In Her Eyes (A Whouffle Fanfiction)

Chapter 21- The Gardens

"Where are we?" Clara asked, voice laced with wonder. Her hands fell limp at her wheels as she gazed at the plants and life that surrounded them. The Doctor pushed her along, going slowly so she had enough time to take in her surroundings and marvel at it all. 

"Hospital gardens," he replied, voice hushed, "where patients and their families come to unwind, relax- enjoy themselves. It's a place for enjoyment, and laughter. It's also a sort of research facility-scientists and doctors spend time here using the plants to develop new cures and to study wildlife in all its forms, from the ordinary to the extraordinary." To illustrate his point he stopped pushing her, reaching a hand into the dense bush to smear a vibrant flower's sweet syrup on his palm. He held it in the air, in front of Clara, and he watched her eyes widen with awe as a lilac dragonfly landed on him and started to suck it up. 

"The Aswariam Dragonfly," he whispered, "one of the last of it's kind."

The Doctor leant around Clara to point out it's distinctive characteristics, then guided her hand laying the tip of her index finger on it's back. She smiled at it with awe and stroked it lightly, the large bug vibrating under her touch. The dragonfly finished the syrup and flexed it's wings before leaping off the Doctor's hand and spiraling up into the leafy canopy overhead. Clara started with surprise and he chuckled as he released the brake on her chair and pushed her further in the gardens, explaining the composition of the soil and the different species of bugs and plants that lived there. Every so often he would steal a look down at her, smiling with satisfaction when he saw her to be utterly absorbed in the nature surrounding them, forgetting that she was disabled and dying. Because that's what he was here to do, the Doctor decided; keep her as content as possible in the few weeks that she had left. It was the least he could do.

Soon Clara became too tired for them to continue their tour around the gardens so the Doctor took her to the heart of the dome- the waterfall encircled by the benches he had sat on last night. He pushed her over to one of the cushioned benches and put the brakes on, moving to scoop her up and settle her in on the bench, but she shoved his hands away. 

"I don't need help with everything, Doctor." She said stubbornly, face set. He sighed and stepped back, far enough that she could be independant but close enough so that he could help her if anything went wrong. Clara gripped her armrests tightly as she shifted herself to the edge of her chair then, gritting her teeth, lifted herself up and swung herself on the bench, landing a little heavier than expected. She let out a light hiss as her spine jolted. 

"Clara?" The Doctor hovered over her anxiously, eyes skimming over her body for any indicator that she was hurt. She waved him off. 

"I'm fine. Just landed a bit harder than expected." Her tone was light and carefree, but frustrated tears welled in her eyes as she looked down at her useless body. The Doctor tugged his trousers and sat next to her, moving all his cushions on to her side so she would be more comfortable. There was a few minutes of companiable quiet as Clara settled in to her cushions and the Doctor watched the waterfall. 

"Talk to me." she said after a while, her eyes closed. 

"About what?" he replied softly. 

"Anything." 

The Doctor twiddled his thumbs in his lap. "I can't think of anything to say." 

"Now that's a lie if I ever heard one." Clara shot him a sidelong look. "What's up?"

"How are you, Clara?"

"Paralysed." 

"No, seriously. How are you doing? Are you coping?" 

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you." 

The Doctor turned around to face her and cupped her chin in his palm, looking her in the eye. "No. You're not. So tell me, Clara, because I need to know- how are you coping?"

She avoided his gaze for a moment, dropping it down to his restless fingers, then brought it back up. There was a film of tears covering her eyes. "I...I...I honestly don't know."

The Doctor was quiet, reasoning that his silence would encourage her to speak more than his words could. He removed his hand from her chin and gently clasped her hands in his own, her small ones lost within his.

"I..." She began, "I'm getting used to it. It's...odd. I can still feel my legs, in my mind, I can imagine it moving, but when I try..." she trailed off, staring down at their clasped hands. 

"Muscle memory," the Doctor commented after a while."Your body can remember what it felt like. To move." 

Clara nodded. "When can I go home?" she asked, voice small. The Doctor sucked in a breath. 

"Soon," he promised, "we just need to process some more of that medicine for you." He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand reassuringly. "We're nearly there." He watched Clara snuggle into her cushions, wiggling her upper body to move back, and the Doctor carefully wrapped an arm around her and helped her, tugging her back gently. She leaned on the pillows with a sigh.

"And where is 'there',  Doctor?"  

The end of your life, he thought morbidly, but said simply, "Your flat."

They sat there together for a while longer, the Doctor occaisonally pointing out different features of the garden that he thought she might find interesting. It was clear that she was losing interest, however- she was rapidly drifting off into sleep, head nodding on to her chest. Her trip out of her room had clearly tired her, sapped the strength that she had gained from her bed rest the last couple of days. Carefully so as not to wake her, the Doctor hooked one arm under her knees and the other just underneath her shoulder blades, picking her up and depositing her back in her wheelchair, flicking the brake pedal back up to neutral with his foot. Clara's continual need to sleep was begining to worry him a bit. She spent more time asleep than she did awake now most days. He supposed that she needed it, as the medicine and her body constantly tried to counter the effects of her illness, but it made the Doctor wonder whether Clara was a well as she made out to be. If her time was closer than either of them would like. Wordlessly, he wheeled her out of the gardens, pausing only to snip a bud from an odd flower with a red and white stem she had liked to add to the bouquet upstairs.