A/N: Right, so here's the second part I promised (mostly because I was tired when I started this fic, so I decided to split it into two parts. Yes, it's lazy. I know). Thank you so much for the reviews and reblogs of this! I was overwhelmed by how many people seemed to like this fic.

Clara's legs are shaky, and her knee is throbbing, but she refuses to let the Doctor carry her. He's trying to keep a calm façade up, but his eyes are awash with emotions. Clara doesn't want to make him feel any worse.

She wants to slap herself when he reaches out to place a hand on her waist, guiding her into the medical bay, and she shies away. A mumbled, "Sorry," is all she can managed, face flushing. She hates that she let that… that creep near her, that he touched her. She feels disgusting, and has the sudden desire to boil every inch of her skin.

The Doctor is as tense as her. "Just sit there." He orders, motioning towards a cot in the corner of the room. He bustles about, gathering up bandages and other things before pulling a stool over and sitting so he's facing her.

The muscles in his jaw are strained, making it clear that what he's about to say pains him. "Clara," he begins, placing a tentative hand on the edge of the cot, "I need to know how… how far he went."

"I don't… what do you mean?" Clara asks. She knows, deep inside, what he means, but she doesn't want to answer.

"I'm so sorry I have to ask, I really am." The Doctor rumples his hair, grimacing. "Clara, did he rape you?"

"Oh! Oh. No, he didn't."

He searches her face for a minute before settling back, seemingly satisfied with whatever answer her found there. "What happened?"

"We were just talking." Clara recalls how friendly the soldier had been right until she rejected him. "He hit on me, so I told him to back off. That's when he… he, um, he slammed me into the wall."

The Doctor's hands are bunched up tightly at his sides, and it's clear he's working very hard not to get up and find that soldier. "You weren't against a wall when I found you."

"I kicked him." Clara wonders if the small spark of pride in the Doctor's eyes is imagined or not. "He'd fallen over, so when I tried to run away he grabbed my leg and I fell over. I don't… I don't remember what else happened, just that he was on top of me and I couldn't hit him or kick him or—"

"Hey, hey, it's alright." the Doctor interrupts, and Clara realizes her face is damp. She sniffles, scrubbing her face with the sleeve of her jacket while the Doctor hold her hand.

"It's okay." She says, gulping and regaining her composure. "I'm okay, I'm okay."

"You can cry, if you need to." The Doctor says. His thumb gently rubs her palm, tracing nonsensical words in Gallifreyan.

"I don't want to." Clara tells him. She doesn't, especially if she's going to be stuck on this sub another few days with the man that tried to rape her. A frigid, deep fear is settling in her chest and she wants to fight it until it's trapped in a corner.

The Doctor abruptly drops her hand, rummaging through the gauze and medical tape that he'd set aside. "You're hurt." A careful, steady hand dabs at the blood from her split lip.

When he touches her battered knee, she hisses and draws back. A high-pitched, "Oh!" escapes her lips. That hurt, really hurt.

"Sorry, I went too fast." says the Doctor. He leans closer, eyes darting back and forth, rapid-fire. He briefly scans her injury with the sonic, and his expression darkens. "You've torn something, definitely a ligament."

"And that's bad?" Clara asks. "I'm not one for the doctoring stuff."

He sighs. "It's painful, mostly. I can fix it in minutes when we get to the TARDIS."

He gently wraps her knees, then attends to the small cuts and abrasions on her knuckles, arms, and legs. She feels a rush of overwhelming affection when he plants a chaste kiss on her knee, then her forehead. The feeling of disgust from earlier fades, until she just wants to curl up in his arms and cling to his silly purple jacket.

"I want…" Clara trails off, listlessly banging her heels against the cot's flimsy frame. Does she want to go back to their room? There's nothing to do. Better yet, now she can't even walk.

"You should sleep." He decides for her, resolute in the face of her pouting. "And I'll stay with you."

Thousand of taunts or jibes flash through Clara's mind; you guarding me again, chin boy? Except she doesn't say any of them, because she's genuinely scared. She's no idea where that solider is now, much less what he would do to her if he managed to find her alone again. So instead she says, "Thank you."

The Doctor lets her lean on him, since she steadfastly refuses to let him carry her. He makes sure the door to their cabin is secured, and then the two curl up on the tiny, uncomfortable bed. Clara's head is pillowed on his chest, the soothing double heartbeat lulling her to sleep. The Doctor watched her for any sign of discomfort as she sleeps, keeping his one arm tightly around her while she other plays with the ends of her hair.

The one time she cries out in her sleep he has her awake before her nightmare can fully set in. She cries into his jacket, delicate shoulders shaking while he tries his best to comfort her. Eventually the dreams fades from Clara's mind, and she falls into a dreamless sleep.

They make it safely to the TARDIS, and soon it's forgotten. There is one thing that both are grateful for; after the submarine, neither one of them sleeps alone.