A/N: The video is by Amelia Pondx. Enjoy!!

Clara woke in the TARDIS, on her back in a bed, confused. She slowly sat up, but winced as pressure was put on her bound arms. So she lay back down, trying to remember what had happened.

Then it came back. The deaths, the pain of the past weeks, the gun in her hand, passing out right after The Doctor stopped her from killing herself.

Why had he stopped her? How could he? He had no idea what she was going through. She slipped out of the bed, ignoring the pain in her arms.

Wandering down the corridor of the TARDIS aimlessly, she silently asked The Old Girl to show her a way to end her life. She knew the Time Machine hated her, and she counted on that fact now.

Pushing open a door, Clara saw shelves filled with small bottles, each marked with a label. Taking one down, she read the tiny handprinted letters. 'Hemlock'.

Clara gently stroked the walls sending a silent thank you. The TARDIS whirred softly in reply, sounding almost sad.

                                              ***

The Doctor cursed and ran from the room, sprinting down the corridor. Where had she gone? He knew wherever she was he needed to find her, and FAST. Before she did something stupid. He mentally sent a plea to the TARDIS, asking her to lead him to Clara. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his Impossible Girl rounding the next turn, but when he turned that way she wasn't there. He didn't stop, but kept running, frantically calling her name. He would get a brief glimpse of her and then the next minute she'd be gone. He never stopped running, constantly trying to catch up with her, begging the TARDIS to let him find her.

Then, at the end of an especially long corridor, he saw her entering a room off the main corridor. He cursed, recognizing the door. He hadn't been there in a long time, and had never wished to.

Throwing open the door, he found Clara standing, one hand resting against the wall, the other holding a small uncorked bottle. Seeing him enter, she quickly raised it to her lips.

But he was too fast. Lunging across the room to her, he threw out his arm and knocked the bottle out of her hand. It fell, shattering on the wooden floor, glass pieces lying in a quickly spreading pool of poison.

Clara let out a cry of frustration and grabbed for another bottle, but The Doctor pinned her against the shelves.

"Clara no." He tried to be gentle because of her arms, but she still winced. Tears poured down her face as she struggled against his restraining grip, surprisingly strong for her size.

"Let me go!"

"So you can poison yourself? No."

Clara struggled harder. Securing a firm hold on her with one arm, he reached behind her and grabbed one of the bottles off the shelf. With some trouble he managed to open the bottle and, having nothing else to use, poured the contents over the sleeve of his opposite arm.

Clara, realizing what he was about to do, began to struggle with incredible ferocity, scratching him with her nails while trying to disengage his hold. Wincing, The Doctor managed to put the bottle down and hold her steady while pressing his sleeve over his mouth and nose. Clara quickly held her breath but only succeeded in preventing what fumes had already entered her lungs from escaping. In only a few seconds she fell limp in The Doctor's arms, her eyes closed.

Sighing with relief, he gently slipped her up into his arms, carrying her back to the bedroom and lying her on the bed. He secured her wrists and ankles to the bed frame with fabric cuffs, so she couldn't escape again, and then left to change into clean clothes.

When he came back Clara was still asleep, so he sat back down by her bedside, hands clasps, eyes on the ground. After only a few minutes he was up again, pacing. The only sounds the quiet click of his shoes on the floor, and Clara's gentle breathing.

Finally he heard her stir slightly, and he was immediately by her side. She started to sit up, a look of confusion on her face, but was held down by the restraints. She looked down at them, puzzled, then up at the Doctor.

"Doctor? Why am I cuffed to a bed?"

"Because-" He took a deep breath, "Because I can't risk you hurting yourself again."

Her eyes narrowed as she remembered what had happened. The Doctor's heart clenched and he silently cursed himself. For one short period of time she had been innocent and at peace, but then he had ruined it.

She struggled against the bonds, "Get these off me!"

A heavy weight came to rest on the Doctor's heart. He sat down on the chair next to her thrashing body, "You'll just try to kill yourself again."

Tears gathered in his eyes as he watched her. She let out a strangled scream. Tears streaked down her sweat coated face. "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LET ME DIE!?"

The Doctor lowered his face into his hands, tears overflowing and pouring down his own cheeks. He let out a quiet sob that was lost in the sound of her screams.

After a few minutes, her voice gave out and she fell back on the bed, her face drenched in tears. The Doctor was trembling as he sat by her side, his heart ripped to sheds by her pain.

After a moment listening to her sobs, he scooted his chair closer to the bed. Ignoring the tears that coursed ceaselessly down his face, he reached out and stroked her damp hair away from her sweaty forehead. Slowly, as he continued to stroke her hair back, her sobs began to cease. Though the tears continued, they were silent. Taking a shaky breath, she closed her eyes.

Within moments she was asleep. The Doctor continued his caresses for a few minutes while she slept. Then his hands stilled on her hair. He gazed at her face, watching her breathe for a moment before pressing a kiss to her forehead and leaving the room.

He made his way to the console room, the quiet familiarity a refuge from the pain that had pierced his heart. For a moment he fiddled with the controls, but he knew he couldn't move the TARDIS, for fearing disturbing Clara. She needed rest.

Eventually he came to a standstill, resting his weight on his hands which were firmly planted on the console, head lowered between them.

"Why'd you do it, Old Girl?" He caressed the ship lightly with his thumb, "Why'd you help her?"

The TARDIS whirred softly, almost sadly. He sighed and straightened, quietly leaving the room.

He headed to the kitchen, to heat more broth, this time two bowls worth. He ate his in silence before heading back down the corridors with Clara's.

When he reached the room, Clara was awake, her eyes dull as she gazed silently up at him. A knife of pain stabbed him as he saw her like that, and he came over to her. Brushing his hand lightly over her forehead, he checked her temperature. She was burning hot.

The Doctor rounded the bed and, knowing she was too tired to make any aggressive movements, undid the restraining straps. He helped her sit up and then, sitting on the edge of the bed, hand fed her.

After only a few mouthful she pushed the spoon he raised to her mouth away.

"I'm not hungry." She whispered, her voice rough and quiet from crying.

"Clara, you have to eat." He raised the spoon to her lips again but she turned her head away.

"I can't."

"Please," he begged, "You're starving."

"I don't care." She said brazenly, "I hope I starve to death."

The Doctor felt a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth as she showed a brief glimpse of her normal, stubborn attitude. Then he sobered, seeing the pain in her eyes. Setting the bowl down, he took her face in his hands. Stroking his thumb over her cheek, he sighed. "Clara..."

She closed her eyes at his touch, "Doctor, I'm just not hungry."

"This isn't for you. It's for me. I don't want to see you starve until you're just a stick. I want to feel like I'm doing a good job of taking care of you."

Clara opened her eyes, "Alright, but only for your conscience."

"Deal."

He got her to finish the rest of the bowl before lying back down. Her eyes began to slowly flutter shut. He sighed quietly, she seemed to do nothing but sleep.

As if reading her mind, Clara opened her eyes and spoke. "I'm sorry I've been sleeping so much, Doctor. It's just I haven't been able to in days."

The Doctor nodded understanding, and covered her with a blanket before leaving, closing the door behind him.

An hour later, when he returned to check on her, she was feverishly muttering in her sleep, her forehead blistering hot. She was thrashing, the blanket pushed down to the end of the bed.

He fetched a cold, wet cloth and glass of water. Laying the cloth on her forehead, he tried to coax her to take a drink of water. But after the first she pushed him away. He didn't try again, just watched helplessly as she tossed and turned. Every time the cloth on her brow warmed, which was often, he would replace it with a cool one.

After what seemed like hours, her fever finally went down and she settled into a deeper sleep. The Doctor, exhausted himself, fell into a fitful sleep, sitting by her side.

When he woke, she was still asleep. He got up and again went to the kitchen. Not hungry himself, he made her more broth. He then woke her. She groaned when she saw the food, but he managed to get some into her.

Afterwards, she slept again. He roamed the TARDIS' corridors. After hours of worrying, he returned to the room. Clara's temperature had significantly risen, her forehead was drenched in sweat, but she was shivering, huddled into herself.

He panicked, unsure whether to put a cold cloth on her forehead or cover her with a warm blanket. In the end he did both. She immediately clutched the blanket against herself. Seeing her discomfort, The Doctor got her another, warmer cover. He tucked her under it, concern etched into his every action. The blankets seemed to help a little, her shivers lessening as she curled up beneath them.

The temperature seemed to have risen and The Doctor realized the TARDIS had turned it up. He sent her a silent 'thank you' and sat by Clara's side, vowing not to move from that spot except to help Clara.

She slept in fits, waking dazed and confused. The Doctor did his best to help her, keeping her warm and trying to feed her in her short spells of consciousness.

He barely slept, instead watching over Clara as she did, monitoring her temperature and replacing the cloths on her forehead with cooler ones. Restless festered inside him, but he pushed it down, knowing Clara to be more important.

After seemingly endless days of too much time to think and worry, Clara broke into a intensified sweat, throwing off her blankets. Her face was flushed and burning hot. She thrashed and cried out from the night terrors that haunted her.

The Doctor made sure to keep cool cloths on her face at all times.  These seemed to cool her and she would lie still when he first applied them, but after a bit they'd warm and the night terrors would return.

During one calm spell The Doctor finally drifted off to sleep, sitting by her bedside, exhausted by the stress of taking care of her day and night.

When he woke after a few hours of dreamless sleep, Clara's fever had gone down significantly.

She opened her eyes when she heard him shifting on his chair.

"Doctor, I'm hungry." She whispered, throat still hoarse.

The Doctor jumped to his feet immediately, "What would you like me to make you?"

"Anything."

"Right, be back in a sec!" He bounded off to the kitchen, relieved beyond comprehension.

He quickly fixed a bowl of oatmeal with cream. Not knowing what else she liked in it, he settled for brown sugar and raisins.

He returned to the room as fast as his long legs would carry him. Much to his surprise, Clara was already sitting up.

She wolfed down the food he set before her, scraping the bowl clean. Seeing the was she looked longingly at her empty bowl, he jumped up to get her more, but she stopped him. "No, if I eat too much at first I'll get a stomach ache."

The Doctor sat down again dejectedly. Sensing his need for something to do, Clara smiled, "But you can get me a glass of water."

Grinning, The Doctor was on his feet again instantly.