He knows her well enough to know that something is wrong when she steps into the TARDIS, knows grief and trauma well enough to know when someone is wearing cheerful optimism as a mask. They've never been the sort of people to talk about their emotions (his fault, he knows), and so he observes her quietly, out of the corner of his eye as she darts her way around the TARDIS, slipping each key from its resting place. He doesn't know what's happened, but he knows it must be monumental if she's preparing to threaten him.

So he lets it play out. Her grief, anger, despair. His hurt and betrayal, anger softened by the concern for her, how desperate must she be to take things this far? She'd said she loved Danny, he'd just never realised she loved him enough to break the laws of time.

She's crying now, eyes fixed on the floor as he keeps his distance. Angry enough to let her sit in her shame and grief, worried enough to stay close, keep watch. The sonic buzzes as he scans over her, brow furrowing. What a mess of chemicals she is, and he doesn't think as much of it as she thinks is love. No, it's guilt. That's what swirls around her the loudest, guilt for betraying him, guilt for lying to Danny for so long. Guilt, in a control freak who can't face that she can't fix things this time, because he'd been ripped away from her before she'd had the chance to even try. He knows how heavy guilt weighs on a grieving soul, so he makes the somewhat irrational decision to try, just this once, to find wherever the human afterlife may reside. He tells her they'll bring Danny back— he doubts its possible, but perhaps if she gets one last chance to speak with him it'll help ease that guilt, let her heart start to heal.

—

Got to keep those hands clean, Danny had said, and he supposes it's true in some regards. Not clean of killing that last piece of humanity left in Danny, but clean of the consequences that follow. There's a pit of dread within him as he watches Clara raise the sonic, and he's not sure if he can save her when Danny inevitably turns on her. He'd seen that look in her eyes, though. Knows she can't bear to see the pain she's inflicted, that the only way through is to let her shut that pain off.

He thanks every god in the universe, real or otherwise, when his worst fears don't come true.

—

They're back in the TARDIS, her tiny body curled against him, fingers clutching his jacket, nose buried against his chest. He'd tried to take her straight home, needing a moment to sort through his emotions after the events of the past day, but she'd been so unsteady, clinging to him and staring up at him with those wide eyes. He's exhausted and hurt, but so is she, and he'd been unable to stop himself gathering her into his arms, taking her to her room on the TARDIS and tucking her into bed. Don't go, she'd said, her voice so small as he'd hesitated in the doorway, before caving and slipping under the covers beside her, arms folding around her. He's not one for hugging, finds it hard to read her when he can't see her face. Not that he needs help this time — he watches as her shoulders relax, how every bit of tension leaves her body as she finally lets the mask drop and the floodgates open, her body shaking as she sobs against his chest until finally she succumbs to her exhaustion. He spends the next hours watching over her, fingers combing through her hair absently, thinking about how despite it all, he'd move mountains for her. Give up everything he can just to see her smile again.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, startling him out of his reverie — he'd been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed her stir, and he meets her gaze, so deep and mournful.
"It's okay," he manages to reply, planting a soft kiss into her hair. "Grief can make anyone irrational." She nods in reply, falling silent again, but he can see the thoughts ticking over in her head as she ponders something, considers her next words.
"How do you cope?"
"With what?"
"The guilt."
"Clara, you have nothing to be guilty for."
"You know that's not true." She laughs, bitter and harsh, head settling against his chest, her gaze wandering away. "I was terrible to him. I lied, I cheated, I broke his heart. And I'm never gonna be able to make that right."
"About that—" He sighs, fingers raking through his hair. Better to tell her, he thinks, than to add another lie upon the mountain of them they've already built. "Missy's bracelet. If he figures it out… it should have enough power to make one trip back." Her gaze shifts back to his, searching his expression until she's satisfied that he's not lying to her for her own sake.
"And he'd be alive again? Not a Cyberman, not cold and decaying, but properly alive?"
"I believe so."
She sighs, settling back against him, all that tension from her guilt easing, yet her eyes are still conflicted, teeth worrying at her lip. He's hoping P.E. will be too stupid to realise there's a way back to his Clara— he can't stand the thought of losing her, but he thinks there's only room in Clara's guilty little heart for one of them to stay.

—

They're in a cafe, his knuckles still tender from striking them against the console, and that bracelet glinting on Clara's wrist. Lie to her. That's how he keeps her happy, because he knows she'll never forgive herself if he stays. No, she'll keep returning to him like a moth to a flame, addicted to the thrill of adventure and the danger of being caught.

They embrace, despite how he wishes he could hold her at arms length, study her expression until he figures out exactly what is going through her brain. He wonders if he looked long enough, would he find all the answers? Find some way to soothe her soul and keep her close? She walks him out after, fingers interlocking with his as they wander back to the TARDIS, as he wistfully wishes he'd parked further away so this moment could stretch a little longer. She kisses his cheek, thanks him for making her feel special, and he commits every detail to memory, grateful to see one last smile from her, even if it is one of those sad ones she's formed so often lately, that barely reach her eyes.

He leaves before she can see him fall apart, slips into his TARDIS and sets his faithful ship into motion before he can turn around and run back to her. If he pretends hard enough, maybe he can imagine her waiting there for him on that street, instead of turning and walking away, back to her home, to a life without him.