Why Did You Leave?

1. The argument

It had been two years. Two brilliant years since the Doctor gave up his old, alien life for a new human one with the love of his life, Clara Oswald. He could no longer regenerate, and the TARDIS was inside their garden shed collecting cobwebs. He loved Clara dearly, more than anything it seemed.

It had been a particularly long and stressful day for Clara. Having to deal with back-chat from cocky students, marking pile after pile of tests and assessments, and being constantly nagged by her stubborn boss for not catching up with papers. She couldn't wait to get home and relax. And by relax, she meant a nice cup of tea and sleep. So she wasn't happy when, after being stuck in traffic for twenty minutes, she came home to a messy house. Despite asking the Doctor countless times to clean the living room, he still hadn't. Dinner wasn't even in progress, and then there was the Doctor himself, sitting comfortably on the beige arm chair with his feet propped up on the coffee table, reading 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows'. Clara was livid.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing?" She questioned, hanging up her coat on the peg.

"Fancied a bit of a read," he replied, not even looking up from the novel. Clara stormed over and grabbed the book from his hands, slamming it shut and throwing it aside.

"Hey! I was getting up to The Prince's Tale, then!" he whined like a child, standing up from his chair. He towered over short Clara, but that definitely didn't stop her.

"I asked you to clean!" she huffed, staring at his coldly. If looks could kill, he'd be well and truly dead.

"I tried, but you know I can't use the vacuum!" he protested, walking to fetch his book.

"And dinner?" she spat back, watching him pick up the beloved paperback.

"It...burned..." he sighed, putting the book under his arm and spinning round to face his short, feisty partner.

"Honestly, Doctor! You are absolutely USELESS! I come home after a day of working my socks off se we can have food on our table, and I atleast expect for one chore to be done! Do you not love me? Is that it? Is it because I'm not as lovely as Rose, or as nice as Martha, or as clever as Donna? Am I not as sexy as River, or as radiant as Amy? Is it? Well if so, my dear, the TARDIS is that way!" she gestured towards the back door.

"Clara, I am not leaving! You know how much I love you!" he shouted back.

"NO I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH YOU LOVE ME, BECAUSE YOU NEVER SHOW IT! I'M NOT JUST ONE OF YOUR SILLY LITTLE COMPANIONS THAT HANG ONTO EVERY WORD THAT COMES OUT YOUR MOUTH AND PREACHES IT LIKE THE BIBLE! I'M NOT EVEN SURE IF THIS IS RIGHT FOR US!" She screamed back, emotions bursting out of her like a volcanic eruption.

He didn't say anything. He just stared at her with his big, sad eyes, clearly hurt by her words. After a minute or so, he grabbed his long purple coat from it's peg and fixed his bow tie.

"What are you doing?" Clara croaked, her voice damaged from all the shouting.

"I'm going for a walk. I'll come back when we've calmed down, as you clearly don't want me here," he said blankly. He turned to look at her one last time.

"I'm sorry," he uttered, and with that he walked out the door and into the cold outside.

Should I write more? I'm not sure...