Chapter 4 – Eleven and Clara

The Doctor has a gob on him. Clara never really realized it before, how much he talks just for the sake of talking, but after so many hours of silence while his body metabolized the antidote it's all she can focus on.

He babbles about everything and nothing at all as he flits around the TARDIS console. She catches only snatches of what he's saying, things like Barcelona and something about dogs. She distinctly hears the words "next Wednesday."

It's those words, the thought of doing this all over again a week from now that really hits Clara hard. This is her life with him; running, always running, running to wonderful things and away from terrifying monsters, and the running will never stop. The monsters and the battles and the fearing for his life will never stop.

How long before something like this happens again? How long before something else gets its hands on the Doctor? And what if next time there is truly no antidote, or she can't get it in time? Clara takes a deep, shaking breath. The thought leaves a sour feeling in her stomach, like she wants to retch, and a gaping hole where her heart should be.

She loves him; the Doctor, the childish, caring, ridiculous, brave man who swept her away to the stars. She's falling in love with him, a little more every day, and it's terrifying. More terrifying than the Klaxors, or any of the monsters they've met so far, more terrifying than the thought of her own injury or death.

It has to stop. Clara can't love the Doctor, not with the life they lead. She's already lost her mum, she can't lose another person she loves. She has to stop it, but she doesn't know how. How do you stop a force of nature, that magnetic pull that draws her heart towards both of the Doctor's even while she digs in her heels?

"I want to go home." The words are strong and clear, which surprises her. The Doctor is still talking. Clara isn't sure he even heard her. She clears her throat and tries again. "Doctor, I want you to take me home."

In some corner of his vast consciousness, the Doctor knows he's rambling, but he can't seem to help himself. He's feeling back to normal after the antidote worked its miracles to save his body from the Klaxor venom. He's got the TARDIS, the old girl faithfully by his side as always. He's got Clara, his impossible girl, and Wednesday isn't over yet. What more could he want? So he rambles on, telling Clara all about the beautiful places they can go and the things they'll see. He figures he owes her something nice, since their last trip did result in his near-death. But no matter. He'll make it up to her next Wednesday.

He becomes vaguely aware that Clara is talking. It takes a moment before her words finally click in his mind and he stops, his babble cutting off mid-word. Go home? What does she mean, go home?

"But Wednesday isn't over yet."

Clara can't help the broken hearted smile that tugs at her lips. He doesn't understand. She isn't sure he ever will.

"I don't mean until next Wednesday, Doctor. I want to go home." Hot, stinging tears well in her eyes and Clara tries to blink them away. "I can't…I can't travel with you anymore."

"Why not?" He looks affronted now, like a hotel manager told his place isn't up to snuff. She wants to leave him? She can't just leave him! The Doctor isn't sure where this madness is coming from, and it baffles him. His impossible girl is usually so level headed. What could possibly be making her talk like this?

Clara knows she can't tell him the truth, at least not the whole truth. Admitting that she's falling in love with him is so…human and she feels like a silly little girl even thinking it. She isn't even sure Time Lords fall in love, or understand love the same way humans do. She couldn't bear to hear anything like that, so she can't tell him.

"Because you almost died today," she finally says. The Doctor scoffs. She wants to leave because of that? Is she serious?

"I did not! Just a little scratch, nothing to worry your head over."

"Doctor, you told me you were dying and said goodbye!"

"Momentary lapse. I'm fit as a fiddle!" Clara shakes her head and reaches out to snag the Doctor's hand as he dances past her.

"Either way, I thought you were dying. And I thought you were dying because you jumped in front of a deadly alien to save me. The universe needs you, Doctor, I've seen enough evidence of that. It doesn't need me. I'm not important. And if you're going to jump in front of everything that tries to kill me, and maybe die yourself, then I can't stay. I can't be the reason there's no Doctor."

This gives the Doctor pause. He hadn't given much thought to his actions with the Klaxor. He saw it about to carve up Clara and reacted. He's the Doctor, she's his companion. It's his job to protect her. If he knows that Clara is different, that maybe it wasn't entirely about protecting his travelling companion, he isn't telling.

Now, though, he sees that whatever his motivations, his actions have put crazy thoughts into Clara's head, convincing her she has to leave him for the sake of the universe or some such nonsense. Silly, impossible girl.

The Doctor cups Clara cheek with his free hand, stroking his fingers over her jaw and chin. If this were any other man, any human man, she might think he wanted to kiss her.

As he touches her face, the Doctor has the sudden, almost irresistible urge to press his lips to hers, to finally find out what they feel like, what they taste like. Somehow he manages to refrain from such an ill-advised course of action, and attempts to convince her that she's wrong.

"A thousand years of time and space, and I've never met anyone who wasn't important," he says softly. Clara offers him a watery smile and then pulls away, standing to slip past him. Her resolve crumbles a little bit with each passing moment, and it will only crumble faster if he's touching her.

"Maybe so, but none of us are as important as you. Please, Doctor, take me home."

Her withdrawal stings, and it finally dawns on the Doctor that she might be serious. She really does want to go home, for good. He turns toward her and opens his mouth, ready to say something, anything else that will convince her to stay. Something about the way she resolutely keeps her back to him, shoulders tense and the rest of her body practically screaming at him to leave her alone, convinces him that further efforts would be in vain. And if this is the end of their time together, he doesn't want to end it on a sour note. So with a sigh, his own shoulders slumping in dejection, he turns.

Looking like a kicked puppy, the Doctor nods and sets the TARDIS controls.