A/N: I know it has been eons since I updated, but as lame as this sounds, I actually had to take a break from DW for a while. I was pretty broken up over Matt Smith leaving. In the months leading up to Xmas, I couldn't write because it reminded that he was leaving. After the Regeneration episode- through which I sobbed like my a blubbering, psychotic fool, clutching my Sonic replica, wearing all the Who gear and jewelry I owned, snot leaking and babbling like a mad woman... and into this mess my husband came home from work- I just needed time.

I am unhealthily obsessed with this show. I am mentally imbalanced. These are facts. But, they are also the reason I took a hiatus. I apologize. But, when you watch the equivalent of your soul mate die in front of you, and you're equal parts detached from reality and absolutely pathetic, you mourn. So, as penance, here is an update.

On a brighter note, I am very pleased that the 50th Special and the Regeneration episodes sync up quite well with my story. I was worried the plot would throw a spanner in my story, and yet, it still kind of works.

So... if you're still with me at this point, thanks.

Then again, what constituted a bedroom to the Doctor was different than most people. He was intensely private about the contents of his bedroom, which was the reason only River had ever been let inside his bedroom. And, by "let" he meant she had broken in, and the TARDIS had done little to intervene the actions of her favorite daughter. Though it had taken time for the awkward Doctor to accept the fact he could not avoid falling for the dangerous lost child of the TARDIS, she became the only person since his first wife to share his bedroom.

The Doctor was very sensitive about his room because that is where he kept Gallifrey.

Not literally of course, but this was the only room in the TARDIS that had never been changed from the day she had stolen her Time Lord.

A Time Lord with unrestricted access to the Time Vortex, to all of time and space… even he would get home sick from time to time. Now more than ever when there was no home left to return too. The Doctor's bedroom was an exact replica of his bedroom on Gallifrey—a large round room with tall, arching windows that looked out onto the red horizon trimmed with silver leafed forests and red stone mountains, the Citadel perched distantly in the middle of it all. This was all that remained of Gallifrey, which is why the Doctor slept so little and why the Old Girl refused to ever change it.

Laying Clara on the bed, he knew that there was only way to solve this mystery of her night terrors and sleepwalking, and she was not going to like it.

"Listen, Clara," he began his preemptive apology, "Whatever haunts you, I can't protect you from anymore. I need to see what is going on inside that brain of yours. I really don't have another option at this point, and I swear not to meddle anywhere I don't need to be," he assured, "…Unless I find something really interesting… or hilariously embarrassing. But, I promise only to laugh on the inside."

Pressing his palms gingerly to her temples, the Doctor felt the immediate electric sensation of the psychic connection. Mentally digging around in Clara's brain was… educational to say the least. He tried to ignore what he gleaned accidently, residual thoughts and emotions mostly. The way she had catalogued his wide, goofy smile and the way it set off his green eyes glistening with wonder. The thrill of wild abandon she felt when he took her hand, dragging her away for dear life. The desire she had to feel his lips pressed against hers rather than her cheek or her forehead, not that she was opposed to having them pressed anywhere on her skin. The Doctor blushed when he found the images his kisses materialized.

This was dangerous… so very, very dangerous… and wonderful. It made his hearts jolt in a pleasing way. Until, he remember he has expressly forbidden heart jolting and non-platonic kisses and… that was about the moment he caught himself tracing his fingertips along the curves of her face.

Promises, Doctor. He chastised himself. Are you still familiar with how they work? It means saying no, even when it hurts. Even when it feels like it just might kill you.

Refocusing his efforts, he finally identified what was playing merry hob with her mind. Jumping back, breaking the connection at the surprise of what he had discovered, and his eyes snapped open.

"Bloody hell, River, "he sighed as his eyes fell closed again in frustration, "Why do I let you out?"

The psychic link River had created with Clara remained open. As a result, all of River's memories had imprinted on Clara when she had faded out, like a failsafe download. Every one of River's memories with the Doctor had been stored inside Clara's head. She was experiencing moments she had never lived. Seeing moments of the future that were part of River's past. But, that was the good news.

If the link was open now it meant that it had remained open during her escapade through his timeline, through all of time and space. The echo Claras at every point in time were still connected. Every moment she had experienced—every pain, every emotion, every death—she was experiencing them concurrently, perpetually. A permanent temporal state of suffering she was unable to escape. When she was awake, her subconscious could repress it, but when she slept her subconscious was unimpeded, leaving her vulnerable to the onslaught of unobstructed agony of reliving every death she had ever experienced

Then, there was the thing that had sent her over the edge tonight—a nightmare never meant for his eyes. A remnants of River's memories, pieced together to make sense to Clara's mind. A moment not too distant from the present. The moment every one of his incarnations silently dreaded.

He was going to regenerate soon.

A long, lean shadow crossed her body as her eyes drew towards red light in her periphery. Hand braced against the glass, the backlit form of the Doctor eclipsed the sun, and Clara sat up into his shadow. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, he had abandoned his jacket over the back of a chair and loosened his bow-tie, the ends dangling across the front of his vest.

"I was wrong, earlier…" she conceded.

His only response was to move his hands behind his back, but his gaze never broke from the twin suns of his beloved home.

Kicking her legs over the edge of the bed, still too short to quite reach the ground leaving them to dangle just a bit, "… this is the part where we talk about Trenzalore."

"Trenzalore has come and gone, Clara," he finally spoke, "but, your pain remains."

"It's nothing I can't handle, Doctor, honestly—", she huffed, rolling her eyes.

"You threw yourself into the vacuum of space," spinning to finally face her, his voice broke on the word threw in that adorable way of his.

"What?!" she gasped expressing a little more surprise that she wanted to admit.

"You've been sleep walking the ship for weeks," he admitted, "The psychic link between River and you is still open. It's been causing your night terrors."

"Is that why you went cavorting through my brain?" she asked, crossing her arms in exasperation, "So much for not meddling."

"Rule One," he reminded her bitterly, "But, waiting for you to wake has given me some time to think—"

"That's dangerous," she interrupted, that mischievous smirk brightening her eyes.

"Oi! Shut up!" he pointed menacingly, but she just smiled causing him to forget his words, which were… were… Damn it, brain! We discussed this! … "Now that you're awake, I think I can close it. I couldn't risk it while you slept, and rick the chance of trapping your conscious inside while you slept.

"And, that will make the sleepwalking and nightmares stop?

"Yes."

"Promise…"

"No that was a clever lie to put you at ease…" he sighed as he sat next to her on the edge of the bed.

"I meant… promise that all you're going to do is close the link," her eyes went wide with fear, sadness hitching her voice, "That you aren't just going to make me forget."

"River's memories are part of your long term memory now. All I can do is the close the connection with your echoes-" he took her hand in his hoping it reassured her.

She squeezed his hand in both of hers, the expression on her face stern, tears rimming her eyes. He was clearly misinterpreting her meaning.

"Promise you're not going to wipe my mind and send me away. Not like Donna, please."

The color in the Doctor's face blanched at the name. Clara would not have known about Donna. That would be River's doing.

"Not those times— not one line. Don't you dare!"

His stomach dropped when River's words came out of her mouth for the second time.

"And, don't Rule Number One me when you make it."

He took a hard swallow, feeling the parchedness of his tongue, "Cross my hearts."