Chapter Twelve
The Snowman: Peculiar Beginnings

Somewhere high above London, icy snowflakes waited to drop. Vastra said the December temperatures were considerably colder than usual. For the upper and middle class, this meant bundling up any way they could would be even more necessary than in past years. For the lower working class, this meant survival would be their sole concern.

It was the 23rd of December 1892, and the locals were quite busy buying anything they could for a small Christmas Eve meal. There were a lot of makeshift shops and carts lining the streets, but more eager buyers than food. A gathering of people eagerly waded through the quaint town square, making the Doctor just another face in a large crowd.

The Time Lord stood silently on the snowy streets, once brushing aside for a small family trying to trudge back home with their meager fares. He had seldom left the TARDIS for the past few weeks, only coming out when Vastra would call and insist he join her, Jenny, and Strax for a meal. The way he saw it, the more contact he had with people, the easier it would be for him to get attached again, to make more friends. And what was the point of friends when almost every friend he made ended up twisted, lost, or dead because of him?

Today he had finally been convinced by Vastra to step out of his box and walk the streets of Victorian London. He didn't have to interfere or speak with anybody; all he had to do was watch. She said it would do him good to be in the fresh air at daytime for once. And while he didn't necessarily agree with her, he did decide that he trusted her. He trusted Vastra because his future self seemed to trust her with his life, and he knew that this trust had to begin in his timing for it to become that.

Nobody would choose anyone less than their most reliable friend to deliver a message to their younger self, of course.

Silently, he took one last look at all the families making Christmas purchases in the square. He turned his back on them, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, and plodded through the thin layer of snow. It was a few minute's walk to the park. Luckily, there were only a handful of ladies and gentlemen out on these streets at this time of day.

The Doctor hopped the fence with ease, and meandered through the small clearing. He stopped by a large oak tree, and gazed up through the winter fog. He looked around to make sure nobody was watching. Nobody. He was clear. The smallest of smirks crossed his lips as he pointed his sonic screwdriver into the sky and activated the emitter.

~8~

The Time Lord was contently perched in the jump seat rereading a book by Orson Scott Card when he received the call. Martha Jones' old mobile she had entrusted him with buzzed on the console, and for a second he had to wonder what kind of alien technology Vastra had to connect with a phone nearly a hundred years more advanced than hers.

Reluctantly, he set his book down, stretched forwards to clutch the small mobile phone, and answered the call.

"This better be important, Vastra, because I'm in the middle of a very good book."

"Just listen, Doctor," the Silurian sighed. "This morning, Jenny and I solved our latest case. Of course, we-" She paused, trying to find the correct words. "-We had to be more secretive in our dealings with the witnesses than I would have liked, but there was no other option. The murderer's true form was seen by everybody."

The Doctor grimaced. "Oh, you didn't, did you? Tell me you didn't have to use the memory worm? Again?"

"Like I said," Vastra's voice warbled through the connection, "we had no choice. We had to do a wipe."

"No, but seriously- where did you even find that?" he asked. The memory worm in question was covered in a sticky film that would wipe the last few minutes of memory from anyone who was unlucky enough to touch it. If it bit them, they would lose decades. Vastra used this creature to wipe witnesses' memory only in the most desperate of cases; especially the ones that involved alien elements. He didn't quite approve of it, however. After Donna, he didn't even want to think about wiping anyone's memory.

"Anyway," she ignored his question, and continued. "While finishing that case, I picked up some interesting intel about a man named Dr. Simeon. He is the proprietor of a large secretive institute towards the outskirts of London, and I have heard from my sources that he has been making quite a big deal collecting samples of snow lately. I've known of him for quite some time, and he seems like the type to be starting some sort of trouble. Jenny and I are planning to speak with him later this evening. I was wondering if you might step down from your cloud to take a few samples of the snow yourself for me."

The Doctor leaned up against the console, still holding the phone to his ear as he absorbed all this knowledge. He blew a bit of air through his teeth, mulling this over.

"Vastra," he began, "don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"And what is that?"

"Trying to intrigue me."

The line shook. She likely had stood up. "So what if I am? Will you help us, or not?"

He looked up around the familiar console room. As cozy as it was, things could get a bit boring at times. She was offering activity, an escape. And, it was an investigation. As much as he wished to coop himself up in his TARDIS for all of eternity, there was no denying how much he loved a good investigation. He could easily avoid people, right? Call it his early Christmas present to himself.

"Fine," he sighed, and hung up.

He made sure to grab his coat before he left into the cold Victorian night.

~8~

The door of a small pub, The Rose and Crown, opened outwards. A young woman walked out with a tray of empty mugs, preparing to take them to the washhouse to be cleaned. She stopped when she saw an odd toothy snowman standing in front of her. Her brow slid up. That snowman was definitely not standing there just a second ago. A man in a long brown overcoat passed by her as she tried to contemplate how exactly this snowman could have appeared so suddenly...

~~~8~~~

"Did you make this snowman?" the Doctor heard a soft voice ask him.

He turned, slightly startled by the sudden question. A second's glance confirmed that it was meant for him, as there was no one else in the vicinity other than a young Victorian woman in a thick red dress who was waiting patiently for his answer. He saw the snowman in the corner of his eye. "No," he replied, shaking his head.

The woman stepped a little bit closer, and it was only then that he chose to really look at her face. His eyes widened suddenly, and his mouth dropped agape.

"Well, who did? Because it wasn't there a second ago," she explained. "It just appeared, from nowhere." She paused, noticing that he was starring at her as if something were wrong. "Excuse me, you all right?"

Clara.

Her face looked back at his, alive and in the flesh. It was Clara. She had the exact same button nose. Her eyebrows were long, thin, and curved perfectly across her face. Small dimples surrounded her full lips. Her eyes were a deep and intuitive caramel brown. She was identical in every way to the friend whose death he was still mourning. Well... except for the cockney accent she seemed to have, that was.

But how can Clara be here?

The Doctor blinked, his mind finally registering her question. "Yeah, sorry." Beat. "Anyways. The snow?" He reached into his pocket, and quickly whisked out his rimed glasses. He slipped them on, and began to study the snowman. With Clara's lookalike watching his every move, he slid his index finger across the surface of the snow and brought it to his tongue to taste. It tasted like normal snow, at least. His face screwed up, thinking. "That is curious, isn't it? Perhaps... it's fallen before? Maybe it remembers how to make a snowman."

The woman softly laughed, and crossed her arms to keep warm. "What, snow that can remember? That's silly."

The Doctor turned on her, his face proposing he was much offended by her statement. "What, are you saying there's something wrong with silly?"

She only smirked, amused. "'Course not. Still talking to you, ain't I?"

"Right." He nodded, only giving her a tight smile. Sliding his glasses off his nose, he hurriedly began to back away. "Well, I'd best be off. Nice meeting you."

He turned, and commenced around the corner, leaving a very bemused young woman standing alone in the snow. The last thing he needed was to befriend somebody who looked exactly like a deceased acquaintance. How did that work, anyhow? Was it spatial genetic multiplicity? Or maybe this woman was Clara's great-great-grandmother. DNA worked in very mysterious ways, after all.

"Oi! Where are you going?" a feisty voice called from behind. "I thought we was just getting acquainted!"

The Doctor couldn't even bear to pass her a glance. If he looked back, his resolve might crumble and he might chose to bring her with him. That was the one thing he couldn't do. He didn't want her getting hurt like all the others. He was on a mission, anyways. He'd figured out a piece of it, at least. If that snowman had cropped up spontaneously, there might be something alien about it. Alien snow. Certainly that could gain this Dr. Simeon a profit, now wouldn't it? After all, this was the Victorian Era.

"Victorian values..." he muttered as he strode down the street.

"Oi! Wait up!" a voice hollered.

The young woman from the pub darted up to him then. It was slightly amusing; she had to hike up her skirts to sprint fast enough to catch up, revealing her thick-laced boots. When she reached him, a gust of cold wind came with her. It blew the fringe of his hair to the side.

"You again?" he exclaimed, slightly surprised. "I would have thought you'd have something more important to get back to."

She shrugged. "In a word, yes, more important, no. Why are you off in such a hurry?"

"Why does it matter?"

"'Cause I'm curious."

"Mm, not arguing with you 'bout that," he agreed. "But please. Could you stop following me?"

She didn't react to his words. Thinking back, he really should have expected it. So he whisked around, and gently pulled her chin up so she was looking him in the eye.

"I need my space. So go on," the Doctor said in a low voice. "Don't waste your time with me."

When he left her that second time, he could clearly see the disappointment on her face. Ignoring that, he continued to walk down the quiet, late evening streets, but this time alone. Lanterns hung from the doorways of homes and small shops, illuminating the dark path before him. There was a small snowdrift a few meters ahead. Good, so he would take a few readings of the snow, then quickly return back to his TARDIS before he made a mess of things. Sounds like a plan.

He knelt down at the snowdrift, and slipped out his sonic screwdriver. His mind was a bit distracted, however, and he glanced behind him a few times to make sure no one was there before he finally began to scan. The screwdriver's high-pitched sonic frequency ripped through the air.

"That's interesting..." he contemplated out loud, still scanning, and his face scrunched up in thought. "The snow's just recently fallen, but the conditions aren't right at all. The ground's too warm. The atmosphere's too cold. So why would Dr. Simeon care?" Curious, he picked up a clump of cold snow and molded it delicately in his hands. His brows rose up to his hairline, as he felt his mind react to the frozen water. It almost felt like-

Like it's trying to tap into my thoughts...

He shook his head rapidly, and launched himself to his feet. No. No, that couldn't be possible.

"Ohhhh... Telepathic. It's telepathic snow! But that's brilliant!" he enthused. His thoughts began to run wild, thinking about the possible implications about this. What could a man do with telepathic snow? He was collecting it, but what for? In fact, where was Simeon? Then, when he realized what was beginning, he instantly closed his eyes and rested his hands behind his head. "No. No! You're not getting involved," he told himself. "Just walk away. Back to the TARDIS..."

He cautiously glanced behind one last time, looked all around, and then began to fast walk to the park. Good. The woman wasn't anywhere around, at least. Of course, that's what he thought...

Unbeknownst to him, she was watching him from just around the corner, and had been for some time. When she saw him stand up and walk way, she left her hiding spot to follow him once more. It only took half a second for the Doctor to notice, when he heard a soft pattering in the snow behind him. He quietly groaned.

"Oh, how many times do I have to tell you, don't-"

"Why are you so worried about being followed?" she interrupted, genuinely wanting to know. "You've looked behind you 'bout half a dozen times in the past minute."

"Does it l-"

"And what was that you had in you hand? That glowing rod?" the lookalike asked innocently.

He veered around, facing her completely. "Clara. Walk away," he growled.

The young woman's brows furrowed, confused. Meanwhile, the Doctor was mentally hitting himself in the head.

Why did you call her Clara, you thick idiot?

"'ang on!" she asked incredulously. "How do you know my name?"

Wait... What?

Her name was Clara? But-

"I-" he began, flustered and confused...

A rush of frigid air blew past his face suddenly, and snowflakes waltzed around the two of them. Both turned around on a dime to see what was happening. It was a welcome distraction, making both forget what had just happened. What a pity it wasn't more welcoming in truth.

~~~8~~~

"Ah!" Clara cried, stepping back from the menacing snowman that had just somehow cropped up right in front of her eyes, growing from the snowdrift. It had razor sharp teeth and cold eyes, looking as if it wouldn't hesitate to kill her on sight.

"That's weird," the mysterious man exclaimed meanwhile, ducking from the snowy wind another snowman was trying to blow at him.

"What's weird, this?" she shouted, falling back from a third snowman that had just materialized from the drift. It was beginning to come closer. It was too close for comfort, though. She grabbed a wooden stake from the ground next to her, and slashed at it, trying to ward it off. The snowman froze it with its breath, and it broke into thousands of shards. Clara instinctively covered her eyes with her arms for protection as the wood shattered around her.

"The snow," he finally replied, attempting to back away from the hissing snowmen cropping up around them, "it's got a low level telepathic field circling 'round it, and it's opening it, trying to, ah... like it's trying to integrate us with its matrices, in its web! I can sense it!"

She skittered away from the snow monsters on her bum and hands, like a crab. Forget being ladylike in a crisis. Then she noticed something odd about one of their attackers. Her eyes widened. "That snowman," she whispered. Her voice grew stronger. "That's the snowman that appeared in front of the Rose and Crown, the same one!"

"Are you sure?" that mad man yelled over the noise of the snowmen.

"Yes!" she shouted, desperate. She tried to step back up to her feet.

As she was getting up, a forth snowman came, pushing her closer to the young man in the suit. She saw him try to escape down the alley to their left, but the monsters anticipated his movements and blocked the path.

"Oh, hello!" he muttered, not at all pleased to be caught in this situation. He got out his blue glowing rod, and fiddled with it a bit, pointing it at the snowman. Clara didn't understand what he was doing. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to help. Disgruntled, he pulled his arm back, and proceeded to tap both hands at his temples. His expression had become frantic.

"Come on! Think, Doctor, think think think! The snow, the conditions, the telepathic field, think!" he rattled off at a near thousand words per minute. His eyes grew large. "THINKING!" He turned to her, his eyes wild. "Clara, were you thinking about it? About the snowman?"

She nodded furiously.

"Well then... stop thinking!"

The snowman nearest to them hissed, blowing snowflakes close to them. Clara feared they would freeze if they touched them. She shivered in the frigid gale.

"I don't understand!" she cried.

"Listen to me; you're already caught in their telepathic field," he tried to explain, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Not me, but you! If you even think about the snowman, they'll feed on your thoughts and they'll grow stronger, but you can do this! You have to stop thinking- no, no, we need more than that. Think about them melted, about them turning into slush, think about WATER!"

Clara slammed her eyes shut, and threw images of a stormy, choppy ocean, a furious London rainstorm, and the River Thames through her mind. In succession, her conscious thought flew through these pictures, and all through her head one word echoed.

Water... Water... Water! WATER!

She gasped as she felt icy cold liquid explode everywhere around her, soaking through her dress and flattening her hair. Her eyes flew open, and she found herself poised in this stranger's arms, kneeling on the slushy street. She looked up at him, quite shocked.

He only nodded, the fringe of his hair now pressed down against his wet forehead. "Good job."

"Is that going to happen again?" she questioned disbelievingly.

The man squinted. "Well, if it does, you know what to do about it."

"Right," she bobbed, and frowned. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

He ignored her question, and helped her stand to her feet. "This is important, listen. Walk away. Don't look for me; walk away back to your normal everyday life." He began to back away from her. "You'll be safer!"

"What about the snow?" she shrugged; finding it hard to believe one could just run off after experiencing something like this. "Shouldn't we be warning people?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I can't let myself get involved. Merry Christmas."

He turned around, shoved his hands in the pockets of his brown overcoat, and walked away from her, once again leaving her standing in the middle of the street with no idea what just happened. She scowled. No way, no way at all she was letting a man treat her like this! There was something awry with this Doctor, and she was going to figure out what it was.

She skittered over to the street corner, and poked her head around the brick wall. The mysterious Doctor ambled on down the snowy street, looking for the entire world like a lost soul without a home. When he was a fair distance away, she left her hiding spot, and began to silently follow him again.

Clara followed him to a small park quite a few streets away. She watched as he gripped the bars of the fence and hopped over. It was rather funny, in a way, because there was a gate a few meters down that he could have simply walked through. He landed in the grass with a quiet thud. The man starred up into the foggy nighttime sky, one hand scratching at one of his sideburns, as if he were deciding what to do. He turned around suddenly, and she gasped. Heart pounding, she quietly skid down behind a tree so he couldn't see her. That was a close call, then. She crept back up when she heard a strange whirring noise, the same noise she had heard when she was following him earlier.

Her eyes poked out from behind the tree to see him wielding that odd metal tool, pointing it into the air. A ring of brilliant blue light circled it, illuminating the fog above.

CLANK

She blinked, and her sight flicked up to the sky to see a metal ladder dropping down from the fog. Her brows furrowed in confusion. She continued to watch as the Doctor reached, grabbed the bottom rung, and pulled it all the way down. Then he climbed up and disappeared into the fog. There was another clunk, and then the ladder rose back up into the sky.

Clara looked all around. Nobody was watching. She surfaced from behind the tree, and walked into the clearing when the Doctor had stood. Curious, she glanced up. There was the ladder, just out of her reach. But she could see it, hanging in the air.

Could she jump for it, perhaps?

The young woman clasped her hands, and stepped back, so she could get a running leap. This was probably a very, very, unwise idea, following a strange man up a sky ladder, but she was going to do it anyways.

She glanced up, finding the ladder again. Then she ran forwards. She jumped, slipped, and landed right on her bum.

"Come on," she murmured, getting back up to her feet. She closed her eyes, trying to focus her strength. Once more, she jumped up. And this time, her hands closed around something cold and hard, made of metal. There she hung, perhaps a meter or so up in the air. Her feet dangled. She grunted, and managed to pull herself and the ladder down to the ground. Clara placed a hand back on a rung, and glanced up one last time before she began to climb.

She counted about thirty-five rungs before she came up to a platform protected by railings. Now she was quite a far ways above the streets of London. The tallest rooftops were nearly at the same level as her. There was a man walking down the road below. She began to wave at him.

"Hello."

He didn't spare her a glance.

"Invisible," she realized, and then glanced at the spiral staircase behind her. "An invisible staircase. So that's what he's hiding."

She heard footsteps somewhere beyond, so she ran a hand over the rail and continued to climb.

~8~

Clara wasn't quite sure what she was going to find at the top of the staircase. Obviously, most people didn't use invisible staircases, so it wasn't like there was anything she could expect. All she had was mystery. There could be anything up here on top of this cloud.

Including- apparently- a peculiar blue box with a lamp on top, outlined by shadow.

She tentatively stepped a bit closer to it, and tapped it with her finger. Something chimed from inside, and she quickly brought her finger back with a gasp. Although it was extremely cold up here on this cloud, the wooden surface of the box was warm to the touch. On one side of the blue box, there were two small silver handles and a keyhole. Okay, so maybe this was where the Doctor had run off. Inside a tiny, cramped box. Bringing her nerves together, she decided to knock on the door.

When she heard movement from inside the thing, she quickly skirted around the corner. She could hear the door open.

"Hello?" the Doctor's voice called. "Hello? Who's out there? Is that you, Vastra?"

There was an odd silence, and Clara heard footfalls coming her way. She ducked around to the back of the box, crouched almost in a ball. She looked down at the white misty carpet that had become her ground. How in the world could she be walking on a cloud, anyways?

"Hello?" he asked. His voice was coming from somewhere else now.

Silently, she edged around to the far side of the mysterious blue box, and peeked around the corner. When she saw that the coast was clear, she made a run for it, accidentally dropping her shawl in the process. She decided to leave it, and booked it down the staircase, leaving only whirls of mist in her wake.

The Doctor saw something in the corner of his eye, and immediately dashed over to the stairs. The air was still swirling from the person who had just escaped down from here. A long swath of red cloth caught his notice. It was a thick red shawl, a very familiar shawl. He frowned deeply, and picked it up.

"Clara..." he muttered, and immediately returned to the TARDIS.

~8~

Just outside the door of 13 Paternoster Row, the familiar noise of the TARDIS' engines rang through the air. The time ship quickly materialized in the snowy streets. Her doors flew open, and out bolted the Doctor. He rapped on the door at Vastra's house, breathing heavily.

"Vastra. Vastra?!"

Finally, the door opened, revealing not the Silurian, but Strax. "Sir? Is everything alright?" he asked.

"No," the Time Lord responded, clutching a length of red cloth in his arms. "Something impossible's happened."