Waking up the next morning as a cold blue dawn made itself known behind the curtains, the Doctor was gripped by two utterly opposite feelings. Joy like he had never quite experienced before for finding himself next to Clara, and fear that it would all go away in a blink of an eye. Perhaps that was what caring for someone so much felt like. Perhaps he'd navigate the rest of his life in limbo. But when she opened her eyes, the Doctor started to wonder. Surely fear wouldn't survive being stared down by such beauty. Fear didn't stand a chance.

"How did you sleep?" she whispered, her hand sliding over his chest.

"Great," he lied, hopefully with conviction.

In truth, he'd woken up several times during the night to make sure she was still there. Stupid, he knew – she was in her own bed in her own home, she probably wouldn't go anywhere. But it had been impossible to ignore the small voice at the back of his head reminding him that he couldn't take her for granted. Each time his eyes opened, he had reached out for her, careful not to wake her in the process. Made sure that her back was against his chest. Made sure that she could feel him next to her in a vain attempt to persuade her not to leave him.

She smiled then. And her smile tore through almost all his misgivings. There was no mistaking that smile. She looked like the memory he'd never really tried to forget. Yet she wasn't a memory. She was real. Warm under his fingertips and lips. Clara answered his kiss with one of hers and for a moment he almost forgot about his unease. Deep down though, the Doctor knew there was no point going forward if he wasn't absolutely sure.

"Will you hate me now?" he asked before he lost himself in her touch.

Clara's small hands were on his neck, her thumbs over his pulse point. His heart was beating so fast that it was impossible not to notice. She raised her eyebrows in question, warm brown plunging into blue.

"You said that if we stayed together, you might start hating me," the Doctor added, remembering her confession word for word.

Her hands travelled to his chin, his temples, his hair, then back to framing his face.

"I don't hate you. I could never hate you," she replied. "I'd rather have some of you than none of you. I tried and it doesn't work."

"What about all of me?"

"All of you?"

"Yes."

"Scary thought," she quipped, and he couldn't help but grin despite the serious turn their conversation had taken because of him.

"You haven't let me have all of you," she pointed out correctly.

"I know, and that was a mistake," the Doctor said, closing his eyes.

"Mmh, maybe not," Clara mused, her fingers lightly resting over his frowning brow. "Maybe you just needed to play hard to get."

"You don't believe that," he objected.

"I believe that you consciously prevented me from getting too close." Her tone was sobering, yet her touch light and soothing.

The Doctor opened his eyes to find her staring at him. Not in anger or sadness. Not in reproach or disappointment. He was almost certain he knew the feeling behind her gaze – he'd seen it before – but it was best not to acknowledge it at the moment.

"What about now?" he asked.

"You tell me."

"I'm not holding anything back. I can't. I won't," he vowed.

"Prove it."

The Doctor kissed her, then. Slowly at first. His lips journeying from her lips, to her cheeks, to her neck. Never stopping for long. Her shoulders, her arms, her chest. Never where she wanted him the most. Her belly, her thighs, her knees. Pouring all his adoration and his love. Before he could reach her feet, Clara pushed herself up on the bed and grabbed his hair.

"Alright, you idiot, I get it," she groaned, "now get back up there."

He smiled and obliged, his lips finding hers easily once more, settling his weight above her, with his forearms on either side of her face. Being this close to her had never been so effortless or felt so natural. There was no going back from this, he realised. It was both the first time and the last time he would ever make love to her. The last time as the man he used to be before she came into his life. The first time as the man he wanted to become for her. The man she trusted him to become.

If there were tears in his eyes at the end, it wasn't because he was mourning his former self. It was because he had never expected he'd be able to change. And that the transformation would feel so seamless.

They did go on their holiday, eventually. With next to no effort, the Doctor managed to clear two weeks at the end of January. He wouldn't say that Jack and his staff actively pushed him out of his own practice, but it was close. When the Doctor asked her where she wanted to go, Clara answered that she longed for some sun. As it turned out, a warm place in January wasn't that hard to come by. Or that far, even.

In four hours, they flew from London to Tenerife. Minimum of twenty degrees, quiet beaches and breath-taking sceneries. So sunny that Clara was able to test her theory that the Doctor's supposedly "untanable" blue skin could actually bronze. When they grew tired of the beach, they went to Teide National Park, Anaga, and Teno. But mostly, they did nothing. The big difference was that they did nothing together. The holiday was about learning and relearning who they were, away from the practice and their responsibilities. He itched to call work on the first day, but one look at Clara in her sundress and he found himself hard-pressed to remember why they hadn't done something similar sooner. For someone who hadn't taken more than a couple of days off in the last fifteen years, the Doctor certainly got used to the feeling fast, which Clara was quick to point out when he would refuse to leave the bed before ten.

They flew home on a Sunday afternoon. Clara was tired by the journey and only wanted to rest until she had to work the next day, but she could see that the Doctor had other ideas, and she didn't have the heart to dissuade him.

"Go check on your precious clinic, it's alright," she urged, thinking that she could definitely do with a nap before she started sorting out the laundry – and it would be far easier to rest without the Doctor hanging around.

"You sure?" he asked, managing – just – not to bounce off the walls. Travelling truly caused opposite reactions in them.

"Yes," she pressed, capitulating and lying down on the sofa, her suitcase abandoned. "But if Mycroft isn't here by noon tomorrow, I'm fetching him myself," she added.

Mycroft and Tardis had stayed at the practice for the last two weeks. The safest place for them, where they had probably been spoiled rotten by the staff.

"I'll be back before that," he promised.

Clara nodded, watching him leave. It was nice to see him genuinely excited about going to work – he wasn't doing it out of misplaced obligation, he wanted to go.

"Leave your bag here, it's easier," she said when she saw him hesitate to take it.

Before he opened the door, he turned back.

"Just let me nap in peace already," she mocked.

The Doctor smiled and walked towards her to lean over the back of the couch.

"Do you think you could help me, with my house?"

"Help you with what?"

"Making it a bit homelier. A bit more like your place, say."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I was thinking of clearing up some old stuff. Maybe limit my research material and veterinary journals to one room and move the rest to my office at the practice or in storage."

"Big decision," Clara realised.

"I want to make it nicer to live in. It's got potential, I think, with your help."

"It does," she agreed simply.

He nodded, satisfied, kissed her forehead and left.

Clara smiled when the door closed. He probably thought he was being subtle – but the Doctor didn't do subtle. He was, and always would be, blindingly obvious. That would be one less subject of conversation she would have to broach herself, she thought. Good. His house was three times the size of hers and had a much bigger garden. Yet they spent all their time at her place. True, his was a bit cluttered and needed a few improvements – number one being a bathtub – but living together was the next logical step. He had practically moved in already and he spent an inordinate length of time for a man in her small bathroom. Having two would be ideal. And she'd already started fantasising about what she could do with his enormous kitchen. All in all, it would make their lives easier. They'd have enough room for both their dogs, and enough space to brood in peace when needed – which was bound to happen.

Regarding what to do with her house, she already had an idea. Even if she would live across the street, she realised it would actually be good to separate her living place from her working place. Through Amy, she had met a couple of freelance journalists who were looking for a co-working space in the region. Her home could easily be turned into such a place. And it would give her time to figure out if she wanted to sell it.

Clara didn't expect him to show up until the next day, and indeed he even sent her a text during the evening to apologise for not being able to make it. That was new, but not unwelcome. She went to bed thinking that she'd probably have to drive to the practice herself to get Mycroft back, and deep down she didn't really mind. The Doctor was bound to have quite a lot on his plate at work, and she'd be able to enlist Jack's help in making sure his boss wasn't overdoing it once more.

Picture her surprise when she was woken up the next morning by enthusiastic licks.

"Mycroft!" she marvelled, still half asleep, as her dog made sure that her face was covered in slobber.

Clara smiled and hugged her fury friend. He'd jumped on the bed and she decided not to give him hell about it – she'd missed him too much.

"I didn't expect to see you so early," she said, seeing the Doctor in the background with Tardis in his arms. He simply smiled in answer.

"Did you sleep at all?" Clara asked.

"Yeah, for a few hours, I'm good."

Not waking up next to her that morning had felt weird. "Weird" as in he certainly didn't want to experience it too often moving forward.

"Ready to go to the beach? It's almost seven."

Clara grumbled, not wanting to admit that she had also got used to late mornings, these past two weeks.

"I made coffee," he offered, knowing that would help his case.

"Give me ten minutes, and a cup of coffee" she muttered, getting up. "Make that two," she added, Mycroft following her out.

Early February and the beach was once more entirely theirs and no longer a hazard for the dogs to be taken off lead – the grey seal pups had taken to the sea. Mycroft and Tardis definitely approved, and they observed them run to the water, bundled up in their coats. Tenerife it wasn't.

"When do you have to get back to the practice?" Clara asked, planning the day ahead in her mind.

"Not until this afternoon," the Doctor replied, to her surprise. "What about you, how's your day looking?"

"I've accepted a couple of small translation projects," Clara answered quickly. "How come you only have to go back this afternoon?" she pressed.

"I'm experimenting with a new schedule," he explained. "I'll consult every other day instead of every day so that I can be in theatre earlier. Apart from emergencies, this means I should stop having to operate in the evenings. It was getting a bit taxing on the staff."

And on you, Clara added to herself.

"And I need to sort out my house, I don't want to delay this."

"I want a bathtub in the upstairs bathroom and a counter in the kitchen," she announced, deciding there was no point pretending why he wanted to make changes at his place.

The Doctor gave her a slow smile, shuffling his feet.

"Anything you want," he replied in a small voice, quite shy all of a sudden.

"Careful what you're offering," Clara quipped half-jokingly.

"I know what I'm doing."

She nodded, seeing the resolution on his face.

"You should start with that garage of yours, it's a mess. I'm sure you could put some of the stuff you want to keep there, once it's a bit cleared up."

She had a point, and he refrained from groaning. The amount of junk he'd accumulated over the years was just silly.

"But don't get rid of the motorcycle, yeah? I want to ride it with you one day, when the weather's better," she announced.

He did a double take. It turned out she could still surprise him. That wasn't something he'd expected from her, but there you go.

"Anything you want," he repeated, grinning this time.

They had now reached the water's edge, their dogs running in circles around each other, not caring how cold it was.

"How do you see yourself in a few years?" Clara finally had the courage to ask. In a way, this was the ultimate test.

He shrugged, but didn't look to put off or taken aback by her question.

"Growing old. Well, older," he smirked, "with you. A few dogs. Maybe more."

"More dogs?" she teased, even though she knew exactly what he meant.

He blushed and looked at her. Clara smiled serenely in answer.

"What about you?" the Doctor queried in turn.

Before she could answer, Mycroft and Tardis had bounded towards them, and proceeded to shake the water off their fur right in front of them. They were drenched in seconds and the Doctor laughed heartily whilst Clara groaned. The happiness shining on his face gave her pause.

"Well, one thing for sure would be to see that smile more often," she declared, coming closer. "The one that puts dips in your cheeks right there," Clara added, her hands showing what she meant. "It makes you look about five."

The Doctor hugged her close, being at a loss for words and wishing to hide his face.

"I found out something at the practice last night," he announced after he'd released her.

"What?"

"I was looking at old charts from a dog I operated on a while ago. And when I checked the date I remembered I was coming out of his surgery the morning I met you on the beach. On a Sunday exactly a year ago."

"So that's why you wanted to come here this morning…" Clara understood.

He nodded, somewhat sheepish.

"Who knew you were such a romantic?" she marvelled, hooking her arm around his to make the journey back and to cut his grumblings regarding her comment short.

Once they reached the end of the beach, they called their dogs, who came without too much complaint. The sun has risen above the clouds, making Clara pensive.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Growing up in Blackpool, we got used to watching the sun set. When my mum got sick, near the end, she asked for some sunrises instead. So we came to Norfolk not far from here for a holiday. She died a couple of months later, but it's still a great memory. She was so happy, here. And until today, I'd never really understood what she meant about sunrises. But now I think I get it."

She sighed and clipped Mycroft back on his leash. There was no sadness in her despite what she'd just shared, he could tell.

"Let's go home?" he suggested, offering her his arm once more.

"Yes," she agreed, gripping his elbow gently, "let's go home."

A/N: We've finally reached the end - thank you for sharing this journey with me. Your comments and encouragements have been lovely, proving that despite my apprehension, this little story had its place.