Chapter 19: Confessions

"Doctor, it's time to take those staples out."

He made a face. He knew this time was coming. He imagined that it would be painful. However, they were unbearably itchy and they caught on his bedsheets and clothes constantly. The wounds underneath had healed into smooth pink scars. It was time.

Clara held the special staple-removing scissors in one hand and tried to wrangle the Doctor's arm with the other. He refused to sit still. She could've sworn that Missy had given him sugar this morning. "Hold still," she ordered, no nonsense in her tone.

He flinched, withdrawing his arm to his chest. He glared at the little tool with fear in his wide eyes. Clara snorted. She had seen this man stare down gods and Daleks. The fearless Doctor, defeated by a staple remover. Pursing her lips, she reached out and grabbed his hand, extending his forearm towards herself.

"You know, Clara," he pleaded, trying to squirm out of her grasp, "I think they could do with a bit longer, and– ow!"

First staple removed, Clara held it up proudly with the tool. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she chuckled, rubbing his arm to comfort him. "Stop being a baby."

He griped under his breath, scratching at the spot. No use trying to argue with a mother hen. This whole ordeal had made Clara even bossier than usual. "Yes, boss," he muttered.

Still confined to a wheelchair, Clara knelt beside him in the sickbay. This time, he obediently stuck out his arm for her to finish removing the staples, but he couldn't bear to watch. It really didn't hurt too much. Just a little sting for each clip. It was the anticipation that bothered him.

She pulled out another one and he winced slightly. He knew this was just her way of showing affection, or one of them, but God it could be overbearing sometimes. She'd bite his head off if he ever told her that, though.

She dropped each little staple into a waiting metal basin with a clink. With each one gone, the healthy new scars appeared. Clara hummed in approval. They had healed up very nicely considering how bad the injury had been.

After applying an antibiotic ointment, she bandaged them up with fresh gauze. She moved on to the other arm and repeated the process. Soon, with minimal whining, he was staple-free. When it was finally over, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He mumbled out a quick word of thanks. As much as he secretly loved all this doting, he couldn't wait until he was on his own two feet again. All this reliance on someone else contradicted his very independent nature. His knees buckled every time he tried to stand up. A side effect of the antibiotics and muscle damage, Clara had said.

"Now, Doctor, let's try something new," she encouraged, walking around to his front. She locked the brakes on his wheelchair and folded up the metal footrests. She stood in front of him with her arms extended. He narrowed his eyes. What was she up to?

"Come on, try to stand up," she beckoned with outstretched hands. "I'll help you."

He raised a bushy eyebrow at her. "Don't be ridiculous, Clara, you know I can't."

"Nonsense. I scanned you when you came in. The muscle damage is better," she insisted. Grasping both of his hands, she pulled upwards gently. "Come on, up you go," she coaxed.

Grumbling, he gripped Clara's hands tightly. Planting his feet on the ground, he took a in deep breath, steeling himself. After all she had done for him, the least he could do was humor her.

Bit by bit, he lifted himself out of the chair. He trembled with the effort. Achy muscles yelled at him, shrunken from atrophy. This was much harder than it looked. He clenched his jaw, focusing. Carefully, he bent his knees, not trusting them to support his weight. He felt like a newborn giraffe, unsure how to command his long gangly legs.

Clara leaned forwards and hugged him around the chest for support. He blushed at the close contact. He was still not totally used to this hugging thing yet, but he was willing to keep trying, for her. Her perfume wafted into his nose, intoxicating him. He almost felt his knees buckle just from that.

She pulled him upright and suddenly he found himself standing on his own two feet. His legs wobbled but held firm. His face lit up. He hadn't thought he could do it.

She stabilized him with firm arms around his torso. "I've got you, Doctor," she reassured. "Now, try to take a step towards me."

Knees shaking, he concentrated hard on stilling them. He was desperate for more independence and this was the only way to get there. Determined, he slowly shuffled one foot forwards.

"Good!" Clara encouraged. "Now try the other foot."

Anxiously, he took a tentative step with the other foot. Grippy hospital socks helped him gain traction on the smooth tile. He stared down at them. Snorting, he realized they were bright red with black smiley faces. Not his most fashionable pair, but Clara had insisted he wear them. Apparently he was a "fall risk" and needed them. It felt weird to him that she was now more of a doctor than he was.

Clara stepped backwards and the Doctor automatically followed her. Realizing that he had just taken three whole steps, he smiled in disbelief. This was some real progress.

"Come on, let's walk to the kitchen," Clara gestured with a tilt of her head. "I'm starving."

He gulped. The kitchen was just down the hall but to him it might as well have been a mile. Straightening his back, he channeled his inner strength. He could do this. Cautiously, Clara let go of his chest and stood to his side. He braced a hand against her shoulder for support. Together, they slowly made their way out of the sickbay and into the hall.

With every step, the Doctor gained confidence. Putting one foot in front of the other, he inched forwards. Clara rested a hand at the small of his back, steadying him.

As happy as he was that he was improving, he knew he would miss all this closeness with Clara. Over the past several days, he had bonded with her even stronger than before. He hadn't known that it was possible to love her even more than he already had. Her names were seared into his hearts. They beat for her. Without her, he'd be dead a hundred times over.

Finally, they reached the kitchen. Gripping the back of the red vinyl chair for support, the Doctor gingerly sat down at the chrome-edged table. Clara beamed, happier than he had seen her in days. She looked so proud of him. Her radiant smile caused butterflies to erupt in his stomach. Bashfully, he looked away. He stared at the white tabletop, avoiding her gaze. He needed to tell her how he felt. It ate at his mind constantly, but he could never find the bollocks to do it.

Satisfied that the Doctor was comfortably sitting down, Clara pivoted towards the replicator. She grabbed two ceramic plates from a stack on the counter and placed them under the hood of the machine. "Doctor, what would you like to eat?" she asked.

Startled out of his thoughts, he flinched. "Oh, err…spaghetti," he answered flippantly. He had been hungry before but now he wasn't sure if he could eat. His stomach was tied into a knot.

Clara made two plates and returned to the table. Handing him some silverware and a napkin, she took a seat across from him. Without hesitation, she picked up a fork and tucked into her meal. 'Boy, she really was starving,' he thought.

The words he wanted to say crackled in his mind like fireworks. They buzzed like static on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't figure out how to say them. Frustrated, he swallowed them and picked up his fork. He figured he'd at least let her eat first.

He twirled the steaming noodles around the tines of the fork. They smelled heavenly, wafting the scents of basil and oregano into his nose. He knew it had come out of a machine, but to him this was home cooking. He took a bite, almost letting out a groan. It was so good.

"Gordon Ramsey's recipe," Clara quipped as if she were reading his thoughts. "I found it on the internet and just plugged it in."

He knew it tasted familiar. They had gone to one of his restaurants in 2003. They had traveled to that year because Clara had wanted to see the third Lord of the Rings movie on opening day. It was one of her favorites and she had lamented that she did not see it on the big screen when it first came out. Easy fix with a time machine. He smiled to himself faintly. One of their first "dates" back when he had floppy hair and a bow tie.

He frowned. He was young and handsome back then. He could not believe she had stuck around with the crotchety old man he had become. She had loved him back then, even considered him her boyfriend. Did she still hold those feelings?

He stared into his spaghetti, cheeks burning as red as the tomato sauce. He knew that answer. He had seen inside her mind.

Absentmindedly twisting the noodles, he mustered up his courage. He would rather face a whole army of Daleks, but he had been granted a second chance and he could not waste it. The butterflies in his stomach threatened to burst out of his throat. His hearts beat furiously against his ribcage. It was now or never.

Clearing his throat, he tentatively reached forwards. He placed a cool hand over her small warm one. He rubbed her delicate knuckles with his thumb. Even this small touch sent lightning down his spine.

Clara looked up at him, a question in her eyes. She set her fork down, the food forgotten. "What is it, Doctor?" she asked, concerned. He never initiated physical affection like this. Something must be wrong.

"I–" he started. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Clara, I…I have to tell you something," he stammered.

She tilted her head slightly. Large chocolate doe eyes gazed into his soul. Her pupils caught the light and twinkled like stars. He couldn't help staring for a moment, becoming lost in them. God, she was so beautiful, body and soul. He was melting on the spot. How lucky he was to know her, let alone to be her friend.

"This whole near-death experience has made me realize some things," he explained in a deep rumbling voice. "Things that should be said because stuff happens and then it's too late."

He squeezed her hand tighter. He wondered if she could feel him trembling, if she could feel his heartbeats thumping out of his skin. He took in a deep breath, trying his hardest to not chicken out. Dropping his head, he stared into his plate of spaghetti. He was sure he was about to be sucked into the ground. "I guess what I'm trying to say…" he hesitated. His tongue tied itself into a bow and suddenly it became impossible to speak.

Swallowing his nervousness, he met her gaze again. She looked at him expectantly, searching his pale blue eyes for answers. She had the patience of a saint waiting for him to get the words out. He huffed, resolved. To hell with it. He was just going to say it.

"Clara, I'm in love with you and I always have been," he rushed out, blushing furiously. "If you don't want to be my friend anymore, that's–that's okay and I–"

Before he could finish his sentence, Clara snatched his collar, wrested him towards herself, and crashed their lips together. A rather pathetic squeaking noise escaped from his mouth. Stars exploded in his mind. He stiffened up, unsure what to do.

Clara giggled into the kiss. "Of course I know that, you daft old man. I have always known that."

What an idiot he was. Her wonderful, beautiful idiot. She laughed, full of joy. His lips were warm and soft, exactly how she had dreamed they'd be. She had waited so long for this moment. "I love you too."

Tangling her fingers into his curls, she deepened the kiss. She pulled on his hair and he could not hold back a moan. Instinct took over and he kissed back, harshly and hungrily. Years of repression burst like a dam. He cupped her face in his hands like she was the most precious thing in the universe, stroking his rough thumb against her jaw. The butterflies in his stomach escaped, flooding his mind with nothing but thoughts of Clara. His Clara. The bonfire in his mind blazed with the fury of a thousand suns. Clara. Clara. Clara.

His hearts fluttered madly in his chest, hammering against his ribs like drums. Blood rushed through his veins in a torrent. A delirious haze fell over his mind. The rest of the world faded away. It was just him and Clara, in the Tardis, where they always shall be.

His hearts beat harder and harder. They pumped so fast that they were quivering rather than beating. The color drained from his face. His breaths became short, labored. Dizziness swirled in his mind like a whirlpool. The edges of his vision turned dark and fuzzy. His hands fell slack, dropping from her face listlessly. With a groan, he slumped forwards, breaking the kiss. Darkness blanketed over his mind like a spell. With a final shuddering breath, he passed out.

"Doctor!"

A/N: ahhh a cliffhanger! Stay tuned to see what happens next! Reviews are always appreciated!