Many thanks to misswinterseat for everything and for all of you that took sometime to read and leave lovely comments!

"Some things change, and they can just hope that it will be forever, as long as forever can be for people like them."

Chapter 5 - I just wanna kiss you in the morning sun

"How did you know she was open?"

Her voice is soft and shaken next to him, but he doesn't dare to face her and just lifts his head enough to stare at the central column in front of him. There is a hesitant movement beside him, a low shuffle and next thing he sees is the pair of books he had left on her bed earlier over the console, close to his left hand.

So now she knows. He can only hope that they can figure this out together.

"She called me," he swallows, his mouth incredibly dry when he tightens his grip on the console. He can feel when her breath catches in her throat and immediately regrets his own stupidity but is not able to prevent her to ask the obvious question. The one for which he doesn't have the expected answer. Not yet.

"So do you-"

"No," he cuts her off, unable to let her say the words. Shaking his head slowly, he tries to ignore the twinge of pain in his chest because he knows that once more he is letting her down, sadly something that it is starting to become a kind of a pattern between them lately. He licks his dry lips, gaze falling upon the sketchbooks, still unable to meet hers. "I'm sorry."

It takes her one more moment to speak again, and despite the effort she makes to sound soothing, she can't conceal her sadness from him.

"It's ok," it's what she says but he knows it isn't. Nothing can be ok right now with so much hanging between them. "But it are great news. If you can feel the TARDIS again, it means that you're healing."

"I suppose so," he says quietly, his fingers tracing the rim of the books before he finally rests his hand over the top one, feeling the engraved symbols on its bright blue cover under his palm. He watches when she slowly places her delicate hand next to his, close, oh, so very close, but not touching him as if she is afraid. Surely no more than him.

"She will help you," she whispers, "You'd be better soon."

He nods, contemplating their hands over the books and then looking around to all the damage that surrounds them.

"First, she needs me to help her."

His hearts pound heavily while he tries to ignore the imminence of her touch, knowing what it will cause him. Yet, he is unable to move his hand, craving for her touch, longing to be embraced by the intensity of her feelings once more. Even if it will knock him down.

"She is still too damaged to function properly," he adds.

"Do you know how to fix her?"

"Well, she can guide me, I think," his forefinger traces one of the symbols on the book cover and he can feel her eyes following his motion all the time. Yet, she seems unable to close the small gap that still separates their hands.

"Why?"

It's one single word, a simple question, that comes out of her lips in a barely whisper and that has nothing to do with his ability to fix the ship. It's about the books, about them. And he doesn't know if he has the right answer for her.

He finally lifts his eyes to look into hers for the first time since she came in and he can barely breath at her sight. Big brown eyes stare back at him from over her tear stained cheeks and he feels his will faltering under the weight of everything that remains unsaid.

"You never knew, did you? He never told you," his voice is a reverent whisper.

"No," she shakes her head slowly, "you never told me."

He swallows hard.

"Why not?"

She lets out a heavy sigh, her voice as low as his.

"I don't know," her eyes are fixed on his, so full of everything. "You tell me."

He looks down, considering her implied question for a moment.

"Same reason you never told him either, I suppose," he swallows hard before fixing his gaze upon her. "Fear."

"Fear?"

He nods, biting his lower lip. "Of loosing you."

Her dark eyes study him, a hundred of different emotions crossing her face in that small moment. How much he wants to hold her tight against his chest and soothe her fears and pains. If only he could.

"And are you no longer afraid?"

He lets out a tiny laugh, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm terrified."

"So why now?"

He needs to avert his eyes for a moment, hesitating in answering her question.

And then, it finally happens. It is nothing more than a soft brush of her fingers on his, warm and innocent, probably a reassuring gesture to coerce him to look at her. But, just as he had feared, the rush of her emotions hits him with force enough to almost knock him down on his knees.

His sharp intake of breath startles her and she immediately pushes her hand back, big brown eyes full of worry locked on him while he needs to lean against the console to keep his balance. He bows his head, beads of sweating forms on his brow and he tries to regain his strength.

"Doctor?"

In any other moment he would be annoyed by her use of this name, but not now. Now it's irrelevant before what he wants to tell her.

"Clara," he breathes and closes his eyes raising one shaking hand, silently asking her for some more time, while he breathes heavily.

"What happened?" She gives one step closer to him and he instantly moves back knowing that one more touch of her can make him lose his senses again.

"It's just..." He finally manages to slow down his breathing and opens his eyes again to look at her. She is still there, watching him with a concerned look and he can only feel so very small, so very powerless because holding her is everything he wants to do and the only thing he can't.

"Last night, when we kissed," he forces himself to say, "I could feel you... inside my head," he raises his hand to touch his forehead. "Your thoughts, your emotions, all of you, in my mind."

He can see her eyes widening, just a little bit, and a spark of something else crossing them, so quickly that it was almost if it had never happened.

"I didn't mean to intrude, I just don't know how to control it," he explains and shows her his hand, palm up, fingers anxiously stretching. "I suppose I knew it before."

A slightly nod of her head and her eyes meet his. "Hope so."

There is shadow of a smile on the corner of her lips that gives him some hope, but then, as quick as it showed, it vanishes.

"Last night. You just froze." He nods.

"It was too strong, too intense. First, I panicked, then," he shrugs, "I blackened out." His hand hoovers over hers, but he doesn't touch her. "Touch telepath," he finally retreats his hand before he can succumb to the temptation.

"You've been in my head."

Once more, he just nods.

"And saw my thoughts and," she swallows hard, brows furrowing, "and..."

"Felt your feelings," he completes when she hesitates, his eyes never leaving hers because he needs her to know that there is nothing to be ashamed of.

"That's why... you showed me the sketchbooks?"

"Yes," he nods slowly. "But not only," he touches her elbow slightly when she lowers her gaze, taking the risk and hoping that her clothes can reduce the impact. But he needs to quickly remove his hand when he feels the brush of her mind in his.

His action has the desired effect. She raises her concerned eyes at him and he attempts to smile just to reassure her.

"Don't you see?" His voice is hoarse and low when he finally speaks. "I don't know many things right now. I don't remember all the planets and galaxies and civilizations I saw. I can't remember anything, a day, a single moment of a more than two thousand years of life. And yet, you remained, whole and strong, inside me."

His eyes explore her face gently, carefully memorizing every line, every curve and he sees the spark of unshed tears in her eyes.

"I lost everything, but you," he places his hand once more over the book cover. "And nothing, nothing, will change this."

She lowers her head just a little and cleans the stubborn tears that roll down her face with the back of her hand. But there is a hint of a smile when she looks at him, biting her lower lip.

"And you choose to tell me this right now," she dries her eyes again, but the stubborn smile forces its way on her lips, painfully shy, but undeniably there, "when I can't touch you."

A short laugh escapes his lips and he runs a hand through his untamed curls.

"Well, someone once told me I had never a good timing despite being a Time Lord."

This time she laughs, even if the tears are still rolling down, and her brown eyes sparkle with so much love that ignites a fire inside him and makes almost impossible for him to refrain his urge to hold her in his arms. He groans and runs a hand over his face in frustration. But what will be the point if he will pathetically faint over her?

"Hey," her voice is soothing and warm, "You are healing. Things are coming back to you," her dimples make an appearance just to shake him more, "You will be fine. Soon."

"Hope so," he moans and looks at her. "And you?"

"I'm fine."

"Clara..." There is something else inside her eyes that makes him doubt it.

She sighs, but her gaze is soft and warm like the sun upon him.

"I really am. As much as I can be right now."

Before he can say anything else, she tilts her head and furrows her perfect eyebrows, eyes scanning the place in search of something. Then, she just runs downstairs.

"Clara?"

"I know it is here, somewhere..." Her voice comes muffled by the sound of things being dragged, metal against metal, opening and closing of doors and drawers. "Oh, it is really a mess down here! We have a lot of work to do."

He is about to meet her downstairs when her triumphant voice stops him.

"Ah! I knew it!"

He casts her a suspicious glance when she meets him at the top of the stair, a cheeky smile on her lips when she closes the distance between them with decisive steps.

"Here," she places something in his hand. It takes him a couple of seconds to realize what it is and he raises one inquisitive eyebrow at her.

"Really?" He stares at the pair of thick black gloves with furrowed brows.

"Well, if I can't kiss you, at least I can hold your hand," she tilts her head and looks at him in that adorable way that makes him melt, but he is too surprised for it, her words burning in his chest.

"Go on, give it a try."

He blinks.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

She looks at him as if he has just told the most absurd thing and the world. And he probably has.

"You've been inside my head," her smile widens. "You should know by now."

He smirks, eyes sparkling.

"I do," he slides his hands inside the gloves before he reaches out for her hand. "I really do."