A/N: I'm saying nothing… Thank you to all of my reviewers: DancingWithTheDoctor, XxSnowyDreamsxX, truenarnian, Noirthrus, ImpossibleClara9, Second Silver, Guest, Foeseeker, TARDISBlueBox, Guest, magiclover222, Dede42, orchids117, ThePotterDoctor, OhMyStarsShiz, xandrota and BloodLily16.

Chapter Twenty Five: Trenzalore

Clara woke up with a gasp.

She was lying beside the Doctor in bed, sleeping, when all of a sudden her vivid dream had felt a little too real. She noticed the hair at the nape of her neck was slightly sweaty as her fingers trailed across her warm skin, trying to calm herself down. The Doctor was stirring beside her, his hand reaching out to touch her to confirm she was still there. That was when he realised she was sitting up straight, her breathing heavy. He jerked awake and looked up at her with ruffled hair and a soft frown.

"Clara? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I –" but her hands were shaking and her head felt light. "Bad dream. Felt real. Very real."

He sat up beside her, taking her hands in his own. "Can you remember it?"

"No, no. It's gone." Her eyes flicked onto his face and she couldn't help but smile at his fluffy hair sticking up in all directions. "But someone was in danger. That's all I know."

"Hey," he said gently, pressing a kiss to the side of her head and brushing back her hair over one shoulder. "No one is in danger. Okay? I'm right here."

Clara nodded. "Dreams aren't exactly rational though, are they?"

They'd fallen asleep early after their previous sleepless night, and as the Doctor looked at his clock on the bedside table, he realised it was only a few minutes until midnight. "How about I get us a cup of tea, eh? We'll stay up until you feel safe again."

But Clara moved out of his touch and pushed herself to the floor, standing on shaky legs. "I'll do it – give my hands something to do. Might stop the shaking."

Before he could protest, Clara walked out into the hall, holding onto the wall to help her balance. The details of the dream may have been forgotten and yet, the sinking feeling of dread still tainted her thoughts. She ignored the shakiness in her legs and general unbalance – she hadn't eaten in a while. In fact, Clara couldn't remember the last time she had a proper meal. The last few days she was filling up on nothing but tea and pints of water.

It was when she took a moment to catch her breath at the kitchen threshold that Clara noticed a square piece of paper lying at John's door, as if it had fallen through the letterbox. It was midnight, who would deliver the post at midnight? Steadying herself, Clara quietly padded over to the front door and bent down to retrieve the letter. It wasn't addressed to anyone in particularly, although, as Clara's eyes automatically read across the thin slanted writing, she knew it wasn't supposed to be addressed to a particular person. The meaning behind it was very clear.

"John!" Clara yelled. She sounded hysteric, even to herself. "John!"

He ran out from his bedroom as soon as he heard her. He frowned as he saw her at the door, holding the piece of paper. Clara rushed over to him and thrust the letter under his nose. He studied her, carefully, before taking it in his own hand to read it for himself.

He paled as he traced over the words, toppling over one another until there was a jumble of meanings in his mind. Questions followed other questions, bigger concerns, more fears –

"They have Vastra, Jenny and Strax!" Clara yelped. "He has them, John."

Her hands grasped at her hair and she turned on the spot like she was searching for a big friendly button – a solution to this mistake.

Now John was shaking, and it was visible because he was still holding the thin letter. It rattled in his hands, a loud echo of the harsh truth, of their current reality.

"Trenzalore," Clara said as she reread the words over John's shoulder. Her shock was fading, and in its place was a sincere determination, a gust of burning defiance in her stomach. Simeon had gone too far this time – if he thought he would get away with manipulating them through hurting their friends, he was wrong. Clara would make sure of it. "Where's Trenzalore?"

"Trenzalore, um…" John's mind was slow, too muddled with concern. "That's the big empty warehouse, isn't it? Just outside of town."

They both shared a knowing look – it wasn't exactly an ideal location to go to alone, never mind what they would have to go there for. They would be trapped, at the complete mercy of Simeon and whatever he had in store. This wasn't safe; this would be the most dangerous thing they'd ever do in their lives.

"Back up?" asked Clara.

"We don't know how many men he has, or how many weapons. Getting the police involved will only cause more hassle," John explained, shaking his head. "If I can convince him we won't publish our findings, if I can convince him to not hurt anyone – drag it out for as long as we can. Then, in the morning, someone will notice we're missing – Jack, probably. He'll call help and then it'll all be fine. That's the only plan I can think will work. But I have to do something – they were there for me in a time no one else was. They're my friends."

"Right, yes, right. Okay." Feeling like the ground was spinning again; Clara closed her eyes for a few seconds and counted her breaths. She made to move back into the bedroom, saying, "I'll need to go home first and change clothes. Nina's not there, so –"

But John gently pulled her arm, bringing her back to him. He had that look in his eye, the same look he always had when they were getting themselves involved in something dangerous. "Clara," he warned.

She knew what he was about to do; he was going to go off on a rant about how she should stay here, how Simeon would only expect John (after all it was sent to his house) and that he didn't want anything happening to her. She only needed to raise her eyebrows at him for him to realise that any argument he made would be classed as invalid.

"No point in telling you this is too dangerous?" he concluded, a sad yet grateful smile on his lips as he glanced to the floor.

Clara smirked. "None at all."

They parked around the corner close to the graveyard. The stone field was bleak against the cold night air and the darkened, clouded sky – why did places like this always have to be eerily quiet and cold? It wasn't a natural coldness either; it crept along your skin like a tickling hand dancing down your spine, making the hairs on your arms quiver with something that wasn't quite a shiver. On the brick wall opposite was the white sign with tall dark letters: TRENZALORE ST. They were definitely in the right place.

The Doctor took Clara's hand as they slowly approached the foreboding warehouse, which sat like a shadow on the horizon. It had no windows, only one door – the advertisements which covered the outside paintwork were from a decade long past and the warehouse name itself was faded to a dull red, unreadable. Every city had a forgotten corner, a corner time almost forgot, and Trenzalore Street, with the Trenzalore Warehouse was one of them.

It used to sell some sort of farming equipment, if the Doctor recalled correctly, but now London had no time for farming or agriculture – that belonged to districts further north. The market wasn't suitable in London. Now it lay abandoned, with no other use than to symbolise the danger which was making the Doctor quake as he walked.

"I'll keep him talking for as long as I can. Hold out until someone knows we're missing," the Doctor said, repeating the plan for a fifth time. "Try and convince him we won't release our findings."

Clara squeezed his hand. Her face was the perfect picture of sheer determination. Rigid, scared but masked with a set frown. Her other hand subconsciously smoothed down her green and blue tartan dress before she pulled the Doctor to a stop so he had no other choice but to turn and face her.

His eyes were wider than usual, his lips pressed into a thin line. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. He responded by smoothing down her hair, kissing her back and savouring the feeling. Only Clara had the power to calm him down now. He was glad she was here.

When she pulled away, she reached up and straightened his bowtie, saying, "We'll be okay, you and me."

"Clara, as long as you're by my side, I'm always okay," he said softly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her head. "We're walking into the unknown, and the only thing that's keeping me strong is the fact that I know you are here. With every uncertain step of the way."

She smiled, sadly, and retook his hand. Ready to step into the unknown.

They walked in silence towards the front door of the warehouse. The Doctor stopped just outside and braced himself. Clara took a deep breath, her heart hammering as she glanced up at the dark clouded night sky, no stars in sight. She didn't watch as he pushed open the stiff door, she could tell what he was about to do by how he gripped her hand. With him leading the way, the couple stepped into the warehouse.

It was completely pitch black, without a single glimmer of light in sight. No noise too.

But they knew they weren't alone.

As they took a few further steps away from the door, Clara felt like someone was behind her, watching her. She looked over her shoulder but couldn't see a thing. Still, the Doctor kept walking, and with each passing tap of their shoes, Clara grew more and more anxious. She pulled him back a bit, trying to slow him down – his fear was making him move too quickly. They could be stumbling into something.

"Doctor," she whispered, but her voice was magnified by the huge empty warehouse. He stopped and turned around, trying to make out her outline. It was useless.

They must've been in the centre of the room now.

Clara was about to take out her phone for light when the Doctor called out, "Alright, Simeon! We're here. Show yourself."

There was a pause.

The silence was consuming Clara's ears, affecting her hearing, so much so that she couldn't be sure if she heard footsteps or not. Her chest was rising and falling, the rhythm speeding up, her hand growing sweaty in the Doctor's. She hated the dark. Absolutely hated it, especially when she knew they were surrounded by enemies.

The light turned on so quickly that Clara jumped backwards in surprise. Four glowing, bright lights placed at each of the corners of the large room. It gave the inner warehouse an orangey shadowy glow, like a candle in a Victorian cottage. The electrics in this place must've died years ago – Simeon had brought his own.

He was prepared. He was playing with them.

And they had just walked willingly into the centre of his game.

The Doctor had noticed several things at once. First of all, Vastra, Jenny and Strax were standing directly behind the Doctor and Clara across the room, closer to the cement wall. They were being guarded by two men, each dressed in black, powerful looking weapons hanging loosely in their arms. Simeon was situated at the left side of the warehouse, his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back. Directly in front of the Doctor and Clara was a third man, identically dressed as the other two, bulky gun pointed at the space between them.

"Donovan," Simeon barked from across the empty space. His voice rang out like ice cold daggers. "Stand outside the door. Guard it. No one is to leave or enter without my permission. Anything suspicious, if you see any kind of back up, alert me immediately."

He was speaking to the second man guarding Vastra, Jenny and Strax. With a curt nod the man stomped towards the direction of the door, his footsteps echoing. The warehouse was huge – about the same size as a tennis field. Completely open too, so nowhere to run or hide.

The Doctor could feel mild anger gurgle in his stomach. As his hand maintained its grasp in Clara's, he was growing more irritated with the passing seconds. They were surrounded by guns, in more than a compromising situation. What was Simeon playing at? He was corrupt, absolutely corrupt. He couldn't let Simeon get away with this, any of it. This man deserved to be in prison, he was nothing but a corrupt criminal.

"Well, what have you gathered us for?" the Doctor called over to his opposition. "Thinking of creating a new book club, are you?"

Simeon's face remained expressionless. Very slowly, he started to walk towards the centre of the warehouse, his eyes trained on no one but the Doctor. "I want to teach you your place," snarled Simeon, his voice low and deadly. He didn't need to use anything over a whispered mumble to be heard in this place.

The Doctor squared his shoulders. He lifted up his and Clara's joint hands and nodded towards their union, replying swiftly, "I've found my place, and this is my place, thank you very much. Right beside Clara."

Simeon said nothing for a few more steps. When he was only a metre away, he pointed towards Clara. "You. Over there, with them."

He was gesturing to Vastra, Jenny and Strax. Clara hesitated. She glared back at Simeon and remained rooted to the floor. Simeon flicked his eyes to the man holding the gun at the Doctor's direction. The guardsman shoved Clara out of the Doctor's grip – with just enough force for their clasped hands to break apart. Unable to control the impulse, the Doctor grabbed the gunman's arm, roughly pulling him away from Clara. The gunman retaliated. He used the edge of his gun to hit the Doctor across the face with it – Clara shrieked, fighting against the grip of the second guard, who pushed her into place beside Vastra, Jenny and Strax. The Doctor's hand flew towards his face; his cheek was bruised and grazed, causing a trickle of blood to leak from the cut.

Darkly, the Doctor laughed. "Oh, you've went too far this time, Simeon."

His eyes darted across to where Clara was now standing in between Vastra and Jenny. As the Doctor looked away, he had to do a double take – Vastra was fine, as was Strax, but Jenny's face was bruised. He cringed; true, untameable fury burning through his veins. His hand felt empty now without Clara's warmth, and for the first time since entering the warehouse, he realised how much of a target he was; standing in the middle of the room, on his own.

"Funny," said Simeon, continuing to creep closer. "That's exactly what Davros and Harold said. But they don't understand. They've never had my passion, my ambition. This was never enough for them."

Realising the implications behind those words, the Doctor said, "Ah! I see! That's why you don't have more men – they all left with Davros and Harold. Only the ones loyal to you remained behind. A grand total of three. But I wonder what you must've said to chase away two of your business partners?"

Simeon raised his arms to gesture around them. "This is what I suggested. This right here."

"Yes, I can see why some would find this unlawful," the Doctor retorted.

"Davey," Simeon said to the gunman closest to the Doctor. Davey stepped away, gun slightly lowering. The Doctor's stiff shoulders relaxed a little at the motion. He wanted to look across at Clara, see if she was okay, but she was completely out of his eye line.

Simeon walked up to the Doctor until they were only inches apart. Green eyes met icy blue, and Simeon's hand grabbed the Doctor's chin, roughly, staring into his soul. The Doctor grasped at Simeon's wrist, trying to pull him off. There was something deranged in the corrupt man's eyes, something scarily intimidating. As if he was having to contain his anger, but in a different way from the Doctor – Simeon was ready to burst, and he didn't have limits to push past.

"I told you to keep out of my business," Simeon hissed in his face.

"And I didn't listen," snapped the Doctor.

Simeon let him go with a final push. He flicked his finger at Davey and pointed to his comrade. "Davey, over to Montague."

The Doctor's eyes didn't leave Simeon's face as Davey trotted over to the other gunman, Montague, who was guarding the group. "How much is he paying you boys, hm? Must be a hell of a penny."

Now that it was just Simeon and John standing in the centre of the warehouse, Simeon took a few steps away, all the while smirking. "You know all my secrets," he said. "Who have you told?"

Lying easily, John answered, "No one. Yet."

Simeon clicked his fingers. Davey and Montague raised their weapons at Vastra, Jenny, Strax and Clara. The Doctor's turned around to watch, his heart thumping against his ribs. He looked back to Simeon, who was now fully smiling.

"Your friends," Simeon gloated, "I can stop their hearts."

The Doctor bit the inside of his cheek. If he told Simeon they had alerted the authorities, they were all going to be done for. It took them an hour to get ready, another hour to get here – it was still too soon for someone to realise they were missing. He was supposed to be stalling, dragging this out, and giving them time.

"I'll ask you again: who have you told?"

Pausing for a fraction of a second, the Doctor heard the gunmen click their weapons behind him. Panic flooded over his senses, it was taking over his logic, clouding his thinking. He didn't have any doubt Simeon would give the command to shoot. He was deranged at the minute, and his gunmen were experienced – even if Simeon couldn't cover his tracks, they would do it for him after they were paid.

"Simeon, please!" the Doctor begged. "Why don't we talk this over, let's be civilised!"

"We are talking, we are talking right now. I'm just giving you an extra bit of persuasion." Raising his arm in the air, Simeon asked, "Who have you told? Or would you rather answer, who shall I shoot first?"

Montague grabbed Strax and the Doctor could hear Clara shouting out in protest of the action – John flinched at the sound, raising his arms in a small surrender and edging towards his enemy. "Alright, alright! We told a Chief Inspector this morning. Just, please, leave them alone! This is between you and me – no one else."

Just before Simeon could react to this honest piece of news, the warehouse was filled with a loud ringing of a phone. Irritated, he spun around, searching for the source of the noise. The Doctor grimaced – he'd left his mobile in the car, so it could logically only belong to one person.

"You," Simeon said at Clara. "Come here."

Blushing with embarrassment, Clara extracted her phone from her dress pocket. She briefly glanced down at the caller ID and tried to hide a smile. She walked towards Simeon with measured steps, her gaze resting on the Doctor. He was staring at her, his eyes wide, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach out. Simeon gestured to her to stop a few metres away. She threw him her phone, to which he caught with one hand.

He rejected the call, his lips pulling into a frown as he saw who it was – then he dropped it to the cement ground. It bounced as it fell, landing screen-up, small cracks appearing on the glass.

Clara was only a short way away from John. As Simeon redirected his attention, she slipped further to the side, towards him. Simeon turned his back on the both of them and marched towards his two gunmen. Seizing the chance, Clara took another large step to the side. John tilted his head to meet her gaze and gently shook his head. No, Clara. Stay back.

Simeon snatched the gun from Davey, taking it swiftly from the man's grip and holding it firmly in his hands, weighing up the feel of it. Then he sped across the space back to the Doctor, stopping in his tracks five metres away. His icy blue eyes never left his face. Simeon lifted the gun with perfect aim – the aim being the Doctor's head.

"No!" Clara squeaked, her voice almost lost in her fear.

"Now, Simeon, take it easy," John said, shuffling uncomfortably.

"You've ruined my life, Doctor!" Simeon snarled, taking a step closer. The gun was almost shaking in his hand. "Now I'm going to ruin yours!"

With gradual and careful treads, Clara slowly tiptoed towards John. Simeon didn't seem to notice. He was too enraged.

"Simeon we can sort this out, we can talk our way through it!"

"No. That business was my whole life. It was the first time I actually succeeded in something –"

"By using fraud and blackmail!"

Clara was within reaching distance from him now. Only a few more steps.

"It's too late for me." Simeon said it with such sadness, with such heartbreak, that Clara would've felt sorry for him if he wasn't threatening John with a gun. He continued, "I'm probably going to be arrested in the morning, thanks to you. But I can do this – I can do this before I flee the country. I can bring you down with me!"

Vastra was shouting now, but no one was listening. Jenny was trying to calm her down while Strax resisted the gunman holding them all back.

Clara's hand easily slipped into John's. He flinched as he felt her sudden touch, staring down at her with the darkest look of utmost dread.

How had this happened?

The Doctor flexed his left hand as he watched the barrel of the gun. A thin layer of sweat rested on his top lip as the tension in the room mounted to an unreachable peak. His chest was physically pulsing from the racing rhythm of his heart, and in that moment, the Doctor had never been so afraid in his entire life.

Not at the gun aimed at his head. No.

At the small, delicate hand gripping his upper arm, and the person who it belonged to, standing on his immediate right. The person who he would protect with his life because she was the most precious thing to ever walk the earth.

And he had dragged her into this mess.

But in that moment, the Doctor was struck by the most unusual thought. There was a big difference between staring down a barrel of a gun in real life and watching it happen to the characters on television.

They fail to tell you on television what it looks like from the other end, or how the suspense between the raised gun and the first shot feels. The Doctor had done it many times himself; watched a suspenseful movie where the main character has a gun thrust in his face, and he stares it down defiantly. He always thought he would do the same if he was ever put in the situation. Of course, he made that judgement from the safety of the cinema and the resolution that it would never ever happen in his life. It was brave thinking, but nothing more.

What they don't explain, however, is how the head of the gun looks from face view. How the opened circular cylinder physically stares back at you like a third eye of the holder. How you can see the strong, straight arm holding it out, aimed directly at you, and how you can still see the scowling, victorious face of the owner's eyes burning through you with hatred, almost as if he'd already fired.

Then there's the feeling. The screeching panic screaming in your ears. The rush of memories, hopes, aspirations – everything you've ever wanted and everything you'll never have rushes over you in an avalanche of cruel desire and fleeting regret. One pull of the trigger and it'll be all over. One precise aim and life itself is done. How meaningless things were in the full picture. How your heart hurts with true, riveting agony at the thought of this happening just at the moment you were happiest. How you'll never live your life with the one beside you, or how you're unable to protect the very thing which made your heart burst with joy – all flowing into your body from the pressure of her hand gripping your arm.

He'd never been afraid of dying. So why was he fearing it now?

Perhaps it was similar to anticipation. When you truly look forward to something for months upon months and the first few weeks seem to move unfairly slow. Before you know it, everything you'd anticipated is within reaching distance, but then, with a frightful pause, you realise – what if it's not going to be as good as I hoped for? What if I'd been waiting all this time for disappointment? Just as you contemplate waiting longer to take it, time catches up and you've got no other choice but to grab it. Perhaps that was what was causing the fear.

Or, maybe it was because he never achieved his true desire. Until now, until this exact moment, he didn't know it actually existed.

Maybe it was because he would never grow old with Clara.

She meant the world to him, she truly did. She'd helped him through so much in the last few months without even having to ask. She was his rock and he was fully dependant on her. She lit up his world in a way no one else could. He'd known all along, from the moment he'd met her, that she would end up being special in his life. He just didn't realise how special. As he realised Simeon could steal his future from him at any minute, he'd never wanted it more. He could see all the days that would never come in his mind's eye – moving in together, having kids, growing old… It wasn't his dream until he met the right person.

And now it would never happen.

Caught up in his bittersweet mourning, John failed to realise what was happening.

Yelling out in sheer anger, Simeon redirected the aim of his gun to the Doctor's midriff and pulled down on the trigger.

The golden bullet tipped with black flew through the air like a train on the tracks, intent on a collision. Breaking free from the group, Vastra darted across the room just as Simeon fired another three times – Vastra collided with the deranged man, sending his bullets flying in all angles.

But the first shot was right on target.

It happened within the blink of an eye.

Simeon fired, Vastra ran, they collided, and Simeon fired again. The last three bullets missed.

And Clara moved purely on impulse.

All it took was a perfectly precise step to the right that caused John's world to come crashing down around him.

Seeing the golden bullet racing towards John, Clara sidestepped in front of him, her hand still holding his arm. She wasn't sure what she was doing – if she intended to be a human shield or to push him out of harms way. There wasn't enough time to even make a decision, it happened within a heartbeat.

John screamed – his voice sounding animalistic – and he pulled Clara back, thinking the bullet had yet to hit them. As he yanked her into his arms, attempting to protect her, he heard Jenny shouting.

"Clara! Clara!"

That was when the realisation hit him harder than anything Simeon could fire.

Clara was quite still in his grasp which caused him to fall into a pool of automatic denial. Her head rolled back and John stared down at his hands covered in something red, hot and sticky.

It wasn't blood. It really wasn't blood. Not Clara's blood, at least.

Even though he was denying it, his body wasn't. Suddenly he could no longer support both of their weights, and his knees slammed to the cold cement ground, his arms and legs trembling. He cradled Clara as he stared at her, and her wide brown eyes were looking back at him as if there was nothing wrong.

But there was. Oh god, there was.

The dark crimson blood was spreading across the entire front of her dress, making it impossible for the Doctor to pinpoint where it was coming from. His hands fumbled, trying to hold her while simultaneously attempting to brush away the blood, as if it wasn't meant to be there and he could make it better simply by cleaning her up.

It wouldn't go away.

There was that awful feeling in his chest now; the constricting pain right before the moment of a heartbreak. It was scratching at his heart, preparing to tear it apart, into shreds, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop – it was flowing at the same speed as the blood from the wound.

"No," John moaned, resisting the tears stinging his eyes. "No, no. Clara, no."

Her eyes fluttered and John gripped her tighter, bellowing out as loud as he could, an anguished, "NO!"

I knew the moment I met you

I could never lose you

(You Me At Six/Cold Night/Cavalier Youth)

Note: Review, please?