Intensive Care

Jenny

The air was damp and there was a slightly, chilling breeze in Hollowmire that winter evening when the TARDIS materialised at the edge of Clara Ravenwood's garden wall, just outside the boundaries of her lonely house on the moors. Jenny was always asking if she was going to do anything with the front garden, and all Clara said was that she might plant some roses for her mother in there in the spring. Jenny thought that would be nice, if she got around to it.

It was four in the morning when she stepped out into the night, brand-new splint on her hand to protect her thumb from the world's wears and tears.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay on the TARDIS?" the Doctor asked her, following along behind. All day he had looked like he didn't know what to say to her, or what to do, or even like he was unsure if he belonged anywhere near her. But he was trying, he was trying very hard, she knew.

"I can't, really, not right now, Martha said I should stay here. And Clara's drunk, she'll be a mess," Jenny said, "I ought to make sure she's alright."

"Yes, I suppose you'd better…" he sighed. He knew she was right. This was Clara they were talking about; the woman was an idiot. Especially when she was drunk. She had married the Doctor in Las Vegas, after all, and then there was the whole business when she had tried to fight Rose months ago, and the thing with the mango tattoo. Granted, that was all Alpha Clara, but they were as bad as each other when intoxicants were involved. Jenny was just glad that Ravenwood hadn't picked up smoking again.

"You could always come in?" she suggested.

"While Clara's drunk? She'll murder me."

"I'm sure she won't," Jenny said, "She might not even be that drunk, or she could be asleep. You could always show her that mirror you brought this morning?"

"No, I think that's a job best left to you," he said, smiling a little. He really did seem genuinely scared of Ravenwood, which she thought was funny. Ravenwood wouldn't hurt a fly. If she could still repress her urges to feast on human blood when she was drunk and in the vicinity of Sally Sparrow, she could manage not to attack Eleven on sight. Especially if Jenny had invited him there. Then again, it wasn't her house to go inviting people into. "Do you know, you called me 'dad' today?"

"Did I?" she asked, surprised. He was blatantly trying to hide a smile.

"Yes."

"I didn't know you were all that bothered about what I call you."

"Of course I am! Especially when you call Thirteen 'mum.'"

"Shall I call you mum too?" she asked. He made a face. "Why don't you like her? Are you jealous? You'll be her one day. It'll all come full circle."

"I suppose."

"Alright, father, I'll… think about it. About calling you dad," she assured him, which he seemed pleased by for a few seconds, until his demeanour switched to a more sombre one.

"I should probably tell you something…"

"What?" she asked.

"Why I left you. Your body." Jenny was stunned.

"Oh. Yeah. Maybe you should." She had nearly forgotten about that. And now he had brought it up himself. After two-hundred years… did she really want to know? It was too late to say otherwise.

"Because I failed my whole race," he said finally, talking without looking at her, "All of them died, all the Time Lords. And then, hundreds of years later, there was you, and then you were the rest of the Time Lords, just you, and then when you died so soon... it was like losing them all over again. I didn't want to accept that I'd been the cause of my entire species dying twice. So, yes, I justified it to myself, and told myself you weren't..." he sighed, thought about what he was going to say next, then met her eyes, "I didn't leave you because you weren't enough of a Time Lord, I left you because you were too much of one, and I couldn't cope with that. It was wrong of me, very wrong. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything, Jenny." When she hugged him, he was so shocked it took him a few seconds to realise he probably ought to hug her back.

"Jenny!" somebody shouted nearby, and the Doctor let go of her so that they could see what it was. Contrary to what she had believed, Clara was not in the house, had not returned home, because now she was stumbling up the thin path on the hill that led towards the distant shadows of the village. How was she only just getting back? It was four o'clock in the morning, and there weren't exactly any nightclubs in Hollowmire. There weren't even any bars. Just the one, solitary pub, The Mermaid, which she had never been to herself. It got worse when she began to half-sing, half-slur: "Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to?" she practically wailed.

"Oh, lord…" Jenny muttered. It was a bit of a relief to see, in the pale light of the moon, that Clara's face wasn't covered with blood and human gristle. No, she was thankfully clean. No massacre. It was still a wonder that vampires could get drunk, but, clearly, she was. Incredibly so.

"You give me something… something, something, something!" Whatever the song was – not one she recognised – Clara had clearly forgotten the words. She staggered over to the gate and fumbled trying to open it. Jenny, irritated, walked over to help her. "Jeeeeenny I got your number! Jeeeeenny don't change your number! Eight-six-seven-five… uh… something… niiiiine…" Confusing herself trying to remember the words to whatever anthem she was crooning, Clara frowned, then she managed to trip on nothing and Jenny caught her. "Let's get married," Clara tried to stroke her face.

"That's a terrible idea," Jenny told her, "Listen, Clara-"

"I'm gonna write a book, baby," Clara told her, trying to walk and not doing a very good job of it. All the while the Doctor still stood there, in front of the ship, not knowing what to do. It was a lucky thing he was married to the Other One, she now thought. Imagine, she was just starting to reconcile with her father, and this was the introduction he got to her new girlfriend. This abominable, mindless, wreck of a woman.

"Okay, well, you can do that tomorrow, can't you?"

"I was thinking," Clara told her, grabbing her face and looking into her eyes, "I'm going to write the next Orlando. Wait. Maybe I'll write the first Orlando. Maybe I wrote it, Jenny! You could be my Orlando." Jenny didn't have a clue what she was talking about. "Jenny. I am Virginia Woolf."

"No you're not," the Doctor said, "I've met Virginia Woolf, I'm sure I'd have recognised her if she was you." Clara only noticed him after he said that, and she squinted at him like she was staring into the sun. Then she stumbled again and Jenny grabbed her around her middle to keep her upright.

"Who are you?"

"My dad, Clara," Jenny said, "My dad's here. I kept trying to tell you."

"When we get married he'll be my dad," Clara said, in awe of this crude realisation. Jenny found that quite an unpleasant thing to think about.

"That's nice. I don't know where you're getting this 'when' business from… how's Sally? Did she get home alright?"

"Sally!" Clara shouted, then laughed, then began to whisper, "She's been telling me these things… about these… wooooo! Ghostssss!"

"I'm sure she has… do you maybe want to go inside now? I'll make you a coffee."

"Have sex with me."

"Definitely not," Jenny said, seeing in Clara a visible representation of all the reasons she no longer drank alcohol. Not after everything that happened at the Dalton Lodge.

"I should go," the Doctor said finally, succumbing to the awkwardness of the situation.

"Uh, yeah, maybe," Jenny said, a little annoyed now that Clara's drunken behaviour had caused her time with her father to be cut short. But she really did have to make sure Clara didn't do something stupid, like try to cook something and burn the house down. She was liable to do that even when she was sober, she might obliterate half of Yorkshire if she tried to cook while she was this out of her mind. He turned back to the TARDIS, "I'll be in touch though," she assured him, having to hold Clara steady and also hit her hands away at intervals so that she didn't get groped while she spoke to her father. Clara was irritatingly deft when it came to fondling, though, and it was a real battle trying to stop her doing something inappropriate.

"Yes, do," he said, "Please. Just call Clara's phone."

"I'm Clara's phone," Clara slurred, and Jenny ignored her. It was like having a child, albeit a very randy child whose thoughts were the definition of filth. Then the Doctor vanished into the TARDIS and the blue box thrummed away, and Jenny was left staring at the place where it had been. "Jenny," Clara mumbled, "I'm tired."

"I'm not surprised," Jenny said, "Come on. I'll get you some blood."

At ten o'clock in the morning, Clara Ravenwood woke up from a very restless sleep. Perhaps alcohol induced night terrors in vampires. Or day-terrors, Jenny supposed, observing from where she was, sitting with her legs crossed on top of the sheets on the empty side of the bed. The left side. The side that was hers when she slept there, which was most nights lately. Clara stirred and groaned and struggled to pull the sheets up over her head, hiding from the dim glow of the bedside lamp on Jenny's other side.

"Hey," Jenny said softly, touching the distinguishable shape of Clara's shoulder with her good hand.

"Am I dead?" she asked, muffled.

"In what sense? You're only as dead as you usually are."

"Good. I was afraid I'd be gone for good and I'd never see you again."

"Were you?"

"Yeah, for a moment, until I smelled you."

"Smelled me?"

"Listen," Clara said, pulling the sheets back down from her face, revealing messy hair and dark eyes, a gaunt look which Jenny found undeniably attractive, as odd as that was, "I'm getting really reliant on my sense of smell. It's really cool. I always thought about what the world's like to dogs. And my sense of sight is batshit now –pun intended. I can smell coffee, too."

"I made a flask," Jenny said, "I thought you'd want some whenever you regained consciousness."

"Really?" Clara, haggard, asked, actually sitting up she was that enticed by the coffee. Jenny had, so she told her so, and Clara leant over to kiss her cheek with her boozy mouth. Jenny let her, though she wasn't very happy with Clara, in all honesty. She picked the flask off the bedside table and poured Clara a steaming cup of coffee in the lid. "Oh my stars, I love you."

"It's just coffee."

"You're thoughtful, though." Jenny didn't say anything, she pulled her knees up and slumped, arms around her legs, closing herself off from her hungover, undead girlfriend. "…Didn't you leave? You left me a note, right…? Because… oh my god, your dad was here… I can't believe I forgot."

"Yes, he was here, and he was here when I came back six hours ago, when you were drunk."

"Right. Did I say anything bad…?"

"You didn't say anything, per se, but you did sing."

"Fantastic," she muttered, "It's alright, though. He is married to Other Me. I'm sure he's used to it."

"Yeah, I know, it's not that."

"Then what? What's the matter? Did it go badly? Are you still not going back to the TARDIS?" Clara asked her.

"I thought about it, but then you showed up in your state. Plus, Martha told me to stay here to make sure I don't get my hand into anymore bother. And I told her I didn't know how happy you'd be with me hanging around for much longer – I mean, I don't want my stubbornness to put unnecessary strain on our relationship," Jenny said.

"It's fine, I'll just kick you out to your spaceship if I get sick of you, or send you to Sally and Esther's. Which is a joke, by the way, I'm not getting sick of you, or anything." Clara smiled, she smiled so warmly, and Jenny gazed at her and slumped back against the headboard. "What?"

"I'm supposed to be annoyed at you, but you're so cute sometimes…" she muttered.

"Annoyed at me? What for? For going to the pub?"

"No. Yes. A bit. It's nothing. I just wanted to talk to you as soon as I got back, but I couldn't, because you kept going on about Virginia Woolf," Jenny said. Clara frowned. Obviously she didn't remember the thing. "And you asked me to marry you."

"I tend to do that. I probably asked Sally, too, and the bartender," Clara sighed, "You can talk to me now. I won't be going back to sleep. And it's Sunday, anyway."

"It's Friday."

"Is it? Shit… I have to go to work…"

"You mean you have to sit in a dark shop that never has any customers and read books for a living? Sitting in the dark reading books is exactly what you'd do if you stayed at home," Jenny pointed out, knowing full-well that she was completely right.

"But you're not there. I missed you today. Still, I'll stay awake for you, anything for more of your sterling company," Clara told her, "Come on, tell me about your day. How's things?" She nudged Jenny lightly in the ribs with her elbow, sipping more coffee.

"Doctor-wise, things are… okay, I guess. Good, even."

"That's great," Clara smiled.

"But Jenny-wise…" she trailed off.

"Are you saying you're not okay? What happened?" Clara asked softly, taking her hand. Then she realised it felt different and glanced down at the bandage and the brace, "Is your thumb alright?"

"Oh, I'll tell you about that later, my thumb's fine. You remember just the other day? When I said all my stuff got burned?"

"Yeah?"

"It didn't. Don't get me wrong, I thought it did at the time, I wasn't lying or anything, but the Doctor, he picked up this distress call…" and so Jenny related to Clara the day's events; the fake Cartax, her crazy ex, the tightrope, the sword fight, Iveanne's death, the monsters (the middle two of which impressed Clara a great deal.) Everything. But she lingered on Iveanne's death. "I didn't want to kill her."

"You didn't," Clara said, Clara who had been listening so carefully, making Jenny remember why she had been so desperate to talk to Clara about all this to begin with, why they were together, and why she loved her.

"I cut her oxygen tube."

"She would have suffocated eventually anyway," Clara said.

"That's what I keep telling myself… but she's dead."

"And it was her fault."

"It was my dad. He killed her. But he never killed Cobb."

"Who's Cobb?"

"The man who shot me, the first time I regenerated. I wasn't avenged. Donna told me he refused," Jenny said.

"Wasn't that Ten, though? And you were out with Eleven? They're different. And it sounds like someone was going to have to kill her, or she would have killed you. If you died again… even if you regenerate… it's a hard thing to go through. You know that from me, from when I got bitten. He had to do what he did, and whatever you think, it was still his actions and his burden to bear, not yours. You haven't done a single thing wrong, Jenny, I promise. And as for this Iveanne, as insane as she sounds, she was still someone you knew. And liked, at some point, I assume? It's alright to be sad about her death just because she's dead, you don't have to force away grief because she lost her mind and did some terrible things. You can be sad." After that Jenny shifted so that she could lean on Clara's shoulder. "Do you want some coffee?"

"No, that's your coffee, it's disgusting, I can't even drink it," she said, "Tastes like bleach." Clara laughed, and Jenny nuzzled close enough that Clara took the hint and put one arm around her, "Do you remember the other day? When I said you were good at being a girlfriend?"

"Yeah?" Clara said. Jenny said nothing. "Jen?"

"What?"

"What were you going to say?"

"I wasn't going to say anything, I was just reminding you that I think you're a great girlfriend."

"Well you're certainly in the minority there."

"How come?" Jenny asked, sitting up again, Clara's arm still snaking around her waist. She laughed, but a little sadly.

"You really think I'd be single if everyone I'd ever been out with shared that philosophy of me being a great girlfriend?" Clara questioned.

"But you're not single," Jenny said, leaning in, "You're all mine."

"And I love it," Clara whispered back, and Jenny kissed her lightly. Not for long, because the taste of alcohol was very pungent on Clara's lips, but for long enough that when she pulled back Clara was smiling. "Why is your cast off, anyway?"

"Martha did it," Jenny answered, "So that she could take the stitches out. I don't know why she didn't just put another cast back on afterwards though, since it's still basically immobile. Hurts less than it used to. Do you want to see a picture of it without any bandages? It's really gross."

"Then no, not really," she said, "I don't like thinking about you being in pain. Show it to Sally later, it'll cheer her up from her hangover, no doubt." Jenny was disappointed by that. She had taken a photo of her bruised, gammy thumb solely so that she could show it to Clara. Maybe she would be more interested later, Jenny hoped. She could always send it to Oswin, she supposed. Oswin would appreciate it.

"…Clara?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Am I a lot like my father?" Jenny asked, changing the subject completely and taking Clara by surprise. "I'm only asking because Amy was out today, too, and she kept saying we're alike. Are we?"

"Well, you do have his eyes," Clara said, "But… yeah. Sometimes you say things, something clever, or some comment about history, or human nature, and… it's like I'm talking to him instead. I just don't tell you."

"Why not?"

"It didn't seem like you'd want it pointing out. Why? Do you now? Do you want me to tell you when you remind me of him? How about when you got frightened by your feelings for me and ran away in the TARDIS? Or… the other morning when you were talking about that alien megastructure those scientists think they've found with the radio telescope. You are just like him sometimes. Or her. From what little I know of your mother, the pair of you seem to share the same blind optimism." Jenny thought about this, Clara watching her with her coffee. Then she remembered something from that very morning.

"He got you something," Jenny said.

"Who? The Doctor? Got me something?"

"Yeah. It's best if I show you…" Jenny said. That peculiar, alien mirror. She had brought it downstairs into the 'crypt' earlier, to test it on Clara while she was asleep and see if it actually worked. Surprisingly, it did. She didn't know how it could be a mirror without reflecting light, but she didn't need to, either. Digging around on the floor on the other side of the bed, she thought about what he had told her, that it belonged to a godmother of his. Did that make it a family heirloom? Did that mean she was part of a family? She plucked it off the floor finally, fumbling in the dark even with her low-light glasses. "Now… don't freak out, or anything," Jenny warned, sitting back up and holding it so that Clara could only see the dark, matte back.

"Why would I freak out?" Clara, perplexed, asked. Then Jenny proceeded to flip it over and show Clara her first, most passionate love: herself. And she sure did stare. "Is that a photo?"

"No. I don't know what it is," Jenny said, letting Clara have the damned thing that was sure to become her most prized possession. The only thing she could see herself in. "I think dad said it was some sort of species identifier, something to do with Van Gogh."

"Wait – 'dad'?"

"Well, he… you know, he said sorry for a lot of things. He told me why he left me. For the first time in the last few months he's actually trying." Clara smiled at her.

"I'm glad. I'm happy for you. And for me, if you getting along with the Doctor means presents. Will he get a camera next, do you think?" Clara asked, "Or a synthetic garlic substitute that contains no allyl?"

"Well I could get you a garlic substitute if you want," Jenny said, "You've never asked. Are you asking now? Do you want fake garlic paste?"

"Is that a trick question? Of course I do. Life without garlic bread isn't a fate I'd wish on anybody, Jen," Clara said, all the while ogling her pasty, dead self in the mirror. Then she smiled at herself and spotted those fangs for the first time, and gawped, and Jenny laughed.

"…What does Orlando mean?"

"Orlando?"

"When you were drunk, earlier, you said you were going to 'write the next Orlando.' And you said that I 'could be your Orlando.'" Clara laughed.

"That's a surprisingly romantic thing for me to come out with when I'm drunk," she said, still examining her teeth and her new, sallow countenance. "It's upstairs, you could always read it."

"Or you could tell me what it means?"

"It's a book about a character who lives for hundreds of years without visibly ageing, changes gender halfway through, and meets all sorts of famous, historical figures. Woolf based Orlando on a woman she was having an affair with in real life," Clara explained, then she quoted, "'Time went by, and Orlando, wrapped in his own dreams, thought only of the pleasures of life; of his jewel, of her rarity; of means for making her irrevocably and indissolubly his own.' So you see, it was quite romantic of drunk me."

"I guess it was. So. Shall I text Other You to tell her to say thanks to my father for the mirror?"

"Yeah, sure, I'm very grateful for the ability to stare at my own face again. And you and I could take pictures in it. Do you think I show up in pictures taken in mirrors?"

"Well," Jenny said, picking her phone up from nearby, "We'll see tomorrow. Today. Whatever."

"I'd love pictures of us…" Clara said wistfully, "The only ones of us are from before we were together. Don't you think it'd be nice?"

"I found old photo albums," Jenny began, "On the ship, earlier, they're on the TARDIS now. Pictures of me over two-hundred years. So, yes, it would be nice for us to have pictures together, of course it would." Clara smiled, then yawned widely. "I thought you said you weren't going to go back to sleep?"

"I wasn't. But I think I might now. I'm dying for some eggs. With salt. Lots of salt…"

"How about," Jenny said, taking the mirror out of Clara's hands to put to the side, "You leave this alone and go to sleep, and I'll have a toasted scrambled egg sandwich ready for you for breakfast when you wake up? Extra salt, promise."

"That would be wonderful. What in the world did I do to deserve you?" Clara asked.

"Maybe it's the universe balancing itself. Making up for all the bad things that have happened to you. But, you know, Clara, I'm still a person. I'm not some ethereal space-goddess. No one's perfect."

"Well I think you come pretty close."

"Why is the pub open until four in the morning?" Jenny asked abruptly.

"The Mermaid?" Clara frowned, "It's open all night every night, their closing hours are, like, four in the afternoon until seven at night."

"That's weird."

"Is it? It's because that's when they have their service, most of the village."

"Service...?"

"They're the, uh..." Clara strained her memory, "Followers of... Oc'thubha. Something like that. It's a religious society. Hence me not knowing a lot about it, I don't really react well with religion. Sally and Esther went to one of their meetings once, for the free biscuits."

"Wait - most of the village? Are in a 'religious society?'"

"Yeah, forget about it, it's fine. There's freedom of religion in this country, Jen."

"Right..."

"Now, are you gonna stay down here and come to bed too?"

"Oh, I don't know. Thought I might go see if Esther wants some company, since I assume Sally's out for the count. Or I could-"

"You can be the little spoon?" Clara entreated, cutting her off. Jenny paused and mulled this over, and while she did, Clara also said, "And I'll stroke your hair."

"…Okay," she said, relenting, like she always did. Grumbling, she got under the covers, "When did you learn all my weaknesses?"

"When you fell in love with me," Clara murmured, wrapping one arm tightly over Jenny, the other one under her head.

"You know, when you were drunk, you called me 'baby.'"

"Did I?"

"Yeah. Funny, since I'm only a hundred and eighty-one years older than you."

"Mmm, it really turns me on when you talk about what a decrepit old woman you are."

"Go to sleep, Clara," Jenny whispered.

"But-"

"Go to sleep."