Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, though it once belonged to Russell T Davies.


CLOCKS


"Doctor? You have a visitor."

His eyes dart up from the stack of papers on his desk, and he fires the woman a brief smile. "Yes? Who is it?"

The woman stares back at him, gaze unfaltering. (She really almost feels sorry for him, sometimes. It's like he's there, but he isn't—like he'd much rather be somewhere else but here. From the moment he'd stepped inside the offices, she knew there was something off about him, but she never could place it.) "Says his name is the Doctor, doctor." She grins, a tad. "Seems you're not the only doctor in the house, now."

He blinks, surprise written quite clearly on his face. "Well, then. Bring him in, I suppose."

She nods, and then opens up the door to his daintily-sized office, speaking with the man outside. From past her frame, he can see that this mysterious Doctor visitor is wearing a tacky brown duster, and a pinstripe suit with converse sneakers. (Doesn't he know? Trainers do not go with pinstripes.)

The door opens again, and this Doctor man steps in. Almost instantly, something in the man's face morphs to an expression of... something else, but he can't place it.

"Hello," he says nervously, shooting the Doctor another smile. "What can I do for you today, Doctor?"

The Doctor sits down cautiously, eyeing his nametag. Harold Saxon, it reads, but the name means nothing in this day and age. This is years before that time. He glances back up at 'Dr Saxon', suspicion and fascination creeping into his hearts. "I've... heard you are an expert in prosthetics, am I right?"

Harold's face brightens. "You've heard right, Doctor," he responds, then quickly surveys the man again. He doesn't seem to have any missing limbs. Perhaps it's a loved one or family member?

(If only he knew about the hand.)

"Erm, yes. Yes," the Doctor replies, casting a sidelong glance to the wall, which is more comforting to look at than Dr Saxon's personage. "Well..."

Harold sits forward in his seat, kneading his fingers together onto the desk. "Although, I might have you know, we'll need your medical records to get anything done, which includes me knowing your actual name..."

The Doctor blinks, and then grins. "Right. It's Smith. John Smith." He reaches into his coat to pull out his psychic paper, and then quickly reminds himself that this is the Master he's speaking to, regardless of... whatever is going on right now. Psychic paper would never work on him (and, for that matter, neither would a perception filter).

"Well, then. So, what seems to be the problem, then, Mr Smith?" His tone is distinctly mocking, yet playful; Harold knows there's no way 'John Smith' is this guy's real name, but the fact that this Doctor person needs to hide his name so badly is fascinating to him. The Doctor opens his mouth to respond when he suddenly stops, interrupted by the sudden sound of tapping. His eyes instantly dart to Harold's fingertips. Harold blanches. "Oh, I'm sorry," he apologizes quickly. "Nervous habit."

It's still there, the Doctor says to himself, alarmed. Why is it still there? "Oh, nah, it's alright." He suddenly stands, an awkward smile forming on his lips. "You know, actually, I think I've got another appointment to tend to..." his voice trails off.

Harold's brows rise, and then he rises up, as if remembering himself. "Oh, I'm sorry," he responds, smiling out of propriety. "Well, if you ever need anything, don't forget to give my office a ring, right?" He holds out his business card.

Pocketing it, the Doctor grins back, but it's all smile and no hearts. "Sure, sure. 'Course." A quick wave, and he's out the door, leaving Harold sitting there, puzzled.

I wonder what he was here for? Who is this 'Doctor' man...?


1. Run


It's late evening by the time Harold gets home from work. Slamming his car door shut, he starts strolling out from his driveway, towards his front door. He places his hand on the knob, and pauses.

Something's watching him.

He stops, and turns about, giving the area a good look. But between the dim light offered by the moon and the flickering street lamppost, he can hardly see past a few feet, let alone behind the bushes and shrubs lining his property.

I must just be imagining things. Can hardly think anyways, not with that noise in my head...

Harold shakes his head quickly, dismissing the thought. (His coworkers already thought he was mad before, when he had started blabbering about the drumming inside of his own mind; he doesn't need to start imagining things outside of his mind, either.) He can't help but rush inside his house, though, and make sure that the door is locked.

Routinely, he heads into the bathroom, washes his face, changes his clothes, looks in the mirror again. Brown hair, brown eyes, late thirties, maybe early forties. Same face as always, right?

Then why does it feel so wrong?

He sighs, and then, running his hand through his hair, settles onto the couch, turning on the television. It flickers, the screen getting a muddled grey haze, and then blacks out.

Puzzled, he gets up and steps over to the set, and gives it a good smack. "What's wrong with you?" he mutters, frustrated, as he watches the static. "Work!" He exclaims, and hits it one last time.

The screen is abruptly awash with colors. Harold staggers back, covering his eyes as the ceiling lightbulb suddenly fizzes out, and the room becomes illuminated by the light projected from the television. His eyes widen as his heart races in his chest. Something is starting to form within the screen. A... a head... and... is that a mouth...?

Yes. It's a mouth. A giant gaping mouth lined with rows of teeth, and just as Harold thinks this day can't get any worse, the television begins rattling and shaking, as if something inside of it is squirming, struggling to bust out.

He's not going to sit here and wait to see what happens. Harold bursts to his feet, grabs his coat, and scrambles out of his house, about to start screaming his head off when he runs straight into—

"Oof!" The Doctor stumbles back, shocked at first, and then he's focused again. "Mast—Harold! What's—"

Harold blinks, shocked, and then rapidly regains himself. "Docto—Mr Smith... There's... there's, this, this thing—this thing, inside of my telly. You wouldn't believe." He inhales to speak again, but the Doctor steps past him, entering the house cautiously. He reaches into his jacket, and procures a curious metal object, like a wand. Harold raises a brow, following him briskly into the family room, where the television set sits ... lifeless. No longer moving. Simply off.

The Doctor simply steps over to the television as Harold quickly starts to justify himself. "Hold on, it's not what it looks like. I'm not mad, honest. The television really was shaking all over. It was like it was—it was possessed, or something. I... oh, bother. You don't believe me, do you?"

Harold watches as the Doctor, unresponsive, merely holds up his wand-like thing and presses down on it. It makes a strange sort of noise and lights up blue as he moves the wand across the back of his television set, removing the back cover. Puzzled, Harold leans over and observes, while the Doctor starts fiddling about with the infrastructure of his television.

"Are... you sure you know what you're doing?" Harold says carefully.

The Doctor pauses to shoot him an incredulous glare. "'Course I know what I'm doing!" he responds, and then backs off from the television, looking quite pleased with himself. A little smile forms on his face. "And I've got some advice for you."

"What is it?"

The Doctor's grin widens as the television set suddenly roars to life. A pair of jaws rip out of the screen, writhing its way out of the machine. Harold's eyes are like golfballs as the Doctor grabs his arm.

"Run," he says, and they do.


A/N: So... that's all so far. I know it might be a bit confusing, and I apologise for that. Things will be explained later on, I think. And, although I don't like to beg for reviews, it would really help me tons to see if this story is worth continuing if I got a few. Also, if you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer them, provided they aren't massive spoilers or anything.

Thanks so much for reading.