One moment she was standing there, chestnut hair tumbling down her back, eyes twinkling, a half-amused smile on her face as he darted around the console twiddling dials and pulling levers saying any old nonsense at her, just to hear her laugh. Then she was gone. There. Gone. There. Gone.
"Clara?" The Doctor called to the now empty console room, panicked. No answer. Well of course there wouldn't be, she isn't here.He thought to himself sadly, taking out the sonic and scanning the area where she had been. He checked the results carefully, not wanting to miss anything that could lead him to her. To Clara.
The Doctor frowned at the sonic, not able to get a clear reading. He tapped it impatiently against his palm and scanned again, this time with a bit more luck.
"So she was taken by teleport...an advanced time vortex manipulator, maybe?" He mused to himself. The Doctor's hearts sank. Vortex manipulators can be very hard to track. Very, very, very,hard. Clara could be anywhere, with anyone...she might even be dead. The Doctor angrily plugged the sonic into the TARDIS, uploading the information into the TARDIS database. Don't think like that Doctor,he berated himself, Clara isnot dead. Not on my watch.
The TARDIS console beeped. The Doctor swung the screen towards him, eyes searching frantically for any clues to her whereabouts. There.A set of coordinates for Polaris Spaceport, the Taxhyon galaxy. What on Earth is she doing there?
Not wanting to waste any more time he set the coordinates, fingers flying over the controls. "I'm coming for you Clara." He whispered to the empty room. The Doctor threw a lever, sending the TARDIS spinning into the time vortex.
"I promise."
Clara was strapped in a padded chair, metal cuffs chafing her wrists and ankles making her shiver with cold. She had woken up a few moments ago to find herself in a plain white room like a cell, with no TARDIS, no Doctor, and no means of escape. Not even a window for her to squeeze out of. As a result, she wasn't in the best of moods. At all.
"Doctor?" Clara croaked, her voice dry and raspy. How long had she been out for? Not that long, surely, or the Doctor would be here by now. Wouldn't he? She begins to panic, straining against the cuffs that mercilessly held her in place.
"Doctor! DOCTOR!" Clara all but screamed into the suffocating silence that filled her cell. No answer. He can't have left her. He must be around here somewhere. Clara looked hopefully at the doot opposite, wishing that the Doctor would sonic it open and bounce in, all flailing limbs and floppy fringe. He didn't, so she resorted to calling his name again, her voice getting hoarser with every attempt.
"I'm afraid your precious Doctor can't hear you, Miss Oswald. Although this would be much more fun if he could." A slick man in his forties rounds Clara's chair, his polished shoes reflecting her face as they clicked on the tiled floor. Clara stopped yelling and eyed him warily, her gaze following him as he walked to the front of her chair and stood there, leering at her.
"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Clara refused to be intimidated by this man. It was what he wanted, and she'd be damned if she was going to give him that.
The man cocked his head to one side, a small smile spreading across his thin face. "So brave. So determined. But then again, all of his women are."
Clara ignored the dig and strained against her bonds once more, squirming in a futile attempt to escape them. The man watched her amusedly, chuckling slightly at her.
"You really think I'm going to let you go after all the time and trouble I took to get you?" He crouches down in front of her so that they were eye to eye and taps the cuffs.
"I had these made special. The Doctor's companion deserves quality, me thought. After all, she's going to be here for a while."
Clara fights harder, the chair lifting from the floor slightly from the force of her struggling. She needed to get out of this place, wherever she was. Fast. She didn't like the looks this guy was giving her. He was the sort of person that, if you met them in the street, you would cross the road to avoid. The sort that the teachers at her secondary school would warn you about. Clara shrinked back as he placed his hands on her wrists and applies pressure, effectively stopping the chair from rocking. She slumped back in her seat as far as she could and glanced torwards the door once more, holding onto the hope of the Doctor.
"He's not coming girly. Not yet. Not until it's too late, anyway." He shrugged. "Sorry," he said, looking genuinely apologetic. "Just doing my job."
He's not coming. He's right. Clara tried to hold back the tears, not wanting the man to see that he had gotten to her, but she couldn't. She looked down at the floor to hide the tears that streaked down her face but couldn't quite conceal the shake in her shoulders and the tiny sobs that escaped her. After all this time, after everything we've done for each other, he's just going to leave me here. To die, alone, with a complete creep.
The man, noticing her despair , pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled Clara forward until his lips were resting by her ear. Clara no longer bothered to resist. She had been robbed of all hope, all faith in the Doctor. There was no longer any fight left.
"Maybe you should chose who to fall in love with more carefully next time, hmm?" the man whispered, his breath tickling Clara's ear. He released her and she fell back into her chair with a soft thump, her eyes staring at a patch of wall somewhere above his head. Clara no longer cared what he did do her. All she could think about was the Doctor, and how he had abandoned her when she needed him the most.
The man pushed himself back to his feet and rubbed his hands together. "Enough of this. Let's get on with things, shall we?"
He produced a hankerchief from his pocket and pressed it against her nose and mouth, holding it there tightly, expecting a struggle. To his surprise Clara just sat there staring and let the drugs take her, listening, listening for the sound of Doctor's voice calling her or the TARDIS materilizing. Sounds that never came.
A/N
Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own Doctor Who or anything to do with the show. Although I do call dibs on Matt Smith ;)
©WhouffleGirl962014. If I catch any plagiarism of my work, I will not hesitate to report you. You have been warned.
Okay. Serious stuff over.
Hello and welcome to Jasmine's magical world of Whouffle! Firstly I would like to apologise in advance for the emotional wreck that I am about to become while writing this story. I ship Whouffle so much, and I'm planning a plot that will probably bring on a lot of feels as it goes on. Oh man. It's a downward spiral from here. Anyway, I'm new on here (literally just joined) and any constructive critism is welcome.
Also for those of you on Wattpad, this is WhovianInSpace96. Don't panic I haven't nicked the story.
Please R&R :)
Jazz xx