In Her Eyes (A Whouffle Fanfiction)

Chapter 19- Underneath the Stars

"How long was I out for? A day?" Clara guessed as she picked at her tray full of grey mush. It was hospital food, engineered to taste like the food from the particular era or planet that the patient hailed from. All the dishes looked the same- like grey mashed potato, or, as Clara had overhead some of the less tasteful trainee nurses calling it, a pulped human brain. Which hadn't done a lot for her already small appetite. This dish was supposed to be roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, but tasted more like when you leave leftovers in the fridge for too long and it takes on the flavouring of the fridge itself. In his armchair the Doctor pushed his own food around the plate balanced across his knees as he considered her question.

"A night and a half? Two days? Hard to tell when you're-" he motioned between their heads with his fork "-with another person. A day at least."

Clara nodded. "I thought so," she said, loading up her spoon with mush. "No hangover from France- must've slept through it."

"Better than the alternative, I suppose." the Doctor replied, taking a long drink from his glass of water.

"Trying to wash out the taste?" Clara teased. He pulled a face.

"Might as well be. Even you can cook better than this," he said disgustedly, watching as the mush slopped from his fork onto his plate with a large splat.

"Oi!" Clara retorted. "I'm an excellent cook, I'll have you know." She grabbed a cushion from behind her and flung it at him. She deliberately aimed to miss, but the Doctor nevertheless jumped when it hit the wall behind him with a loud thunk.

"Clara! You could've hit me!" He scolded her. She jabbed her fork threateningly at him, eyes narrowed.

"Just because I'm paralysed from the waist down does not make me any less dangerous." 

"Only if I don't run," he returned.

"Well then," Clara said, "I'll buy myself one of those electronic wheelchairs and mow you down."

He gasped in mock-horror. "Violence, Oswald, is not the answer." He admonished. He ate some of his dinner and pulled a face. "Except, maybe, when it comes to hospital food."

"I'm with you there," Clara told him. They had been living at the hospital for two days now while Kim ran extra tests and tried to amend the tablets that Clara took so they were strong enough to at least slow down the spread of the paralysis to her upper body. More often than not the Doctor was in the lab with her, but Clara had begged him to take a break and eat with her. As far as she knew, this was his first meal in days. He had shut himself away with Doctor Whyatt to help, of that Clara was sure, but she also had a sneaking suspicion that it was an excuse to keep away from her, not out of spite, but fear. Fear of what had happened to her, and what may happen still. He just didn't know how to deal with it.

Clara, on the other hand, had found that joking and laughing about it made the situation a little less threatening, and sometimes even made the Doctor and her various nurses laugh. It took some of the tension out of her day and a laugh or a joke now and again helped to keep all their spirits up. Even if they sometimes did fall flat.

"How's the tests coming along?" Clara asked the Doctor. He very rarely gave her updates, if at all, and Kim was never around for Clara to ask. His face darkened at her question.

"Okay, I suppose. We've managed to create the formula that will extend your life by a few weeks, but...it isn't enough. Not for you."

Not for you. A small thrill went through Clara. He had said it in a tone of voice that suggested that no matter how many days, weeks, months or even years the medication added on to her life, no length of time would be enough. That he wanted her by his side always. Clara pushed her plate away from her, ignoring the warmth in her belly that had flickered into life in response to his words.