Author's Note: If anyone read the one I posted last night, the angst piece about the Doctor that took place after The Angels Take Manhattan, this one is a somewhat angst piece about Clara. Should also mention, Clara is my absolute favorite companion that the Doctor has traveled with. She isn't meant to appear disliked in this story. All errors are my own, I should really go back and read what I write but I can't. As always, favorites, follows, and reviews – always the reviews – are so, so appreciated and very helpful.

Warning: I am keeping the rating at T. Implied sex, yes, but not smut, nothing explicit or detailed.

Summary: Between The Name of the Doctor and The Day of the Doctor, then through his regeneration.

Disclaimer: No, of course I don't own anything associated to Doctor Who. It would be nice, though.

She left him. She always thought it would always be the other way around. The Doctor always wanted to keep her safe and she once feared, especially after Trenzalore that he would drop her back at the Maitland's and not come back. He feared for her safety too much. There had been too much loss in the Doctor's life and it wouldn't be like that this time.

Clara wasn't quite sure what she was running from or why she was running from him, when she truly wanted to just run to him, but it became too much. Especially the pretending that she wasn't in love with him situation. It hurt too much, maybe they could have been something but they both knew he would be regenerating soon. She didn't care about his face or how old he might appear physically. The man was already a thousand years old. She did love the man, without a doubt. Who he was, everything about him. But his personality would alter. Sticking it out, supporting him, was something she was completely capable of. But just how extreme would those personality changes be?

They had discussed it once, how they knew each other better than they knew anyone else who'd been in their lives previously to the other. The Doctor saw no point in keeping secrets from her anymore. No secrets about his life on Gallifrey, events that had happened throughout his life, his past loves and past companions that traveled with him. She never felt jealous of those people, but she wasn't much of the jealous type, but he had opened himself up to her about everything and it really had meant the world to her.

Some nights they would spend time in the library, sipping on tea, talking for hours upon hours. Their bond wouldn't be one that couldn't be broken.

He had kissed her one night after divulging deep secrets to her, after she told him that she would always accept him no matter who he was. Their relationship had progressed after that. An already emotionally intimate friendship had blossomed, and it was a beautiful process, just because they'd been intrigued with one another from day one. I suppose he'd been intrigued with her each time he met her, but the third time, his Clara, was the one that had changed everything for him. His life would never be the same.

There were nights spent together in her bedroom she had upon the TARDIS, he wouldn't ever sleep, he didn't need much sleep. He just liked to watch her sleep. It brought him peace and she looked to be at peace, too, she was so beautiful. Sometimes she could feel him watching her, in a sleepy haze she would turn around to face him and kiss him gently. Other times she had difficulty sleeping because it was as if she could hear him thinking and those were the times she would find ways to distract him. Letting their lips collide and tangling their bodies together, finding relief in each other. In their silence t and their movements that conveyed unsaid words with simple eye contact. Softly peppered kisses against each others skin. They were in so deep with their emotions. It felt like their time together would never end. Clara didn't want it to ever end.

When they returned back to Trenzalore, as predicted by Dorian, it had been a battle of a lifetime, so frightening and literally life-changing. She didn't leave his side, they fought together, but ultimately, the body he had couldn't retain the damage and such that was done to him. It was still a relatively slow process, the regeneration. Before it happened, Clara never strayed from him, combing her hands through his hair, telling him how much she loved him. That this wouldn't change how she felt about him.

It was scary to witness, the yellow-golden light enveloping his body and changing his image. Still in the clothing his previous self had been in. It was an interesting sight. His face was older and his eyes showed a sadness and a worn out quality about them but he was still her Doctor. He's asked her how he looked, if he was handsome, the image of someone she was into. He didn't want to see his own reflection, through all his lives he tried to avoid it, but he had two hearts, he knew his skin was more rough this time around, that his body didn't feel so young.

You'll always be my type, Doctor. You're a beautiful man, a beautiful person.

He still warned her that soon – not right away, but soon – his personality would start to change. He may become bitter, his losses may start to affect him in a way they hadn't done before. Like an infection this time, almost. He may not be as playful. One thing he knew never changed was his relationships with those he cared about and his whole personal history.

Maybe he wouldn't like fish fingers and custard anymore. Horrifying thought.

He did change, he was more mopey, he was embracing the old man he'd always been. Their life and travels together stayed the same, for quite awhile. They would snuggle up and he would hold her tightly. Always watching her, whenever he could. It remained his favorite thing.

Clara couldn't explain what it was that changed, ultimately. They were together so much, she had her own flat, but so much of their time was spent in the TARDIS. He would stay with her sometimes, weekdays, mostly because she did have a job, a real life outside of the traveling and exploring and seeing every world out there that existed.

The day was devastating.

It's not you, I promise, it could never be you.

They were in her flat, her back against his chest as he held her around her waist, he had gently kissed her cheek and felt a moist, salty taste against his lips. Tears. She rarely cried. He moved a hand from her waist and wiped a tear away, asking her what was wrong. She told them they had to stop. She needed normalcy. The Doctor didn't understand, he thought they had found a balance of normal - whatever that truly meant – in their lives.

Stability, she explained. Clara didn't think she could ever settle for another man in her life, someone so extraordinary as the Doctor, but she needed to move on and focus on her job. Her students, bills and loans and actual proper adult things. She needed to visit her dad and see him way more often than she did, which was not often at all and he was her family. When her mother had passed it was just her and her dad. This wasn't meant to be just a jaunt, just some fantasy. Flying away with a madman in a box because he was miles away from being just that. He was brilliant, and yeah, he was mad, but he was her madman. He just couldn't be anymore.

The Doctor wasn't one to plead, there had been occasions – with enemies, for his life- but nothing ever like this. He'd always had a fascination with humans but Clara was the one. She was his. Meant more, but didn't take worth away from anyone else in his past.

They both cried that night. She removed his glasses, cupped his worn and tired face in her hands, rubbing her thumbs against his cheeks, looking him straight in the eyes. There wasn't a way to make him understand, because she didn't even understand herself. It just needed to be this way.

She was twenty-five, she had one heart and she would age. He never cared about that. Not with her, anyway. She was unique in his life.

He hated endings and goodbyes, as did she. Because in their lives, so far, those endings were never planned. This one was. They held each other for as long as they possibly could, wanting to meld into each other and allow the moment to last forever. It wouldn't, it couldn't.

They had their last night together, taking their time and moving slowly, making it last and reveling in each other. She rest her head on his chest, those two heart beats being the last she would hear from him. From anyone, no other man was like him. Letting go seemed impossible. They were impossible. She was the impossible girl and how could anyone like him be real but he was, so real, so possible that it wasn't so right.

She wasn't going to be alone forever, but moving on at the moment to another relationship just wasn't an option. Not now, maybe not for years.

She had to get to school early the next morning, to prepare for class that day. When she'd woken up, there he was, hovering above her. Those big sad eyes staring down at her, her heart was shattering in that moment. Clara kissed him – once, twice, three times – and got out of bed, getting dressed and prepared for the day.

This is the end, isn't it? He's asked, voice scratchy and full of sadness, I hate endings.

I know, her voice cracking, I'm so sorry. I love you. I have to go, Doctor.

He nodded, kissing her for the last time.

When she arrived home that night, his TARDIS was nowhere in sight. Not parked in her flat, not seen anywhere outside.

Clara decided then that she also hated endings.