just as she'd insisted he should was perhaps the most selfless thing she'd seen this version of him do. Because she knew, knew, just what it must have cost him to leave her, to not try and explain himself, to plead her forgiveness in person, to kiss her, hold her and comfort himself that she was in fact still alive and well. But he had done it to honour her last parting words to him. Clearly he'd come to some sort of realisation about just what he had inflicted upon her, although she rather wished the point hadn't been made so bluntly for them both. She shuddered at the memory noticing the way her hands shook and pushed the thoughts and images away, certain she'd have plenty of time to relive them and refusing for it to be now.
Clara brushed her hand over the seat he'd clearly sat in to keep his vigil, imagining his furrowed brow, his heavy eyebrows drawn together in concern as his steel blue eyes remained fixed on her sleeping form. She wanted him to come back. Wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her soundly, drive the memories and the doubts out of her mind at least whilst he held her. But she left the phone where it was. The Doctor had offered her something she doubted he offered anyone; time away from him at his own expense, time to decide what she wanted without his ever present push. Time to decide if she could really live the way he had forced her to, with him.
Her days were easy, whilst Madame Vastra's life wasn't the Doctors she imagined it was the closest a human/lizard woman could come to emulating it. Scotland Yard called for her to consult on a case without fail every few days and they were more than gracious in trying to accommodate her into their lives. To give her a purpose or a task to fulfil her whilst she tried not to think about the Doctor or to relive the memories of that God awful round metal room. Of course they never pushed, or pried and she could understand why the previous Doctor had found it so easy to settle here and simply sulk and grieve away his days with their quiet unwavering support.
Her nights on the other hand were more difficult. The nightmares were always the same, so vivid that she'd wake screaming, shaking and soaked from head to toe in her own terror; until one night she didn't. In fact the dream had started as always, it held her in its grip then quite simply released her, flowing into something more gentle, the dark pain-filled images sinking somewhere deep within her out of reach. Perhaps someone that hadn't lived her life would have simply taken that for the gift it was, but then they hadn't lived with the shadow of the Doctor in their mind, her eyes opened and she stared at the seat that wasn't quite in the same position it had been when she'd fallen asleep. Closing her eyes she breathed in deeply and felt the beginnings of a smile lift her features as she detected the feint scent that was all him, like fresh water and pinewood with a smoky hint of something darker, deeper.
He had been here, and as always he had tried to help her, chasing her demons away whilst she slept. Clara glanced once more at her mobile phone which sat untouched gathering dust on the nightstand. Not yet.
It became their ritual, he would come at night to ease her dreams whilst she slept and when she woke she would steadfastly refuse to call him whilst utterly relishing the lingering trace of him and the comfort it bought her.
Until one day she decided to repay the favour perhaps, to let him know that she appreciated his visits. She pulled the chair he always chose close to her bedside and placed a glass of Vastra's good whiskey on the bedside table next to it; the Great Detective had apparently noted that they appeared to have a late night drinker who had been pilfering her stocks. It hadn't taken any of them long to figure out who. It was just her little way of saying I know to him.
That night her dreams were more poignant, tender even, once the nightmares had been dispelled and she awoke with the taste of whiskey on her lips. Her fingers rose to brush them and she closed her eyes sighing gently at the ache in her heart for the man who's scent till lingered in the room almost enveloping her like a comforting blanket. Perhaps it was insane to draw comfort from a man that sent your emotions tail-spinning but she couldn't help it, it was like she was addicted to him, like nothing he could do or say could ever stop the ache in her chest that was only quiet when he was near. A part of her hoped it was just some particularly alien effect of their marriage bonding, he'd always said there were consequences to unravelling it, she knew some of them, although not all she suspected. But a larger part of her suspected this was entirely her own doing; she might not have to like the fact that she needed and craved the man that could hurt her more than anyone else, but she did have to accept it. He had also left her gift she noted, her eyes drawn to the object left on the centre of the seat, her fingers reached out and curled around the familiar smooth metal, it was her sonic, not just identical to the one she had lost to UNIT back on Earth, but the actual one, she was certain of it as she held it up and traced every contour. How many hours had she spent examining this small metal object, her one connection to the Doctor through their separation whilst he lived alone on Trenzalore. The item that might well have helped her save herself that day in the Half-Faced mans chamber of horrors. Clara closed her eyes. He always knew what she needed, it shouldn't have been possible. Impossible man.
So out of some need to connect with him, to let him know she still loved him even if she wasn't ready to see him yet Clara began to leave other things for him as well as the whiskey. A particular newspaper article she thought would amuse him; a case file that they needed assistance with, a particularly beautiful monocle she'd come across who's rather less than human owner had claimed it would be able to 'see through walls', given the right level of tweaking. She even left the newspaper advert that had called the 'Impossible Girl' to lunch at the dreaded restaurant, certain now it hadn't been him but wanting him to know all the same that someone or something had tried to draw them both there that day. One night she simply left a note in her own neat modern script that had nothing of Vastra's romanticism but the message was clear she hoped. 'I love you. Soon.'
His patience, his sheer thoughtfulness as he diligently cared for her from afar was more touching than anything she had ever experienced, perhaps she had been wrong. Or perhaps this had been the wakeup call this version of him needed. Either way, that night as she lay down to sleep, she remained purposefully wide awake, wondering if he would still come, because he would know the moment he entered the room, maybe even the building, that she wasn't asleep.
The sound of her window lifting was light, had she not been so attuned to any sound in her room she perhaps would have dismissed it, certainly had she been asleep it wouldn't have disturbed her. She listened to the soft tread of his booted feet across the room, as stealthy as any seasoned criminal as he approached her bed and she fought to stay still, to keep her breathing even and her mental walls in place. He paused at the end of the bed, his fingers brushing across the metal brass railings as he traced around it until he came to his seat. The nightstand and chair suspiciously empty tonight.
She felt him hesitate, could almost feel the heat of his stare burning into her, his mental walls were down, utterly shattered she realised as she fought to hold back the desperate desire to reach for him to hold him together as he had held her. The sound of leather creaking almost startled her as he settled into the seat beside her bed and fell still.
Clara felt him lean closer to her face, until his head was almost on the pillow beside her, his warm breath fluttering across her lips. The temptation was too great and Clara opened her eyes onto his, not surprised in the least to find him there, his gaze was open and even, waiting. Clara lifted her hand and brought it to his face, brushing gently across the stubbled cheeks and the distinctly careworn features. He looked tired, so tired she realised with unease. Her fingers dropped to his lips and she brushed her thumb over them, his eyes fluttered closed and he instinctively leant into her touch, like it was a soothing balm.
"I've missed you." She whispered and his eyes shot open onto hers, the depth of pain and sorrow in them enough to make her chest ache afresh. But he didn't say a word and he didn't reach for her, letting this moment be hers to decide. Clara leant forward and closed the distance between their lips, brushing them feather-light with her own and surprised at the tremble to his. She pulled back, her eyes taking in his features, the near desperation she could feel building to the surface within him curbed by the very real fear that he couldn't cope with this touch, this feel of her, if she were to send him away again. "Shhh." She soothed, brushing his temple and he obligingly closed off the connection, his eyes fluttering shut again at her touch.
"You hurt me." She told him softly, letting the pain of those three simple words permeate them both. "And what you did to me, let him hurt me." She didn't need to elaborate further he got both her points just fine.
He opened his eyes and very slowly lifted his head from its position beside her and slid back into the armchair, sitting there carefully and oh so still. "I never meant..." she cut off his apology, or excuse whichever was inevitably coming with a frustrated wave of her hand as she too sat up on the bed, turning to face him with her legs dangling off the edge and brushing his covered calves with her bare ones.
"That night here, before you... left." He quirked an eyebrow at her choice of words but remained looking oddly contrite which was a new look for him and one she absorbed quietly, perhaps a better phrase would have been 'before you were kicked out', but she bit her tongue on it. "I never want you to touch me like that again."
His eyes widened a fraction and his mouth opened, then shut abruptly, she could see the warring emotions on his face, the way his eyebrows drew in with his desperate need to argue or explain, just something, so she lifted one of her more perfectly arched ones inviting him to say something. "You enjoyed it." Was all he managed to bite out despite whatever else was roiling around inside of him, but it wasn't said with smug satisfaction just bewilderment, which she supposed she could understand, after all he wasn't wrong.
"Yes I know." She replied, fisting the sheets in her hand without realising it as she held onto the tension rather than let this turn into a row neither of them needed. "Which is exactly why it will never happen again." Her expression was resolute and she saw her words settle deeply inside of him as he nodded his lips pressing into a grim line. "We aren't that, I won't let us become that." She added wanting to make it perfectly clear, setting it as a concrete line in the sand between them.
"You know I'll do anything you need."
"So I'm gathering." Clara replied, only half buying the contrition he was throwing at her now, but the way he looked, so rumpled and dishevelled it tugged at her heart strings and her pride, the man needed her it had never been more evident.
"Someone tried to get me killed." She told him pointedly, seeing the flash in his eyes at the thought which she didn't want to examine further for now. "I was setup."
"We." He corrected, fisting his hands on his knees. "We were setup. I was supposed to get that little message too. The fact that I was a little too preoccupied at the time to keep up with current events not withstanding."
She opened her mouth to ask who and he sighed, "I'm looking into it." He stopped her from needing to say a word. She considered asking about the Half-Faced man, about what had happened to him, and decided that in this instance that perhaps ignorance was bliss. He'd said he'd taken care of it... she believed that; she didn't need to know exactly what it meant, the dark thoughts swirling through his mind at just the memory of the events were enough to warn her off.
"Thank you." She offered.
"For what?" he hissed in clear exasperation, clearly she'd not been the only one to blame him for all of this.
"Helping with the nightmares." She offered and he clearly dismissed it with a huff for the trifling thing he considered it to be. But it wasn't to her, in fact it was the reason she was standing here talking to him now, the way he'd been these past weeks... that had become a month, then two. The space he had voluntarily given her without needing to be reminded. God help her she loved this grumpy, dishevelled, salt and pepper sprinkled version of him. Keeping that in the forefront of her mind in case he chose to look for it, Clara stood leaning forward until she was standing between his parted legs forcing him to look up at her as his hands tightened on the armrests. She knew he wanted to touch her, but he held himself back with admirable restraint, in case he somehow broke the spell she was weaving by letting him back through the door.
Clara leant forward, her hair falling like a curtain over their faces as she brushed his lips with hers not quite kissing him. "My Doctor." Clara breathed against his lips hearing the way his name in her voice caused his breath to hitch and his heartbeats to spark. Her hand travelled his jaw and brushed into his silver hair, the softness of it sending her own eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she simply enjoyed the touch of him beneath her fingertips. She opened her eyes onto his as he stared up longingly at her, the plea on his features, the twist of his true apology reaching her mind and she gently nudged his legs together with hers, before gracefully sliding her knees either side of his waist where he sat until she was straddling him on the chair, his hands remaining exactly where they were. Clara lifted her hands to his face, holding his gaze as he struggled to draw in one strangled breath after another, his lips pinched with his desire not to speak, to not ruin this moment for anything.
Clara leant forward and captured his lips fully, holding him in place as she sucked his bottom lip gently, requesting access. He took a breath and all but jolted when her tongue touched his as she sought out the taste of him she craved. Her eyes shut and she focused on the feel of his soft wet mouth beneath her, the slow response from him as he made an effort to keep her pace, to not simply devour her mouth as he was so prone to. Clara pulled away lightly opening her eyes and meeting his slightly clouded ones, "I can't say I forgive you, for what you took from me." She whispered and his expression darkened, "Not yet... but I will." She admitted, her fingers rising to his face as she traced every emotion that flickered across his features as he tried to absorb that, because she meant it, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold onto her anger forever, hell if he'd asked maybe she'd have voluntarily come to the same decision as he'd made. It was the 'not asking' that had landed them in this predicament, his inability to trust her to make the decision. But there was no point denying that she wouldn't one day be ok with it, if nothing else he'd certainly given her the capacity to let time heal this particular wound. It also didn't help with the deep seated ache in her chest at the thought of him alone without her, or her without him. "But I need you." She added quietly. "I want you." She murmured, lowering her head to his neck and kissing the stubbled skin she found there.
"Clara." He rasped and she raised a finger to his lips, silencing him as she stared intently back before slowly lowering her hand down his chest to his waist. He was barely breathing she noted as she kept their gazes locked and deftly unzipped him, reaching inside to pull out his already half hard length. Her fingers curled around him and his body went rigid.
"Let me." She insisted and his fingers gripped the armrest so hard that she was sure his nails would have left an impression as she slowly caressed him. Clara leant in kissing him again, pleased when he responded more firmly, his restraint truly impressive as he sought out as much of her mouth as she had his, letting her know how deeply he loved her with just that touch. He grew hard in her hand and she lifted aside her extensive nightgown, lowering herself until he brushed her centre. His mouth went slack against her and she found his eyes, holding them on hers as she lowered herself over him. The feel of him as he slid deep into her, so right, filling her as perfectly until she felt truly part of him, was as exquisite as always. More so now as she watched the way his entire body shuddered with the feel of her, his nails finally breaking through the leather armrests he gripped as he shook to hold his composure.
Clara moved gently against him, rolling her hips and admiring the way his head fell forward rather than back until it was against her covered chest, the Victorian nightgown pretty much covering every inch of her, apart from where it mattered as she tensed around him deliberately, drawing an appreciative groan from him. "Hold me." She asked gently and his hands rose almost hesitantly to her waist, resting lightly as she moved before rising up as he enveloped her in them, holding her chest tightly against his own until she could feel his hearts pressed against her one. Clara closed her eyes giving herself over to the feeling of this, of him as she moved over him as they surrendered to each other this time. She held his head against her chest as his breathing grew harsh, her fingers tugging lightly in his hair as she felt the rise of her own pleasure like a wave. She came quietly against him, feeling the flex of his fingers against her covered back as he pulled her closer and she increased her pace as he began to gently thrust upwards until he found his own release with a soft cry against her. They fell still as Clara's hands stroked through his hair, holding him close, unwilling to relinquish him just yet.
"Come home." He rasped raising his head to plead with her directly.
Clara sighed, lifting up off him and settling back down over his lap, her arms lowering to his face once more. "Soon." She apologised seeing the way it hit him hard, but he was almost resigned to it, certainly not surprised by her decision.
"When? Please, just..." he tried and she lowered her head to kiss him soundly.
"I..." She tried, feeling her resolve wavering, not even certain anymore that distance from him was what she needed, because it was certainly not what she wanted. But there was something to be said for space, she was certainly clearer headed, but him? She suspected the whiskey he drank at nights whilst he watched over her was just the tip of the iceberg, she was healing, but he was breaking.
Her mobile phone rang, the sound startling them both as they turned their heads as one to look at it whilst it vibrated towards the edge of the nightstand. Clara hesitated, wondering who the hell could be calling her, she hadn't got much of a life left outside of the Doctor, she'd left her family her world behind her for him and everyone else she cared about was currently in this house. She grabbed it before he could, leaning over him from their still somewhat precarious position and glanced at the number.
"It's you?" she looked down at him in mild surprise, seeing the TARDIS number. His eyes took in the number then fell back on her wary expression.
"You should answer it. It might be your husband."
The way he said it gave her pause and she lifted her other hand to his cheek, stroking it fondly. "My husband's right here." She reminded him sitting back carefully on his lap as she hit the answer button and raised the handset to her ear.
"Hello?" she asked expectantly into the receiver.
There was a rattle of breath and a voice that made her heart ache afresh, "It's me." He sounded pained and she closed her eyes, imagining what he looked like when he was speaking. How he would have cradled the phone; her Bow-Tie Doctor.
"I know." She replied softly, almost hearing his answering smile and hearing the way her own voice shook with the emotion this precious moment brought, however painful it was.
"I'm calling you from Trenzalore." He added and she sucked in a breath her suspicions confirmed as to his current state and she clutched the phone a little tighter, surprised when the current Doctor's hands beneath her rose to her hips and held her lightly, offering support without trying to pull her out of the moment.
"You're dying." She told him hearing the way the words stuck in her throat, it was still a grief all too fresh for her; one she never really had the chance to gain closure over and perhaps never would. She recalled in her foggy memories the moments before his regeneration that she'd found the telephone box open and the receiver hanging down. It was almost a message beyond the grave and it brought tears to her eyes to think that in his last moments he had chosen to spend precious breath trying to make sure she was ok, that she'd survive it, survive him.
"Won't be long now." His broken voice murmured, but she could hear the smile in it that he was speaking with her now. "He's coming, I can feel him." He whispered and she felt the Doctor's fingers tighten around her hips but as she stared back down at him she realised he was utterly unaware of the tension he was radiating.
"Not that this isn't a gift I had no hope of expecting, but why are you calling?" she asked gently, knowing he knew better than to risk a paradox, but knowing full well why he had to, but she needed to hear it. Needed to remember how much he cared.
He sighed, "Tell me you're ok?" he pleaded, "Are you still with him?"
Clara raised her hand to the faintly lined face in front of her, to his pursed lips and the frown of his brow. "Yes my love. I'm fine." She offered quietly, knowing that both of them needed to hear it, and realising that right here and now in this moment she had an opportunity to shape her own future. To alter the frame of mind he went into this regeneration in, to give him hope. "And of course I'm still with him, with you... I promised didn't I?" she smiled despite herself and the overwhelming sadness she felt at the idea of getting this chance to speak to him again, the man who had stolen her heart and never intended on giving it back. Thief.
He let out a relieved sounding laugh; that was more pained than anything else, as he actually rattled a breath out. "Tell me that he's still the Doctor; that it worked?" the desperate tone to his voice had the smile sliding off her face as she stared at the piercing blue stare of the man beneath her, who was able to hear every word they were speaking. As eager for her answer as the man on the phone, it was strange and touching to have both her husband's so desperate to make sure she was safe, that she would still love them.
"He's still the Doctor." She told him firmly, not breaking their gaze, driving the words into him. "And he's magnificent." She promised them both, stroking her fingers across the feint curve of his lips as he drew in her words and seemed to at least on some level accept them.
"Good." Her Bow-Tied Doctor rasped, "That's good." He sighed and she could hear the way he had collapsed against a bulkhead in his beloved TARDIS, but she could feel the answering smile on his lips through his voice.
"I love you." She told him softly, feeling tears slide down her cheeks unbidden as she felt her own lips curve up.
"Always." He sighed, "My Clara."
The line went dead and she let the phone fall heavily into her lap, staring down at it in quiet shock. "Thank you." She managed looking up into the stoic features of the man utterly still beneath her, even his hands had fallen away from her as if he'd realised his hold on her had been almost painful.
"For what?" he rasped, his voice sounding almost as rough as hers and she wondered if he was still mourning his previous self too.
"For phoning," she admitted.
He nodded. "You realise that I remember that call... every word, that if you'd hoped maybe to change anything, it was always the same call, the same words I received." He managed, but the words were pained, like he was pulling them from some place dark inside of him, wanting to be honest with her even if it hurt them both.
Clara nodded, turning and replacing the phone gently on the nightstand and turning back to him, her hands went to his which were fisted once more against the armrests as she traced her fingers along the backs, forcing them to relax and turning them over so she could slide her fingers into his, interlocking them.
"I know." She replied quietly, "I told him the truth." She squeezed his fingers and felt the distinct length of him beneath her growing again in response to her words. "And you both needed to hear it." She rolled her hips and without much effort he slid back into her gasping almost in surprise at her actions. Clara smiled gently back at him. "Make love to me." She asked drawing his hands up to her body and placing them firmly around her curves, letting him take the initiative as his fingers fluttered across her covered skin. His hands moved and she lifted her arms letting him divest her of the voluminous white nightgown until she was naked over him and she continued her movements rocking their pelvises together. The Doctor grasped her firmly, lifting her and himself in one fluid movement whilst maintaining their contact and dropping them both heavily onto the bed. His hands went to her ass, gliding along her thighs until he could wrap them firmly around his waist as he thrust firmly into her; giving her what she'd asked for as his lips took hers.
There were no words, their rarely were for them like this, she preferred it that way as his movements and his touch said all they needed to as he worshipped every inch of her body. His hands tracing the flawless outline of her skin as if checking for himself she was indeed whole. Clara pushed away the memories his careful touch brought, focusing instead on the adoration in them, the awe as his lips traced patterns. Driving away thoughts of leaving him, of leaving this for now. It was impossible to feel so right, so wanted and needed, comforted in his arms and argue the notion that she could give it up somehow; that this wasn't where she belonged. But she still needed time and she knew he'd give it to her, he always had.
Her hands tried to divest him of his clothing, longing to feel the touch of his skin against hers but he resisted, unable to tear himself away from her skin long enough to let her get at his. He wrapped his arms around her from behind as she curled against him, holding her as close as he could possibly manage as he entered her again, slowly languidly, his fingers dropping between her legs to bring her every ounce of pleasure he could. There would be time she knew to talk about what had happened to her... if she ever felt the need; but he had seen the aftermath, seen what his actions had wrought, the stark consequence and he had done everything in his power to save her from it. What more was there to say? She loved him, and she knew he loved her with every fibre of his being; his love for her would burn entire star systems, and one day it would have reduced her fragile human self to ashes. Love drove him, possessed him, and as she sank into his embrace; she knew it ruled her too, for better or worse, she was his and he was hers and that was exactly as it should be. Everything else they'd just have to figure out as they went.