Chapter Fifteen

He's gonna die. Clara thought immediately after she shut his laptop closed, the face of her bewildered partner staring dubiously at back at her. I spilled out about my stalker and now he's gonna die. Clara felt nauseous, as if her entire body were to collapse with the pressure. "I-I should probably go," she said in a mere whisper as she picked up her bag, making a beeline to the door before John's significantly larger physique blocked her from doing so.

"Hold on, Clara." he said with a shaky, nervous laugh, hands planted firmly on her biceps. "You can't promise me an explanation and then just flee like that, I'm getting worried. You're not telling me anything."

"Good. Because I can't. Not anymore." Clara stated, trying not to let her voice waver between being strong and extremely terrified. John was clearly one of the only people left in this entire city that she cared about, and she couldn't risk putting him in a target zone more than he already was. "Please, just, let me go."

"I thought our relationship was built upon trust for one another. Speaking to one another." John said with a furrowed brow, licking his dry lips. "A-And if you can't do that for me, if you can't speak to me without having to choose your words wisely, then...then I don't think we have any business together." Clara couldn't help but cringe slightly, for his words seemed to instruct an impossible task. She didn't trust him with the secrets she had, yet, she didn't speak to him out of fear; all those things were supposed to keep him alive. And now Clara had told him, and she wasn't sure how long she could hold her breath.

"I-I can. I can do that." she replied, the words barely escaping her tongue because she knew she was lying to herself and to him.

"Then, Clara, what are you so afraid to tell me?" His eyes were similar to a hound's, pleading for information. Clara could assure herself that she was now shaking, for his grip only grew stronger on her arms. She tried to shake free from his grasp.

"I-I can't tell you." she said, shaking her head determinedly. "I'm sorry."

A huff of breath from him told her that he was tired of this, and while letting go of her, he silently moved away from the door. Head hanging low, Clara kept her eyes fixed onto her shoes and slowly made her way out, trying not to make eye contact with him, for she knew that what was between them was certainly at risk. But if it means keeping him alive, she thought to herself as she resisted the urge to run back and apologize. Then I'd lie to him a thousand times.

With the strong slam of the door, Clara was gone, John running his hands through his hair in frustration. How could he have let her go like that? Not fight for what he thought was a love that would stay unbreakable? He felt torn between treating his partner as an independent being, one who can make her own choices at her own time, or treating her as his own. Why couldn't he do both without fail?

Sitting down at his desk chair, he twiddled with his thumbs for some time, trying to determine how much he wanted to chase after her. To apologize.

She means the world to me.

Opening his laptop, he pulled open a computer program, a GPS tracking app. A map of New York City shone before him, paths of roads and avenues staring back at him. Right in front of the TARDIS building was a little red dot that kept moving farther away, farther away from him. Oh Clara. He thought to himself, staring at the little red dot of which she represented. What are you hiding from me?

John didn't know where to draw the line between being completely overprotective and insanely caring for Clara, and he certainly didn't know where installing a tracking device on her phone came into that picture. Especially the fact that he didn't tell Clara about it yet. But he was just so anxious and worried that one day, he was going to wake up, and she wouldn't be there. Have I gone mad? He would ask himself on a regular basis, for he felt compulsive over needing to keep Clara safe.

No matter what.

Her cell phone was ringing, and with an unsteady hand she answered it; she was still shaken up from her past conversation.

"Hello?"

"Yes, hello, is this Miss Clara Oswald?" It was a sweet, yet hurried voice on the other end.

"Yes, this is she."

"This is Albany Regional Hospital."

"...is everything alright?"

"I'm afraid this is about your father. You see, he just endured a car accident."

She froze in her tracks. "S-Sorry?"

"It was a collision with a taxicab. I'm sorry to say that he's in critical condition." the lady on the other end said rather despondently, as if she were sharing the pain with her. Clara grew furious at her tone, but swallowed it; the lady was just trying to help.

"I-I'll be right there, tell him that I'm coming!" she exclaimed, trying to get a taxi from the busy street. The lady merely agreed to do so, and while hanging up, Clara started to feel a massive headache pounding onto her skull. They weren't going after John, they were going after her father. He lived in upstate, hardly visited for holidays because of work, and to know that she would be seeing him for the first time in years in a critical condition made her feel terrible. She could get to Albany in a few hours, that would give her enough time to compose herself.

And as the taxi driver drove into the midst of the city to Penn Station, Clara could feel her heart beating rapidly, pounding in her ears. She was just hoping that she would get there in time.

Till then, she would just have to keep holding her breath.