"No," The Doctor's gaze is hard, firm, and he reaches out, takes her face in his hands. He's furious. Furious, but all he can do is stare at his Impossible girl, all he can do is cradle her face, and now he knows that everything makes sense. The coma. This one, rough around the edges, frayed, but not yet torn. About to be, but not yet, and the Doctor stares and stares and tries to speak.
"No," he repeats. "Not like this. Not like this, Clara, not with a whimper." With a bang.
"What happened? Tell me--right now. Tell me what's happening."