A/N: I got hit with a bunch of Whouffaldi feels after watching the "Deep Breath" and just started writing. This is more a stream of consciousness than anything else, and that final scene with Clara and Twelve crushed me. So SPOILERS. LOTS OF SPOILERS. I own nothing. Enjoy.

"Just… just see me."

The Doctor waited with bated breath as Clara inched closer to him. He froze under the intensity of her gaze as she searched for some semblance of his previous self, and a part of him worried that there would be little visible to her, not enough for her to want to stay. Those seconds seemed like centuries to him, strange when time normally flew by for someone like him. Then again, when he truly thought about it, there was nothing strange about it, waiting for the woman you cared for to accept you for you.

He didn't get off to a very good start with her, he had to admit, running off, leaving her to fend for herself from human-harvesting robots. He knew she'd be brilliant, though, never for once doubting she'd be fine while he tried to think of a way to get them out of the larder. Part of his behavior he could blame on regeneration madness, but the Doctor knew that excuse was weak ground to stand on.

He inhaled sharply as Clara stood on her toes, peering closely at the right side of his face.

She was even more intriguing to him now, and he'd only said that about not being her "boyfriend" really to save himself. He knew what he looked like. No young girl in her right mind would want to be with someone easily confused with her grandfather. Eventually, she'd meet some man closer to her own age (look-wise) and she'd leave him. All of his companions left him at some point. The earlier he put distance between them, the better. He really was just a silly old man.

She shifted to look at his left side.

He loved her. Of course he did. How could he not? Selfless, caring, with a natural braveness that was hard to come by. She'd willingly sacrificed herself for him more times than he even knew, and that guilt still weighed on his shoulders. And he was still discovering new things about her every day, things that surprised him and things that were just inherently her. She really was brilliant on adrenaline, clever in tough situations, a perfect match for him that he hadn't seen in years. But love? Love could no longer be an option. Not when she was so obviously attached to the bow-tied Doctor previous. He felt the harshness of her eavesdropping accusation.

Finally, Clara pulled back from her examination, and the Doctor released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Her face was neutral for longer than he'd have liked, only a small furrow in her brow betraying any thoughts, before relaxing into a small smile. "Thank you," she said with a tiny nod.

It was now his turn to furrow his brow in confusion. "For what?" he asked, cautiously dreading her answer.

"Phoning." She leaped back onto her toes, throwing her arms around his neck, a gesture similar to one she'd have given his previous self.

Once again, he froze, his arms straight out behind her. His hands were clenched into fists. "I don't think I'm the hugging type anymore," he lied, mostly to himself, hoping to save himself from future heartbreak.

But she didn't release him, to his surprise. "I don't think you get a vote." Still the same bossy Clara.

He relaxed a fraction, murmuring into her hair, "Whatever you say."

The Doctor knew that he'd have to start putting distance between them for when she eventually left him, but for now he'd accept this hug. Distance would come another time.