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The room smelled like cinders, burning wood, flesh, and fibers. All around them the room was filled with smoke, and it billowed out into the hallway as a draft came into the house. It happened so quickly. The entirety of the room wasn’t yet engulfed, but flames were covering every chair, the tables, a beautifully crafted desk, and the walls and the curtains that covered the windows. It took Clara all of three seconds to realize he was on fire as well, hence the scent of burning flesh and clothing.
“Clara!” screamed the Doctor. “Clara, Clara! Help!”
His voice was filled with pure unadulterated terror. She turned to find him flailing about.
She rushed to his side, tugging at the jacket he wore. The flames were spreading now and he was panicking, resorting to yelling. She grabbed at his arms, calming him enough to allow her to work. He hissed as he flung the jacket off with her help. Once it was gone, he stepped on it until it doused the fire. Not that it would do any good for the roaring fire around them, of course.
There they stood, fighting to catch their breaths as they looked down at his charred, torn coat. The black one, with gorgeous red lining. He would have to find another one.
Clara was the first to speak, her words leaving her in a rush. “Are you okay?”
His white shirt, once crisp and clean, was blackened and singed in places. His waistcoat was rumpled and charred. The back of it was in quite a state as well. He glanced down at himself, chest heaving, and took stock of the damage. No doubt his back was covered in burns, judging by the pain, but it would heal. They just had to make it to the TARDIS medical bay first.
“Yeah, yeah, fine,” he said all too quickly. She knew he was lying. The adrenaline would eventually wane, and the pain would make itself known.
“C’mon,” she replied, fingers slipping into his to tug him away. “We need to get out of here.”
The pair made a mad dash for the door, slipping out into the hallway. They tripped on a carpet runner that ran along the entire floor, taking a corner and descending the staircase. They had to kick scorched, flaming rafters out of the way as they went. The guests who they had come to see, both friends of his, must have tried to flee. She prayed they were successful. There was no sight of Darlene or Samuel.
“This was the worst idea!” she yelled, breathless and angry. “Why did we come here?”
“You wanted to see San Francisco,” he replied, casting a quick glance her way. They fled the building, making their way outside.
“Yeah, but I didn’t know we’d be here for the fire.”
She knew this time in history from textbooks, from historical sites, and 1800s novels. During the height of the California gold rush, between 1849 and 1851, San Francisco endured seven severe fires. The sixth one was by far the most damaging. In terms of property value, it did three times as much damage as the next most destructive of the seven fires. It destroyed as much as three-quarters of the city. She never wanted to experience it. She never thought she would see it with her very own eyes. She could only assume they had arrived just before the sixth one.
She heard a scuffle nearby, and a building collapsed afterward. All went silent. In the rubble, with dust flying around, a movement caught her eyes. She shielded her face for a moment, coughing and sputtering from the debris flying in the air. The Doctor was there, just beside her, and he clasped her fingers tightly in his. Then she heard it. There was a little girl screaming for her mother. A woman darted across the road and scooped her up. Clara called to her, motioning to the pair. “This way, this way!”
The mother followed them with her daughter held in her arms.
“Thank you,” said the woman gratefully, tears streaming down her face. “My husband was out of town and my daughter was at school. I had to find her.”
Clara nodded as they ran along the deserted street. All around them buildings were ablaze.
Darlene and Samuel were headed their way. They ran as fast as their feet would carry them, skidding to a halt by the pair and taking stock of the Doctor’s injuries. He looked terrible.
“We tried to get help,” exclaimed Sam. “You were upstairs when the fire began and it spread so quickly. Everything went up in flames, and no one was around. We were searching for anyone.”
Clara sighed in relief. They were okay. Thank God. “It’s alright,” she replied. “Everything is alright. You’re alive, and we’re both okay as well. Thank you.”
Darlene, long hair blowing the breeze, cast a glance Clara’s way as they ran. “Anything for the Doctor and his friends. Bless you both. I’m relieved you’re semi-okay.”
The wind whipped around them, only carrying the fire further. Eventually, they made it to safety. There was a group of citizens standing beside the pier, watching the carnage. The mother drew Clara into her arms for a desperate hug and murmured to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “I fear we would have perished had it not been for your help.”
The Doctor, looking paler by the second, remained at Clara’s side. He reached out to hold the railing by the pier. If there hadn’t been something to grasp, he wouldn’t have remained upright. He would have keeled right over, possibly fainting.
“My name is Grace,” the woman added, turning to the Doctor. She placed a hand on his face, cupping his cheek sweetly. “Thank you as well. You’re both angels. Bless you.”
It said quite a bit, didn’t it? That he didn’t reel away from the touch, complaining all the while. He allowed it, offering her a soft smile in response and nodding.
As Grace and her daughter left, Clara’s eyes came to rest on the Doctor. She reached out for his arm, hesitant now. “You look terrible, Doctor. Let’s get you to the TARDIS.”
The situation, however, changed their plans. Nearly thirty minutes later, after assisting other survivors, they stepped aboard the TARDIS. Clara reached out, unable to help herself now, and brushed his shoulder. “You aren’t fine,” she began. “Don’t even bother trying to say that you are. I know you far too well for any of that.”
He took a single step away from her, probably heading in the direction of the med bay and stumbled. She was there to catch him, tenderly placing his arm over her shoulder. Together, they made their way out of the Console Room, towards the hallway. She didn’t want him blacking out and falling to the floor. The TARDIS beeped and burbled at them, insistent now. She knew her pilot was injured.
Upon arriving at the medical bay, she stepped into the room with him at her side and helped him over to a bed. She wanted him to lie down but his back was probably a mess. He hissed in pain, eyebrows drawn together, settling down and instead having a seat on the bed.
“I’ll be fine,” he groused. “Go rest. I’m sure you need it. I’ll take care of this in a minute.”
She paused in front of him, hands hovering by his knees. “Yeah, that’s not happening,” she said firmly. “Tell me what to do and I’ll help you. I’m not leaving, Doctor.”
He sighed at her words, slowly unbuttoning his waistcoat. She reached out to help, delicate hands working quickly. He caught sight of the tremble in her fingers but said nothing. She worked away at his shirt after, revealing pale skin and the occasional charring. He was singed. Surely, his back was far worse.
Sliding the fabric away from his skin, which was sticky in places, proved more difficult. Her eyes filled with tears with the realization that he was worse off than he was playing at. She hadn’t even seen the back of him yet, but she knew it was going to be overwhelming. She felt it in her heart.
Once the clothing was gone, their eyes met. “Clara,” he said. She shushed him, shaking her head. “Don’t,” she interrupted, voice quivering. “Please.”
He directed her to a drawer to the left. Inside, it was filled with various ointments for ailments. There was one labeled “burns,” and she uncapped it. It smelled like honey and lavender, not as chemically or as fake as she was expecting. She washed her hands, sanitizing and making sure any germs were gone.
Making her way over to him, she stood before him and began applying the ointment to the wounds on his chest. He inhaled sharply, eyes falling shut.
As otherworldly as the entire experience was, she felt like she was running on pure fumes. It was the adrenaline, perhaps. It would wane later, but she needed it at the moment. She had to keep going. This certainly wasn’t how she imagined a situation like this would be. Seeing his bare skin for the first time, having him be vulnerable with her, et cetera. No, she imagined this entire fever dream would go rather differently.
“It isn’t safe,” he gasped, eyes closed. “The amount of smoke you inhaled. Please, stay the night. Let the TARDIS keep an eye on you. I’m certainly in no state to bring you home.”
She released a soft, inaudible sigh. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you.”
He didn’t want to be alone, but he wasn’t willing to say as much. He was still worried about her as well. Although she had no burns, her lungs ached. He was probably right.
Once Clara was finished, a thumb caressed his bare shoulder in a few quick swipes. “I’m… I’m done, Doctor. Let’s see to your back now, okay?”
He nodded, eyebrows creased with concern. “Sorry you have to do—”
She made a soft tsk noise in the back of her throat, hushing him again. “Why are you sorry? Do you think you’re above having any injuries? Or maybe it’s because you’re always the one who takes care of everyone else? Guess what, Doctor? You aren’t impervious. Maybe it’s long past due for someone to show you that they genuinely care about you.”
They shared a look then, a heavy emotion lingering in the room. His expression was one of shock. She cared, dammit. This face, the last one, any of the others, and his future ones. They were all him, and he mattered to her. He still didn’t quite see or understand it, did he? Oh, but she would make sure that he’d know it, that he would feel it deep within his bones. That he would understand the truth of it all.
Rounding the table, she was met with a ghastly sight. Sucking in a quick breath, she felt lightheaded and nauseous. “Doctor—”
He noticed the pause in her steps. “I just… I’ll be alright. It’s fine, Clara. It’s fine.”
“No, no, it’s really not. You wanted to help others to safety, but we should have—”
He sighed. “We should have what? Returned to the TARDIS as soon as possible? We had to make sure others were safe. I knew I’d be fine. I will be fine.”
Clara placed a hand on the bed to steady herself, forcing her eyes to land on his marred back. It was blackened and scorched, and there were open, weeping wounds from where the flames had actually made contact with his skin. She was lost for a moment, eyes filled with tears. He wouldn’t see her, not like this. He was staring vacantly at the wall, and there was nothing around for her reflection to be shown on. She let the tears fall, dampening her cheeks as she began applying salve to the areas that weren’t as damaged.
“Is it… Is it okay to put this balm on the open wounds, Doctor? Is it safe? Your back looks terrible. There’s more than just… some light burns.”
He nodded at that. “Of course. It’ll heal my skin overnight. It’ll also numb the area.”
The pained groan he made the moment her fingers, covered with the ointment, made contact on his skin was almost too much. It wrenched her heart in two. Reaching out to him with her free hand, she wanted only to comfort him. She brushed his hip, holding him, watching as his chin dipped and his eyes fell to watch. He did something then that thoroughly surprised her as well. His hand landed on top of hers, clinging on for dear life.
She worked as quickly as possible, smothering his poor back in the ointment. Then, as gently as could be, she helped him to shift and lie down on the bed. He came to rest on his stomach, cheek resting on a pillow. His arms crossed beneath the pillow and he made himself comfortable.
He watched as she wandered across the room, going through the motions of washing her hands, recapping the ointment, and setting it aside. Leaning up against the sink, she sniffled a bit. He wished he had the words to say. More than anything, he wished he was still capable of making her feel better. This version of him, older and more scarred this time around, was filled with barbs and spiky, thorny words, grumpy comments, and rude remarks.
“Everything’s alright now, Clara,” he explained, voice low. “I will be just fine.”
She turned towards him, eyes red and swollen from her tears. Wiping at her face, she motioned to him with a hand. “Yeah, sure. And I’m glad. Thrilled. Relieved. But right now you certainly aren’t fine.”
His face fell. “I don’t necessarily like admitting this, least of all to you, but I’ve spent quite a lot of time here in the med bay, you know. This is nothing new.”
Reaching into her pocket, she fetched a tissue and blew her nose. Their eyes met afterward. “That really doesn’t help, Doctor.”
Crossing the room to him, she fell into a nearby chair. Her legs were sore and her body was shattered from all the running. She brushed her face with a hand and tried to focus on his relaxed breathing. The smell of fire was still present and she wished it would finally, finally dissipate. It was on her clothes, her skin, her nails. It was all over him as well. It made her feel ill. She desperately needed a shower, but it would have to wait.
If the Doctor was a different man, he might have reached out for her hand. As it was, his eyes roamed her face in a rather unguarded way as he spoke. “I’m sorry I got the time period wrong, Clara.”
She shook her head, an arm coming to rest on the bed near his. “No,” she said gently. “No, please. Accidents happen. Sometimes we’re lazy about these things. You’ve got a big ol’ brain. You couldn’t possibly remember every event on Earth that’s ever taken place. You would explode from all the information. Believe me, I’m not upset with you.”
His face softened at that. “Okay, good.”
She laughed softly, though not unkindly. “You’re not an encyclopedia, as much as you play at being otherwise. Really, I mean it. Never apologize for that sort of thing.”
The Doctor smiled at that, at least. It was a win in her book. Then he mumbled, “Yeah, best you keep that a secret. I don’t actually know everything, but everyone else doesn’t need to know.”
“Oh, I will.” She huffed in amusement. “Your secrets are mine to keep. Don’t I always?”
“There’s a good lass.”
They fell silent after, simply regarding one another and wiling away the time with the idle conversation. She wanted to divert his attention from the pain he was no doubt feeling. Sometime later, he groaned as his arm began to fall asleep. Sighing, he shifted around to get more comfortable.
“You know, this is rather boring,” he teased, voice a mere croak. “Just sitting here — lying here, actually — and doing absolutely nothing. It’s mindless and boring.”
She laughed. “You should try it sometime. Properly, I mean. Not like this. It’s actually phenomenal. Us humans call it relaxing. You’re always busy, always saving a planet or… or working on something, fixing the TARDIS. This or that.”
His eyes danced with amusement, and she was thankful to be offering him a distraction. “Should I?”
Clara nodded. “You should, really. It’ll be like that night you came by and I was busy marking. I had the telly on, poured us some wine, and we just relaxed on the sofa. You even let me paint your nails later, as I recall, while you complained about the film that was on.”
He bristled with embarrassment. “I did, didn’t I? They were a deep blue. I never heard the end of it from Tasha Lem, come to think of it.”
Clara’s eyebrows rose at that. “You saw her again? Why did you have to visit the Church of the Papal Mainframe?”
Chuckling, the Doctor shook his head. “Oh, it was a ridiculous story, actually. One of their Clerics had been kidnapped and I was called in for help. I assisted them, was thanked for it, and then left. In the end, it was all very simple. Elementary, my dear Watson.”
Her chin came to rest on her arm and she watched him for a moment. “Pfft. Nothing’s ever simple with you.”
“No, I suppose not.” His eyes softened at that.
She took a chance then, reaching out to brush his long fingers with hers. He sucked in a quick breath, which she noticed, and opened his palm to her. Once the permission was given, she clasped his hand in hers and held on for dear life. Inexplicably, her eyes filled with tears again.
“I never, so long as I live, want to see you hurt like this again,” she said, voice shaky. “I’m sorry you were burned. I’m sorry you just… took the pain and said nothing while we helped survivors.”
His cheek came to rest on the pillow, eyes roaming her features. “It’s okay,” he admitted. “I would do it again, you know. To save lives. I’d do it all over again. I’m just glad you’re alright. I’m not sure how I would have managed, were our positions reversed.”
The soft confession had her expression changing. Shock, care, affection. She drew their fingers closer to her and pressed the back of his hand to her cheek, eyes falling shut. More importantly, he allowed it. There came no resistance from him, none at all.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she promised him. “Let’s not think about that, okay? It didn’t happen.”
The soft skin of his index finger stroked her cheek and she hummed, comforted by the touch. He didn’t do things like this anymore, which made it all the more poignant, and a comforted, soft, nameless emotion filled her chest. Her heart was so full, fit to burst.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said breathlessly. “I appreciate it, Nurse Oswald.”
She huffed a laugh, eyes opening to find him watching her with such an unguarded expression. It was the first time she had ever seen him so carefree, so open. Three very important words were caught in her throat, almost choking her now. However long she had wanted to blurt out a meaningful, ‘I love you,’ she didn’t know, but she kept silent. The effort was a valiant one. She didn’t want to frighten him.
“You never need to thank me for that,” replied Clara. “I’ll be your nurse anytime. Let’s try not to repeat this episode, though, okay?”
“Yeah, let’s not.” He closed his eyes, cheek smushed into the pillow. “Sounds good to me.”
She ached to reach out and brush a hand through his curls, if only to bring him the same comfort that he offered her, but something held her back. They weren’t there yet. Soon, maybe, but not yet. One day.
“Get some sleep,” Clara whispered. “Try to rest.”
He didn’t respond, but the way his breathing evened out told her that he was dozing off. He looked so peaceful like this. She remained at his side for a while, making sure he was alright, before disappearing for a very-much-needed shower. She returned after, pulling up a chair at his side and snoozing as well, a pillow placed behind her neck to alleviate some of the ache she felt.
They would be okay.