In the end, it was a Dalek that did it. Again. A Dalek that he'd believed to be disabled - dead - deleted, for all he cared. He should never have turned his back on it. He should never have let Clara come between it and him.

He should have moved faster when he heard the damn thing whine.

It astonished him, how time seem to slow to a crawl and speed up exponentially, both at once. It took forever for Clara's delighted laughter to change into a scream of fear. It took far too long for him to spin her around and shove her away from him, out of the line of fire.

It took no time at all for the Dalek's final burst of power to channel itself out of the weapons system and into him.

Clara scrambled back to his side, falling to her knees and brushing his unruly hair back from his eyes.

He'd forgotten how much it hurt. Every nerve ending burned as if it had been dipped in acid. Even Clara's gentle touches hurt, but he'd never let her know that.

"Need to get back to the TARDIS," he ground out from between clenched teeth.

"Hush…just rest a bit," Clara countered, biting her lip as she tried to keep him in place without exerting any pressure.

"No time. Need to get inside. Need to keep you safe."

"Don't worry about me -" she began, with that forced cheerfulness people affected at the sickbed - or deathbed.

He forced himself to sit upright, and Clara reached out to help when it became obvious that he simply would not stay still. Here eyes were wide and shone with tears she was just barely holding in check.

"Clara. You are all that matters. It's too late for me."

"Don't say that!"

The Doctor bit back a groan, and reached out to touch her cheek, trying to smile. "It'll be fine, Clara, I promise. Let's just get inside, all right?"

She wrapped her arms around his waist and struggled to get them both on their feet. He staggered upright, trying to take as much of his own weight as he could. It wasn't as much as he would have liked, and he leaned heavily on the arm wrapped around Clara's slender shoulders.

The Doctor could no longer hold back his groans of pain as they made their way step by agonizing step back to the TARDIS. Fortunately, the ship sensed his distress and threw open both doors as they approached.

"Thanks, Old Girl," Clara whispered as they entered.

The ship emitted a sympathetic chirp. She knew what was coming.

Clara steered the Doctor towards one of the seats that ringed the console. "Here…sit."

"No. Have to send us into the vortex." He hissed, scrooging his eyes shut against the pain.

"Tell me what to do," Clara said, pressing him back into the seat.

They both turned, startled, as switches and levers began operating themselves and the TARDIS shuddered off into space.

"That's two I owe you," Clara muttered, glancing up at the time rotor. She looked back to the Doctor. "Now, let's get you sorted."

"Too late, I'm afraid," he said holding up his hand to show swirls of tell-tale golden light.

"No!" she protested, tears beginning to leak from her eyes. "There must be something…"

"There isn't," he replied patiently, desperately trying to contain his own pain so he could sooth hers. He cradled her face in shaking palms. "You've seen this before, Clara. It's going to be all right."

"But it won't be you," she said brokenly, hating herself for her weakness.

"Yes, it will. I'll look different, but it'll still be me. In all the ways that matter, it will always be me. You know that, better than anyone. You've seen all of me."

"But this you…" she laid her hands against his hearts, "this you is the one who finally saw me."

"And none of me will ever forget you. My impossible girl." The whorls of gold beneath his skin were becoming more prominent now. He pulled her in close and kissed her forehead one last time. "Now go. This next bit gets messy. Go! I need you safe."

She scrambled back, huddling against the base of the console with an arm thrown up over her face as the Doctor's familiar form erupted into blinding light. It lasted only moments, but it seemed like forever to Clara until the explosive display subsided, leaving the control room silent, except for the sound of her choked back sobs.

"Oh, do stop sniveling!" an irritable voice exclaimed.

Clara lowered her arm to see a new man, one with silver hair and an older, angular face, wearing her Doctor's Christmas finery.

"I never could bear to see a pretty girl cry," he continued in a more gentle tone. "Probably my greatest weakness."

"Or maybe your greatest strength," Clara suggested, recalling a certain day on Gallifrey, when her tears had stopped him from making a dreadful mistake.

"Perhaps," he allowed, head tilted to one side as he sorted through centuries of memories.

He stood on shaky legs, and Clara bounded to her feet to steady him.

"Not quite the Christmas I promised you."

"No, I don't believe there was any mention of Cybermen or Trenzalore, or Daleks in your original proposal. I'm sorry," Clara offered, biting her lip.

"Whatever for? You didn't shoot me. It was a damned infernal Dalek."

"You pushed me out of the way. If I hadn't been there -"

"And how many times would I not be here if it wasn't for you? I'd say it was my turn."

"So…you remember me, then?"

He smiled then, and suddenly Clara saw her Doctor there, in his eyes.

"Of course I do! I've regenerated, not gone senile, you know." He gently laid the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "My impossible girl."

"My Doctor," Clara replied, with that beautiful smile that tugged at his hearts.

"Am I still?" Once before, he'd managed to stave off regeneration, and hold on to a familiar face. He'd done that for Rose. He wished that he'd been able to do that again, for Clara, but there'd been no time, no suitable bio-matching receptacle…no bloody time. Some things were beyond even his considerable powers.

And then he was startled out of his reverie as Clara stretched up on her toes to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah. You are still my Doctor."