Invasions, a doctor who fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. But I'm mighty grateful I can use these characters without the BBC and/or Steven Moffat suing me.

Trigger Warning: Though there is nothing explicit, violent or sexual, there are non-consensual situations.

Dedication: For LR, JC, EC and MG. And for every other woman who's ever experienced what it's like when other people decide that they should have more of a say over your body than you.

"I can't…"

"Clara –"

"Please, Doctor, please don't make me –"

"I'm so sorry – I know – but Clara –"

"I can't do this – I can't, I –"

"I know. I know. But the most important thing right now is that I make sure you're safe. And I can't do that if we don't get you to the –"

"NO. No, no, no, nonononononono…"

"I'm so sorry…" My words are useless, utterly meaningless. Of the thirty-eight different thoughts in my brain, there's not a single one that offers any sort of real help. There is nothing that solves this. Nothing that makes this better for her. I make people better, but to her, right now…

"Why is this happening to me?" She whispers.

I'm useless.

His office is far less posh than I'd expected, though I suppose I hadn't really expected anything. I don't turn when he comes in, or as he clears his throat. I have no intention to make any of this easy for him.

"You're quite decorated," I remark, eyes scanning the hovering, rotating display of photographs which accompany the various certificates, awards, titles and accolades.

"Thank you." He doesn't seem to know what to make of me, but that's nothing new. "Though I assume you didn't barge into my office without an appointment just to pay me compliments, sir." He palms the door closed behind him.

It's a struggle not to let a snicker escape in response. "Of course. Because you don't like it when people do things without your permission, do you?"

The creature frowns, joining me at the display as the picture changes once again. "No, I don't."

"Helping the refugees displaced by the Textrampol; all your generous donations to relief efforts after the Civil Wars of the 700's…" The images dissolve into more. "You've been quite the champion for those who've been the victim of…invasions."

"Yes, well, I have done my best to uphold the legacy of my grandfather and my father." I can sense his hesitation, his desire to ferret me out. "But again, sir, I'm sure you didn't bypass my security just so you could list my accomplishments, so may I kindly inquire as to the nature of your visit?"

"Ahh – your legacy." I give his office a once-over. "You're clearly quite busy; no time to settle down and raise a family. So tell me, then, how would you continue this legacy of yours, hmm?"

He practically vibrates with poorly concealed impatience. "If you're not going to answer any of my questions, then why should I answer any of yours? Perhaps you could begin by telling me your name so that I know who's broken into my office for the purposes of verbally sparring with me."

Ah, a creature of intelligence indeed. Normally such a discovery would be somewhat exciting, but he needs to stop asking the wrong questions. "No, you're not going to get that from me – not today." My voice drops. "Because today I didn't get to be my name…"

"You're sure?"

The silence, the silence – I can't take her silence. I can't take her glassy eyes staring into nothing, tears long dried on her face. I'm not sure she heard me and I want to ask again, if only to make sure she heard me. Or maybe I need to ask again for another reason altogether. But she nods, a subtle, jerky motion of her head that continues for five seconds until she finally chokes out one word: "Yes."

Then: "Please?"

My finger hovers over the button. I swallow. "Okay."

I look the creature in the face for the first time. "And you don't get to be your name, either. Because the only name you have to know today…" I step closer, noticing how he tries to hide a flinch as I invade his personal space. "…is Clara Oswald."

This triggers nothing from him, not even a flicker of recognition. "Um…I'm sorry, I don't know that name."

My fists clench at my sides. It's times like these I wish I still had pockets on my trousers. I try to think of some excuse to whip out the sonic if only for something to hold, but I'm afraid I'll use it on him. Well…perhaps not afraid. Afraid isn't the right word. "Wrong answer." I take another step into his space. "But I can assure you that after today, you'll never forget her name again."

"Is that what all this is about, sir…you? Man who broke into my office?" The creature bristles at me.

"If you really want a name to use with me, then you can call me the Oncoming Storm."

"The what?"

"Or the Predator – either will do."

He sees something in my face, and that something stops a laugh before it can fully escape. Or perhaps he's trying to retain a sense of decorum. "So…this Clara Oswald, I assume she's someone to you, then? Your – wife? Girlfriend?" He pauses. "Daughter?"

"She is someone to me, yes," I answer softly. "Someone important – impossibly important."

"I don't doubt she's important to you, but I fail to see why I should know her."

I would back him into the wall if I could, but I'm almost against his feet. Or, at least where I think his feet are in those odd contraptions at the end of his legs. Though I'd like to step on his feet. I'd like to step on a lot of things. Actually, there are no parts of him that I would not readily tread on at this moment. "You know, in over a thousand years of time and space, I've never met anyone who wasn't important…until today."

Judging from his reaction, I'm fairly certain no one's ever insulted him like that before. Then again – I never thought I'd say anything like that, either.

But today has changed everything, of course.

"Because everything you've done before – every little thing, every big thing you've ever done in your vast, complicated, easy life – none of it matters." I circle round his office, aiming the sonic at the display to fan out every accolade, every medal, and every photograph: his whole life arrayed before us in a frozen mosaic of accomplishments. "All those invasions you stopped, everyone you helped, because after all this, you turn out to be something I despise even more than the darkest evil."

He looks like he doesn't know whether to be insulted or amused. "And what's that?"

I take deliberately slow steps towards him, stopping just shy of his space. "A hypocrite. A fraud."

Now he does laugh, the laugh of someone well-used to getting what he wants in the end. "Now there, sir – Storm, can I call you?" He glides over to a nearby compartment, palming it open to reveal a series of taps. Waving a hand makes a glass materialise underneath one of them and he watches it as one of the taps automatically dispenses liquid into it. "All this posturing and grandstanding, Storm – you must be thirsty." Another wave of his hand produces a second glass, and the tap adjacent to it shoots another stream of amber liquid. "Come have a drink with me, and we can sit and discuss these crimes you believe I've committed against my nature like the proper business-beings I know we both are." He sets both glasses down, pushing one toward the edge of his desk as he relaxes into his chair.

My anger threatens to boil over, but I give him a tight, simpering smile and sit across from him, hand resting loosely on my sonic in my lap. I pointedly ignore the proffered drink, jaw clamping shut with the irony of this gesture.

"Alien food poisoning?"

"That's the only explanation, Doctor! It started right after the banquet we went to on Settima Prossouri - but I just figured something didn't sit quite right with me 'cause the pain stopped the next morning like it had worked its way through." As another wave of pain overtakes her, I can't help notice where her arms are clutching. "But that paracetamol I took several hours ago must've worn off. Actually, it didn't do much in the first place, now that I think about it."

Dozens of thoughts are forming in my brain, and I don't like any of them. "What do you mean several hours ago?"

"Well, I kept thinking it would go away…'cause it did. I mean – it comes and then it goes, so I thought eventually it would just stop altogether."

"Clara," I ask carefully, "did you eat anything other than what was passed down from the end of the table? Anything other than what was on the green platters?"

"No."

"Think – I need you to be absolutely sure. Because I checked everything on those platters before they went to your end of the table…"

Even in the midst of her pain, she still manages to roll her eyes at me. "Of course I didn't – it's not like I wandered off and treated myself to hovering alien pies or something."

I nod, relieved but even more flummoxed. She's clutching such a specific area, but surely there's another explanation.

There has to be.

"Oh! I mean – except for that teacake."

Every other thought vanishes except for one, which is accompanied by a sickening dread. "You ate a teacake?"

"Yeah. You didn't have them at your end of the table?"

"Proper business-beings," I echo, clasping my hands together atop my knee. "Very well, then. Let's start with the first question: did you attend a banquet on Settima Prossouri three days ago?"

"Uh…yes. Yes, I did." Despite his amusement at my accusations, he's quick to defend himself. "The Prossourians are not a conquered race; the underlings prepared the food according to the standards of the higher caste. And while I don't condone their rigid delineations of class, overall, their society should be left in peace."

"Not all of the food was prepared by the Prossourians."

He frowns at this. "It wasn't? How do you know?"

"Because there was one food item there that was only given to one single person: a teacake." I grind the word out.

He stiffens a moment before blowing out a long, hooting sigh, sounding almost like…embarrassment.

I don't know what I expected, but it definitely wasn't this. He starts fidgeting, swirling the liquid around his glass. "Oh, dear…" He takes a large gulp. "Well, this is….well. I can see how…" He clears his throat, and it is only now that he seems afraid of meeting my gaze. "Well, this is quite awkward, isn't it?"

My fingers grip the sonic in my lap. "Awkward?"

"Yes, I – erm…I didn't realise she was attached to anyone. That's what you're here about, aren't you? Clara Oswald is the female?"

I'm still struggling with his use of the word awkward. "Yes."

His hands splay before him. "Really, sir, you'll have to forgive me – she didn't seem to be with anyone when I approached her."

I feel the ambient temperature of the room rise. Or perhaps it's just the heat coming off of me. "Are you saying…that if you had known she was 'attached' to someone –"

"If I'd known, I'd never have approached her. And – if I may speak plainly – I never would have guessed she was with anyone. But I suppose that's human females, right? You never can tell what they will do."

I hope he's not implying what I think he's implying as my thumb resting on the screwdriver is feeling very itchy, indeed.

"And in my defence," he continues, "all I did was offer it to her. She didn't have to take it, you know. It was her choice."

I can barely choke out my reply. "Her…choice? She took it because she thought it was just a teacake. A sweet little treat to end the festivities." I lean towards him. "She didn't know what was inside!"

"What was inside it, Doctor? And how come I can remember taking it and eating it, but I don't remember who gave it to me?"

The dread pushes my stomach into my throat, which makes no sense, but that's how it feels. "Because there's a kind of perception filter on it, erasing that part of your memory until…"

"Until what?"

"Until it's closer to collection time."

"Collect?" Her curiosity has given way to alarm. "You mean the creature that gave this to me is going to collect something?"

"Yes. It will want…what's inside."

The size of her eyes has almost doubled. "Inside of what?"

"Of you."

"She didn't?" He lets out another noise akin to resignation. "Oh dear," he murmurs, reaching for his glass and downing the contents. "It seems that nothing is going to quite work out the way I'd envisioned." His long fingers tap against his glass like he's thinking. All of a sudden he waves a hand in front of him, making a translucent screen appear. "I suppose there's nothing for it, then."

I don't like where this is going. "For what?"

He fixes me with a look, like he's not quite sure whether I'm serious or not. "Financial reparations of course. For the unanticipated medical expenses. I assume that's what you're here for, isn't it? For your expenses incurred during the process?"

I stare back, incredulous. "Financial reparations? For my incurred expenses?" My tone lowers again. "You actually think you can put a price on –"

"Remuneration? Of course. And come now, Storm…" He spreads his hands. "Everyone always has a price."

It's the first thing he's said that makes me smile, though it feels brittle enough to crack. "Yes," I say, pondering the thought. "I suppose everyone does. But I don't call it reparations or remuneration, you see – I have a different word for it."

"Oh? And what's your word for it?"

I pause, relishing the moment I've arrived to at last.

"Payback."

"I have a thing inside my body – an alien thing?!" She lets out a cry of pain, bracing herself against the wall.

"An exact replica of the creature that gave you the teacake, actually, originally small enough to fit inside the cake, but it's grown to a quarter of its normal size now." I'm trying to keep my voice calm. "It worked its way through your digestive system – that was the pain you felt a few days ago."

"What?! Are there HOLES in my intestines now?"

"No, it was covered in a healing serum that mended you because it wants you healthy. It needs you healthy because it's in…another area now. And ready to come out."

"Oh, well yeah, that's nice of it – wants me healthy. But why would it NEED me healthy? And what do you mean it's ready to…" I can only watch as the realisation hits her hard. "No. This is…I'm in – I'm in labour?!"

"Yes."

"These are contractions," she states breathlessly. "Actual…contractions, I'm about to give BIRTH to an alien…" She trails off. Then her eyes widen, her nostrils flaring and her breathing kicks up several notches. "What?! WHAT?! I'M ABOUT TO BIRTH AN ALIEN BABY?!" She shouts, hitting the wall.

This hadn't quite been the reaction I was expecting, but it's a relief. Almost... "Yes, and your contractions have been coming faster, so we need to get you to the medical bay." I huddle her to my side, supporting her elbow as I steer her down the ramp and down a corridor. She doesn't protest, though I can feel how tense she already is.

"What the HELL?! What sort of alien – will it have tentacles? Two heads? Is it going to have gills where there should be eyes?" Each question breeds a new brand of disgust for her, but we're still moving in the general direction of where we need to be. "Tell me, Doctor – what is it? Do you know?"

"I don't know what that is - payback?" The creature questions, his eyes flicking to a display on his left. "Is that a term that erm…Time Lords use, then?" My reaction hastens him to explain. "There are sensors on the chair you're seated in, sir – completely harmless, of course. But when one conducts business with so many species, I've always found it's better to know who you're dealing with. Wouldn't you agree?"

My smile grows. "Yes, I do. It's always better to know who you're dealing with. If nothing else, it's far easier to plan what, exactly, you're going to do with them."

"Because I want to BOMB them! I know we're not supposed to be violent, but I REALLY want to BOMB them! What sort of backwards, barbaric species would DO this to someone?!"

I'm hoping that she continues on her rant, if only to have some place to direct her pain. At least her anger seems to fuel her, making her stumble along with me faster.

"I want to know, Doctor! I want to go to their home planet and BOMB them back thousands of years so they never evolve enough to think of sick, twisted schemes like these to continue their species!" She clutches onto my arms, breathing through the rest of the contraction. "Tell me – what are they called? Have we been to their home planet?"

I desperately try to find a way out of this. "Let's just keep moving, okay? I can tell you once we get to the medical bay."

"No – tell me now! Do you know what species it is?"

I swallow, like I could choke back my reply entirely so it doesn't escape my throat. "There's only one species I know of in the entire Universe who does this. Who thinks this is…acceptable."

"Indeed. So let's discuss terms, then. What would you find an acceptable sum?" He waves his hand again, long fingers dancing in the air as he pulls up what appear to be his accounts. "I can convert it to whatever currency you want. So, what are we talking? Proclamatory Credits? Ruples? I have Yetrex, Setti – though I wouldn't recommend those if you've seen the intergalactic exchange rate recently. How about the Ancient Franc?"

"Which one? Is it that Praying Mantis-type we met? Or maybe those – what – Panbabylonians?" She stops, her face twisted in a grimace. "Is it going to be born with those same kind of features? Or wait – one of those Huluvu? Didn't you say something about a Repeated Meme once?" A look of horror crosses her face. "Is it going to keep…repeating, then, after it's born?" She's momentarily distracted by my lack of answer as another contraction comes on. "Because…did I mention I want to BOMB them?! Tell me, Doctor – I want to be able to curse them out and their home planet while this – this THING – this EVIL, alien, icky thing is pushing its way out!"

My voice doesn't want to work. Though maybe it's because I don't really want it to.

"I promise I'll tell you as soon as we get to the –"

"No." The contraction's passed again. "Doctor." She's facing me now. "I need to know what it is, okay? I just…" And now I see it – she's done her best to hide it under her anger, but she's afraid. Of course she's afraid – probably even more than she's letting on. "Please."

"No."

He looks mildly surprised. "Well, then – I didn't peg you for the Black Market type, Storm, but then again, I'm unfamiliar with how Time Lords operate." Another swipe of his hand calls up another screen.

"Yes, you are," I agree. "And that lack of familiarity puts you at a distinct disadvantage. Because if you knew how I operated, you would understand that you have plenty of reason to fear me right now."

"Fear you?" This raises his hackles again, but he covers it with his own smile. "And why would I fear you? Because you like to grandstand and use words like weapons? Like your titles, 'Predator' and 'Oncoming Storm?' Because you supposedly have no other name?"

"No," I say. "Because I am about to tell you yours."

I stare very pointedly at a spot off to my right. "As I said, there's only one species I know of that does this."

"Yeah, I heard you – so, which one is it?"

The words stick in my throat. "We can't bomb their home planet, Clara…but even if we could, you wouldn't want to."

"Why not?"

I finally meet her eyes, and find I cannot say it. I can only let her see my sorrow for her.

And that alone is enough.

"No," she breathes.

"Clara, I'm so sorry."

Her hand finds her abdomen as if she could feel it now. "It's…it's human?"

I nod because I still have no words to give her.

"But – but you said it was an exact replica, which means…" Her other hand muffles a gasp. "I remember," she whispers.

"You're the Man Who Violated Clara Oswald."

He scoffs at this. "'Violated?' I did no such thing!"

"He was sitting across from me. And he offered me a teacake, but…everyone around us saw it, I mean – everyone else saw him and heard him do it. But…no one said anything." Her voice has gotten very quiet. "No one stopped me or – warned me or anything. Why didn't anyone say anything?"

I know she doesn't mean me – I know that I couldn't have stopped this, and yet I still burn with guilt. "Some – didn't know…some probably thought you knew –"

"Thought I knew?" Her anger is returning, but it's just another distraction. "Why would anyone take that? Let themselves be –" It's too much for her to go on, and she can't look at me anymore. Her head is shaking like she can fight back with denial. "Used," she finishes, staring sightlessly.

"You used her for her body against her will," I snarl. "Explain to me how that isn't violation."

"I never touched her, if that's what you're implying," he protests.

I level him with my deadliest glare. "And I suppose you think that makes it okay, don't you?"

His violet eyes flash at me. "It isn't like the old Earth practises of drugging female humans for a night of… pleasure. This was for a greater purpose, Storm." He's become animated by the strength of his own convictions, gesturing around his office, pointing emphatically to the plaques, the photographs, the framed letters, the awards. "You've seen what my family has accomplished – you say it won't matter after today, but you're wrong. We have a legacy of championing for the greater good, and we have every intention of continuing it. It is an honour to be a part of it, because of what it will mean to future generations."

"He had violet eyes…I remember how I made a comment about them matching the colour of the teacake, but I didn't know that meant…anything…"

"An honour?" I cry furiously at his insinuation. "I see, and the only way you could find to continue this legacy was through using a woman's body against her will. Yes, I understand being busy, no time for a proper relationship, but you have considerable money and resources: there are any number of ways, any number of paths you could have chosen to cook yourself an offspring." I stop: I don't want to give him the wrong impression. "But even if you didn't – even if there was no other way, it wouldn't have made what you did acceptable. You were putting your needs above her rights."

He shakes his head, frustrated. "You are missing the bigger picture here, Storm. It's not like it could be just any human baby – not when the stability of entire regimes, the safety of future generations were at stake. It needed to have my attributes: my intelligence; my instincts; my sense of justice –"

"He smiled at me…"

"Your winning smile?" I ask sardonically. "Bravo. Another 'ends justify the means' argument. Didn't the Textrampol use something similar to rally support for their invasion?"

"He was…nice."

He shoots up out of his chair at the comparison, slamming his fist down on his desk. "Now, look here –"

"Actually, it is you who are missing the big picture here, Man Who Violated Clara Oswald."

Another contraction hits her, this one longer and clearly more intense, making her turn from me towards the wall of the corridor, her strangled scream muffled against her hand. I wait until it's passed, but she stays there.

"Clara…" My hands drift over her back, her shoulders, but I'm suddenly terrified to touch her without asking, without her permission. I want to ask if she's okay, but I know that's a pointless question. "That one sounded longer - we really need to –"

"No." Her answer is firm, despite the hollow sound of her voice. She's pressed her forehead against her clasped hands, leaning into the wall like she could melt into it and disappear. "I can't…"

"Clara –"

"Please, Doctor, please don't make me –"

Her soft pleading rips through me, but my focus is narrowed to her safety now. "I'm so sorry – I know – but Clara –"

"I can't do this," she protests, her words shaking. "I can't, I –"

"I know. I know." I wedge myself next to her, pressing my cheek against the corridor wall. I can feel the TARDIS' sympathetic hum underneath, and I know it isn't for me. "But the most important thing right now is that I make sure you're safe. And I can't do that if we don't get you to the –"

"NO." She wails as another contraction overtakes her, making her crumple to the ground. I join her there, hands reaching for her but stopping short of her shoulders. "No, no, no, nonononononono…"

She's scrunched herself into a protective ball, head buried in her arms, knees drawn to her chest. Finally, she inches her head up to level with mine, her cheeks glistening. After the third failed attempt to look at me, she closes her eyes, two more rivulets streaming down her face. "Why is this happening to me?" She whispers.

I'm useless.

I grab the edge of his desk to hoist myself up as well. "Because you've never seen a woman give birth." The temperature has climbed another few degrees, or perhaps that's still me. "Have you?"

The question befuddles him. "What – how is that big –"

"Do you know what position she has to be in?" I spit the words out, images still fresh in my mind. Images I know I'll never forget.

He has the audacity to look annoyed with me, though he's keeping his guard up: something in my face prevents him from resuming his all-business air. "On her back, yes – all human females take that position."

"On her back, yes," I snap, leaning in closer. "And what of her legs?"

His guard slips further, fear worming its way in. "I don't – uh, in stirrups, I assume?" He licks his lips nervously. "Or – I don't know, resting on the table or –"

"Spread." I lean as far as I can go, pouring every violent impulse and murderous thought into my eyes, into the low growl of my voice. "You didn't touch her, no – and I know this because you're still…breathing…but you gave her something that made her lay on her back and spread her legs…for you. On her back, legs spread, while a creature that she had never wanted, never consented to, worked its way out of her." I'm almost in his face now, and I have to restrain myself from lunging across the desk. "And do you know how babies work their way out of a woman's body, hmm? Which part of the body they have to pass through?"

He swallows. "I'm…I'm aware, yes."

"So…explain to me then how what you did is any less despicable. How it was not a violation." My rage unleashes. "Explain to me why it was in any way more acceptable because it wasn't just for your pleasure; explain to me why you should not, from this day forward, for the rest of your life, forevermore be known as the Man Who Violated Clara Oswald?!"

But my roaring ignites something in him as well. "Because I am so much more than that! Because I believe in the greater good! Because I have done so much for so many, and if you kill me, Storm, as I'm certain you are moments away from doing, then all I ask is that you leave my progeny in the care of my family. If what I did requires me to sacrifice my life so that my legacy might continue, then – so be it!" He raises his chin with all the self-righteousness of a martyr.

"Your progeny?" The mention of it dampens my fury, introducing another entirely unwelcome emotion.

"Yes." He straightens himself as though in preparation for the death blow he believes I will deliver. "I assume you brought him with you or – perhaps you have him stashed somewhere else. With – with Clara Oswald?"

I shoot him a dark look at her name. "I'm not going to kill you." Perhaps I sound a touch too disappointed, but I don't care. I walk to the other side of the office, fists opening and closing at my sides. "I told you I'm here for one thing: payback."

As much as I had been wishing I would never hear her anguished screams again, her silence is worse. And though every tear had pierced my hearts with pin-prick jabs, the lack of them is far more unsettling. The drugs I gave her diminished her physical pain, but I know that's not the reason for her thousand-yard stare at the ceiling. I've been fiddling with the controls of the machine for a few minutes now and she hasn't so much as blinked.

"Clara…" Her name breaks in half in my mouth, and I clear my throat, which somehow sounds impossibly loud in the silence. "Still with me?"

She blinks once, finally, and I think that's going to be the only indication that she hasn't actually slipped into a waking coma when she croaks out a question. "How much longer?"

I pull the screen towards me and aim the Kereseeken device at her, allowing me a three-dimensional view so I don't actually have to be…there, in front of her like that. I wish I could be beside her, so she could squeeze my hand. Actually, I wish I could crawl onto the table and cradle her to my chest; I wish I could shield her from this horror…but I know I'm where I need to be to ensure her safety. I'm also where I need to be to let her retain a shred of privacy. "You're not quite fully…dilated yet." I set aside all of my usual squeamishness for her sake. "Unfortunately, the Kereseek built every function into it except for –"

"So how much longer?" Normally, she'd sound impatient or annoyed or make a quip about how not every question of hers demands a lesson in alien reproductive history. I would give almost anything for the tiniest eye roll.

"Um…" I punch a few things in, but the machine has run into difficulties with the far-from-full-term size of the baby and her body's decision to be in labour. It keeps shooting entirely unhelpful things back like ERROR and CANNOT COMPUTE. "Another hour or…possibly more," I admit, rubbing the back of my neck in frustration.

"More?"

"It's not letting me change the settings. I thought I would be able to at least increase the speed or move the…it…along. The Kereseek trained the best wet-nurses in the galaxy – they were KNOWN for their advances in the delivery process." I withdraw my sonic, trying to upgrade the settings that way, but the machine refuses to comply. And unfortunately, I discover that whacking the screen only makes the images go all blurry.

She's quiet while I continue to fume at the panel. This would be the time that she'd tell me I couldn't will something to work just by glaring at it. But she asks another question instead. "Will it –he…have his eyes?"

My stomach seems like it does not want to stay in its proper place today, as I now feel it turn itself upside down. Or perhaps it's pulling itself inside out. "It's supposed to be an exact replica of him, so…yes."

A shudder wracks her body, hand flying up to her mouth, and for a moment I think she's fighting the urge to cry again. But then I see she's fighting a different urge entirely, her own stomach probably not staying still either.

I imagine what I will say and do to this man when I meet him, making my hands ball into tight fists, which crash down on the control panel. This of course prompts yet another ERROR message, making me growl at the screen. "Yes, I understand that you don't recognise it! Stop telling me it's a growth!"

"A what?"

"Because of the…circumstances, it thinks it's a growth – and it's only giving me the option to –" I stop, wondering if the solution has just presented itself in the form of a stubborn machine.

Her head turns, wide eyes meeting mine for the first time since we came in here. "To what, Doctor?"

I take a breath. I don't want to present her with this decision. "Remove it through termination."

"Right – payback. So…" He sits down again. "You do want money after all, then."

"No," I answer quickly, glowering at him. "You cannot put a price on what you did to Clara."

He heaves a fed-up sigh. "You don't want money and you're not going to kill me. So what is it you…oh." He fixes me with a searching look. "You're going to hold him until I do something for you, aren't you? That's what this is: a hostage negotiation."

"No, you're not going to do anything for me. It's what I'm going to do for you." I've come to a corner of the room and take the opportunity to glance at my watch. As much as I've been stalling him, I do have to keep to the schedule. I really don't want to keep them waiting.

"Really?" I hear his snicker. "You're going to do something for me? Certainly it's not a generous donation to my philanthropic foundations."

"Actually…" I swivel on my heel. "In a manner of speaking - it is."

It seems I've finally reached the end of his patience. "No." He shakes his head. "I grow weary of your riddles, Storm. If you're not going to kill me, you don't want money and this isn't a hostage negotiation, then I think it best if we part ways at this juncture." He calls up another screen like he's dismissing me. "After you bring me my child, of course," he adds. "Something tells me that whatever donations you've planned to make will backfire on me." He addresses me with finality. "I won't accept them."

"Oh, but you will." I withdraw my sonic, positioning myself closer to the door. "Because the truth is I can't bring you your child."

"What? Why not?"

As much as I'd wanted to see the look on his face, I find there is no satisfaction in delivering this news.

"It's dead."

He blanches, hands freezing in the air on the holographic keypad before they fall like deadweights to the desk, rattling the empty glass. He can't speak for several seconds. "What…happened?"

"What happened is I gave Clara something you didn't: a choice."

"You…you murdered my child, you –"

"It was never your child!" I snap. "It was closer to a tumor or a parasite - a thing that had invaded her body, something she didn't want." I'm overcome by that sense of helplessness and fury again as I remember the long, upsetting process. "And it's not like it was easy for her. It wasn't painless or bloodless, and no one can retain their…dignity in a situation like that. The body still has to expel…things. Fluids. And all she could do was lay there." My mouth presses into a thin line. "But at least she didn't have to see its eyes – your eyes staring back at her."

"Well…" His voice trembles, though it's difficult to tell whether it's from grief or rage, probably a combination of both. "You certainly named yourself quite aptly, didn't you? You really are the Predator."

I cover up the sting of this with a snort. "And if you knew what I normally choose to call myself, you would find an even greater irony in it." My thumb flicks through the settings on my sonic, locating the appropriate one. "And now – we've arrived at the payback."

"Payback?" I can see the rage boiling in him now. "You've already exacted your revenge. You really think I'll let you do more?"

I can't help my grim chuckle. "That's not a question you want to ask me, Violator."

"No." He lays his palms flat on his desk. "Everything has changed now. You may condemn what I did, but it's an accepted practise on dozens of worlds."

"That does not make it acceptable!" I fire back.

"But what you did is a punishable crime – one that entitles you to a trial, but…" He pulls a laser gun from his desk, cocking it at me. "You're not going to live long enough to see one, Predator."

I don't even blink. Instead, I spread my arms wide, exposing my chest. "Go ahead."

I see his resolve waiver a second, but he swallows, aims, pulls the trigger…

…and nothing happens.

I wiggle my sonic at him. "Handy device of mine – I drained the power source before you came in here as a precautionary measure."

He eyes the now useless laser gun before swiftly tossing it to the floor. Seeing him this incensed is almost enough to make me smile. "To ensure I didn't use it on you?"

"Actually, no. To ensure I didn't use it on you."

I'm hovering, and I know I shouldn't. I'm not trying to, honestly, but the TARDIS moved Clara's bedroom closer to my room and I keep needing things and so I have to keep walking past her door. I would blame the TARDIS, but she's actually being nice for once.

"Thanks, dear," I murmur as I walk past Clara's room a fourth time.

"You're hovering."

Her strained voice sounds from the Clara-sized lump in her bed. The lights are dimmed, but they still illuminate the room enough so that I can just make out the glint from her eyes.

"No, I'm not - I just keep…needing things. Things that happen to be elsewhere." The excuse sounds feeble even to my own ears. "But - since I'm here, are you – how are you feeling?" I want to ask if she needs anything, but she's already assured me she doesn't…twice, actually. Or maybe it was three times?

She's quiet, and I take that as an invitation to venture a few steps into her room, in case she didn't hear me. "Drugs have helped – thanks."

"Right…good." I stand there, now wishing I hadn't ventured those few steps in as there's nothing to lean on and nothing to do with my hands. I settle with clasping them in front of me, wringing them in the process. "And everything else?"

"I'm –" I think she's going to tell me she's fine again, just like every other time I've asked. "I don't really know how to answer that."

I know I should leave her alone and let her rest and stop asking her questions, but I must be feeling strangely emboldened by actually standing in her room. "Can you sleep?" I offer helpfully.

"No. I want to." She pauses. "My body feels like it could sleep for a hundred years, but…I also don't want to sleep."

Her admissions are both encouraging and bewildering, because I honestly have no idea what to do next. But somehow I find myself walking the extra steps to her bed and sitting on the edge of it. Just the edge: I maintain that distance, still hesitant to initiate any contact with her until she tells me it's okay.

"I'm not contagious, Doctor." Something is wrong: her voice sounds all funny, not like she's admonishing me at all.

"I know." I slide closer, stopping just shy of the edge of her blanketed legs.

She raises herself up to a seated position, wincing as she does so. Her hair hangs over her face. "Are you…disgusted by me?"

"What?! No! No, absolutely not - why would you think I was disgusted by you?"

"You haven't…" Her voice breaks further, and she pauses. "Last time I was hurt – when I needed care, you were always…there. I mean, you were always – you were feeling my head, holding my hand, checking my wrist, arm around my shoulders, you didn't stop." She sniffles. "But since you took me to the medical bay, you haven't touched me like you think I'm…disgusting. Which is how I feel anyway, so –"

"No! No, no, no, Clara – you are NOT disgusting." I protest, trying to meet her eyes hidden behind her hair. "Hey – look at me." I tentatively reach up and brush back the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her gaze reluctantly climbs upward. "A disgusting thing happened to you, but that does NOT make you disgusting. Okay?"

She doesn't look convinced. "I keep thinking that maybe it was something I said. I remember I actually talked to him before the banquet. He was one of the only humans there, and I think I said something about his smile. Maybe he thought I was flirting with him."

"That does NOT matter." I latch onto her covered ankles, hoping it's not a part of her body that still hurts. "Unless you said to him, 'I consent and gladly give you free rein of my body to do with as you will' or maybe 'You have nice eyes! Let's make lots of babies together! Please impregnate me tonight!'- you are NOT at fault!"

She nods. "Right…I know." Her fingers pull at loose threads on the blanket. "I mean – I think I know. It's like I know that in my head, but…I guess I don't know know it…y'know?" She gives a self-conscious laugh.

I stare at her a moment because no, I really don't. I don't understand at all.

"Forget it," she mumbles.

I shift closer and take her hands. "Clara. If you'd had an alien baby inside of you like you'd originally thought – if it had been a baby Panbabylonian or a baby Huluvu or a baby Ultramancer – if you'd known it would have tentacles or one eye or – say it had been a baby Dalek!"

She grimaces. "But Daleks don't reproduce that –"

"I know. But say you'd talked to a Dalek at the banquet, and the same thing had happened. Would you still think it was your fault?"

"I think I'd remember talking to a Dalek, Doctor."

"Well – nevermind that, but –"

"I mean, what would it say anyway? 'EAT-THE-TEA-CAKE!'?"

"But would you –"

"Not like it would have wanted to talk to me, anyway – it would have been far too busy exterminating everyone else."

"Clara." I grasp her head between my hands so she has to look at me. "Would you still think it was your fault?"

She looks scared.

She looks angry.

She looks confused.

She shakes her head. "No." A question bubbles to the surface, makes her eyes shiny. "Why is that?"

"Well…" I scratch my face and run a hand through my hair like I can arrange my thoughts or somehow make the right ones appear. People don't normally ask me to explain human behaviour, especially not humans themselves. "I suppose – going back to the baby Dalek example – that it depends on what interactions you've had before and – what you know of them. Or – if it had been a Huluvu, something not quite so obviously evil, then, despite whatever interaction you had with it, you would know that it had done something wrong. You might scold it and tell it that you can't just impregnate people without their knowledge. It would be far more straightforward, I think."

She's quiet, and I worry that I've said the wrong thing. "But with a human…?"

"With a human…" I sigh, trying to pull something together that makes sense. "I suppose with a human it's different because humans have a very long history of treating their women as lesser beings, throughout almost every culture on Earth. The world over, men have most of the power and make most of the decisions. But the funny thing about humans is that the women are TOLD that they have power and can make their own decisions, so when they are overpowered by men…they've been told that it was their own doing. And they are told this so many times in so many ways that women actually BELIEVE it. And because most of the rules are written by men and judged by men, men are often told and see just the same that they don't need to take responsibility themselves. They believe it, too."

She stares at her hands. "And so they keep doing things like…that?"

"Yes. Which most other species don't understand, actually, mine included. Like – for example, let's say I want to show off my new fez." I notice a slight quirk of her mouth at that, the first positive expression I've seen. "Because my new fez is cool! And very shiny and red – it's even shinier than my old fez. And so I take my new fez out for a stroll and I meet someone on the street. And he, being a man of very good taste, compliments me on my fez."

The quirk turns into a smirk. It's encouraging and distracts me from momentary feelings of longing for a new fez.

"And me, being extremely proud of my new fez, take it off and let him see it. I even let him hold it because he sees it's shiny and he wants to appreciate the material. He may even stroke it because it's smooth. And I let him do this because I see he's a man of very good taste, but eventually I ask for it back. Because it is MY fez, after all. But he doesn't give it back. He wants to keep it. He explains that from the time he saw the fez on my head, he thought maybe he wanted one like it. But then once I let him hold it, he knew that he was actually supposed to have THIS fez. He says he knows this is the fez for him, and though I explain to him quite patiently that he can go buy his own fez, he protests that I shouldn't have let him hold it because now he's attached to it. When I tell him that I only thought he wanted to hold it, that I NEVER intended to part with it – he takes off and runs away with it."

I pause to see if she's following. She's looking at me like I'm mad - another very good sign. "Now imagine that I go to a policeman and report the theft to him. I'm very angry! I tell him that someone stole my fez, and I want him found so I can get my fez back. I also want the man brought to justice for stealing it in the first place. But imagine that instead of asking for a description of this man so he can start looking for him, he asks me how I was wearing the fez. He asks me if I was trying to show it off. He may even rebuke me for wearing it so proudly. Then once I tell him that I let the man hold it, he becomes frustrated with me and tells me to stop wasting his time. He tells me that I should have known that once I let the man hold it, of course that would mean he'd think he could take it. He reprimands me for not being more careful with my own things. Perhaps at the end of it, he takes a description and says something about looking for the man, but he doesn't seem very sincere about it. In fact, he seems more upset with ME that I came to him in the first place. Now let's say that I decide not to rely on this incompetent policeman and approach three more. But I get the same reaction each time. After the fourth reaction, I start to wonder… If they are all saying the same thing, perhaps it really WAS my fault? I decide to try other authorities, but they all say the same thing, too. And now I am missing my fez, wishing I'd never taken it out in the first place – but also feeling guilty and blaming myself for what happened to it."

I can't tell what she's thinking, though the smirk is long gone.

"So…what do you think?"

"I think you're too attached to your fez, Doctor."

My finger shoots up. "Ah! So now I have you telling me that I shouldn't mourn its loss. So even though I was angry at first and upset that it was taken, now that my anger has turned to guilt and I've started to believe that it was MY fault, I've now been told that being upset at all isn't okay. That I shouldn't be upset – that I should just forget about it, yes?

She wilts under my gaze, arms hugging herself protectively. "It's just a fez," she protests weakly.

"But it was MY fez."

"You can get another one."

"But I can never get THIS one, can I?" I ask pointedly.

She's concentrating very hard at a spot on my left knee. "It wasn't your fault," she murmurs.

"Are you certain about that? Because I've had a lot of people tell me that it was. People who deal with crimes all the time – people who supposedly know what they're talking about. Even if they didn't come out and SAY, 'this is your fault,' that was the message I received."

Her lips press together in a thin line as she shakes her head. "It wasn't your fault." It comes out as a hoarse whisper.

"I almost believe you…" I lay my hands gently on her knees. "But I need you to look at me when you say that."

It takes her a long time before she can. I can feel her trembling underneath my palms. "It wasn't your fault," she chokes out.

I look at her, my Clara. "No," I say softly. "It wasn't."

She falls to pieces then, and I pull her into my arms, wishing again and again that I could protect her from it all. Wishing I could bend the rules and cross over my timeline and sit with her at her end of the table so I wouldn't have missed the tea cake. Wishing I hadn't insisted on Settima Prossouri. Wishing I had taken her to the singing beaches of Ei 'Harrofna or to the world premiere of Swan Lake or the unveiling of St. Peter's Basilica.

But I know it wasn't my fault, either.

I ask if I can hold her closer and she lets me. Now I do crawl next to her and do my best to hold as much of her as possible. Gingerly at first, aware of her hurting, healing body, but then she asks me to hold her tighter. I wonder if I can cradle her close enough to my hearts, if she'll feel how they're breaking for her.

She cries and cries while I continue to stroke her hair and rock her and whisper things that maybe help and maybe don't. After a while I realise that her crying has quieted and I look down to see her asleep in my arms.

I extricate myself from her and settle her back down on her pillow, tucking the blanket carefully around her chin. As I go to leave, I hear her call my name, stopping me in my tracks. I return immediately to her side.

She peers up at me through half-lidded eyes. "Can you promise me something?"

I will promise her absolutely anything, and I wonder that she has to ask that at all. "Yes."

She grasps my hand. "Promise me you won't kill him."

I no longer feel like the Doctor today, having ended one life; I figured ending the father's life would be far easier. But I cannot deny her anything. "I promise." I kiss her hand.

She doesn't let go. "And promise you won't hurt him. I mean – you won't hurt him badly."

Considering my plans for him do not involve weapons of any kind, I decide they fall within her terms. "I promise I won't hurt him badly." I kiss her forehead tenderly, tucking her in again. "Now, try to sleep."

The TARDIS darkens the room as I leave and somehow, the door doesn't make a sound as I pull it closed.

I head for the console room, having forgotten anything else I might've needed before. There are confirmations waiting for me from the messages I sent out, and I set the coordinates accordingly. It's time to meet the Man Who Violated Clara.

Time for him to meet the Oncoming Storm. And maybe...the Predator.

He slumps over his desk, head bowed. "Just…leave me in peace, Predator. I'd like to be left alone now. Please…" His voice quivers with emotion now. "Please go."

"I will go, Violator, but I'm afraid I won't be leaving you alone."

"What?" He raises his head. "How do you mean?"

"You see when I talked about payback, I was talking about revenge but also about what I intend to give you - my generous donation. And I intend to give you exactly what you desire most." I clear my throat. "Ladies?"

A flick at the door and it slides open, letting in five women in long, flowing robes. They glide in soundlessly, making little tittering sounds as they surround him.

"What is this?" He eyes me reproachfully. "Have you brought me whores?"

"Whores?!" I gasp. "Certainly not – quite the opposite, in fact. Violator, meet the noblewomen of the Last Sect of Hedonya."

He looks from one to the other confusedly. "My apologies, ladies – I wasn't aware. Um…may I inquire as to where you reside? I am unfamiliar with Hedoyna. Is it in the Setti system?"

They smile enigmatically, exchanging bemused looks with each other. "Soon?" One of them addresses me impatiently.

"Yes, Laquaella, all in due time. First – introductions! Violator, meet Laquaella, Sorasel, Anphalona, Ury, and Nakbo. You'll want to know their names, I assure you."

He gives each a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod. "I still don't understand, Predator – are you gifting them to me?"

I squeeze the sonic until it cuts into my palm. "After all that, and you still think women are property. You still assume they're to be possessed, bartered, bought, sold, used…" I feel the wrath boiling up again, but now I have someplace to direct it. "Ury. Forget what I said earlier."

Ury twists a lock of ginger hair around her finger, pulling it hard. "Really?" She smiles devilishly at me.

I return it. "Really."

He looks between us, but even with the five of them surrounding him, he's still focused on me. "What did you tell her, Predator? Would you please explain what is going on?"

My smile drops as my eyes meet his. "Simple. This is my donation, Violator. I'm playing matchmaker today."

"But you said -"

"Yes, I know what I said, and I meant it. They have come here freely and willingly, because you have something they want. And they will give you what you want."

Nakbo and Sorasel giggle at each other, while Anphalona strokes his cheek. "Such pretty, pretty eyes," she coos.

He laughs nervously at her. "Thank you, erm – which one are you again?"

Anphalona shoots me an accusatory look. "You said he was brilliant."

"He'll learn quickly enough, Anphalona," I reassure her.

He swallows audibly. "Learn what?"

I ignore his question. "As I was saying, they are the Last Sect of Hedonya, which means last of their kind. And they've been looking for a compatible male to continue their species for some time now."

His eyes widen. "Species? But they're human, aren't they?"

"Oh. Did I leave that bit out? Dear me…" I nod at Ury. "Whenever you're ready."

Ury lets out a sigh of relief, reaching a hand up to the back of her head. The click of a switch being flipped is heard, and her human image melts, revealing her true Hedonyan form.

He lets out a cry at the sight of her. "Compatible?!" His hand hits the side of his desk repeatedly, apparently forgetting that I'd disabled his security link. When nothing happens, he shrinks from the rest of them as they each, in turn, shed their human form. He tries reasoning with them as multitudes of spindly limbs reach towards him. "Now, see here, ladies – I don't know what he told you, but I am most definitely not biologically compatible with you. Please accept my sincerest apologies for any confusion..."

"Normally, you wouldn't be, no." I lean against the door frame. "Unless of course, you'd ingested a particular Hedonyan biological compound that changed that."

"Biological compound?! How could I have…" He trails off, wide eyes falling to his empty glass. "You…you put something in my drink." It's more a statement than a question, confirming what he already knows.

I palm the door open. "Just remember, Violator – you didn't have to drink it. In the end…it was your choice." Savouring one last look of his horrified realisation, I enter the lockdown key code. "Enjoy your legacy."

It takes a few trips to locate the information I need and then another few to find the right location. Part of this is the TARDIS' fault, though I suppose I can't really blame her for trying to prevent me from breaking the rules. But after she throws a number of startlingly…creative insults at me, she finally relents. I'd like to think it was my patient explanation - and perhaps that little round of begging - that did it, but I can always feel when the old girl gets sentimental on me. This was definitely one of those times.

It takes another few tries to locate the correct floor. The cupboard we landed in is surprisingly big enough to conceal us, but I don't know my way around and have to psychic paper my way up, then down again, confusing many staff members in the process. Once I've located the correct room, I have to find yet another cupboard to hide in because there are far too many people when I peak into it the first time. By the time the day is over, I have it fully stocked, tidied and catalogued.

My next go-round is more successful, but then I have to wait until the room empties completely. Well…not completely, of course. There need to be two very specific people in it.

When the last extra person finally leaves, I sneak my way in, hastily finding a place to hide because I know I can't let her see me. I have already broken so many rules, and that is one I absolutely cannot break.

There is a curtain, fortunately, and I find a place to wedge myself, making sure I don't have any noise-making devices that would go off on me and ruin all of this and possibly rip a hole in the space-time continuum. Though…it's not like I haven't done that before. However, the TARDIS might actually lock me out then, and that would be very, very bad.

It's quiet for a while, save for soft breathing sounds. But then I hear a few rustlings of cloth, followed by a voice.

"Ooh, sweetie, you're awake already? Hm? Are you hungry again?"

I smile at the sound of her voice. She sounds so tired and yet so…peaceful and contented. No, it's more than that - it's…what is it?

"No? What is it then, sweet pea? Do you need changing? Hmm…no, you're still dry. What do you need, love?"

There's a gurgling sound and some cooing.

"Okay, then – you can just look at me, if you want." She laughs, and it's never sounded brighter. "I'll look at you, too – how about that? Because I love looking at you – I'll never stop loving looking at you, and not just 'cause you got your Mummy's eyes. They were my mummy's eyes, too - did you know that? And she's looking down on us right now."

I feel something strange in my throat. No part of my body seems to want to function normally today, apparently.

"But I love looking at you because you're my darling boy. I don't know how you did it, little one, but you just took over my whole heart in less than a day. You're the most beautiful thing in the entire world, and I love you more than anything in the entire world. Actually…" She chuckles. "In the whole Universe. And Mummy can say that 'cause she's seen it. She saw so much of the Universe back when she used to travel with this…this man. This mad, brilliant, funny, wonderful man."

There are more gurgly sounds. I strain my ears to catch the meaning, but it's mostly nonsense. I still have the biggest smile on my face, though.

She laughs again, and I know I've never heard her this happy. Is that what it is? That's she's just very happy?

"I know!" She says like she speaks baby better than I do. Maybe right now she does. "He was really something…Mummy's first great love."

My smile fades to something softer. I close my eyes as I feel my hearts swell within my chest.

"He meant the world to me back then. I would've done anything for him, followed him anywhere…and he did so much for me, too. Things no one else would've done for me – like this one time…there was this one time he was there for me, and…" Her voice has gotten rough-sounding. "If he hadn't been there for me and done what he did, I don't know that I'd have you right now." There's some sniffling, and then she gives a tearful laugh. "So, my sweet little one, My Little Heart Invader…someday I'll tell you the story of him. Someday I'll tell you the story of the Doctor."

Then there's the sound of gentle humming followed by quiet again. I slip out the way I came in and make my way back to the TARDIS.

As I set the coordinates for a refueling location, I feel the nudge of her against my mind. "What?" I ask, expecting a reprimand. Her reply is somewhat bewildering. "What do you mean there's something on my face? What is it?" I fish underneath the helmic regulator and extricate a mirror. Looking into it, I see my face is wet. "Well, how did that happen?" I ask my reflection, brushing a finger across my cheek and tasting whatever had fallen onto my face. Salty...? Oh.

I set the mirror down with a sigh and find myself walking to one of the chairs and sitting. Normally, I don't think about the events of the day – I always need to move forward. But today was different. I would never have imagined that with all of the pain I had seen, the death I had brought, the suffering I had inflicted (Hedonyans are not known for their gentle nature), losing the meaning of my name along the way as I was unable to really make anyone better…that I would find myself in the peculiar situation of knowing that I had helped bring…joy into someone's heart. And I suppose with the knowledge of that…joy had sneaked in and overtaken both of mine as well.

Everything ends; everything has its time. And I know that someday I'll just be the Story of the Doctor to Clara, a finished chapter in her life. But we're all stories in the end, aren't we?

And today…I made it a good one.

*Fin*