"Don't leave."

Her hand was on the railing and she was almost out the door, but the Doctor's softly-spoken words hit her with the blasting force of an explosion that figuratively knocked her off her feet and rendered her immobile.

Don't leave.

Clara swallowed hard and turned to face him, her eyes wide.

He seemed smaller, somehow. Vastra had spoken of a mask lifting when he regenerated, but ever since then Clara had felt he'd put on a new mask, one of stony, calculated resolve that prevented her from seeing what she knew—what she hoped—was underneath.

Warmth. Vulnerability. Affection. Fear. They were all etched into the lines of his face as he looked at her, a pleading look in his eyes. Even though she'd been waiting so long for a glimpse into his heart, Clara didn't know what to do now she was faced with such naked honesty.

They had barely survived their last venture into the universe. Both had been taken hostage and placed in separate cells, which they had escaped, but they nearly didn't find each other before the entire neighbourhood had gone up in flames. Clara made a quip about never bringing her back to Milan during the plague, but her voice had shaken.

The Doctor had taken her hand and hadn't let go until they reached the TARDIS. They both showered, and then the Doctor returned the TARDIS to her bedroom back in London. Clara had been walking out the door when he called for her, and even though it was the end of yet another journey together, yet another brush with death, something felt different—off.

So, she understood why he was asking her not to leave—well, not exactly why, but what precipitated his request. To fully understand what he wanted from her, she would have to ask.

"Say it in different words," she replied.

He blinked rapidly. "Pardon?"

Clara offered him a faint smile. "Say it again, but use different words."

The Doctor struggled for a moment, his lips parting helplessly around words he had difficulty forming, until he met her eyes.

"Stay."

The word pierced her heart like an arrow, but it didn't break her. Instead it felt like her heart had cracked open and all of the things she'd ever felt but never admitted to feeling for the Doctor came pouring out slowly, patiently, as if they'd been biding their time.

Her fingertips trailed along the railing as she stepped towards him. The humming of the TARDIS underscored the sound of her heels clicking against the floor, then grew silent when she came to stop in front of him. Their bodies thrummed with a magnetic energy that pulled them close, but they did not touch. Clara didn't know what was happening or why, but she could feel the Doctor's loneliness beckoning her closer, yet it wasn't just that—there was something else calling her name.

He was holding his breath. She lifted her eyes to his, her neck craning upwards as their eyes locked together, gazes lingering until his fell to her lips. Clara's eyes drifted downward in reply to a question he wasn't even aware he was asking until she placed a tentative hand on his chest, right over his left heart, and rose to her tiptoes to meet his lips.

The Doctor dipped forward and closed his eyes as their lips met for a soft kiss that made his every nerve ending scream with panic. There was a reason he didn't like to be touched, but it was contradictory to what he craved desperately: closeness, affection, a reminder that he was loved and accepted by the person he cared for the most.

His heart raced beneath her hand and Clara shut her eyes with a hum, sliding her other hand over his right heart so she could feel them thrum beneath her palms.

He pulled back after a moment, and she feared he'd returned—her gruff, distant Doctor who told her off for flashing big eyes and shrugged off any touch. Instead, his gaze slowly raked over her features as if he were learning them all over again, and a ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his lips.

Clara didn't realize how heavily she was breathing until she tried to speak his name. "Doctor…"

He placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her more urgently, but with a slow, burning passion that made her inhale deeply, lungs desperate for oxygen. Their bodies shifted, her arms wrapping around his neck as he hugged her tightly to him, his lean frame flush against hers as he kissed her with eager lips.

Clara hummed softly and the Doctor tightened his embrace, his lips more demanding. She raked her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp until she finally broke away to gasp for breath.

"Clara," he breathed.

"Yes?"

He didn't say another word. What followed instead were clutching hands, soft lips, sharp gasps and swaying bodies. They half-danced, half-waddled out of the TARDIS into her bedroom where they immediately fell upon the bed, the Doctor shocking her with how fluidly he rolled his hips against hers.

Clara's laughter rang throughout the room as the Doctor grumbled about all the pillows on her bed, muttering words like "superfluous" and "unnecessary." She helped him toss them to the floor and then stroked his cheek before pulling him back down for a kiss that made her see lights behind her eyes.

There was a part of her that was conscious of what they were doing, but largely she was focused on the way he drank from her lips like he was sipping wine, the soft whimpers he issued when she stroked his tongue with her own, and the warmth of his breath on her neck when she pulled back to breathe.

First his jacket, then her cardigan slid past their shoulders and were tossed to the floor. Clara kissed his collarbone, slid her hands up his bare back, and hugged him tightly as he unzipped her dress. When they finally came together, it felt like they were picking up where they'd left off. Everything was a blur of groaning bedsprings, moans caught behind gritted teeth, sudden gasps, and digging fingernails into sweat-slick skin. It felt like travelling in time the messy way, caught in the vortex with no conception of what was past or present or future, or where your body and your mind connected. It was organic.

Afterwards, things didn't feel quite so natural.

"Well…" Clara began, both of them lying on their backs on top of her duvet. "That happened."

A hysterical chuckle rumbled in the Doctor's chest. Clara turned to look at him with a smile and she joined him, the pair of them laughing manically until he rolled towards her and returned his smiling lips to hers.

"I've been avoiding that for a long time," he confessed.

Adoration seeped from her pores. He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"What changed?" she asked.

The Doctor kissed the tip of her nose and smiled tightly. "Nothing. That was the problem."

Things did change… but then again, they didn't.

The Doctor would still show up whenever Clara was busy with work or social gatherings, luring her away with offers to dance in stardust or visit Ancient Rome. They continued to bicker all throughout their adventures, but the Doctor would reach for her hand whenever they had to run.

The Doctor always returned her to her flat, always parking in her bedroom, and he would linger near the console until she turned him to face her.

"Stay?" she'd ask.

Every time, his hand lifted to her cheek, and a profound sadness would work its way onto his face before shifting into a small smile.

"Of course."

Sometimes he was still there when she woke up, although he usually wasn't in bed. Clara would find him in the kitchen making breakfast or experimenting with the electronics or scribbling notes in the margins of her books, the latter of which prompting a rather loud row that forced her upstairs neighbour to stomp on the floor.

Whenever they fought, they would either separate in anger only to return to each other for a soft embrace, or they would grasp each other desperately, shutting each other up in the most effective way they'd learned how.

Then, one day, Clara wouldn't give in when he beckoned her towards the TARDIS. She was curled up in bed, and her face wasn't coloured in. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. It wasn't until he noticed that the Doctor's voice softened. He stepped towards the bed, feeling uncomfortable in his skin for the first time in a while.

"Clara, what's wrong?"

She lowered her eyes to the floor. Eventually, the Doctor sank onto the mattress next to her and pulled out his sonic.

"No!" she protested weakly, her nose stuffy. She sniffed. "I don't want you to scan me. I'd… I'd rather be left alone today, Doctor."

"Clara, something's wrong," he said kindly but impatiently. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," she muttered.

"You know—" He frowned. "Don't distract me with banter."

Clara shut her eyes and sighed. Her voice cracked when she spoke. "I can't today, Doctor. Please."

He blinked. Clara continued to stare at the floor even when he placed a hand on the side of her head. Her hair had gone a few days without washing.

"You're worrying me."

"I'm fine," she replied, entirely unconvincing. "Can I just have a few days to myself? Pop back in the TARDIS and come round on Saturday. I'll be ready to talk then."

"You need three more days?" he replied dubiously. "Oh… is this? The… thing. The woman thing. The…" He struggled to say the words. "Thing."

Clara breathed a little laugh in response, but then her features crumpled miserably. She buried her face in her pillow. "I just need a few days, please."

His hearts felt cold. He nodded once and rose from the bed, but before he turned for the door, he bent back down and placed a kiss on her temple.

"I love you," she murmured.

"I love you too," he replied.

It wasn't until he'd closed the TARDIS door behind him that he realised what had transpired. It was the first time they'd ever said that to each other. With those words, at least.

Clara walked into the TARDIS the moment it landed in her bedroom three days later and leaned against the doors.

The Doctor smiled at her from the other side of the console. "Feeling better?" he asked jovially.

She hesitated. "I need you to scan me."

He poked his head around the time rotor. "Pardon?"

Clara stepped towards the console, her expression resolute. And terrified.

"I need you to do a physical scan and tell me what the TARDIS says."

The Doctor stared at her, and the silence enveloped them.

"Clara, is everything alright..?" he asked gravely.

"Doctor, just do it!"

Frowning, he kept his eyes on her and drew the scanner towards him, then he waved the sonic over it, instructing the TARDIS computer to do a physical scan of Clara Oswald. She watched him with large, frightened eyes as she waited for him to confirm what she already knew.

The Doctor's lips parted in shock when the results appeared on the screen and he stared at Clara hard over the edge of the scanner. She saw a flash of anger in his eyes.

Clara swallowed hard, but maintained his gaze. "What does it say?"

He didn't answer right away. "It says that you're pregnant."

The bottom of her stomach dropped out and Clara immediately struggled to breathe. "Oh god," she said, her hands falling to the edge of the console, knuckles turning white as she bent forward and drew deep breaths. "Oh god, oh god…"

She could feel the warmth of the Doctor's body standing behind her, slightly to her right, but he didn't reach for her. Not right away. When his palm lowered to her shoulder, Clara's breath hitched, but her shoulders relaxed beneath his touch and she exhaled slowly, calmly.

The Doctor then drew away from her in a sudden motion. Clara stood upright and turned to see him staring at her with that hard, calculated look she hadn't seen in months.

He glanced away before he spoke. "I suppose you'll need to tell the father."

Her brow furrowed, an incredulous laugh shaking her words. "I… Doctor, youare the father. I thought much that was obvious."

He laughed in reply, but it wasn't a humorous sound.

The Doctor walked around her to the other side of the console and pulled the scanner towards her so she could see the results.

"Pregnant," he said. "That requires a father, and since you are human, the father would have to be human as well."

"Apparently not," she replied crossly. "Otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation."

His expression was hard, implacable. "Clara, I am not the father."

"Yes, you are!"

He shook his head calmly. "No."

Clara set her lips in a firm line and then yanked the scanner away from his grasp.

"Scan for Time Lord DNA," she commanded.

The Doctor scoffed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Don't be an idiot. That's not going to work."

She raised both eyebrows and then spun the scanner towards him. The Doctor stared at her in confusion, his eyes resolutely looking away from the screen until Clara nodded towards it impatiently. He gripped the handle, eyes searching hers a moment longer before he sighed and looked at the screen.

Oh. Oh.