Thank you so much for the reviews! Also, remember those photos of Peter walking on a cane an sporting a beard? Time to invoke those ;)

Chapter 17

John eyed Dr Jones doubtfully as she handed him the cane and he wasn't sure whether he should take it or not. He had hoped to just start walking normally after they had taken his cast off, but now that he was finally rid of it, he wasn't sure that he could. He hadn't properly used his leg in weeks.

"It's just for a few more weeks," Martha Jones reassured him with a smile, "Take it slow. Use the leg, build the muscles back up, but don't overdo it."

"Fine," John growled and took the cane from her.

He set it on the floor and slowly lifted himself from the examination table, finally using both feet to keep himself up. It felt strange to be using two legs after all these weeks and John wasn't sure how much further he should go for now. Carefully and relying on the cane, he stepped forward.

"Very good," Dr Jones praised him cheerfully, "And by the time you get used to the cane you won't even need it anymore, I promise. Come, sit down for another moment."

Martha Jones took her seat behind the desk and John walked carefully across the room until he had reached the other available chair to sit down on. He waited for a moment, but his doctor only eyed him expectantly.

"Is there anything else?" he enquired.

"Well, I was hoping you'd tell me about the last couple of weeks. How's the memory? Have you remembered anything?"

John blew the air out between his teeth as he sank back into the chair. Weeks had passed since his accident, but he couldn't actually say there had been progress during that time.

"Nothing," he replied eventually, "Just. . . nothing."

Martha Jones looked a little disappointed before he could see the concern on her face. If all those years of being a doctor had taught him anything, then that Dr Jones hadn't expected him to still remember nothing and that now she wasn't sure what to do.

"I live in my old house with my wife and it's getting less and less strange, but-" he paused, "I'm making new memories, getting used to everything instead of remembering. I don't think that's normal."

"It's not abnormal," Dr Jones reassured him, "I told you it might take a while for your memories to return. No one can really say if it takes days or weeks or months. Everyone's different. Some remember after days, some-"

"Never," John said with a grunt.

"That's the rarest case," she said calmly, "It's only been a few weeks, Mr Smith. Give it time. I'm sure your wife and friends are helping you with it?"

John nodded even though it wasn't particularly true. Missy was of no help whatsoever. She visited him every couple of days just to tell him to stop being an idiot and get back together with Clara. As if that was so easy. His wife was the the kindest and loveliest person John had ever met and yes, he liked her – a lot. But John had always needed time to adjust to someone, especially on a physical level. They were making progress and he was fine with holding her hand by now, but anything else was simply too much at the moment. He needed time and Clara was nothing if not understanding and patient with him. One day he might even love her for that.

"We can schedule another MRI scan," Dr Jones suggested, "But I don't think it would give us any new insight. I'm afraid that all we can do at this point is wait."

Again he nodded in response and tightened his grip around his walking aid. "Well, I guess I shouldn't leave my wife waiting," John concluded and rose to his feet. Calling Clara his wife still felt as strange as standing on both feet, mostly because he didn't even remember marrying her. If he did, he probably would be proud to call her that.

Clara jumped up from her seat the moment the door opened and she watched John walk outside, accompanied by his doctor. Her face lit up when she realized they had finally taken off his cast and she could imagine how happy John was about the fact. He had been moping for the past week since they had told him he needed to keep the cast for a few days longer, but now he was finally rid of it. His leg had healed well since the accident and yet Clara wished that she could say the same about his memory.

In the past few weeks they had rarely talked about his memory loss because Clara felt like she was putting him under pressure to remember whenever she mentioned it. Instead she had taken to mentioning things they had done together, places they had visited, items he had bought for her whenever it came up, but John usually showed no reaction. It felt as if she was telling him stories that he couldn't relate to at all. Right now, as Clara looked at him, all she could think about was how much she was missing her husband, who was around, but not really there at all.

"Hey, how did it go?" she asked when John started walking in her direction. Somehow he looked extremely sophisticated with the cane they had given him and Clara loved the fact that he had gone back to wearing a beard. Her husband looked downright dashing today.

"Uhm, it went well," John replied after a moment, "They took off the cast."

"I can see that," Clara nodded towards the cane.

"Right," John replied with a shy smile, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," she shrugged, "I actually like that you're a bit of an idiot at times."

John turned to look at her and the expression on his face was somewhere between confused and hurt. Clara laughed at him.

"I was kidding," she laughed, giving him a soft nudge, before her face turned serious again, "Or was I?"

"Right," John smiled at her, "You're teasing me."

"Absolutely," she confirmed, "So, do you wanna grab lunch somewhere or go straight home and eat there?"

"Home sounds good," he replied and lifted his cane a little, "Dr Jones said I shouldn't overdo it."

"Alright. I think we've got everything for pasta at home," Clara suggested and started making her way towards the exit.

When they arrived at home a half hour later John had started to complain that his leg felt sore, so he sat down on one of the kitchen chairs while Clara busied herself at the stove.

"You know," Clara said with a smile as she stirred the boiling pasta and turned around to look at John, "I really like that cane on you."

He lifted his head and again there was an expression of confusion on his face. "It's a walking aid."

"I know, but-" she paused, unsure of how to express herself, "I don't know. It looks. . . sophisticated, I guess. The ruffled hair, the beard, the cane. It's . . . sexy."

Clara bit down on her lip and she couldn't be absolutely sure because John quickly averted his gaze, but for a moment she thought she had seen him blush.

"It's just a walking aid," he uttered quietly.

"Fine, it's just a walking aid," she admitted after a moment, "One that looks really good on you."

Clara missed her husband in more than one way. She didn't just miss the companionship they had had before his accident, the conversations, the hugs – she missed the intimacy as well. But she knew John and she knew how shy he had been when they had first met. It would take a lot more than just a few weeks for him to adjust to the idea.

John never replied, so Clara decided to focus on making lunch instead.

"Pasta should be ready in a few minutes," she said after a moment.

"Good."