Clara and the Doctor had remained in the parallel world for a few days at this point. Occasionally, the Doctor had entered his ship to try and operate the controls, but the TARDIS wouldn't budge. As soon as he had realized that his attempts to leave were futile, he took a lot of alone time, leaving Clara to talk with his previous love and his previous self. His companion didn't mind though; this way, she was able to finally get some answers to her questions.

"Clara, dear, can I get you a coffee or some tea?" Rose asked sweetly that morning, and Clara graciously accepted. The now reclusive Doctor had already upped and left on one of his frequent walks, and his duplicate was still asleep in bed. Clara sat at the cozy kitchen table, legs crossed and arms folded. When Rose handed her the warm mug of coffee, she accepted it with a smile, pondering what to ask her. Suddenly, a burning question sprung through her lips.

"Do we mean anything to him?"

Rose stopped. She looked up from her cup of tea with wide eyes, seeming both surprised by her question and understanding of it. She folded her hands, considering her words. She replied thoughtfully, as if the question were one she asked herself often. Clara knew it probably was.

"It is hard to understand," she began, her eyes focused on something arbitrary in the room, "I remember going along with that man for so long under the impression that I was his first and only. I don't know why I would think that; I just sort of assumed…." Clara sipped her coffee, but Rose still hadn't touched her cup since she put it down. "It wasn't until an old companion turned up, a woman named Sarah Jane, that it hit me. I was just the last in a long line."

"So we aren't that important to him, I suppose," Clara replied, staring down at the table forlornly. Rose gave Clara a concerned expression and reached over to put a hand on her shoulder. At this, Clara met the other woman's eyes.

"But we are," she replied earnestly, "Like I said, it's hard to understand. You can't just pretend he's a normal man, he's so much more…" the blonde's eyes lit up, as if flashing back to her fondest memories. The light soon died and her eyes grew sad as she continued on softly.

"But the Doctor, in all his brilliance, is cursed. Cursed to outlive everyone he meets. Cursed to lose those he loves. Of course, he reacts to this by keeping most at a safe distance. But if he lets you close," she smiled at the other girl "Well that means you must be something special."

Clara felt the smile spread across her own face. She lifted her mug again, sipping slowly as loving thoughts of her Doctor floated through her head. The times that they laughed hysterically, or that they exchanged sarcastic banter, or when she would flirt with him and he'd be oblivious. She certainly missed all of that.

Soon, Clara heard a door creak from down the hall, and out stepped the Doctor; well, his duplicate. The man crept behind Rose and wrapped his arms adoringly around her, whispering 'good morning' in her ear. The blonde laughed, white teeth flashing in a smile that lit up the room. Clara saw then that he was capable of so much love.

Rose began to cook breakfast, with Clara and the second Doctor sitting at the table. Her Doctor still hadn't made it back, but Clara knew it was probably best to give him some time. Meanwhile, she enjoyed talking with his past incarnation: a man equally as energetic and silly as the Doctor she knew. The two compared notes of the types of foes they had encountered in their travels.

"Weeping Angels?" he asked, and Clara shook her head confusedly, "Well you're lucky, Clara Oswald. Nasty creatures, they are. I've had a couple of run-ins with that lot." Clara smiled, knowing that anything she had seen, the man in front of her had seen more. Or at least he remembered seeing those things, as he technically wasn't there for any of it.

Soon, Rose finished making breakfast, placing bacon, sausages, biscuits and other foods on the table. The three of them dug in, exchanging stories of adventures that they had gone on. The Doctor seemed to have the best stories, which made sense when he had nine hundred years' worth of memories. Still, Rose mocked him while he talked, as if she had heard the stories a million times. They were a typical married couple.

Suddenly, the front door burst open and the actual Doctor ran in, sweating and out of breath. Clara was going to ask him how his walk went, but she stopped herself at the sight of the terror in his eyes. The three involuntarily stood from the table, plagued with worry. The Doctor caught his breath long enough to utter a few words.

"We have a problem."