In Her Eyes (A Whouffle Fanfiction)

Chapter 30- In Your Eyes Only

"Clara."

"Yes?" 

The Doctor rolled over so he was facing her back. "I've been meaning to ask you- the pictures on the wall in your Dad's house, when we visited. There aren't any of just you and him. Why?" 

He heard her sigh, elbow extending to prop herself up as she struggled to face him. He placed a hand on her waist to steady her as she wobbled, strength failing her like it had been doing for most every day that week. The paralysis was spreading to her upper body. In the darkness of her bedroom, he could make out the faint outline of her body, weary and thin, her curves giving in to the increased demands of her immune system. She had stopped eating properly a while ago, and it was showing. Despite her condition she shrugged, bony shoulders noticeable even in the black of night. 

"He can't face it. He wants to remember the time when he was happy; not remind himself of how she died." 

"Is he not happy, then? Without her?" He asked tentatively. He closed his eyes when Clara's hand met his on her waist, her fingers tracing the underside of his wrist tenderly as she frowned. 

"Why so many questions?" 

"Just curious," he answered in a neutral tone, but Clara worked it out almost instantly, fingers stilling at the faint crease that divided his hand from his wrist. 

"I'm not going to die Doctor," she told him fiercely, voice faint and not entirely convincing. Defiant to the last- believing that if she maintained a positive attitude her immune system would boost and over come the disease rotting her body. The Placebo effect.

If only. 

He smiled. "Of course not," he humoured her, surpressing a contented sigh when she resumed stroking the back of his hand, fingers trailing lightly in the dips next to each knuckle. She knew as well as he did that there was no cure, unless Fenric had one hidden up his sleeve. The Doctor had often wondered if he should go after him and demand that he provided one for her, but Fenric was slippery to catch at the best of times, even when he wanted to be found. It would take too long to find him- if Fenric wanted to watch Clara die, he would come.

"Are you going to come to bed, or are you going to lie on top of the covers all night?" Clara asked, smiling teasingly at him as her hand meandered it's way to his elbow and pressed into the soft flesh there.

"I'm not tired," he told her, completely missing the flirtatious look that had come with the request. He was lying fully dressed on top of the duvet on one side of the bed with Clara snuggled under it a foot or so away from him. He never slept anymore, and was content to just lie on top of the covers all night and watch her sleep. Most of the time, though, she invited him in with her, claiming that he helped keep the bed and her warm. One of her recent symptons was that she just could not stay warm, and apparently sleeping curled up next to the Doctor helped with that.

"Didn't say you had to be," Clara replied saucily. The Doctor did not miss the implied meaning this time, and squirmed uncomfortably as she laughed.

"Clara!" He scolded.  

"What? It's not like you don't live with me. Oh, come on Doctor," her eyes widened innocently, "I'm cold."

"Oh, all right then," he grumbled, making sharing a bed with her sound like a hardship, "but only if you behave." 

"I always behave," she said, hand falling to her side as the Doctor left the double bed to retrieve his jammys from her chest of drawers. She had given him a couple of draws to himself to keep his clothes in, sparing him the trek through the TARDIS to find the wardrobe every time he needed fresh clothes.