A/N: Back for now, and I've got a mighty chapter for you all to digest. Clara's a sly little fox, Amy's a stunner as usual, the Doctor gets intimidated by a druggo teen, there is more to said druggo teen than meets the eye, sadness makes Sara judgemental/overly philosophical, and aforementioned druggo teen is actually really important.

March 12th, 2008 – In Your Heart

Clara

We've found another willing participant. A young boy this time, by the name of...

"...James McFarlaine?" the Doctor calls out in the waiting room of the Rothwell Clinic. A tall, lean teenager with short brown hair and watery blue eyes crosses the room in confident denim-clad strides. My husband extends a hand politely, and James shakes it with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

"Please, come in," the Doctor says in his calm voice, the one usually reserved for communicating with colleagues or clients. Trying not to squirm, I gesture at the doorway into our office.

Our professional dynamic isn't what it used to be, it seems. Something's gone awry.

James

It's a standard clinic room, really. There's a small metal stand holding a bunch of medical equipment for taking blood pressure, testing tendon reflex, heart rate, and pupil contraction. I take the wooden seat slightly to the left in front of another psych – a pretty, delicate woman that must be the wife they mentioned in the Internet ad. That would be Clara. She's smiling at me; I hate them already. Amy and Donna seem like a good option right now, even if they're just aides. But I suppose that even as 'just aides', they got me through isolation. And if they can get me through that kind of experimental crap, they damn might as well be God too.

"So James..." the Doctor begins in an unnervingly calm voice, "tell us about yourself."

How original.

"Well, to put it simply, I'm usually on meth or in the mental ward. Or both, if I make a special friend. You'd think they'd know to restrict our travels to the courtyard. Anyway, I'm thirteen years old, and you holier-than-thou psychiatrist types should learn to respect my life choices."

Clara arches a rather indignant brow.

"Actually, we're psychologists," she corrects me.

"Even worse," I shoot back with a smirk.

The Doctor nudges her gently and whispers something about trying not to sass the willing participant. She retorts in a slightly louder whisper - something about backing the hell off. I quite like her, actually. She's got spirit.

March 13th, 2008 – Cover Your Eyes

Sara

I wake up to two other girls in my assigned room. I jolt in surprise as the one on the left sits bolt upright, covering her eyes with her hands for no reason at all. The other girl is sleeping the wrong way up in her bed, her hands scraping the floor as breaths are drawn in and out. I pull open the door gently and step out into the dimly-lit corridor to check the window. The two name cards above mine are filled: Jasmine and Cara. I'd rather not ask them who they are, so I discreetly peek at the name on the water bottle on the left bedside table – which is being occupied by Jasmine, I read. So Jasmine's the creepy eye-covering girl. Grey-brown hair in a pixie cut with a curly fringe flopping down on her forehead, dip-dyed blonde. A striking image. The other girl – Cara, I assume – has shifted in her sleep, so now her head is hanging off the end of the bed too. She'll have fun getting up.

I stare at Jasmine. She peeks through her fingers and stares back. We say nothing as the nurses who were on night shift yesterday open the door with smiles and cheery tones in their voices. They tell us to get ready for school, and I find temporary comfort in something so normal; but then Jasmine is told she only has to go if she feels up to it, and Cara is completely ignored. Things definitely work differently here.

The Doctor

"I'm guessing Amy and Donna already took you through stage one?" Clara asks, pen in hand. James nods glumly. I'm guessing it wasn't fun. But then he starts talking, and I'm starting to wish I hadn't asked him if he had anything to add.

"How long have you guys been married?"

"So you haven't graduated yet?"

"Who wears the pants in your relationship?"

"You guys don't do any drugs, do you?"

"I'm starting to think that you two are secretly having affairs with other people. That would probably be more exciting than this. Unless... this is the affair? Oh my, how scandalous!"

Personally, I think Amy and Donna are more suited to taking care of this one.

Sara

There are two older teenage boys already picking numbly at their toast, and a small blonde girl on the other side of the dining table refusing to eat at all when I arrive in the kitchen. All I see is calming shades of green, purple, beige and blue; as well as plastic flowers and teddy bears from the hospital shop in abundance. Then I am approached by a bright young brunette with a tiny piercing just below her lip who informs me that she will be my nurse this morning. Great. I spot her name badge and ID card almost immediately – her name is Jess, and she's studying to be an enrolled mental health nurse at some kind of bridging education facility that isn't university. Hence being enrolled and not registered. Sounds promising, I know.

But that isn't fair for me to judge. She definitely seems to care about the others at the table while I find a miniature single-serve cereal box and a miniature single-serve milk carton to go with it. Cute. It's infection control, Jess explains happily. Standard issue in any hospital.

I feel like I can't register what anyone's saying today. I feel like I'm watching things happen inside a little bubble that I don't know how to enter.

I don't feel alive.

James

I've made them uncomfortable, which gives me a notable amount of satisfaction. Having constructed the image of a rowdy early teenager with a big mouth, a small brain and a rather large possibility of developing as a homosexual; I'm left satisfied as they bring me back to Amy and Donna.

I like Amy. She's just taller than me, a feisty redhead with legs longer than her CV, which is a sizeable feat in itself. Let's just say she's done more than most psychiatric aides. Donna, I'm not so fond of. She reminds me of my mother, except she's got red hair too, and a small face like a mouse. I don't think she's buying my dumb teenage boy story.

Which is a shame, really. Dumb teenage boys would be so much easier to treat. But then again – dumb teenage boys wouldn't be nearly as... engaging... as I can be.

Amy takes my rare silence as a cue to inform me that some other girl has already volunteered to be a part of this 'wonderful opportunity'.

"But don't get too excited, young man," Donna quips. "I hear they're not sure if she's... all there, if you catch my drift."

"Donna..."

"What."

"You can't talk about other patients, it's-"

"Rude, I know."

"No, it's – well yes, it's rude, but it's also confidential. James - the next stage involves you spending some time at the local children's mental hospital in the adolescent ward. She's going to be there too. But she won't know that you're doing this as well – just a part of the experiment, I guess. Your little mission is to see if you can figure out who she is, without talking about it. Basically, be subtle, you little meathead."

I'd have taken more offense if her tone hadn't been so light and jovial. As for the mental ward bit - interesting, but terrifying, I guess. I'm expecting grimy barred cells and terrible food, like you see in the movies. But it's also a children's hospital, so I guess I should be expecting more toys and bright colours. I hate being under sixteen.

Sara

The small blonde girl, whose name I discover is Grace when her nurse calls for her, has an eating disorder. She's taken somewhere else to do her schooling separately. The two other guys, Michael and Eli still haven't said a word as they join Jasmine and I in being walked down the various ramps and staircases it takes to get to the ward classroom. We make our way into another building, and Jess stops me just outside the classroom door.

"Just... good luck, okay sweetie?" she says softly. I nod awkwardly, and Jasmine snorts loudly in derision. I'm already another piece of meat, I think as I make to step through the doorway after the others. Jess grabs my wrist and adds, "I nearly forgot to tell you something. There's someone else doing this experiment, he's getting admitted some time this afternoon. He's been under the care of amy and Donna – you know them, right? The Doctor and Clara's psychiatric aides? Anyway, you're not allowed to discuss this with anyone around you, of course, but... they're trying to get you to figure out who he is without being too heavy-handed about it, if you get me."

I nod again. It shouldn't be hard – I'll just wait until afternoon and see who come through the door. Simple.

Two boys arrive after English and Maths, looking equally weary and equally restless.

I hate Clara and the Doctor so much right now.

James

They somehow managed to arrange for someone to arrive at the exact same time as me, some lad named Brodie. I make a conscious decision to refer to him as 'Bro', just to piss him off. I then make another decision to just be obnoxious in general. If I don't get to know who this girl is, I'm going to make damn sure she doesn't know it either. I'm not about to act all depressed like she probably is. Brodie is half a year older than me, but must be at least half a foot shorter than I am. Our nurse Phil takes us to the hospital school as I strike up the most annoying conversation I can.

"So Brodie – can I call you Bro?"

"No."

"Cool... Bro."

"Shut up."

"So which school do you go to?"

"I don't go to school."

"Oh, of course. Me neither, man."

"Good for you."

"I know right, it's great! We don't have to do the whole, like, school thing, if you know what I mean. Because, well, we're not at school, and-"

"Great."

"Okay, I'll shut up now. Wait – I can call you Bro, right?"

He is glowering by the time we file in and take our seats. The teacher, Percy, sits us next to each other. I act delighted, and it's safe to say that our dear Bro isn't quite as excited as I am.

There are two girls seated at the table to our right – that would be the work of Clara and the Doctor. It could be either one of them, goddamn it. The girl closest to us displays her discomfort openly, shoulders hunched in with deep brown eyes staring blankly at the word puzzles in front of her. The girl on the far right is blabbing on about how much she loves word puzzles, tugging gently at her peroxide blonde fringe and bursting into giggles intermittently. Percy doesn't seem to mind. He probably expects this sort of behaviour, the poor guy.

Sara

Brodie is a peculiar guy. He swaggers in wearing beat-up Nike dunks that look like they used to be white, baggy grey sweats and a black t-shirt with some obscure band name scrawled across it in a font that resembles blood. When he turns to sling back a chair, I see his orange hair is braided into a greasy rat's tail down the back of his neck. His posture is cocky and honestly quite annoyed, but his eyes are beady. They remind me of an abandoned kitten trying to convince its brothers not to leave it behind. I think he might be the other guy. I mean, we can pretty much just assume that anyone who gets involved with a fruit loop with a chin like the Doctor must also be wonderful and unique. Yet... he still seems vulnerable somehow. That's exactly what he is – the runt of the pack. I can literally see it in his eyes.

But aren't we all, in our own eyes?

James

I think it's Jasmine. The other girl in the experiment, I mean. Anyone that strange would be under the care of that rectangle with ridiculously perfect hair like the Doctor. Looking at her now, I'm getting more and more certain. I'll talk to her after dinner, and make sure she knows who I am. Who I really am, of course, not that amusingly cumbersome and obnoxious fool I like to portray.

And then of course, she goes on leave, to wherever someone like her would go, and I decide to make the most annoying conversation I can with the others. Michael and Eli don't seem to mind though. They don't seem to mind much at all.

"Yo, so like, you two are so gangster aye. You're the coolest black guys I know," I tell them in the most nasal tone I can manage.

Michael snickers disapprovingly, and Eli just shrugs. So I start talking to the tiny blonde girl with shaky hands and big green eyes.

"Hey girl! How's the chicken? Not too bad I hope? But then again, it's the hospital, so it's probably not even real chicken," I begin, hoping for a reaction. She looks up, and looks straight back down. Nothing. That leaves us with... Sara. She wears her hospital wristband like it's a bracelet and her fake smile like a pro. I like her, so I walk around to her side of the table, trying to ignore the cautious gazes of her nurse and mine. "Hey," I prompt, and she literally stops breathing. Didn't realise I had that effect on the ladies yet. "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you," I tell her in my most assuring tone, and it works. She looks up at me, and it's like she's never seen someone like me before. Although, arguably, she hasn't. I take pride in my unique features.

Sara

One of the boys – James, I think – has successfully made the whole table uncomfortable. Nurses included. "Hey," he says again, more gentle this time. I look up in shock.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Which is comforting to hear in a place like this.

"Thanks," I squeak timidly. I am two feet tall. What an obnoxious prick he is, talking to everyone like we're his best buddies. I wonder if he knows.

"Look," he continues in that unusually smooth voice, "we can talk outside if you want. If that's what you're nervous about."

I stifle a guffaw with a spoonful of 'mash potato'. The sass returns with every breath as I consider what he just said.

"And what would I have to say to you that I don't want to say in front of them?" I snap uncomfortably. If I didn't know better, I would've thought he was flirting with me. Stupid boy.

James

Damn it, she thinks I'm flirting with her now. Which may or may not be what I was doing... Anyway, she's sassy. And pretty. I like that. But unfortunately, that's not

After dinner the nurses unlock the art room and no one's feeling creative, so we just talk. Or rather, I talk, and everyone else sits in awkward silence while I douche-ify the atmosphere.

By bedtime I have her last name and age. I feel successful.

March 15th, 2008 – Behind Your Smile

Sara

I've been here for two days, and I am going crazy. Somewhere between bored, murderous, paranoid and just sad. I just got 'good-morning-tackled' in the corridor by Jasmine. Clara and the Doctor better be happy.