Clara doesn't realize she's doing it; walking away from him. She hadn't done it before. With his other face she'd been obediently at his side, happily following along, giddily skipping just behind him everywhere they went because despite what she tricked herself into believing, she'd been in love with him and that guided her actions. It made her brave when she thought she couldn't be; clever when she needed to be; strong when he couldn't be.

And broken when he was gone.

His new face had come with a frown, a hard set of eyes that bore into hers every chance they got, as though they could see right inside of her and it unnerved her. For whatever reason, she knew it was the same man, but she didn't allow him the same privileges she'd given his predecessor. She refused to allow herself to accept him because accepting him meant letting her Doctor go and she wasn't quite ready – didn't know if she ever really could.

Setting him aside like a used car, hopping into a new model, and driving away.

So she wanders off.

She leaves him behind and she explores the planets in the manner in which she sees fit and that generally lead her somewhere else; somewhere he isn't. Somewhere, on this planet, a little dark and drippy and screaming 'Clara, get back to the Tardis before you land yourself in a world of hurt,' in his voice in her mind. His new voice. The one that snapped more often and scared her at times because it was so unpredictable, just like him; the one that distracts her enough, just by the mere thought of it, that she doesn't see the trap laid out and she steps into it with a scream as the teeth dig into the space above her ankle.

He's rubbing at his head in frustration because she's done it again, drifted off when his head was turned, a thought fluttering through it that he'd considered telling her and when he'd swung around, she'd disappeared. Clara isn't aware of what her absence does to him; how it sends a shower of ice through his veins and turns his hearts into war drums against his chest because with the hand-off of thoughts from one regeneration to the next came a simple instruction.

Take care of Clara.

Except she makes it next to impossible. The Doctor grins darkly as he pushes past a pair of women, brow wrinkling as he looks over the patrons surrounding him while searching for the small brunette amongst the rubbery blue heads and colorful veils worn atop some of them. If she'd gotten one, he'd be in for a challenge, he knows – and she's the sort to do exactly that.

Out of spite?

The thought isn't new to him – he often gets the impression she holds him responsible for the death of his predecessor, the man she often laments, old bow tie tucked deep inside the pocket of her dress or skirt. Hidden from him, but known to him all the same. Calling her name, he begins to move faster, Sonic emerging and quietly scanning the types of life around him because maybe it could pick her out. Search for the human genetics mixed into the alien and buzz when he's getting closer to her.

He stops and closes his eyes, trying to hear through the sounds of the planet; through the laughter and the exchange of monies for goods and the shouts of anger. To find that one name bellowed out in that all too familiar voice and he's off like a rocket, trampling a crate and sending a table of exotic fruit into the air without the slightest apology before dipping into the alleyway.

"Clara," he breaths, approaching her as she holds tight to the clamp secured to her leg. He Sonics it and it snaps open as she cries out, hand over her mouth to muffle her scream of pain as the muggy air is now able to seep into the wounds, like bite marks in her skin. "You," he mutters with a rough shake of his head, tearing her tights to quickly wrap it around her to slow the bleeding, "They put these out for the strays. And you, wandering off like a child; do you have any idea, Clara…" his voice tappers as he looks down at the distraught look on her face.

Not scared or sad, but longing. For him.

He drops to his knees just as he secures the strip of material with a tight knot and he stares at her, watches her eyes flicker away from his before she sobs into the back of her wrist, lowering her head. "Clara," he calls, voice softening as he lifts a finger to her chin to bring it back up so he can see the reddened cheeks, stained now with tears and he wipes at one delicately, letting his palm rest against her face, cupping it easily. "I'm sorry, Clara."

"No," she shakes her head, attempting to stand, "No, I'm sorry; I shouldn't have…" she begins, grimacing when she puts her weight on the wounded leg. "I should know better."

Arms coming out to balance her, he stops her forward motion and he chews on the question he needs to ask, releasing a breath before spitting weakly, "Why do you run from me?"

"Doctor?" She manages, her hands now gripping him, and he can see her head tilting slightly.

"You," he sighs, "I know you; I remember you – always by my side; always with me, and now you… you run from me. Am I so horrible?"

The question is pained and Clara forgets her leg a moment as she sees the burden in his eyes. Those old eyes that slowly meet hers and erase the reality around her. "I'm sorry," she tells him, bottom lip trembling as she repeats, "I'm sorry, no, Doctor, you're not."

And then he nods and admits, "Do you know how terrified I am, every time I turn around and you're not there? After everything we've been through, to think about how I took my eye off you for one second and you… if I lost you, Clara…"

Give me this one final victory…

Clara inches forward, seeing the utter chaos in his mind at the mere thought, understanding she's seen that look before; she's seen it a few times… inside of a submarine just after interrogating an Ice Warrior, at the edge of a cliff in an erased memory, at his graveside just before jumping, in a warm basement as he pleaded with her to remain behind. His worst fear was losing her, it always had been, and she slowly hobbles into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he stands awkwardly in front of her.

Pushing her forehead into his shoulder, she feels herself crying because she knows it's him, but she can't understand why he couldn't return her affection the same way. If he could… she thought hopefully… if he could, she'd be able to see him more readily, know more easily he was still there.

"Doctor," she pleads, arms tightening their grip.

And slowly, she feels the muscles under her flex. His elbows round the undersides of her arms and then his hands fan out over her back. The hold is tentative at first, as if testing, and then his fingers curl slightly and shift, wrapping more possessively as she laughs. He joins her, lightly at first and then gleefully, voice thick with his unshed tears before she pulls away and smiles up at him.

His hands are still at her sides, holding her up, as she whispers, "There you are."

"Here I am," he replies with a tilt of his head before he nods down at her leg, "Let's get you back into the Tardis, clean that up and maybe take a trip to a proper infirmary."

Clara releases a quick giggle to ask, "Cat nuns?"

The Doctor sighs, relief in hearing the slight shift in the tone of her voice and feeling the way her arm wraps securely around him as they move. More comfortable with him than she's seemed in weeks. And he smiles down at her, nodding, "Yeah, cat nuns."