Hey all; here's Chapter 4! I was extremely rushed when writing this, so there are probably a million mistakes and gaping plot holes. Let me know if you see anything that should be changed. Also, there is one use of 'bloody hell' in this chapter... thought I would warn you just in case anyone is bothered by it.

Note: this is for all the history geeks like me out there. If my memory serves me correctly, the Hindenburg only carried 36 people on its final flight, and I have made it seem like there are waaaaay more than that. Also, sadly, the Hindenburg was not bigger on the inside, so the immense dining room I described would actually not have been possible. I had to change some things when writing this to suit my purposes. So not everything you see here is historically accurate. Just so you all know.

Anyway: allons-y! Hope you enjoy! Please read and review if you think it is worthy! (If not, don't worry about it.)

Disclaimer (forgot about these little guys): I don't own Doctor Who... But I will someday.

Clara strolled through the ballroom, eyeing the proceedings with interest. The Doctor had left her a while back, disappearing amidst the throngs of people, after ordering her to 'find out as much information as possible without doing anything stupid.'

I don't know why I put up with him, I really don't, Clara thought to herself. He was the most idiotic idiot she had ever met. But he was her Doctor, and she loved him anyway.

"Why, hello," a voice suddenly addressed her from behind. She spun around. The voice belonged to a handsome man with a thin, well-groomed mustache and dark, elegantly coiffed hair. Although he was smiling warmly, his piercing cerulean eyes were sharp and cold.

Clara shuddered. They were the eyes of a predator. "Hello," she answered uncertainly.

"Who might you be? I haven't seen you around here before." The man's voice carried a vague German accent.

"I'm Clara." She smiled sweetly at him, trying to draw his gaze away from her eyes, which were frantically scanning the room in search of an escape route.

"Charmed." The man bent, clasped her hand, and brushed his lips against it.

Clara nearly gagged. Git. He didn't even ask me first! As he straightened again, she unobtrusively wiped her hand on her dress and cleared her throat. "So, erm... who are you?"

"I'm Fritz. Fritz Acker." He tipped her a wink and offered her his arm. "Care to get a drink with me?"

No, but I would care to slap you across the face. Clara was disgusted by his pathetic attempts to flirt with her, and was prepared to politely decline his invitation. Then she remembered the Doctor's words: Bring out the special effects. You'll need them to get people to talk.

She sighed. Although she hated to admit it, this was probably the best opportunity she would get to investigate. There was every possibility that he was in league with Agatha, judging by his alert and focused demeanor. Going with him would be a huge risk, but Clara knew that she had no way of knowing whether or not he was actually the enemy. Maybe - hopefully - he was just a stupid, infatuated man trying and failing to win her over, who had been luckier than the rest of the passengers and had retained most of his vigor.

Oh God, I hope this isn't the stupidest mistake I've ever made. Forcing a smile, Clara accepted his outstretched hand, fear gripping her heart with its cold talons."I'd love to."

Fritz led her to a bar built into one of the walls. A young man was seated behind it, engaged in polishing a glass that was already so shiny it hurt to look at it. As Fritz approached with Clara in tow, the man eagerly jumped to his feet and set down the glass, seeming excited at the prospect of having something to do. "Good evening, what can I get for you?" he asked pleasantly. Although his voice seemed normal, his eyes were wandering and unfocused.

"I'll have a glass of Ratzeputz," Fritz replied.

What the bloody hell is that? Clara wondered. She had the good sense not to ask that aloud, however, lest Fritz begin to suspect her. "I'll have one of those too, please."

The man behind the counter dipped his head in understanding and scuttled off to procure their order. "All complimentary," Fritz confided to Clara. "One of the many benefits of being a paying passenger."

Something about the emphasis he placed on the word 'paying' made Clara feel uncomfortable. Did he already suspect her of not being a passenger?

Much to her relief, before she was forced to change the subject, the barkeeper arrived with their drinks. He deposited them on the table and backed away, returning to his stool. Despite her worries, Clara was curious as to what Ratzeputz was, and took a tentative sip.

It took all of her willpower not to spit it out. Its alcohol content was so strong that it made her mouth tingle. The stuff was positively vile.

Eyes watering, Clara hastily set her drink down and pushed it away from her. Fritz burst out laughing. "Never had one before?"

"Suppose not," she agreed, cringing as the sourness of the liquid saturated her mouth.

"It's a special German brew," Fritz continued. "Which would explain why you've never had it. You're not from Germany, are you? Are you from England? Lancashire, perhaps? I wasn't aware that we had anyone from England on this ship."

"How did you know?" Clara demanded. Her heart was beating painfully against her ribcage. The conversation was taking a dangerous turn.

He emitted a bemused laugh. "Why, your accent, of course."

"Oh. Right." Clara felt stupid. Of course her accent would have given her away; why hadn't she thought of that?

"So... how did you get here?" Fritz inquired, sipping delicately at his beverage.

If there was anything Clara had to be thankful for at that moment, it was that the Doctor had taught her how to be an expert liar. "What do you mean by that question, Mr. Fritz?" she teased him playfully, attempting to sound flirty in order to make him forget his doubts about her, although she was thoroughly repulsed by the whole affair. "I got here just like you did. I bought a ticket. I'm going to visit my mum in New York. And as for why you haven't seen me before, I'm afraid I've been having to stay in my bedroom due to a little case of airsickness." She giggled girlishly and had to repress a shudder at her own apparent coquettishness.

The suspicion in Fritz's eyes melted away. "I'm sorry to hear that," he apologized smoothly. "But perhaps I can make you... forget... your airsickness for a time, yes?"

You disgusting pig. Clara was horrified. If you keep on like that, I'm going to punch you so hard your eyes will be lookin' out of the back of your head.

Fritz, however, either ignored or was completely unaware of her discomfort. "Are you single?" he questioned hopefully.

Disturbed by the path that the conversation was taking, Clara decided that it was time to do what she did best: take control. "Maybe," she answered smilingly, her eyes twinkling with fun. "But enough about me. Tell me about yourself! What's your story? Why are you here?"

"There's not much to tell." Fritz downed the remainder of his drink in a single gulp. "I'm coming here on business, that's all. I'm a professional photographer. I've been asked to photograph New York City for a magazine."

"How exciting!" Clara clapped her hands enthusiastically, feigning interest. In reality, it was the most boring backstory that she had ever heard. Perhaps in the 1930's, being a professional photographer was the 'bee's knees', but in her day and age, when anyone could take professional pictures with their phones, it was quite the opposite.

"So, have you had any photographing opportunities on board?" Clara asked slyly, deciding to begin her investigation. "Anything exciting or weird you might have photographed?"

In an instant, Fritz's laid-back demeanor vanished. "Why do you ask?" His eyes were brighter and colder than a bird of prey's, and Clara knew that she had gone too far.

"Erm, well, there's not -" she stuttered, frantically attempting to fix her mistake.

"Do go on," he interrupted. "I'd love to know what you have to say."

With chilling certainty, Clara suddenly knew that Fritz was definitely in league with Agatha. He was aware that she was an imposter, a spy; thanks to her careless mishap, she had placed herself in jeopardy. She had asked too many questions, and now she was going to pay.

She had stumbled into her own trap, and there was no way out.

And then a hand fastened itself around Fritz's collar and yanked him aside. "Back off," a familiar voice spat in a harsh Scottish accent.

Right then, that voice was the most beautiful voice Clara had ever heard. That face, that beetling brow, that gray hair; just then, they were her favorite things in the world.

It was the Doctor. Her Doctor. He had shown up at just the right moment, as usual. He was there to help.

A crushing sense of relief grasped her. She threw her arms around him, burying her head in his waistcoat. "Doctor! Oh, Doctor!"

He awkwardly scooted backwards. "Yes, yes. I know. Stop that. Get off."

Clara finally released him. "Where've you been? It's been ages since you ditched me!"

"I didn't ditch you. And it's been exactly eight minutes. Doesn't sound like an age, does it?"

"Well, you're a bloody two-thousand year old Time Lord," Clara snapped. "Of course it's not an age to you. And you didn't have to deal with Mr. Fritz Acker over here." Now that she had confirmed Fritz was an enemy, she figured it was okay to insult him.

"Clara, listen to me, there is no Fritz Acker," the Doctor told her urgently, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I checked the passenger records. There's no Agatha either. They don't exist. They're made up people."

"Made up by whom?" Clara asked.

By us, a soft voice hissed.

Clara gasped. Fritz's eyes were glowing with white light. The voice was not emanating from his mouth, but seemed to be coming from the air around him. It was so slow and deep that it seemed to make the ground vibrate. We are the Conscious. We are Takers. We will Take you.

"Oh, this is bad," the Doctor murmured. "This is very bad." He sounded scared, which meant that something was very wrong indeed.

Terror clawed at Clara's heart as the voice continued. You are the Doctor. And you are Clara. The Time Lord and the Impossible One. So many memories. We will have them all. So much strength. We will devour you both.

On cue, the other people gathered in the ballroom simultaneously rose to their feet, wearing peaceful, dreamy smiles. Those engaged in activities such as dancing stopped whatever they were doing and dropped their arms to their sides, standing in a slightly hunched position. The room was as silent as though it had just experienced a snowfall.

"Clara?" the Doctor breathed into her ear.

"Yes?" she murmured back.

"Run."

Hope you all enjoyed the cliffhanger, haha. See you next time!