He was off to get Daffodils because she'd mentioned them their last trip and he thought it would be a nice surprise. Show up with the Tardis, hidden away from prying eyes, just before she got home so he could be waiting for her at her doorstep. The Doctor smiled at the thought, imagining her face as she came down the hall and spotted him there, flowers in his hand, a sly grin on his lips. She'd be confused, but she'd be pleased, and she would ask him, "Special occasion, or is this an apology?"

"Why," he'd prompt, before straightening, "Do I owe you an apology?"

Somehow his fantasy became a fluster of flopping limbs, awkward shifts in posture, hands rummaging through hair, eyes searching hers, lists of possible reasons fluttering up into his thoughts. Of course it would go that way if he tried to be suave – Clara had that effect on him. He stepped into the shop with the notion rolling about in his mind and he tried to concentrate on the flowers. On the colors and the types and wondering if she'd prefer roses.

She did love roses.

"…the gunman, we're now getting word, is a pupil at Coal Hill School, but no motive for his actions has been given…"

The Doctor turned swiftly, coat swinging, and he approached the front counter, glancing up at the small television propped on a shelf. On screen he could see the school, so very familiar, and the droves of children rushing from it and his eyes searched the adults in the frame before asking the woman behind the counter quickly, "Coal Hill, what's going on?"

"Dunno," the woman told him with a shrug, "Some kid went in with a gun and started firing. Say he's hit at least three kids and one teacher…" the woman turned in his direction, but he'd already gone.

He was used to running.

The Doctor knew if there were two things he'd warn any incoming companions about travelling with him, they would be there will be danger and there will be running. But somehow this run felt different. As though the air in his lungs had gone cold and each breath stung to inhale as his legs burned underneath him, churning over the pavement.

Three kids and one teacher.

His mind filled with plausible scenarios in which Clara would put herself between the gunman and her students. She'd already put herself between him and death a million times over, she would do it for her children without batting an eyelash. She would do it with a smile knowing she'd saved at least one child because it was who she was.

"Clara Oswald," he shouted as he reached the men now guarding the school. They stopped his forward progress and he raised his hands, pulling his psychic paper from his pocket to wave at them, watching their faces crumple in confusion. "Clara Oswald, is she alright – she's a teacher, I need to know if she's safe. She teaches English; she's in the school. Is she safe?"

They pushed him back and one man barked, "Sir, do you have a child inside of the school?"

He looked to his paper, seeing the mess of lines and random words and he growled at it, shoving it back into his pocket – useless to his jumbled mind. "No," he barked, "I have a… she's my… Clara Oswald. Her name is Clara Oswald, and I need to know if she's gotten out of the building."

"Sir, I'm going to need you to take a few steps back; we're handling the situation."

"NO!" He shouted roughly, "I need you to tell me if she's out of the building."

The man straightened menacingly and barked, "If you don't step back, sir, I'm going to have to escort you from the property."

He met his eye, refusing to budge for a moment before his shoulders slumped and he nodded, offering quietly, "I'm sorry, yes, of course," and shifting back.

They went back to work, others keeping an eye on him and he began shifting around in the crowd. To them he was another problem in a day riddled with problems. He understood that to them, he was impeding what they were trying to do, so he lowered his eyes to the ground and listened to the chatter around him.

Parents had been arriving and asking about their children.

Classes closer to the back of the school were able to get out before the shooting.

Only a few classes were left still inside the building.

Mr. Pink, Mrs. Willoughby, Mr. Simmons, Ms. Oswald…

He turned at the sound of her name and looked to a bright cheeked student being questioned by others, all solemn faced as they tried to find out where their friends were. "Did you say Ms. Oswald was still inside?"

She nodded and told him in a hushed voice, "We were headed to the library. She got most of us out, but I think she ducked into a classroom with some of the kids when he started shooting again."

She was alive, he thought to himself calmly, and he placed a thankful hand on the girl's shoulder, turning his attention back to the small groups of students and teachers who occasionally emerged from the front or back of the school – some from windows at the sides. He could see them being ushered to safe areas, or being pulled into cars by concerned parents, and he chewed his lip, hoping he'd find a spunky brunette soothing a child with a story and a smile, except, he found no such thing.

What he found was a chaos he was used to seeing, except he was helpless against it. There wasn't some mastermind he could talk down or some machine he could Sonic, or some maze he could run from. There were simply students terrified of what was happening around them and a barricade that prevented him from finding out. And then there came a series of shots loud enough to echo out from the school and just as the Doctor turned, knowing he could get the Tardis; he could pop up inside of that classroom and take her and the children to safety, he heard someone shout out, "I see Ms. Oswald."

He swung around, eyes frantically searching the new bodies rushing from the front doors towards waiting personnel and he saw her, hunched slightly, arm around a young girl. She took the child to safety and then she looked around at her students. The Doctor knew she was counting them, she was making sure they were alright, and he knew that she wouldn't stop to think about herself until she knew they were fine.

Exhaling, he allowed himself a smile, gently pushing others aside as he made his way back to the front of the line, to where the officers were watching him, and he nodded knowingly at them, pointing before shouting out, "Clara!"

He watched her, frozen in the middle of pandemonium, hands held slightly up, just waiting for another student who needed her. The officer in front of him looked between him and Clara and he asked quietly, "That who you're looking for?"

"Yes," he said simply, shouting out again, "Clara!"

There was a moment where he shook his head, frowning at her because she wasn't turning, but then he realized, she was in shock. She was looking out over the students not quite understanding what had happened and when an officer bumped her, she swung around from the force, finding herself facing the Doctor and for a moment, she looked through him. He tried to smile, arms waving her over and he watched the recognition blink into place.

Clara offered him a faint smile before letting her gaze shift away, as if she couldn't believe he was standing there… because it wasn't Wednesday; because why would the Doctor be there of all places. He shouted her name again and she turned, this time taking a step in his direction and he laughed because hadn't they just done this? Just a few months ago? Her so lost and unsure and him so desperate to wrap his arms around her to know she was safe.

You have to trust me, Clara. I'm real. Just one more step.

She jerked away from an officer who rushed past her, someone shouting out that they'd taken the boy down and he'd taken one of their own down with him. Clara frowned at the news, and the Doctor knew she wore her sadness just as much for the boy as for the officer – because Clara would forgive the child; would know he'd just needed help – and he called her name again.

Just focus on my voice, he thought as she turned to look at him.

With a few quick steps, she squeezed between two taller men and she fell against the Doctor's chest with a long exhale as he began to drag her away from the crowd, out across the street towards a grassy area just across where she tugged at his vest as they walked. He moved silently with her as she lead them down streets he was unfamiliar with until recognition struck and he understood where they were going.

The Doctor let her cling to him, knowing any other day he would tease her, but today he understood it was necessary as they made their way up stairs and towards a door he Sonic'ed open. He lead her towards her bedroom and he dropped her onto it, easing her gently back onto the pillow and kneeling beside her to watch the look of confusion on her pale face.

Brushing a hand over her cool forehead, he sighed as she stared at the ceiling, "Clara, maybe you should see a doctor; you're in shock."

She reached out for him, grasping at the hand he offered and she shook her head, telling him quietly, "No, no, I'm fine."

With a small nod, he stretched for a throw at the foot of her bed and he tugged it over her body, slipping his hand from hers so he could undo the tie on each of her shoes to pluck them off her feet and place them carefully in her closet. He observed her a while, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as her mind worked over what had happened as she continued to gaze into nothing.

"You're trying to find a reason for a series of events that has none," he offered quietly.

She shifted her eyes to him and they watered now, just enough for a single tear to drop from each eye as she watched him. The Doctor had an answer for everything, he knew she was thinking, surely he'd have an explanation for this. Of course, they both knew that some things happened in the universe without an explanation; without a reason; without an answer.

"You saved the lives of several children," he told her quietly, coming around to reach for her hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "Seek solace in that fact, and rest." He leaned forward and dropped a kiss onto the back of her hand, settling it atop her stomach and adjusting the throw before turning to the door.

"Doctor," she called, voice hushed.

"I'll be right back," he promised.

"Where are you going?" Clara breathed quietly.

He smiled, "To get Daffodils."

Watching the small curious smile that lifted her lips, he raised a hand to wave at her, urging her to close her eyes and once she did, he turned and made his way back down the steps and onto the street. The Doctor walked in the silence of the aftermath – could see it on the faces of everyone he passed – and he understood, these things just didn't happen here.

When he entered the shop, he moved to the display and plucked up the flowers with a hollow feeling in his chest, paying and going to his Tardis to take it back to her living room where he settled them in a vase to take to her room where he found her staring blankly at the wall across from her. He watched her a moment, waiting for her to look to him with a frown.

"What are they for?" Clara asked weakly.

He looked to them, settling them on the table beside her bed, and replied gently, "An apology."

She nodded, eyes finding the wall again as she uttered, "He was my student."