Retrograde

2

"Clara. Clara, wake up. Wake up."

She was being shaken gently by the shoulder.

"What?" she mumbled, a little woozy, her back full of sharp pain from being contorted against the back of a chair for a fortnight. The Doctor was trying to wake her up in the dark console room, sitting at the edge of the bed and leaning over. "What's wrong?"

"It's Cosette. Does she die?"

"Sorry?"

"Does she die, Cosette?" the Doctor implored.

"No, she gets married off to Marius."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Valjean dies."

"Oh." She went quiet. Clara rubbed her eyes.

"Did you wake me up just to ask that? What time is it?" Clara checked her phone. She had nodded off only a few hours ago.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"What about? Is something the matter?"

The Doctor reached over and took Clara's hand, quite by surprise.

"I…" she began. She did not need to say another word. Clara saw it in her face, saw everything. A solid decade of love, laughter, friendship, alien invasions, life-threatening experiences, near-escapes, a million cups of tea and hundreds of soufflés were there in the Doctor's expression, glistening behind her eyes like Clara was watching her married life in fast-forward through a kinetoscope. Above all, he was there, looking out at her, letting her know that he had come home.

Clara wrapped her arms around the Doctor in the tightest hug she could manage.

"I'm sorry I've been away."

"It's okay," said Clara.

"It's not okay. You've been alone, I've-"

"You've been ill," said Clara.

She let go and put her hand on Clara's cheek, brushing away the stray tears that had emerged.

"I love you," she said seriously, with the weight of a million stars behind her.

"I love you, too." Clara thought it would be difficult to say those words to a face that wasn't him, but in fact, it was easy. The Doctor hugged her again and would not let go for a long while.

"I'm sorry I went into the sea like that. It was a stupid idea. To put you through this – this stress, this amnesia-"

"Please, don't apologise, it's – you're alright now. That's all that matters, is that you're alright now."

"Where's everyone been? Where's Oswin?" The Doctor eventually relinquished her and sat back down on the edge of the bed, staying as close to Clara in her bedside chair as possible.

"She and Adam have been hiding from you back there. He thought you'd kick him off. And you did threaten to."

"That's right… where's Jenny? I saw – I saw Rose, Martha, Amy, but not Jenny."

"She didn't want to see you until you remembered properly," said Clara, "She thought it'd be too painful, I think, to have to start again."

"I have to see her."

"I'll text her for you now," said Clara, searching for her phone. It had fallen onto the floor.

"How long was I under the water for?"

"Nearly two days. It was Rose and Mickey got you out. Oswin and Martha – with Helix – they did some exams," she explained slowly, texting at the same time, "You have brain damage Oswin doesn't think will heal all the way. She said you used up a lot of your regeneration energy just staying alive down there, and it started to run out. And then Martha and Jenny…"

"What?" she implored.

"When you – when you came back from the future, this you, during the Crash, you did sometimes have trouble with your memory. Martha said you didn't remember her name when you arrived." The Doctor said nothing, thinking. "Is there anything you can do? Time Lord stuff?"

"Two things. Regenerate again, or find some regeneration energy somewhere else," she said, "And I couldn't ask someone else to do that, even if I did know someone with regenerations to spare."

"Oswin looked at the nanogenes. She thinks it's too complicated for them, a Time Lord brain, and they could make it worse or try to change too much."

She paused for a long time, still thinking through her options. She managed to smile at Clara. "If I have you, then I don't need to worry about it. I'll always come back to you, Clara. I've been coming back to you since I left Gallifrey."

"Then… that's fine. It's your decision." Clara was a little dismissive.

"Do you not like it?"

"I like whatever keeps you the safest and the healthiest," said Clara. "But we don't have to talk about it now, you're – how are you? How are you feeling?"

"Achy, I've barely moved for weeks," she said, "I want to stretch my legs."

"It's the middle of the night."

"Come on, I'm – I'm tired of this console room," she said, "I want to be back in our bedroom, I think. And I want you to be back there, too, that chair won't do you any good."

"Alright, then. Are you sure you're alright to walk? I can go get one of Oswin's old wheelchairs, or a cane?" Clara suggested.

"I'm fine. I'm all rested up, good as-" Her legs buckled as soon as she got up from the bed. Clara caught her and kept her upright. "You see? You're here for me. 'Til death do us part."

"Death did do us part."

"That's true…"

"Here, take my arm," Clara offered. The Doctor did just that, holding onto her as they left the green-and-gold console room behind.

"It feels as if I've been gone for years," she said as they went into the living room, which was nothing special. Adam Mitchell had been keeping it clean, but he wasn't there.

"You've just relived an entire millennium, so that's not surprising," said Clara, "By the way – when you first woke up, you were talking about Susan and how you thought she was ill. And something about radiation and machines."

"Oh, that. That was Skaro, the first time I ever went there. Susan got sick and lost, that kind of thing was always happening to her," said the Doctor.

"That's interesting, isn't it? The first thing you remember is the Daleks."

"Clara, I have to tell you something," she stopped walking.

"What is it?" Clara was alarmed.

"I'm madly in love with the Daleks. All of them. That's why I remembered them before you."

"Oh, for-"

"I didn't know when to bring it up, but now I finally have a chance-"

"You're not funny."

"C'mon," she was grinning. Clara grimaced. "It was kind of funny."

"You're obnoxious. This an obnoxious regeneration I've been lumped with." In truth, she didn't recall all that much about what this particular Doctor had been like from their brief time together during the Crash. She had been charming, funny, beautiful, intelligent… and most importantly, had driven Clara almost to complete madness just by existing.

"Here we are!" said the Doctor, triumphant, upon entering their bedroom. Clara switched on the light.

"I've only been in here to get clean clothes since we moved you."

"Haven't you been showering?"

"In Oswin's bathroom, because… I put your clothes in here. His clothes, I don't know. They've been hanging up, I couldn't look at them, or the photographs." There were pictures of them together all around, candid Polaroids taken by Clara or their actual wedding photos. It was a wedding picture on the wall the Doctor gravitated towards.

"Do you want me to put them away for you? I can get a box."

"I don't know."

"But if it's making you sad-"

"I'm going to be sad no matter what. Leave them, I… I can't take them down yet," said Clara. She wasn't ready to stop seeing his face every day.

"Sure. You won't be ready to let me renovate things either, will you?"

"Not the bedroom. I don't mind you changing the console room."

She nodded, "That's the first thing on my list. Second thing, actually, after seeing Jenny. Did she reply to you?"

"No, she might be asleep," said Clara.

"I miss her. She's my little girl."

"She's a grown woman, and she always has been."

"Still, in my hearts she is. Oh, look at that now," she saw the bed. "That's a damn sight better than the medical gurney you've had me on."

"I thought it would be better for you."

"I know, I'm only joking," she softened, "Which side is mine?"

"The left." The Doctor walked around to the other side and collapsed in a heap on top of the covers. Clara only lingered at the edge, watching.

"Come and lie down, Coo," she entreated, "You'll feel better." Though she did dawdle a while longer, the Doctor was right. It felt luxurious to lie down properly after spending so many nights propped up awkwardly in her stuffy armchair. They were both on top of the sheets, with Clara on her back and the Doctor flat on her front, her head turned to keep Clara in view. "How are you doing?"

"It's strange to be here with you. Like I'm doing something wrong. Cheating, maybe."

"You're hardly cheating. We're not even doing anything."

"I know that, but it doesn't really change how I feel. It's… because I've met you before, even though it was you in the future, I see you and him as… too separate."

"Another reason why it's a bad idea to cross into your own timeline. Even back home it could be difficult when someone regenerated."

"But you all did."

"Yeah, but it's like… their personalities and appearance change a little, so it can be as though you haven't spoken to them in a long time, even if you just saw them," she explained, "And then you have to get to know them again. You know facts about them, things that have happened, but you don't know them. Does that make sense?"

"A little."

"Here," said the Doctor. She shifted a little to free her own arm from where it had been curled underneath her head, reaching over to take Clara's hand again. Fingers entwined, their hands rested on the duvet between them. "I'll bring one of the guest rooms out of storage tomorrow."

"Why?"

"It'll do us some good, I think. But don't worry, I won't move this room or get rid of it. It'll be like going to a hotel."

Clara took some deep, slow breaths. The Doctor was right; it was aggravating her a little to be in that room, in that bed, with this Doctor.

"I remembered all the sex you were telling me about, by the way." Clara half-laughed and half-coughed because she was so surprised by the Doctor out-and-out saying that with no euphemisms.

"God," she said, "And there you were so flummoxed thinking about it yesterday."

"I thought you'd want to know."

"I'm not thinking about that right now."

"What are you thinking about?"

"The first time we travelled back in time together."

"To the submarine?"

"Yeah. Underwater. And then when you proposed to me, do you remember? On Squam? That was underwater, too."

"What's your point?"

"Maybe it's all a message, from the universe. For you to avoid the sea, that it's dangerous."

"You're never going to let me go swimming again, are you?" She was kidding, but it was another misplaced joke that Clara did not find very funny. "Well, I won't. I tend to avoid the things that made me regenerate in the past. Try to, at least."

"Like general danger, you mean? You avoid that?"

"Ha, ha. My last life was three hundred years, that's the longest I've lived yet."

"Well, hopefully you last longer this time. I don't want to go through all of this again."

"I'll stay away from the sea, I promise," she said. "I'll do anything for you."

"You know what?" said Clara, rolling onto her side so that she could face the Doctor. "I think you're a lot more intense now, about me."

"In the other universe, he regenerated to stop himself falling in love with you," said the Doctor, "That makes me wonder what it is I've done."

"A scary thought."

"I could be a dozen times more in love with you than I was before."

"I don't think it works like that. You're either in love or you're not."

"We'll have to agree to disagree. Thank god I remembered you, though, because you were driving me a little crazy."

"Was I? I wasn't doing anything."

"It's like my body remembers who you are, but my brain doesn't. So every time I looked at you, I had all these very confusing emotions. You have to understand, it's very hard for me to be so attracted to you." Clara met her gaze for a few moments, but then felt herself getting a little flustered. She looked away, fighting off another smile. "What?"

"Nothing. You. You're so…"

"So?"

"Light. I wasn't prepared for so much levity."

"It always starts that way. Satsumas, fish fingers and custard… which do sound gross to me now, incidentally. Then life starts to happen."

"You know you haven't asked for any weird food."

"Well, I'm not exactly going to ask you to make me food, am I? No." She paused. "Jenny will make something for me. I have new tastebuds now, so I might be able to identify all the ingredients in that gumbo."

"She's never going to let you find out what's in that," said Clara.

"You'll see. One day I'll get to the bottom of it. I'm the Doctor."

"Okay."

"You should try to get some sleep, Coo. In a real bed, not a chair."

"But I can only sleep in chairs now." The Doctor said nothing. "I can't go to sleep while you're here, I've missed you too much."

"And I'll still be here when you wake up."

"I'm too chilly, anyway."

"There's a heater in here somewhere. Or you could come a little closer. I'm nice and warm." Clara was putting up quite the fight against her own tiredness, and soon enough she would be fast asleep whether she wanted to be or not.

"What did we have for dinner? The night before?"

"Breakfast for dinner, your favourite. And then breakfast for breakfast the next morning. And you complained about the hash browns being cold inside. You said cold has browns are a bad-"

"A bad omen," Clara finished her sentence, "And I was right."

"You sure were. You covered them in mayonnaise and ate them anyway."

"Tell me a story."

"You didn't like my story about the hash browns? I'm hurt."

"I'm serious."

"You're testing me."

"A little bit."

"What story? Any requests?"

"Tell me about the day we met."

"You-you or one of your Echoes?"

"Me."

"You're in luck; that happens to be one of my favourite stories. It was a relatively warm day, for London, and I arrived at your house after spending a good few years in an ancient monastery. And that was a sausage-fest, lemme tell you. That's why they were so surprised to hear a girl called me up. Anyway, there I was, in my tunic, hadn't had a wash in a while, and what happens? You slam the door in my face. Me. The love of your life. Well, you're lucky I stuck around, because you were almost immediately pulled into a giant computer…" The Doctor didn't have to go much further than that because soon enough Clara was asleep.

She stopped talking and shuffled a little nearer, lying still and listening to Clara's breathing. She wasn't going to sleep; she had had enough rest now, nearly two full weeks of convalescing. It was Clara's turn to recover.

Eventually, she detached her hand from Clara's and slowly got up. There was a blanket folded neatly across the back of the sofa, and she brought this over to drape across Clara – who was still in her pyjamas complete with dressing gown – to stop her from getting too cold. She didn't want to leave the bedroom at all, but it had been that way ever since they got married. That's why she had, among other things, installed another phone and a computer console in the bedroom. It was the phone she went to first.

Off the top of her head, she could not recall Jenny's phone number, nor did she know if she'd ever actually had it memorised. Luckily, Clara was old-fashioned and kept an ageing Rolodex next to the phone. There was a page for Jenny with a handful of old phone numbers still listed, all neatly crossed out. The Doctor dialled the newest one, at the bottom, and sat down on the sofa with the wired handset in her grip.

"Hello?" Jenny answered quickly.

"Hey," she said, suddenly very self-conscious of the way her new voice must sound through the telephone. "It's me. The Doctor."

"I know it's you, I've talked to 'this'-you before. But – how are you? What's going on? Clara texted me and said you were remembering."

"I do remember. You're my daughter and I love you dearly. And I've missed you."

"Do you want to come down here? The Cosmonaut is nearly empty, and Nios will start making breakfast soon."

"I will, later. Clara's sleeping now and I don't want to leave her. But today, yes, I want to see you in person. These memories – I remember you dying like it was yesterday. And now you're here, it's-"

"I've missed you as well, dad." The Doctor smiled; she still liked it when Jenny called her 'dad'.

"Can you make me some gumbo?"

"I see. You want to try and find the recipe now you've regenerated."

"Am I so obvious?"

"I'll make some. You still won't be able to work it out, but I'll make you some."

"Thank you. Listen, I can't stay for long, I don't want to wake her. I just needed to talk to you."

"I'm glad you called."

"You're the first person I've talked to except Clara since I got back. The first one on my mind. I want you to know."

"Thank you." The Doctor couldn't read Jenny's emotions over the phone.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to say goodbye to him."

"I can say hello to you instead." On the bed, Clara rolled over.

"…I should go, I don't want to wake her up."

"I'll get started making the gumbo, then. It takes a few hours. I'll text her when it's ready, alright?"

"Yes. I can't wait."

When she got off the phone with Jenny she checked on Clara. Still fast asleep. She decided to look around the room some more, see if anything was still unfamiliar. She looked at all the photos hung up on the wall, the one on the coffee table, at the bedside, and tried to remember how she felt in all of them; it came as a huge relief to her that she could identify every single one. Searching the bookshelves, she pulled out Clara's photo album and sat back down on the sofa. Flipping through the pictures, many of their third (and last) wedding – the only one they had planned and properly done themselves, and therefore their favourite – she made a mental note to get Clara a new album to start filling up. She smiled at a novelty photo of the Eleventh Doctor trying to push over the Leaning Tower of Pisa, back before it had started to lean at all. It was strange, she had never bothered to look through Clara's photos before, but now she was glad of them. She felt terrible for all the times she'd made fun of Clara for stopping to take out a camera.

She spent a long while poring over those pictures, but eventually set the album down because she had other things to catch up on. She was beginning to really feel the absence of her sonic screwdriver, and headed into the bathroom to see the clothes Clara said she had hung up.

The purple three-piece suit was all there, and it didn't look too bad considering. She was only underwater for forty-eight hours, so it hadn't quite had a chance to start growing things. It was all stiff, as if it had been starched, and it did smell very pungent. She began searching through the pockets of her previous life, picking things out and discarding them mercilessly. She found the pieces she was looking for: her keys, psychic paper, and sonic screwdriver. The paper and the screwdriver were both ruined and waterlogged, but the TARDIS keys were fine. A predictable outcome. She wasn't sure what she'd do with the clothes since they did smell so foul, but thought she'd best leave them alone for the time being. It was more Clara's decision what to do with them, she felt.

Perhaps because of the stench coming from the clothes, which made her feel a little foul after touching them, she decided that she would finally take a shower. She very much appreciated Clara helping to bathe her when she couldn't bathe herself, but thought she'd like to be clean by the time Clara was awake. She left the bathroom door ajar so that, if Clara did wake up, she'd immediately know the Doctor was only showering, and indulged herself.

It felt exquisite to be underneath the hot water of the shower, especially when residual memories of the freezing-cold Atlantic were still clinging to her, and she wasn't sure for how long she languished there. Enough to wash twice over with two different scents of shower gel, enough to scrub what was left of the ocean from her hair, and enough to get thoroughly weirded out by no longer having a male body. When they went over regenerations at the Academy, they hadn't dwelled much on the particulars of what happened when one's sex characteristics switched, and it wasn't something she had ever dared to ask Missy about. Imagine how that conversation would have gone.

Then she spent a long time finally staring at herself in the mirror. So that was her face. She didn't think it matched her voice particularly, and the teeth were too sharp for her liking. She was not ginger, as she suspected, but she was blonde for the first time since her sixth incarnation. Maybe she could dye it ginger. Clara would know about that.

She'd wasted a lot of time already doing all that, but she wasn't about to wake Clara up again. Luckily for her, the TARDIS had been busy in her absence. The computer was flashing. She had never seen it flash before, but upon investigating, it started to tremble. A long, thin object was ejected from a hole in the side that she had never noticed before.

"Ah, I see…" she smiled, pulling it out. There it was: a brand-new sonic screwdriver, dispensed by the TARDIS in a far more bizarre manner than she had ever seen. "I didn't even know you could do that, old girl." The low lights in the bedroom brightened slightly, then dimmed. "Thank you." It was sleek, white, with a purple light on the end. "Are you doing the console room as well?" The computer made some beeping noises and the Doctor nodded. "I can't wait to see it."

She eventually found some clothes, too, stolen from Clara's side of the wardrobe. Faded jeans, an old tee that she wasn't sure she'd ever actually seen Clara wear. She even took a bra, though it took her a few minutes to work out exactly how it was supposed to go on. Taking them off was one thing, but putting them on? That was a skill she would need to develop. She couldn't even really tell if it fit considering how uncomfortable it was.

Just when she thought she was lost for what to do, someone knocked lightly on the bedroom door. It was only after she'd made sure Clara still wasn't awake that she realised she should probably answer the door, seeing as someone had gone to all the trouble to knock. It was Oswin.

"Oh, hi. I was just-"

"C'mere!" the Doctor was overjoyed to see her and stooped down so that she could force Oswin to hug her. She'd shown up in one of her wheelchairs. The Doctor squeezed her. "I've missed you."

"You know I'm Oswin and not Clara, right?"

"Yes, can't I be happy to see my sister-in-law?" she said upon relinquishing Oswin, who grimaced.

"You've remembered who I am?"

"I remember everything. I've talked to Jenny, I'm going to see her later."

"I was coming to check on Clara, but the console room is locked, so I came here," Oswin explained, "Do you know why it's locked?"

"Remodelling."

"I can't get to my lab."

"Sorry about that. It won't take long, I'll need to fly the ship to see Jenny soon. She's making gumbo. But, listen," she stepped out of the bedroom so that the door closed behind her, conscious of how loud their conversation might be. "I want to thank you for taking care of Clara since I've been gone."

"Yeah, well, someone had to after you jumped in the fucking sea, you idiot," said Oswin. "What did you do that for? What were you thinking?"

"I was trying to impress her!"

"Clara never needed any impressing beyond you taking your penis out, something you incidentally can't do anymore."

"Oswin," she said seriously, "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, and Adam – I know he's been cooking all my food and I've been threatening to throw him off."

"I would never have let you."

"I'm sure."

"He's cooking himself breakfast right now, you could always apologise." The Doctor glanced behind her at the bedroom door.

"Clara might wake up soon, it's been a few hours since I got her to go to sleep in the actual bed. I don't want her to have to come looking for me."

"I'll keep an eye on her. We have our mind-patch, remember?"

"…Alright," she relented; Oswin was very angry with her for the last two weeks, and she didn't want to leave things that way.

Adam Mitchell almost dropped his bacon sandwich on the floor when he saw her come into the room behind Oswin.

"I'm just-" he began to defend himself.

"I'm not gonna throw you out," said the Doctor quickly, "And I'm sorry about all that. I'm back now, I think. For the most part."

"Oh," he was relieved. "…How are you doing? You got dressed, that's… well done." Awkward as ever.

"Thank you, yes. I'm not sure I'm wearing this bra correctly."

"I couldn't comment."

"Do you want me to comment?" Oswin offered.

"I'll just ask Clara. It's her bra. Thanks for cooking for me these last two weeks, by the way," she told Adam, "I don't know where we would have been without you."

"Oh, you don't need to thank me."

"She does need to thank you," said Oswin.

"Have you been telling her off already, Os?"

"I – yes, because she deserves it. Somebody needs to."

"Don't you think dying and not remembering who she was for two weeks is punishment enough for falling in the sea?" Oswin just scowled. He turned back to the Doctor. "Do you want something to eat? You can have this sandwich, I'll make another."

"Don't give her your sandwich," said Oswin.

"Why not? It's fine. There's loads of bacon. I already had a yoghurt, anyway." He held the sandwich, which he hadn't yet taken a bite of, towards the Doctor.

"Are you sure?" she asked, glancing between them.

"Absolutely." She took it, trying to ignore that Oswin was glaring at her. "You can just cook for me for the next two weeks, then we're even."

"That's fine by me. I'm going to get the recipe for Jenny's gumbo today."

He laughed, "I doubt that."

"You'll see."

"Do you want me to make something for Clara?"

"Mitchell," said Oswin.

"What? I'm happy to cook for them," he said.

"No, it's alright," said the Doctor, "She's still asleep. I'll make her something myself later." He nodded and went back to his frying pan.

"She's awake, I think," said Oswin after a moment. The Doctor half-suspected she was lying so that the Doctor would leave, but she couldn't take that chance. She smiled at them both.

"I'll see you later."

Adam turned his gaze on Oswin once the Doctor was out of the room.

"What?" she asked.

"I know you've missed her, this Doctor," he said, "You don't have to pretend. You're glad she's back."

"That doesn't mean she hasn't been taking advantage of your generosity."

"It's my generosity to give. Isn't that why you love me?" She did not have a retort. "Look, she's back now. She'll look after Clara. Why don't we do something?"

"The console room is still locked, we can't go anywhere."

"I'm sure we'll think of something."

Oswin had been right, Clara was awake. Not enough to quite notice the Doctor had been out of the room. She put her half-eaten sandwich down on the bedside so that she could sit next to Clara.

"Hey, there," she said softly, brushing Clara's hair out of her eyes.

"Did you go somewhere?"

"Only across the hall. Your sister was under the impression I have some behaviour to apologise for, so I've done that."

"What? Urgh. Do you want me to tell her to be nice?"

"No, don't worry about it." Clara frowned, rubbed her eyes, and stared at the Doctor.

"Did you get changed?"

"I've showered, I've put some clean clothes on-"

"Those are my clothes."

"Well, I didn't want to go all the way to the big wardrobe and leave you here. Besides, you never wear jeans."

"I – sometimes I do," she grumbled.

"You have other pairs."

"Stealing my clothes already," she sighed.

"I've borrowed one of your bras, I hope you don't mind."

"Does it fit?"

"I don't know. How do you tell? It's not very comfortable. You can look, if you want."

"Excuse me?"

"If you want to see whether it fits."

"Uh…"

"What? You told me yesterday you've been helping me keep clean and change my clothes – did you not see me naked yet?" It was honest question, but she didn't quite understand Clara's reaction to it. Clara sat up, still looking very tired and dishevelled.

"That's different."

"Is it?"

"Giving you a sponge bath because you don't remember who you are or how to look after yourself isn't very sexy. But you asking me to stare at you in your underwear?"

"I didn't say stare, who said you could stare?"

Clara shook her head, "I… sure, alright." She did not hesitate to take off the tee she had found. Clara looked her over very seriously, like she was examining supermarket eggs for cracks. "I mean, I think you've put it on properly, if that's what you want me to say?"

"Is it the right size?"

"No, I think you need one up," she shrugged, "It should be fine, though. I could measure you, but I have historically developed a good eye for these things."

"For women's underwear?"

"Mm, I would consider myself an authority. Or, I would have ten years ago. It's been a while. You can put your top back on now," she said, looking away. The Doctor did not do this.

"You seem a little agitated, Coo," she said, leaning a little closer and putting a hand down on the mattress for support.

"Why would you say that?"

"You're blushing."

"I'm not blushing."

"You are."

"Why did you get dressed in the first place? Are you going somewhere?"

"I called Jenny and told her I'd go see her today, once you woke up," she explained. "And I was tired of pyjamas. I don't like them much."

"You'd rather wear jeans?"

"It's refreshing."

"Alright, then." Clara wasn't going to argue. "What's that smell?"

"Adam made me a sandwich. But Jenny's cooking, we can head out to get food at the Cosmonaut? She said Nios is working today."

"I think Nios works every day. But, sure. I'd better shower as well."

"Do you want me to join you?"

"S-sorry?"

"In the shower, I mean." Clara stared at her. "What? We used to do that."

"Fuck in the shower? Yeah, I know, I'm not… I'm not up for that. Um," she got up, "You stay out here. Oh, did you brush your teeth?"

She clicked her fingers, "You know what? I forgot."

"You can, uh, do that when I'm done…"

"Wait, wait, wait," she put her clothes back on hastily, going to block Clara's route to the shower. "Get a load of this." From the back pocket of her (Clara's) jeans she took out her new screwdriver. "The TARDIS made it for me during the night. What do you think?"

"Purple and white?" said Clara.

"Oh, the darnedest thing – the console room is locked for the moment," she said, "Redecorating." Clara stared at her. "What? You told me I could."

"I know, but… I thought I'd get to see it one last time."

"Hey," the Doctor touched her arm, "The old one will be in the archives. You can go see it whenever you want, I'll put it somewhere accessible. Do you want me to move those clothes out of there, though? I had a look around and took everything out of the pockets."

"The, um, the screwdriver. His screwdriver."

"I left it by the sink, I don't think it'll work."

"I'd like to have it. If it's alright with you. Even if it's broken."

"Sure," she smiled, "I'll see if I can't drain it and get it working again for you sometime. But the clothes. Do you want I should archive them?"

"I don't know. I can't think about that." The Doctor was asking too much of her.

"Do you want to keep showering across the hall instead?" she asked quietly, taking Clara's hand.

Clara breathed deeply a few times. "Yes. That's the best for now. Did you say you would get a guest room?"

"I'll do that as soon as I can."

"You just seem so ready to leave him behind."

"That's how these things go. I've done it a dozen times."

"I don't like it."

"I promise I won't move or change anything else, not until you want me to." She squeezed Clara's hand.

"Okay," said Clara, very quietly, eyes on the floor. They stood for a few moments longer. Just when the Doctor was going to step a little closer, Clara let go and cleared her throat. "I'll be right back. Could you, uh, wait in the next room, please? So I can get dressed on my own."

"If that's what you want."

"It is."

"Then, yes. I'll be through there, waiting."

"Thank you," Clara managed an unconvincing smile, then left the Doctor alone again.