A white silk pyjama awaited her on her bed on the Orient Express. Clara touched it carefully, welcoming the soft fabric and was already glad she'd be rid of those high heeled shoes in a moment. So far her last trip with the Doctor hadn't been that bad, although she could not deny that one could cut the tension between the two of them with a knife. One moment he was lovely and charming, inviting her to yet another fantastic journey and the other they quibbled and even fought bitterly.
Clara flung her shoes off her feet and into the next corner and began changing into the pyjama. Relieved, she let herself fall onto the soft bed and sighed. Was she making the right choice? Was leaving the Doctor really what she wanted? Clara honestly didn't know. Maybe she would just take a time out. He would come to her flat for coffee or dinner, and if she changed her mind during one of those casual meetings, he would take her back, right? But would the Doctor even show up again? She had asked herself this question more than just once ever since he regenerated. After every goodbye, there was always this tiny little voice in the back of her head that whispered: maybe he won't.
Clara turned around to stare at the ceiling, wondering what the Doctor was up to right now. He said he would meet with the conductor for drinks, which was obviously a lie. The Doctor never drank, at least Clara had never seen him drink. Maybe he was lying on his bed, just next door, thinking about what she was doing right now. It did seem a bit of a waste, going on this last trip to not spend some actual time together. She wasn't tired anyway, so why not visit his cabin next door?
She dismissed the thought as it came. She was already in her pyjamas. They would stay longer than just for a night. And he was probably really with the conductor right now.
Clara's thoughts wo