Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of its characters. This story takes place somewhere in the middle of Season 9. Rated T for angst and medical whump. This is a commissioned prompt by whouffaldi-that-is-all. Art by luluxa. All other elements of the story are my own.

Chapter 1: The Dead Planet

It was a petty argument and he knew it.

Far in the distance stood Clara Oswald, basking in the warmth of an alien sun, breathing in the salt of an alien sea- looking defiant as ever.

The Doctor huffed. She was becoming too much of a daredevil lately and he would be lying to himself if he said it did not worry him. They had only landed here on this random planet because the Tardis was having herself a little hissy fit for whatever reason. Probably because he had tried to heat a bagel in the Time Winds. Nah. Probably not.

He shoved his hands into the well-worn pockets of his favorite plaid trousers- which definitely were not pajama pants- and trudged ahead across the smooth expanse of salt flats before him.

This entire planet was dead, too salty to sustain any form of life. Nothing here but the salt, the sun, and the sea. Pretty boring really, but of course Clara Oswald saw the opportunity for exploration and did not think twice about doing just that.

It was quite a beautiful view with the salt flats proving to be such a perfect reflective surface that it was like walking on a giant mirror. Deep red sunbeams bounced off the surface and scattered multicolored rays of light in every direction. "It's like a disco planet," Clara had quipped, smiling uncontrollably- obviously itching to get a closer view.

And usually he would not refuse her, especially on a completely harmless and desolate planet like this one. But something came over him. A bad feeling. A Premonition. He did not like premonitions. It was like remembering backwards, and he did not know how or why, but the idea of "danger" asserted itself in his mind like a great big neon sign.

She fussed. Of course she did. He tried to explain that he had a duty of care and he could never live with himself if something were to happen to her, but she would not have it. She asked him for a reason and suddenly he found that he could not produce one. With that, she turned on her heel and made her way to the cerulean shores, and the Doctor was powerless to stop her.

And that was the last he had seen of Clara for the past thirty minutes. He kept a sharp ear out for any sounds of distress, regrettably unable to steer the rest of his concentration away from the panel of wires sparking angrily at him. The salt in the air was corroding the wires and it was only a matter of time before they became damaged beyond repair. One mismatched connection could fry the whole circuit and then they would never leave this salty wasteland.

He touched something he apparently should not have and a small arc of electricity leapt from his sonic to his fingers. He howled in pain, sucking on his knuckles. The Tardis warbled in a definite tone of irritation for his efforts.

"You'd better hope that wasn't deliberate," he threatened.

The Tardis produced a noise as similar to a huff as she could and shut up. Good. Now he could really focus.

There was also this splashing. It was different from the constant metronome of the waves against the shore. What was that? It was really beginning to shake his concentration.

The splashing continued and he somehow could not force himself to tune it out. The colorful wires before him all blurred together in his mind and soon he found that he couldn't work on them at all without causing an often painful mishap.

"Oh my god, Clara! Are you trying to throw my concentration!?" he threw his hands up in frustration, rising from the reflective ground with creaky knees. "It's as if you want us to stay stuck here forever!"

He fiddled with the sonic with an indiscernible grumble and pivoted on his heel to the beach where he had last seen his feisty companion.

"Clara?" he called, confusion lacing his voice.

The tiny human was nowhere to be seen. The entire landscape was completely flat. One could see over a hundred miles into the distance unhindered by geographical landmarks. He should be able to see her. Unless...

And there was that damned splashing again. And there was a figure.

It was Clara, alright. And she was definitely not alone.

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