Clara stood silently in her sitting room, only feet away from the Doctor who was sprawled on her couch, one long leg slung over the end, intently focused on reading a book. It looked like something from her shelves but try as she might, she couldn't read the title.

"Hey," she said finally, stepping close and nudging him with her foot.

"Hello, Clara," he said. He spoke without looking up from the page, his manner distracted and thoughtful. "Reading."

"I can see that."

"The TARDIS is in a repair cycle," he said. "She was getting along fine so I thought I'd leave her to it. Then I got bored."

"Well, don't let me interrupt you."

Clara tossed her bag on the other side of the couch and sat down to join him. With a hearty sigh she pulled out a stack of composition notebooks. If it was going to be a quiet evening in, she might as well get marking out of the way.

Her pen was poised over the first essay when she thought she heard a discreet sniffle, and then another. She glanced over at him.

"You okay?"

"Of course I am," he said. "Dust allergy. You should clean your bookshelves more often."

"Yeah," she muttered, turning back to the essays. "I'll get right on that."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn the final page. He did not close the book or set it aside but sat very still, staring blankly at nothing.

"Good book?" she asked. He remained quiet and Clara had to smile. "Did you enjoy it? You must have, you're kind of in a daze."

"He loved Miss Kenton and he never told her," he said, his voice hoarse. "Not even when she was crying in her room, the night of her engagement."

"Ah," Clara said, the pieces falling into place. "The Remains of the Day."

"Why couldn't he tell her, Clara? So much loss...a lifetime of regret. And it didn't have to be that way." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "If only..."

She didn't know if he were speaking of the fictional Stevens or of himself and suddenly it didn't matter as the tears spilled over and he began to cry in earnest, turning his body from her, hands covering his face, shoulders shaking. Clara sat dumbfounded for a moment. Crises she could deal with, sand pirahnas, the Scovox Blitzer, no problem. An emotional Doctor left her feeling completely helpless.

She reached out to touch his back and recoiled as he jumped, muscles twitching under her fingers as if he'd been shocked.

"Don't do that," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Doctor," she said softly. "It's okay."

Clara could stand it no longer. She grasped him by the shoulders, turning him around to face her. She gently pulled his hands away and felt her heart constrict when his eyes met hers. They were fathomless, full of hurt, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him.

His posture was rigid, unrelenting and he tried to move away. "I don't want a hug, Clara," he said, his voice low and miserable.

"I know you don't want a hug," she said, pulling him in. "But you really need one right now."

At this she felt his resistance give way and he melted against her, burying his face against her neck. His arms gathered her up.

It would have been easy enough to dismiss his grief if she didn't know him so well. Even in the depths of his sadness Clara could feel only the slightest trembling of his body, soft hitching breaths and warm tears against her skin. She said nothing, content to sit with him and allow the powerful emotions that were shaking him to run their course.

It didn't take long. When he'd calmed down, he tried to pull away but Clara couldn't let him go. She had to touch him, to comfort him in some way, to try and ease some of his sadness and longing she could still sense in him. She cradled his face between her hands, but he would not look at her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm not."

He sniffled and scrubbed at his face with one hand. "I think I've made a mess of your blouse, Clara."

She glanced down, her mouth quirking in a wry smile. "Yep, you did," she said. "Don't care."

He wriggled slightly, trying to move away from her. "You can let me go now."

"I'm not sure I can, actually," she said, but she did take her arms from him and sat back, watching him carefully.

The Doctor took a deep quavering breath, dashing at his eyes, his manner turning instantly brisk.

"Not sure what happened there, but it's over now," he said. "Need to check on the TARDIS."

He made a move as if to stand but Clara caught his arm before he could. He glanced down at her, his face stricken for just a moment before the nonchalant mask returned.

"Sit," she said, leaning past him to snag a box of tissues from the end table. She dropped it in his lap. "I'm going to make you a cup of tea. Be right back."

When she returned, he'd composed himself but seemed exhausted, head resting against the back of the couch, limbs sprawled every which way, eyes drooping.

"Forgot your tea, sorry." she said, sitting down close to him. She knew he'd needed a few moments alone. He shrugged.

"You know, Doctor, it's normal to get emotional over a book. Happens to me all the time."

He let his head roll to the side to look at her. "It's not normal for me."

"It's just...a good book can take you away from your life," she said. "But sometimes it brings you deeper inside yourself and what you find there..." She paused, gently stroking a recalcitrant curl from his forehead. This time he did not flinch or pull away. "What you find there isn't always easy to face."

His hand found hers, squeezed it tightly. "Easier with you."