A/N: First of all, thank you to everyone who has followed/reviewed/favorited! :)

Second of all, I'd like to point at that I am in fact a 13 year old. My point; I'm not a medical genius, nor am I a master of pick-locking or anything of the sort. If there are any mistakes having to do with those things, then I apologize!

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of the character. They only characters I own (so far) is Alec and Eric.

Immediately, Jack lowered the gun to his side and sprinted forward towards the body, dropping onto his knees and pressing two fingers to the bodies neck. He didn't seem to care that the puddle of blood was soaking his clothing and skin. Rose kept her gun pointed around the room, her eyes narrowed. Martha was stood frozen to the stop, horrified. Slowly, John crept to the side, peering at the body with an uneven mixture of sadness and curiosity.

His chest ached as he looked it over. The skin had blotched up and become tinted blue. It was lying in a puddle of blood. The clothing - a suit - was in perfect condition, which seemed to make it worse. The body was male, judging by his facial features. The man's hair, while coated in dried blood, was once a rich brown color. John couldn't see his eyes, but he didn't really want to; he knew he would only be met with a cold, dead gaze, and the thought made his stomach flip.

"Who is it?" Martha finally whispered, her eyes trained on the body. Jack shook his head slowly.

"I don't know," he replied, standing up. Disgust was plastered across his face. Rose lowered her gun and walked forward, placing the gun on a desk. Jack kept his in his belt. Martha was backing down the stairs, staring at them with a frown on her face. John kept to the side, his heart pounding in his chest. The air felt tense and heat from fear and horror was creeping down his neck and over his chest. "Whoever he is," Jack mumbled, pursing his lips, "he's been dead for a while. Someone dumped him here on purpose. I'm not even sure this is his blood."

Rose grumbled something under her breath and walked to the side of the body, pulling her dress up and kicking off her shoes so she wouldn't drown them in the blood. John watched her approach the body, looking it over with a puzzled look on her face. "How long?" She asked, brushing a blond lock back and tucking it behind her ear.

Jack shook his head. "Don't know."

"I'd say about six hours," John blurted out without thinking and immediately cursed himself silently afterward. John and Rose looked up at him, clearly shocked. Jack's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but it was Rose who voiced the question in their heads.

"And how would you know that?"

John swallowed, taking a cautious step forward, his eyes trained on the body. "Well, to start-" his voice cracked and he winced, "- the body is rigid. Using the Rigor Mortis method..." he paused, taking a deep breath. "After death, the muscles in the body will usually relax. However, after about three hours, it will tense up again. Glycogen... it's converted into lactic acid, but that process isn't done yet," he explained, awkwardly motioning to the condition of the body. "That means that it hasn't been around twelve hours yet. Of course, the Rigor Mortis method isn't all that reliable, but there are other ways, too." He couldn't help but be surprised by his sudden burst of confidence around Jack and Rose, although he knew it wouldn't last. He stepped closer to the body, tilting his head. Wrinkling his nose, he pressed two fingers to the bodies blueish skin of the arm, and when he drew back, he pointed at the patch of skin. "There!" Rose turned to look, an interested look on her face.

"His skin," he explained. "It became white after I pressed it. The settling of blood - Liver Mortis. After around... oh... I'd say ten to twelve hours? The blotches on the skin will have joined up, as they have now, but the skin won't turn white after pressing it. There are a bunch of other clues, but because his skin turned white, it indicates that it's been about five to six hours. I'm just guessing six."

"Wow," Rose breathed, impressed. "You're quite the doctor. Where'd ya' learn all that?"

John shrugged. "My dad was a Coroner. I picked a lot up from him..."

"Looks like you've got competition, Martha," Jack laughed, and they all turned to look at her, Jack and Rose both smiling. Except, she wasn't paying attention. She didn't even seem to have heard them. A look of disgust, horror, and anger was displayed on her face.

"You might want to come see this," she whispered, a hand pressed to her mouth. Slowly, shakily, John stood up, but he didn't move to look. Jack and Rose exchanged glances and walked to where she was, walking lightly down the steps while making sure not to touch them. They turned to look at where Martha was staring and anger flared up on Jack's face. No one said a word. Curiosity got the better of John and he walked towards them, stepping lightly down the stairs as they had done. He turned to look, a frown on his face, until he realized what was off.

Letters were painted in fresh blood on the risers of the steps. The top step had a sloppy 'M' slapped on, and on the others, an 'I, T, C H'.

"Mitch," John said, staring blankly at the stairs. Rose looked just as angry as Jack, her lips curled up in disgust. "Who is that?"

"Alec's boss," Jack spat, and John jumped at the hatred in his voice. For a moment, John thought it was directed at him and he recoiled, taking a step back, but Jack didn't even spare him another glance as he stalked up the stairs and crossed the room, entering a different room and slamming the glass door shut behind him. Martha flinched, sighing.

The angry look had disappeared from Rose's face, replaced by sadness. Her eyes flickered to John, and upon seeing the confused look on his face, she began to explain.

"Mitch. Mitchell. Adam Mitchell. Adam used to work for us... a long time ago. He was Jack's partner. The two of 'em were best friends - and I mean, it was like they were joined at the hip. But... I dunno. Adam got mad one day, stormed out, rantin' 'bout somethin' Jack had done. Didn't see him for a few weeks, and there weren't any signs as to where Adam had gone." She walked back up the stairs, edging around the body and then sinking down in a chair. She folded her arms and turned to look at him again.

"We were on a mission," she continued, "and we saw him, at a party. Jack got upset and went to talk to him. Adam attacked him, in front of all the guests - blew our cover, and we blew his. He's been trying to kill us ever since then, without any explanation."

John stared at her, not sure what else to say. It seemed that Rose wasn't quite as attached to Adam as Jack had been, yet she sat with a far off look on her face, the tip on her pinky finger in her mouth as she bit lightly on the fingernail. "I don't know why Jack liked him anyway," Rose said, and the Doctor jumped at the sudden noise. "He was always a bit of a self-absorbed prick."

John began to say something, but suddenly, her phone rang. She let out an exhausted sigh and reached forward, pulling a phone out form under a computer monitor. He felt a bit of sympathy for her rise in his chest, but he quickly shook it off. He didn't really want to feel sympathy for her, not after everything he knew about her. Not wanting to eavesdrop, he took the time to examine the room properly.

It was almost a little odd. At the bottom of the stairs, everything was painted a deep blue, except for the stairs, which were white. At the top of the stairs, however, that's where everything became a bit odd. The walls were painted orange, with small, brown and green designs on them that were circles near the ceiling, but as they descended, they became hexagons. The flooring was just grating, and he could see that underneath it was wires and a few large storage chests. The lights bathed the room with a greenish-blue glow. On his side, there was one small desk, which had a large, flat screen television on it, but besides the desk, there was simply a railing that ran the length of the room. On the opposite side, near Rose, there was another desk that stretched along the entire wall. There was one computer at each end of the long desk, and inbetween was just an area scattered with files and papers.

Pursing his lips, he strolled forward, stuffing one hand in his pocket and looking down at the files. He glanced towards Rose, but she was too occupied with whoever was on the other line to notice him being nosy. Careful not to make a sound, he gently moved a piece of paper from the desk, which displayed a file underneath. He lifted the cover, tilting his head to look inside.

Photographs of people were taped to the cover, along with Rose and Jack and Martha. Each photo looked professional, each of people in them staring at the camera with blank expressions on their faces. Three of the photos had been sloppily crossed out with red marker. He frowned, opening it all the way. He carefully lifted the picture of Rose and flipped the photo over. On the other side was information.

Codename: Bad Wolf

Age: 20

Status: Single

Position: Field Worker

He cocked his head, moving to Martha's picture and lifted it as well.

Codename:

Age: 24

Status: Unknown

Position: Medical Worker

John frowned, confused. Why didn't Martha have a 'codename'? And why was her status unknown? Shaking his head, he moved to Jack's and flipped it over completely.

Codename: Jack Harkness

Age: 27

Status: Unknown

Position: Field Worker

"You know, you're not meant to be looking at those."

John yelped rather loudly, fumbling with the file. It fell to the floor and he dropped down, scooping it up. As he tried to straighten up, he whacked his head against the desk. Cursing softly, he stumbled, rubbing the top of his head. He glanced behind him to see Rose staring at him, an eyebrow arched. She was, however, grinning at his clumsiness. He blushed softly, placing the file on the table.

"I'm sorry," he squeaked, pulling at his earlobe. Rose smiled and shook her head.

"It's fine. S'nothing too personal in there." She reached for the file and tucked it under her arm, then ran a hand through her hair, sighing.

John shuffled his feet, pursing his lips. "My friend," he finally said. Rose frowned, cocking her head. "Is he… okay?"

"The blonde boy?" She asked, tucking a lock of gold behind her ear. John nodded. "Yeah. He's fine. He left when we cleared the area."

John breathed a sigh of relief, and then collapsed in a nearby chair, rubbing his forehead. Rose looked him over, sympathy glowing in her eyes. "This is a mess," John finally whispered, staring blankly across the room. Rose winced softly, and he frowned. "What?"

"It's… about to get messier."

John stiffened, but kept his mouth shut, unwilling to say anything. Instead, he waited for her to continue. He glanced hopefully around for Martha, but she had left the room – along with the dead body, he realized. How had he missed that? He turned back to Rose, raising an eyebrow.

"We… we know where Alec is now, and we know Alec has the key. What we don't know is why he chose you to hold it for him…"

John let out a frustrated yell, jumping to his feet. "I told you!" He argued, shaking his head. His voice was much louder than he had previously intended, but he didn't lower it. "I've got nothing to do with Alec, or Mitchell! He chose me at random! I was there, and he was there, and he just told me to hold it."

Rose winced at his outburst, drawing away from him, and John rolled back on his heels in surprise. Was she… scared of him? He studied her in confusion, his brow furrowed. She was staring at the ground, holding her breath. Why on Earth was she scared of him? He wasn't anything to be scared of. He was tall, sure, but he was lanky, and lacked a lot of muscle. She'd seen how clumsy he could be. For her to be scared of him… it didn't make any sense. But yet, there she was in front of him, her face pale, and her muscles tense. He glanced around, before taking an uncertain step towards her.

"Hey… I'm sorry… I, uh…" he trailed off, biting down on his lip. To his further surprise, Rose swirled around on her heels, her muscles tense. She stalked from the room without saying a word, and he watched her go, utterly lost. Jack popped his head out of his door, frowning.

"What happened?"

John glanced at him and shrugged helplessly. "I yelled," he said softly, and Jack frowned even harder.

"Loudly?"

John glared at him, all fear of the man forgotten for the moment. "That's usually what yelling entails, yes." He snapped. Jack gave him an odd look, glancing towards the door that Rose had used to leave. A look of worry crossed his face. He clearly knew why Rose had reacted the way she had, but he didn't look like he was about to explain. Shaking his head, he came towards John, and John stiffened.

"Here you go, Eric," the man said, holding something out to him. John glanced at the item in his hand and immediately felt his stomach tighten. A small, black gun was fitted into his hand. John took a step back, swallowing.

"I can't use that," he croaked, and then frowned. "Why would I even need to?" He felt panic beginning to build in his chest again, and he tried to force it away.

Jack shook his head and stepped forward, shoving it into his hand. John fumbled with it for a few moments, nearly dropping it, but he managed to keep it in his hands. Jack chuckled and patted his shoulder. "If we're lucky," he began, "you won't have to, because you will be staying in the van." He didn't straight out answer John's question, and he really didn't have to, because John had already guessed what was happening.

"Damn," John breathed, staring out the window of their vehicle at the large building outside. They had parked across the road from a building that might as well be the White House. Huge pillars lined a white, elegant porch, and the building was taller than any other he'd ever seen. The windows (of which there were probably around thirty on the side of the building they were facing) all glowed a yellow-orange color. The sky had brightened a little since when John had gotten off of the lorry. It was probably around six a.m. They had driven nearly an hour to get to this building. John couldn't help but find it a little odd that a building this beautiful should be in the middle of no where.

He shook his head and sat back against his seat, his hand tugging at the seat belt. The gun was pressed against his side in his belt and digging into his skin, and while he tried to ignore the pain, it was a bit difficult. Jack had shown him how to use it, but he hadn't actually let John fire it - not that he had wanted to. The gun was switched onto safety, thankfully, so there was hardly a chance that he could accidentally fire the weapon.

"Eric," Rose said suddenly, and he glanced towards her, blinking. She hadn't spoken to him since when he'd yelled at her. She hadn't even looked at him. He didn't say anything, just waited for her to continue. "Like Jack probably said, you're staying here. However..." she paused and undid her seat belt, leaning forward. She pulled a flap down from the roof of the van, presenting a small, rectangular screen. "We want to know that you're here at all times. So, you get to watch." She leaned down into her back, and pulled out a black headset.

"You also get to talk to us." She handed him the headset and uncertainly, he pulled it over his head. The sides had clips on them to attach it to his ears. The microphone extended from the right to his mouth. He glanced at her to see Rose staring at him, an odd looks in her eyes. When their eyes met, she looked away, clearing her throat. "We have to make sure you're going to stay put."

Before he could react, she had pulled out a pair of handcuffs and had cuffed him to a pole at the side of his chair. He let out a groan and slide down in his seat, sighing. Rose smiled softly and shook her head. "We'll uncuff you when we get back," she said, smoothing down her dress. She had changed into a different dress. It was white, and it went down to her ankles. It was strapless again and the back had a triangle that showed her skin. John was simply glad that it was no longer split to her thigh. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a bun, with a few strands hanging out on one side.

It took several more minutes for her to explain how the cameras worked. Both her and Jack were wearing contacts that were cameras. The monitor displayed four views; Rose's cameras, Jack's camera, and two other cameras that would showed him the outside of the van. To select a view, he simply had to tap the square and it would bring it up. He nodded when she was done, and Rose pulled out a contacts box and put them in. The top right camera view flickered to life and he glanced at it, nodding.

"Alright," she said. "That's all. Stay put, we'll be back soon." With that, she pulled the door open and glanced at him once more before closing it and leaving him alone. He sighed and glanced at the monitor, rubbing his cuffed wrist with his free hand. Soon after, Jack's view flickered to life. John reached up and turned on his headset, listening quietly as Rose and Jack spoke.

They were talking about what they planned to do once they found Alec. He tapped on Rose's view and sat back, watching with pursed lips and they hopped up the stairs, and then knocked on the large white doors. It opened soon after.

"Hi!" Rose and Jack said together. The man at the door, dressed as a waiter, grunted and opened the door wider, nodding for them to go in. Rose and Jack sauntered inside, muttering together about their plans once more. The two of them spent probably ten minutes milling around and talking casually with the guests. John rubbed at his temple, shaking his head, bored.

Suddenly, a familiar voice jerked him from his thoughts. His eyes swiveled back to the monitor, and his stomach dropped at the blonde man on Rose's view.

"Hey," Eric said, looking straight at the camera. John sat up straighter, biting on his lip. He had to hold back from saying something. "I... uhm, you were at the party yesterday... weren't you?"

"Yes," Rose said slowly, uncertainly. Her voice crackled loudly and he winced, pressing his finger to his ear. He distantly heard Jack mutter an apology about setting the volume too high on the headset.

"Did you happen to see a waiter? Brunette, spiky hair... bit of an idiot. His name is John...?"

John dropped his head into his free hand, cursing under his breath. Neither Rose nor Jack said anything for a few moments, but he could hear Jack take a sharp, annoyed breath. "John what?" He asked, his voice low.

"Smith..."

"No," Jack said quickly. "Sorry."

John watched Rose's monitor as Jack suddenly grabbed her wrist and began dragging her away from Eric. Rose glanced behind her, towards Eric, who watched them with sad eyes.

"Well, John Smith," Jack hissed crossly, and John sighed. A loud sound came from the other end of the line, and it took him a few moments to realize that it was laughing. Rose was laughing. He watched as Rose glanced up at Jack. He was staring at her in confusion.

"Sorry," Rose giggled. "You just... you actually managed to lie to us and get away with it. I... that doesn't happen very often."

"You didn't even question it when I said Eric Day," John reminded her, frowning. Rose giggled again.

"I know. You didn't seem like someone who could actually lie without breaking."

"Thanks," John snorted, and this time, Jack chuckled.

"We'll deal with that later," the man said and through Rose's view, John watched Jack give him a joking glare. "Right now, we've got to focus on finding Alec."

John smiled and leaned back again, watching the monitor. Eventually, they made their way upstairs and began searching rooms for Alec, which quickly lead to John's boredom. He leaned back in his seat and sighed, twisting his wrist uncomfortably. Eventually, he leaned forward and began sifting through a pocket in the seat in front of him. He pulled out a book – "The Science of Love" – boring, and tossed it behind him. Something clattered in the ground in the back of the van, but he ignored it, continuing to look through the pouch. His pulled out several other items – a comb, a guitar pick, and other small objects that proved unable to hold his attention for more than a second or two. He dropped them all on the ground, kicking the comb under his seat.

Another clatter sounded in the back and he paused, confused. Had the book caused something else to fall? He glanced behind, but besides the book and the fan (which had been the first thing to fall) there was nothing there. He shrugged it off, assuming it was just something he couldn't see. However, another clang – this one sounded more like a bang – caused him to start to worry. He managed to stand up, although rather awkwardly, and he shuffled to the side, wincing as his wrist twisted behind his back. He cursed quietly under his breath, and then yelled in annoyance as his foot hit something hard on the floor. He cursed again, louder this time, and bent down to rub at his foot with his free hand.

"What are you doing?" Jack grunted, and John sighed. He shifted to look at the monitor, but stayed where he was.

"There was a noise, outside of the van," he explained, glancing behind him. He tried to peer out the side of the window, but it was blackened now. Rose must have done something.

"Look at the monitor," he said, almost impatiently. John sighed and fell backwards over the seat. His arm was stretched a little, but he tried to ignore it. He tapped the monitor and looked over the views. However, there didn't appear to be anything outside of the van. John shook his head, sighing again and ruffling his hair. Another bang – much louder this time, near the window – made him freeze again, and he sat up, glancing at the back. He began to speak, but never got the chance.

A loud, horrible sound of shattering glass and bullets pierced the air as the window exploded. Glass flew across the van, and something sharp hit John in the chest. He gasped at the sharp pain and fell over the seat from the surprise. A sickening snap filled the air and more pain flooded his entire arm, starting from his wrist and spiraling down. A scream ripped from his throat, and he jerked backwards, trying to reposition his wrist in a way that didn't cause the agonizing pain.

"John?" Rose gasped, and he choked back a sob, gritting his teeth. "John, what happened?"

"My wrist!" He screeched, purposely smacking his head against the side of the door, attempting to distract himself from the pain in his wrist. "I - I, the window, it shattered, I'm… there's glass in my chest, I..." he let out a shaky breath, his eyes watering. He hung his head, his fingers digging into his leg since there didn't seem to be anything else to hold on to.

Rose hissed something to Jack, and then suddenly, he could hear her footsteps pounding against stone flooring as she bolted down the hallway. "What happened to your wrist? Are you okay?"

"Broken!" He gasped out, and he didn't even have to look to know it was true. He cool feel his wrist twisted at an odd angle. He'd broken bones before, but for some reason, none of them compared to how this felt. "The window – I – it was shot, I think, I – " he trailed off, tilting his head back and groaning. He lifted his free hand to his chest, finding the piece of glass in his chest without looking. He took a deep breath, and then let it out again quickly as pain rattled his body. His fingers hovered over the glass and his bit is lip, a little too hard. The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth.

"You need to get the glass out," Rose said suddenly, and he nodded, despite the fact that she couldn't see him.

"Like ripping off a band-aid," he breathed, gripping at the glass. "The quicker you pull, the faster it's over with."

A muffled sound of surprise sounded from the other end. In one quick movement, he tugged out at the glass, and he felt blood dribble down his chest from the wound. His hand shook as he tossed it at the door, whimpering. It hadn't hurt as much as he had been expecting, but it left a throbbing in his chest. There was a few moments of silence from Rose, and then suddenly, she spoke again.

"Someone was shooting at you," she said, and John groaned again, fear sparking through him. "You need to get out. Pick the lock on the cuffs."

"Rose!" He gasped, exasperated. "I can't! I'm not a spy! I wasn't-" he broke off for a moment, fighting down bile rising in his throat. He gritted his teeth, his uninjured hand clenching into a fist. "I can not pick the lock!"

"I know," Rose mumbled, her breathing heavily. Judging by her footsteps, she must have been running upstairs. He couldn't be bothered to look at the monitor. "But listen, John. If someone was shooting at you, they must think you're an agent. Which means that they aren't going to be merciful. If they see you, they will shoot you. Are you listening?"

He was listening, as a matter of fact, but it was getting hard to hear her. His ears were ringing, and someone was still shooting at the van. Each bang made him jump.

"I don't know how to pick it," he grunted, shifting uncomfortably.

"I'll teach you," Rose snapped, and he winced. "Find a bobby pin. I think I dropped one on my way out." He glanced over, and sure enough a white bobby pin was on the floor. He clenched his jaw as he reached for the pin. "Straighten it out." Her voice sounded impatient. He did as told, pressing it against the floor. His hand shook as he did so. "Kink it -" her voice hitched "- at the end - into an 'S'."

He bit down on the tip and then examined it. "Okay," he said, his voice shaking.

"Alright, insert it in the lock."

He reached up, gritting his teeth, slipping the pin into the lock. "Press it up and add tension." He took a deep breath, and pushed it up. Pain flashed through his arm, and a growling sound escaped his lips from his through. His chest heaved as he fought for breath. Finally, the latch popped open, and he slipped down. Instantly, he lowered his hand to his stomach and leaned over, a sob escaping past his lips.

"It is unlocked?" Rose asked quickly.

"Yes," he choked out, swallowing again.

"Then run," she growled, and he froze, shaking his head.

"I can't."

"John, run. Now!"

Taking a deep breath, he shakily rose to his feet, tucking his wrist against his stomach. He reached for the door, and tugged it open. Almost immediately, a bullet whizzed past his head, and he fell forward, just managing to keep on his feet. As quick as he could, he darted towards the building, ignoring the pain burning through his body. In his head, he prayed to God that whoever was shooting at him wasn't good with head shots.

A/N: (P.S: Reviews make me write faster!)