Notes: Betad by the wonderful Leah. I didn't die, yay! Life, man. Always gets in the way. I apologise.
Genre: Human AU. Clara as a primary school teacher, Eleven as a single father.
Rated: T (for now)

Chapter Six

Soon The Doctor had fallen back to his old, serious, sad self and wouldn't talk about her condition any further, for fear of worrying her. It only made Clara frustrated and annoyed- left to stew in her hospital bed. He slipped away, telling her softly to get some rest.

"And if I sleep, will I forget?"

He paused at the doorway, hand hovering over the handle. "It's possible."

So she vowed to stay awake, pinching herself when her eyelids got heavy, and going back through her last memories of her evening out- try and force some order back into her thoughts. She'd been round Rory's to see a film- and it had been awful, so she'd left early. Her cheeks flushed pink when she recalled the exact reason that date had been a write off- it had nothing to do with poor Rory, and everything to do with her mind's insistence to linger on The Doctor. She'd tried to give Rory a chance, she really had, right? But it hadn't worked, despite her best efforts, so she'd excused herself and driven home. Only she hadn't arrived there, had she? Instead she ended up here- bruised, aching, and an amnesiac. The last thing she remembered was driving along the street, orange with the glow of street lamps. Then her mind hit a brick wall, and not matter how hard she clawed at it, furiously trying to remember, nothing seemed to budge.

Shortly, The Doctor returned carrying a clipboard and wearing what looked like round tortoiseshell reading glasses. He peered down at her through them, and she heaved herself up on her pillows, ignoring the pain.

"Ah, you're still awake."

She nodded defiantly, although his tone implied he wasn't annoyed that she'd ignored his advice, but not exactly thrilled either.

"You do need sleep, Clara. Although much better, your body still needs time to repair itself around the edges. It's not guaranteed that if you fall asleep, you'll forget. It's happened before, for a couple of days. You remained conscious, aware of your memories that long."

Clara's bottom lip caught under her teeth, "I don't like the possibility."

"I know," he replied.

She pushed herself further off the pillows, and The Doctor paused in scribbling down some readings to raise an eyebrow in her direction. "Careful, Clara."

She rolled her eyes and dismissed his warning. "Can we talk?"

He nodded and put the clipboard down, slipping his pen into the breast pocket of his coat. "What do you want to talk about this time?"

"This time?"

The Doctor gave her a lopsided smile. "Sorry, I'm not doing a very good job explaining this to you, am I? Clara, think of your mind as like a tape-recorder, keeping track of your life. It's not a linear it's more of acrumpled, timey-wimey thing, and you're memory has hit a twist and got stuck there, and keeps rewinding to a specific point- your car accident. So yes, we've talked about a lot of things. You probably don't remember, but it's okay. We're working to make sure one day you will."

Her eyebrows furrowed over her her nose. "This is so weird, someone telling me what I've done…"

His eyes softened at the confusion on her face. "I know it can be difficult, and I'm sorry."

He settled himself in the plastic chair next to her and she looked over at him, deciding to talk to him anyway. "I remember how I got here, almost. I remember driving home from Rory' house- that's when it happened, right?" She left out the bit about thinking about him, and the fact it was a date for reasons she didn't want to focus on.

He nodded. "Ah, yes- Rory. You should know he's been a constant visitor here, comes every other day, regular as clockwork. I don't think I mentioned it before."

The thought of Rory visiting her, sitting vigil by her bedside, probably eaten up by guilt when it was entirely not his fault made her heart beat uncomfortably.

"He does? How long have I been here, Doctor?"

"Around a month now. Rory never misses a visit, you're lucky to have him."

The Doctor ducked his head, but Clara started to splutter and he jerked upwards immediately groping for the cup of water by her bedside and handing it to her.

"What's the matter? Clara?"

"He's not- Rory and I, we're not together," she said weakly.

"Oh."

The Doctor put the cup back on the table looking embarrassed, but the look of panic subsided to be replaced for a split second with what Clara could have sworn was relief.

"Well you might want to tell him that, next time he comes, stop leading the poor boy on."

Clara's fists curled in her bed sheets and she sat up a little straighter, frowning indignantly. "Hey, I'm not leading him on, he's just a good friend. He knows that."

The Doctor snorted, but quickly shut up when she glared at him. Clara felt a change of subject was needed.

"How's the school? Who's teaching Alexis if I'm in here?"

"The place isn't falling apart without you just yet. They've got a sub in. She's alright from what I hear, but Lexi keeps on asking about you."

Clara was genuinely touched. Alexis was her favourite pupil, but she wasn't always sure the love was returned, for all the sass Alexis gave her. "She does?"

"Mmhmm. Couple of nights when I've been working late with you, Jenny's picked her up from school and bought her here to see you for a bit, actually."

Clara frowned. "Jenny?"

"My next door neighbour, yes." He raised his eyebrows. "She and her wife, Mrs Vastra, love Lexi to bits- spoil her rotten to be honest. They look after her when I really can't be there."

Now it was Clara's turn to feel stupid, and she attempted to salvage the conversation, albeit a little flustered.

"I'm- I'm sorry I'm keeping you from your family."

"I'm a volunteer, the very definition means I'm here because I want to be. I'm trying to help you, Clara."

She smiled at his words, letting her lips twist upwards. "Well then, I appreciate the effort."

"I'd say anytime, but I really wouldn't like to see you in here again after we've got you all fixed up," he teased, and Clara rolled her eyes.

"So apart from the whole memory thing, why am I still in here?"

The Doctor shook his head amusedly. "All in good time Clara. You bruised a couple or rips, which probably explains the dull ache in your chest, you've had a knock to your basilar, which we're keeping an eye on for further complications if they so arise, and you also have some slight contusions along your cranium that we're waiting to heal. In all, and I'm sorry for this, it's just easier to keep you in this private wing."

Clara raised her eyebrows at the speed at which the words tumbled out of his mouth. "Okay non-medical language please? Basilar?"

He smiled at her exasperation apologetically. "The base of your skull- you got a few bruises all over and we're watching so they keep healing and don't turn nasty."

"They could do that?" Clara asked worriedly, slightly panicked.

"It's very unlikely. If they were we would have probably found something by now, so I wouldn't worry."

Clara let the breath whistle out of her lungs in relief. "So what do we do about the memory thing?" she asked. She was attempting to be practical about this whole thing, because she could tell herself right now that freaking out wasn't going to get her anywhere. In fact she didn't have to have any sort of medical knowledge to know that it would probably only block any improvement due to high levels of anxiety. She looked at The Doctor hopefully, eyes wide and he ventured a small smile.

"We're actually giving you treatment for that- there's not really a medical procedure that follows your kind of injury. We're- I guess I mean I'm- talking to you quite often in the hope one our conversations will trigger your memory, or you'll be able to recall them later." he explained, gesticulating as he talked, broad sweeps of expressive hands. Clara followed them as they sliced through the air and then let her eyes rest on his face, creased with what looked like fatigue.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I don't….I can't remember any of that." Her face crumpled, and she stared intently at her pale fingers, trying to squash the sudden embarrassment she felt at her condition. It was obvious The Doctor was trying, so why was she still like this? Why couldn't she help herself? When her mother had died, no disrespect to her father, but she'd had to grow up rather quickly, and since had become fiercely independent. She had always been her own self contained person, so it was an uncomfortable feeling to be suddenly vulnerable again, like a child. She felt as if her own mind was betraying her.

The Doctor's hand crept to cover her own for the briefest of seconds. "You can do it, Clara. One of these times, it'll work. I promise."

"Promise promise?" she replied, a thin watery smile sliding across her face.

The Doctor held up his hand. "I can do one better, I can pinky promise." He waggled his little finger at her and she chuckled and met it with her own, entwining them together.

"Now you're stuck with me."

The Doctor just laughed. Clara could feel the aches in her chest a little more now, and knew that probably meant she was tired, but she was afraid of the consequence of sleeping, and it was good to talk to someone, especially The Doctor. She fought against it and rearranged herself slowly against her pillows. "Can you talk to me now? One of our conversations?" she asked quietly.

"If you're not tired…"

"I'm not."

He raised his eyebrows like he didn't believe her, but didn't press the issue. Instead he relaxed into the chair and crossed his legs, one lanky foot resting on the opposite knee. Purple brogues peeked out from under his lab coat, and Clara was glad to find that his eccentric fashion taste, at least, hadn't changed. "Okay," he said slowly. "Pick a topic. What do you think you might remember the most? After all you know yourself the best out of anyone. Perhaps something that you'll link back to before the crash."

Her bottom lip snagged under her teeth as she hopped from one subject area to another. She couldn't talk about Rory, although he was obviously the person most connected to events prior the crash because she didn't want a repeat of earlier. She almost attempted to talk about her mother, but conversations like that always seemed to run in a cycle of 'I'm sorry's and 'it was a long time ago's and awkward silences nobody could fill. She suspected The Doctor might be different, but still, when she concentrated on it, her head ached in tender spots. She didn't want to talk all that much, only listen. She wanted The Doctor to tell her stories of himself, explain just the kind of man he was, because God knows she couldn't figure him out.

"Tell me about you." she said eventually, her voice firm. "You're…you're so different from what I can remember of before- when you talked to me with Alexis."

The Doctor shrugged, a broad dip in his shoulders, almost wincing. "Clara- I- there was a reason I was so distant before. It's not…good for me, I don't think, or you, for us to be close. It would have been better if I'd stayed that way…"

He tailed off and looked down at feet. Clara raised her eyebrows, and even in her hospitalised state, crossed her arms across her tender chest. She may look like a petulant child, but she was resigned to learn something about this man, take away his mysterious aura once and for all. Nothing was going to stop her.

"Well it's kind of too late now, isn't it?" she said sharply. "I'm in here now and you're looking after me, and whatever relationship we had has changed. I think I can say we're close, so you may as well tell me something about yourself. Bloody hell, I don't even know your name."

Her tone was scathing and it made The Doctor shrink back in his chair, wishing to be enveloped by the cushions just to avoid her glare. He closed his eyes, squeezed them tight shut and willed himself to keep calm, collected.

"Clara, I- I have few skeletons in the closet." His word choice was joking, but his expression was creased and haggard. She almost dropped the subject, but the hint of steel in her backbone had already been tapped against and she wasn't inclined to giving up. He needed to talk about it. She knew from the struggle in his face that he hadn't broached this subject for a while, years maybe. She'd been told by enough bereavement officers and countless guidance counsellors herself that talking helped alleviate some of the pain. She'd never really listened- talking to a woman in a pastel suit who only pretended to be interested wasn't going to help anyone- but she'd since learnt that it was the person you needn't to look out for. Someone who cared, someone not to pass judgement, but just to understand. And she thought she could fill that role.

"Doesn't everyone? Doctor, please. Maybe I'll remember." Her eyes were narrowed, and he knew to deny her demand could potentially be dangerous, and maybe this could be the conversation that finally stuck in the spokes her of her mind, letting everything flood back. So he sighed and let the breath seep through his lungs, giving him time to think. Giving him time to pull himself together, square his shoulders, start unpacking all the boxes he'd hidden the last memories he had of his old friends. Clara looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to start talking, but where to begin? He knew she didn't want mundane details of his life, even if he was willing to give them to her.

No, what she wanted was an explanation. And that would require time, and just a little bit of pain on his part.

He sucked in a breath, grasping for confidence, the ability to talk about all this, like it was floating in the stale hospital air around him, and when he could find none, he started to speak anyway. A slow voice, as steady as he could make it, like telling a story to a child after a long hard day. But everyone is a story. He was, Clara was; their chapters had not yet been finished, but he knew so many people, too many people, that had sealed up their stories long ago.

"So you heard I had a wife. She was incredible. There's really no other word for her. But I think- if you really want to understand- then we need to go back a bit. To university. I was studying medicine, and on the course with me was a girl. And her name was Rose…"

an: and here we go, ladies and gentleman. i hope you liked it. please please let me know what you thought :)