It wasn't something they talked about, but it was something they both knew was coming. Clara supposed it was just a feeling, a mutual set of glances, a sigh after an adventure. It was the way their conversations always found a long pause and never picked up again, simply ending with a sad grin; or the way they didn't converse at all after a long day – just stared at one another across the console with a longing sadness. Because they both knew, and they both knew they were stalling.

Five years.

It'd been five years of her life spent with him, on and off. Five years that felt like five thousand, with thirteen faces and too many adventures to count – some she couldn't even remember. Clara had written down every single planet she could in the back of a book in letters that became progressively smaller because at some point she imagined maybe she could travel with him for the rest of her life. It was a thought that used to bring a smile to her face, late at night as she'd jot down a name and stare at it, memorizing it and rethinking over everything they'd done. She knew it would be impossible, but she allowed herself the fantasy of it.

Back when it was simpler.

Back before he changed.

Before it'd been five years and the teaching job and moving into her own flat and failing to keep her two lives separate, when it was just the Doctor and Clara flying through time and space. Maybe then it could have been forever, but then things got complicated. She wasn't even sure what it was exactly. The way he'd walled himself up to her; the way she'd walled herself up in response… the way they'd both refused to acknowledge how they felt about one another, even when it danced on the tips of their tongues and sizzled in the air between them and affected the worlds they travelled through.

Even the people around them knew it.

Even Danny Pink.

She tried not to think about him. Clara pushed him and them and everything that had happened out of her mind in a way she'd never tried to do before. Someone once told her they could selectively delete their memories and she'd jokingly said she wished she could, but she never really had. Clara was aware that everything – every moment of happiness and every minute of sadness; every shout of pain and every single laugh – had built her into who she was, but the loss of Danny had been different. He'd torn at a newly patched rip in her heart, one that had occurred the Christmas just before she met him, and she knew she hadn't been the same since.

And the Doctor knew as well.

Because putting Danny in the ground had been her first real step away from the Doctor.

Because it'd been five years and the start of her own grey hairs, and the little aches that lingered, and the reminder that she wasn't like him. Clara couldn't take her emotions and bottle them up forever; she couldn't just let them go the way the Doctor seemed to. They leaked and then flowed and they exploded at times when every shred of control she'd tried to maintain had been stripped away. She also wouldn't live forever. It was a thought that had nagged at her in odd moments before, but now it lingered like an unwelcome guest in her mind.

The thought of death had been a constant since Danny's.

For her and, she knew, for the Doctor.

Because after five years, he'd stopped looking at her like something precious to be protected and had started to look at her like someone he was just waiting to lose. Clara wasn't even sure when it'd started happening; when he'd adopted that distant look in his eyes when he looked at her, instead of the constant twinkle of wonder that burst through the ever-present sadness. She also didn't know when she'd stopped thinking it was ok to ask.

When had their cogs become misaligned?

When had they started grinding down at one another?

They'd stopped communicating about anything other than their adventures. They'd bicker back and forth about why they'd landed; they'd argue about the Tardis and why she'd taken them there; they'd contemplate and offer conjecture about how they could solve the problem they'd been inadvertently been dumped into. There'd be little insults, or tiny compliments. There'd be small smiles and there'd be shared laughs and there'd be angered glares they'd toss one another when the other wasn't looking, and eventually even when they knew they were.

Deliberate tests neither passed.

And yet they continued travelling.

Lifting her head, she could see him across the console, a set of goggles on his eyes as he bent over the panel he'd taken apart. In the silence she could pretend everything was absolutely normal. She could listen to the engine hum and she could see the slight variations in lighting as the energy fluctuated about the ship and if she tried hard enough she could even hear the slow breaths he was taking. Calmly considering the wires and the bits and pieces in a tangled mess in front of him to figure out why there was a barely noticeable high pitched whine whenever he went forward in time.

"Is it stubbornness that keeps you from just asking her what's wrong?" Clara called, head tilting to her right to get a better look at him; to gauge his reaction to her question.

The Doctor smiled before his own head toggled from side to side as he shrugged, and one hand came up open through the air as he replied, "Might be easier to ask her, but then what fun would that be, not going through the trouble of working it out myself?" He raised his eyes to meet hers through the thick goggles as his lips dropped slightly and he continued, "If I don't understand how the problem occurred, how am I to fix it if there comes a time she can't tell me."

They stared at one another, both caught up in the metaphor, and Clara was the first to look away and hear his sigh of disappointment as she smiled at the edge of the console, watching her finger stroke lovingly against it before she looked up to the time rotor. It was moving at a snail's pace as they floated in the vortex and she watched each of the words as they drifted by in un-translated Gallifreyan. She could probably draw each from memory if she wanted to; she'd looked up at them so often.

If she really wanted to, Clara imagined she could draw the current layout of a good chunk of the Tardis and the thought made her smile and look back to the Doctor, head dropped to concentrate on the work he was doing with the actual screwdriver in his hand. There was a sizzle and then a pop and he recoiled before gesturing at it incredulously and telling her, "That's the problem with women – you try to help and they bite. Always biting," he ended roughly.

Clara nodded slowly and she rounded the console to look in on his work, to see the small trail of smoke curling up from the soldering he'd attempted and she plucked the goggles off his head and jammed them on her own as he remained at her side. "And the problem with men," she began slowly as she leaned forward and delicately pushed aside a wire to touch a bit of metal into a slot before hitting it with a light burst of flames that melted it instantly into place before a light at its right began flickering and then burst to life with a brilliant green, "Is that you fail to understand sometimes a gentle prod will get you further than a rough push."

When she straightened, he wore a frown, and he reached to tug the goggles off her head, exhaling once before turning and setting them down on the console. The Doctor scanned the board with his Sonic and he examined the results as she waited, arms crossed at her chest; defiant smile on her face, and when he looked back, he grinned and told her sarcastically, "Your gentle prod worked."

Nodding, she turned away, muttering to herself, "Wish it had."

She was halfway back around when she heard the hard snap of the console panel pop back into place and then he exhaled again, this time with a low groan that made her turn swiftly back to look at the defeat dropping his shoulders and when he glanced up at her, he feigned a weak smile. "Suppose we both know where we're going now."

Clara reached out to grip the console as she bit her bottom lip and looked away. "You mentioned some waterfalls that changed color with the wind, you also said something about flying fish, and also about a place where we could get chips and coffee right on Earth – best place, you said," she ended on a nod, eyebrows lifting because she was watching the way he was clinging to the metal edge in front of him, just as she was doing.

Holding on because they both knew it.

This was their goodbye.

Not some last hurrah, but a proper goodbye.

He released a small laugh, pulling himself together to begin working the controls, making a small half circle to push up a lever before he smiled to her – this time genuinely – and he shook his head. "Sort of funny, the way the universe works," he began quietly, head dropping away so she couldn't read his eyes, because Clara could read them better than anyone ever had and, he knew, better than anyone ever would, "A vast network of paths, strung along like badly constructed roadwork. Ramps and stretches running into one another – honestly, quite a botch job, if you think about it." He chuckled, "And then you come to a point where suddenly the chaos stops and you're smoothly running alongside someone and you chance a glance over to say 'Hey, well done, this path,' and they agree."

His hand came up to gesture at her and she smiled before he continued, "And for a while everything makes perfect sense; everything fits into the universe the way you think it ought to, but eventually, you hit another botch job." He sighed and leaned against the console as the Tardis landed silently, "And you turn to your partner, someone who's been beside you the whole time – and they've gone and run off in another direction."

Clara took a step towards him and he straightened. "Could run off and find them, you know."

Shaking his head, he smiled, "Clara, you know as well as I do, once those paths deviate, it's impossible to take one bit of space," he reached out with hand, "And another bit of space," he reached out with the other, "And pinch them back together," he brought both hands together and then his fingers burst apart as his eyes widened. Then he grinned and gestured at her, "Got a theory that space, time, all the jam we're floating through… must be a woman. More than just a woman, she's the Queen of all women."

With a small smirk, Clara asked, "Why's that?"

The Doctor dropped his head so his chin tapped his chest twice before he laughed darkly and brought his head back up to tell her, "Because she doesn't just nip at you. No, no, no, she doesn't take a small bite and send you on your way. She gobbles you right up and she spits you back out and then she lays in wait to do it all again when you least expect it."

Clara could see his eyes were reddening and she felt hers welling slightly as she quietly told him, "I would say you're wrong then – time, space, the universe around us is a man. Always expecting things to go one way and not understanding they have no control over it." She laughed, "Or it's neither, it's simply time and simply space and simply the universe that results from the consequences of the people that live within it and the dissatisfaction – that recurring bite one feels – isn't a result of the surroundings, it's a result of ourselves, making wrong choices."

With a small nod of his head, the Doctor whispered, "Clara Oswald, stop making sense."

Giving him the weakest of grins, she replied, "Doctor, you know I won't do that."

He eyed the door, but Clara refused to turn. She approached him slowly and she lowered her head because she had to take a deep breath and she couldn't do it looking into his face and seeing the sorrow she was seeing. Worse than any sadness she'd seen in them before. And then he tapped her chin with his forefinger, forcing her to meet his eyes as he shed the first of his tears – tears followed by her own – and he smiled, head cocking to tell her, "Dry your eyes, they're like faucets, and apparently it's contagious."

Clara laughed and nodded and she inched forward hesitantly, bottom lip trembling as his arms came up and moved cautiously around her, pulling her into his chest. Letting one sob loose against his sweater vest, Clara closed her eyes and inhaled deeply; she felt the arms that seemed all too frail resting against her shoulders and the fingers that curled into her before his lips touched the top of her head warmly. "I know how this goes," she whimpered into his clothes.

"You'll do brilliantly," he assured.

Pulling away, she laughed and shook her head, her hands remaining gripped to his sides as she explained softly, "I'm not worried about myself, Doctor."

"Well," his eyes widened, "I'm worried about you."

"As you should be," she snapped playfully. Then she released him with a pained breath before allowing, "I'm worried about you – travelling alone out there in the universe." She eyed him, "You never did develop a conscience of your own."

The Doctor reached up to swipe the tears from her face and then he looked away, eyes roaming the buttons at his side as his hands curled tightly into themselves. "If I promised you I would find a new companion…"

"A new carer," Clara corrected, watching his lips drift up lightly.

"Oh Clara, I don't think I could ever find a new carer," he supplied, head tilting.

"Find someone who could become that for you," she told him with a nod.

He lowered his head and agreed, "I will certainly try." Then he shifted back and sniffled, looking away again to snip, "Pop off then – you've got a life to live out there," his hand waved towards the door. "Go on, Clara Oswald," he smiled back at her, "Impossible girl," he laughed. "Queen of nothing by choice and everything by sheer existence," he muttered to himself, hand settling atop a lever.

Clara watched him a moment, her hands hugging at her midsection, and she found herself frozen to the spot. There wasn't a single thing outside of those doors she was afraid of and yet, she stared at the Doctor as he refused to look back at her and she understood – she wasn't afraid for herself; she was afraid for him. A whole universe of trouble for this stubborn Time Lord to get lost in and she would no longer be by his side to stop him or save him. How could she leave him alone, shouldn't she find him a suitable replacement? Was that her duty? Clara shook her head lightly, but then he smiled up at her and his mouth moved without sound, pleading with her, "Go."

Turning, she bolted towards the door the way she'd done a thousand times. Her hair bounced over her shoulders as she skipped up the ramp and gripped the handle, pulling it open and feeling the cool air outside in the city street before she turned and looked in on him, staring back at the console, and she shouted, "Doctor."

"Yes, Clara," he managed, his throat closing on the words.

She smiled happily, eyes shifting to her right before landing on him again as she and nodded and told him boldly, "I'll see you around," because maybe if she left with the promise of another trip; maybe if she left with the promise that she'd be willing, it would make it less painful.

He grinned and then chuckled, and then his lips came together as he nodded back and told her plainly, "I'll see you around, Clara Oswald."

Offering him one final giggle, she stepped out of the Tardis and closed the door, pulling it roughly until the blue panels slammed together tightly and for a moment she didn't release. For a moment she stood at that door with the handle snug within her fingers and her mouth dropping open because she knew when she let go, that would be the end of that life. It would be the end of her travels with the Doctor and she could feel the warm droplets of salty tears rolling over her cheeks and knew the Tardis was remaining stationary because just inside that ridiculous man was watching her on a monitor.

Just inside his hearts were breaking in a way she understood because her chest felt hollow and her ears were burning with fear. And slowly she uncurled her fingers and slipped them loose, taking three steps back and nodding up at the old blue box as its top light flashed twice for her. She heard the engines fire up and she swallowed a sob as it began to disintegrate, fighting the urge to leap back against its shell and hold tight. Her eyes closed and new streaks made their way in zigzag over her face as the winds blew them about and then there was silence.

Her lungs were burning with the breath she'd been holding and when Clara released it, she felt faint. Her stomach turned over and she opened her eyes to try and get a look around herself because she was going to be sick, except when she glanced around, she didn't recognize her surroundings. Clara's hands uncurled and she did a half turn in one direction, and then completed the turn with a small gasp of surprise.

"Doctor," she whispered, "Where the hell am I?"

Releasing a frustrated sigh, she move out of the alleyway and spotted the coffee shop across the street and nodded towards it, because what she needed was a warm drink and twenty minutes to calm her nerves. Then she could pluck the phone from her pocket, call herself a cab, and hopefully the ride back home wouldn't cost her what it had to get back from Glasgow. She smiled at the thought as she shivered against the cold breeze and fumbled with the small clutch hanging at her side, searching for a few pounds for a coffee.

"One last adventure, eh, Doctor," she muttered as she reached the door, yanking it open and stepping inside with her eyes drifting shut to inhale the aroma of fresh coffee grounds and then she bumped into someone who yelped and her eyes flashed open as she began to call, "I am so sorry," but her words remained frozen to the back of her throat.

The man in front of her was at least a foot taller and his brown hair hung lazily over his brow as he bowed his head to examine his satchel and sweater for signs of any coffee spillage from the large cup in his right hand. His lanky frame bent awkwardly and when he lifted his eyes to meet hers, Clara straightened against the soft green that stared back at her and the thin lipped grin that accompanied it.

A grin that spread into an amused laugh before he asked, "You alright?"

Clara inhaled three times, trying to find the willpower to answer him. She searched over his pale features – his low brow and his flat nose and his oversized chin – for something to explain away why she was looking at a face she knew better than any other in the universe. A face she'd spent three years adoring in secret. A face that melted her heart with his sudden concern, one that spread like a wildfire over his body as he contemplated why she seemed so frightened.

A face that scrambled every thought in her mind.

Because that face belonged to the Eleventh Doctor.