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Chapter 7

"Are you nervous?" Amy asked her as she handed her friend a cup of tea and Clara sighed in reply while she leaned back in her seat.

Nervous didn't even begin to cover how she felt. Anxious. Worried. More scared than she had ever been in her entire life. Those were the right words to describe how she felt right now.

"Of course I'm nervous," Clara replied eventually, "Dr Jones said that he's improving, but they wanted to wake him up yesterday and they've already pushed it back once. What if they'll do it again tomorrow?"

"Then they will have good reasons to," her friend said reassuringly as she sat down on the sofa next to Clara, "Rory has worked with Dr Jones before. He says she's one of the best doctors he knows. You should stop worrying. They said John is out of any immediate danger. The rest is just a matter of time."

Clara knew that Amy was right, that Dr Jones and the other doctors were doing their best, that John would wake up eventually, and yet there was something else. A tiny, dark, nagging voice in her head that kept whispering things into her ear at night, making her doubt that John would ever return to her. Clara tried her best to lock it out, but the voice was very persistent.

"I just want him back," she admitted after a moment, "The house feels so empty without him."

Amy smiled kindly in her direction and reached out to take her hand. "I know. And you will have him back very soon. The doctors will wake him up tomorrow and as soon as he's well enough to leave you can take him home. Trust me, it's all gonna be fine."

Clara nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right. I'm probably just a mess right with everything happening at once. You know, Bonnie tried to call me this morning."

"Your sister?" her friend's eyes widened and Clara realized that she had never told Amy about her recent conversation with her grandmother.

"Yes, the bitch is back," Clara hissed.

"You never told me about that!"

"Well," she hesitated, "Grandma only just told me and I didn't think Bonnie would have the guts to call me after everything-"

Clara broke off and let her head sink. There were so many things she would rather do than discuss her sister and what she really wanted was for Bonnie to simply go away. But that wouldn't happen, would it? Her sister had tried to contact her now and even after so many years Clara still knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't give up. They were both stubborn.

"I don't think I've ever told you the whole story," she said after a while.

"No," Amy agreed, "You just said you had a sister named Bonnie and that she fell out with the rest of the family when she left home."

"Well, Bonnie is a bitch," Clara said plainly, "She was a terrible teenager, the worst kind you can imagine. The whole thing spiked after Mum's death because she was the only one who could sort of reign Bonnie in. And then she died and Bonnie refused to go to the funeral, she wouldn't speak to me or Dad for weeks after. Then everything that came out of her mouth were insults and just general mean things. She skipped school, joined a gang, vanished for days on end. We thought it was drugs at first, but they were anarchists, radicals and they brainwashed her, turned her into a monster. They were caught breaking into and vandalizing a building and she was supposed to be under house arrest until the trial. She vanished over night. Never came back."

"Wow," Amy uttered sarcastically, "She sounds lovely."

"Apparently Bonnie went to prison after all, at least that's what my grandmother told me. She also said that the time behind bars has changed her and that she wants to be in contact."

"What are you gonna do?"

Clara shrugged. "Nothing," she said simply. "Bonnie didn't want anything to do with me in the past twelve years. Why would I want her back now?"

She took a large sip from her tea and swallowed. Her sister didn't matter. All that mattered was John and that he would be back by her side soon.

Clara watched the doctors and nurses at work, chewing on her thumbnail a safe distance away from the action. Usually she was good at reading people's faces, but right now Clara had no idea what was going on, whether that look on Dr Jones' face was a good one or not. She just couldn't tell.

"Okay," Martha Jones said a while later and turned towards Clara with a smile, "It's all looking very good. We will lay off the medication now and your husband will slowly come to. You can stay with him if you like, but he will probably still be a bit dazed in the beginning. Or you can go home and we'll call you. It's gonna be a long process."

It was as if a load had dropped off her shoulders when Clara finally breathed a sigh of relief and clasped both her hands in front of her mouth. She had prayed to hear these words from Dr Jones, but now that she had said them Clara found it hard to believe. John would wake up, it was all going to be fine. She had vowed to herself not to cry, but right now she couldn't help it. The tears just came.

Dr Jones raised her hands and gently laid them on Clara's arms, squeezing softly. "It's okay," she smiled at her, "It's fine. Your husband will be back."

Clara sniffed and nodded when Martha Jones let go of her and she immediately made her way towards the bed John was sleeping in.

He still looked peaceful and the wound on his forehead had already started to heal and very soon the colour would return to his face again. Clara guessed that she would also have to bring a razor the next time she visited him because the early stages of a beard had started to grow on his chin, reminding her of the John she had met five years ago. He worn a beard then and she had loved it, but after they had finally become a couple John had insisted on shaving it off. Clara sank down on the chair next to his bed and reached for his hand, determined to hold it until he had woken up.

She had no idea how long it took, but after a while Clara was beginning to feel thirsty. A nurse came in several times and checked the instruments, only to vanish without saying a word. The next time she came she also brought Clara a glass of water.

"Is everything alright with him?" Clara couldn't help but ask.

The nurse nodded with a smile. "Yes, it takes while. All perfectly normal."

Clara was once more left alone with John and she continued to hold his hand and look at him, continued to look for signs that he was coming to, but there weren't any. And she waited while the sun wandered around the window and eventually disappeared on the other side of the building. Then, after what seemed like days, Dr Jones entered the room and inspected the instruments.

"Very good," she concluded, "We'll take him off the ventilator now. He should wake up shortly."

Clara merely nodded and knew she should probably step back while the doctors were doing their job, but she just didn't want to let go of his hand. She needed to be here, she needed to be the first face he saw upon waking up.

Dr Jones and two of the nurses also remained in the room and Clara wasn't sure whether she should be worried or reassured by their presence. But she knew it could only mean one thing: John was going to wake up any moment and her grip around his hand tightened in anticipation. Any moment.

Then his hand twitched and Clara's heart suddenly skipped a beat. She instantly stood up and bent over him, thinking that the doctor might stop her in her attempt to speak to him, but Martha Jones didn't move.

"John," Clara whispered softly, "I'm here. Please, come back to me."

She watched his eyes move under his eyelids and then finally he blinked. Clara sighed in relief when he finally opened his eyes and smiled at him. John was awake. Everything was going to be fine.

"Welcome back," she said, beaming at him.

His eyes were unfocused at first, but Clara could tell that he was doing his best to look at her and then finally a smile spread over his face.

"Pretty," he croaked weakly, still smiling.

"You shouldn't encourage him to talk just yet. The ventilator-" Clara was only vaguely aware of Dr Jones' advice from the other side of the room while her eyes were fixed on John. Dr Jones didn't matter. What mattered now was that John was alive and well.

"Pretty nurse," John mumbled, his voice hoarse and raspy.

Clara chuckled in confusion. He really seemed a bit dazed still. "I'm not a nurse, John. It's me. Clara."

The tiniest frown appeared on his face, wrinkling his forehead, and Clara heard Martha Jones say something behind her, but she didn't care. Her entire world seemed to fall apart around her as she heard John speak again.

"Clara who?"