Annie looked to the battle beneath her—a raging war, interrupted by a horde of screaming shadows. It was chaos. All hell had broken loose in the city through the portal. Weapons of all kinds were being fired from every direction. People were tripping over each other, trying to run away. In the sky, the battle ships had all begun to completely ignore each other, their feuds temporarily forgotten in a feverish fear of the blackness that had come to swallow them whole.
Already, she could see those greasy creatures returning through the portals, dragging smoky shadows behind them. If the Doctor was to be believed, each one was a dead Time Lord. He wasn't just sacrificing the humans of Earth; he was cannibalizing his own people. And then he stood there, smiling like a fool and acting like he hadn't done a thing to harm anyone.
She couldn't decide if he was lying through his teeth or if he actually believed his own words.
It was madness.
She turned her eyes back towards the man who once called himself the Doctor—the man she might have called Uncle John. He looked different, but he was familiar in his own way. She hated that she could see the man she'd grown up with in him. She hated the excited gleam in his eye and the way he folded his hands over each other and swayed gently on his heels, like a child waiting for something good to happen. It was the same way he always looked on Christmas morning.
"What can you possibly hope to have at the end of all this?"
He didn't stop smiling but his eyes were cold. "Only what there should be, of course," he answered cheerfully. "There are people who died who shouldn't have. There were people who should have been born that weren't. You were one of them. Now you're here. Eventually, they'll all be back and it'll be right."
"But I'm not back," she answered, trying to keep the venom from her voice. "I wasn't born here. I'm not the same person as the Annie that was lost. I'm someone else, stolen to fill her shoes."
He made a face as though he were irritated. "Well, if you want to get picky about it . . ."
"It's theft," she said firmly, carefully watching the way the muscles around his eyes hardened. "It's kidnapping."
He was trying to ignore her but his jaw had set firmly. His eyes were staring at the portals but they weren't seeing anything. It was the same face he made when she and Ganbri had broken some tool of his while trying to figure out what it was. It was the face he made when he was trying to hold in his temper.
"And it's murder," she added, trying her hardest to make her words sting.
"You don't get to tell me what it is!" he snapped at her suddenly, turning quickly on his heel. "There are wounds in the flow of this universe that I am trying to fix! I know what I'm doing here. I'm a Time Lord and you are just a silly little human girl!"
She stepped forward a little so that she was standing more even with his body. If she was too far back, he might turn to face her and then he was more likely to raise his right hand. She could work with that, but it would just be so much easier if he raised his left.
"Now it comes out, doesn't it?" she shot back, pulling up every memory she had of her mother scolding someone, trying to hit the same notes and add the same emphasis. "Just a silly little human girl? You think you're so much better than everyone here because we're human and that we can all just be sacrificed to your insane plan. Just rats. Just guinea pigs. Just human."
His hands were starting to tremble and his face was contorting into something ugly. All the smoothness of youth disappearing under wrinkles of bubbling anger.
"I'm trying to save this world." His voice trembled too. She could hear it, simmering beneath his attempts to stay calm. It was the voice she heard shortly before he would tell Ganbri to go to his room and ask her to go home.
And she knew that it was the voice of his last bit of patience. She knew how to push. She knew what he'd done and what would have hurt the most—what he would try to deny the most. That third crown at Torchwood had once belonged to a Queen.
"You're trying to save one of your own," she spat. "And you were fine with feeding my mother, someone who was supposed to be your friend, to that thing in order to do it. But she was just a human so there's no point in feeling guilty of murdering—"
"There is no blood on my hands!"
That was the moment she had been waiting for—that she had pushed for. Suddenly his face didn't look like a light-hearted young man. She saw a snarling beast before her, teeth bared and eyes alive with fire. He had thrust a pointed finger at her, shaking freely as the words exploded from his mouth.
His left hand.
She had never been particularly good at this move, but she usually practiced it on other Torchwood members who were expecting it. The Doctor was blinded with anger and too distracted with denying his guilt to pay attention. She only had to step forward once to reach the hand that he had pointed at her, twisting his wrist and twirling her body, bringing herself closer and forcing his arm to twist behind him. She could feel joints cracking as she yanked upward with force that she usually held back in training. A loud pop and a scream confirmed that she had dislocated his shoulder. The shock of the pain made him stop fighting for just a second and she took advantage of that moment to reach for the crown on his head.
Her fingers wrapped around the cold, hard metal and she pulled, but the crown didn't budge. Instead of coming free, his head simply moved with it. Seeing it up close, she could see the small puckered marks in his scalp around the metal—somehow, he had attached it to himself surgically.
She had suspected that she would be unable to get the crown, so she had a backup plan.
He had collapsed to his knees and she drove the dislocated arm further upwards, trying to pin his chest to the ground and giving her access to his hand. Either he had figured out what she was doing or he was tensing up purely as a reaction to being attacked, but his fist was clenched tight and she didn't want to spend precious seconds trying to force it open. She never thought of Uncle John as much of a warrior, but she'd seen enough in the few times he had trained with them to know that he could take care of himself. She didn't care to find out just how good he was.
Without hesitating, she grabbed the knife she had brought with her and drove it in. He screamed louder and began to thrash about, trying to get her to let go. She knew the pain of pushing against that shoulder must have been torturous, but she also knew that it wouldn't stop him for long.
Cutting off a finger sounds easier than it is. The bone was thin and yet it put up a hell of a fight. Blood was pouring out and making her grip on the knife slick but she felt the bone starting to give, weakening and cracking as she forced the knife in a sawing motion, until finally it came free.
She leapt back, prize in hand, suddenly panicking at the thought that now she had to get away. She looked up instinctively to her father for guidance, but it was Celeste who stepped in.
Celeste rushed forward like a bull, almost knocking Annie aside. "Go!" she roared, lifting a heavy boot and dropping it down on the Doctor's wounded shoulder. "Get the fuck out of here!"
Shaun made it to the door first, holding it open for them to follow. Annie glanced over her shoulder as she ran at Rose rushing behind her, looking pale and almost sick. Behind her, Celeste was savagely kicking at the Doctor's shoulder, desperately trying to keep him down. Even as she was striking though, Annie could see the Doctor's face setting like a stone, getting his good arm underneath him to push himself up.
Time Lords could take a beating, she knew that. Uncle Harry had been hit by a car when she was little and walked away with nothing but some scratches and bruising. Grandad told her once that he'd seen Uncle John jump from a ship in the sky and, though he was hurt, he survived the fall. She'd seen Ganbri take some hits in training that she knew would have snapped anyone else's ribs like toothpicks and he'd walk away smiling, not even aware of how strange it was. The man they needed to escape now was a Time Lord, and one that was seasoned when it came to pain—a dislocated shoulder, a severed finger, and a few good kicks weren't going to do anything more than piss him off once he got back on his feet.
She was barely down the first flight of stairs and her heart was already pounding so hard, it felt like it might burst. She was scared, she realized. There was a horde of monsters outside and almost every human in the city was long since dead, but all she could think about was that horrible look in the Doctor's eyes.
He wanted to kill her, of that she was certain. He wanted to kill her and he was smarter than her, he had more tools at his disposal, and he was hard as hell to slow down, let alone kill.
Everything up until that moment had felt so surreal that it almost seemed as if what happened didn't matter, like it was all just pretend somehow. It felt like Uncle John was just at home, tending to his projects and whining at Uncle Harry in that weirdly flirty way for something, and the man who was here was nothing more than some kind of training simulation. But the instant his face twisted up in that horrid way was like seeing a beloved dog snarling for the first time and suddenly just realizing how much damage it could do if it wanted to.
"We're not just leaving her are we?" Rose was shouting as they rushed down the stairs. "Is she gonna be okay!?"
"She's the toughest person I know," Shaun answered quickly. "If anyone would be okay, it'd be her."
"She's the toughest person you know because everyone else is dead!"
"Shit," Annie breathed, clutching the finger in her hand and letting those words sink in. "Shit, shit, shit!"
Everyone else was dead. He'd killed all of them. He'd killed them all without even trying—by accident even—and she'd just attacked him and cut off his finger. What the fuck was she thinking?
It didn't matter now, she decided. She got what she needed—the Doctor's wedding ring. It might have looked like ordinary gold to the untrained eye, but Annie was familiar enough with extraterrestrial materials and with her uncle's ring to know that it was what she needed to make the crown work. She kept squeezing her hand, making sure that she could feel the hard metal around the quickly cooling finger and that she hadn't failed to take it. She would have held it up for them to see but she was terrified of dropping it.
The sharp bang of several gunshots echoed through the stairwell and yet it wasn't as frightening as the sound that came next.
"Annabelle!"
It sounded more like an animal than a man—a voice twisted into something monstrous with rage. Heavy feet were thumping down the stairs above them, far quicker than she'd like.
"I think we need to have a little talk!"
Her mind raced back to when they were teenagers and J.J. had convinced half the family to start going for a run every day. Uncle John would race off ahead of them without even trying and then get annoyed that he had to keep slowing down. He was so fast so effortlessly, and now he was in a younger body.
"We can't outrun him," she said as quietly as she could while still allowing the others to hear her. "The second he gets off these stairs, he's going to catch up to us."
Her father looked surprised. "He's injured," he answered, sounding confused. "He's bleeding."
"It won't matter," Rose answered quickly.
She wasn't looking behind her anymore, so couldn't see Shaun's face but she knew his voice well enough to know he was concerned now. "I've never run from him before. What do we do?"
She didn't know. They were nearing the last flight of stairs. They had to have a plan in the next few seconds or he would catch them.
"He'll expect us to give Shaun the ring and split up," Rose spoke in a low voice. "If we scatter, he'll chase you. Will the shadows attack any of us right now?"
"Not while they're in battle. We're in trouble once they return though."
Annie didn't like the direction Rose's words were going, but she didn't have an alternative and there was no more time.
"Shaun, run through the horde," Rose said with finality. "He'll let us go and he'll try to find you. He has some telepathic ability but he's not very good at it—the horde will keep you hidden."
Annie shot a look over her shoulder and nearly missed a step because of it. "Uncle John could find him out there in a minute!"
"Your Uncle John could," Rose answered quickly.
Right. He had learned to save Harry and Ganbri from the Nightmare. In this world, Harry was dead, Ganbri had never been born, and the Nightmare's War never happened. It entirely possible—likely, even—that the man chasing them wouldn't be able to track them because he'd simply never learned how.
"It's the best we've got," Shaun spoke up. "Good luck, ladies."
She could still hear the thumping footsteps echoing from above them. Part of her was sure that she could even hear his ragged breathing drawing nearer, but he couldn't possibly be that close yet.
She jumped the last few steps and hit solid ground. She turned back to see the other two coming and reached out for her father, letting the blood on her hands smear across his jacket as he passed, letting him carry the scent with him. Then she dropped the severed finger on the ground, placed the wedding ring on her own finger, and ran.
Shaun dashed straight towards the writhing mass of screaming shadows and didn't look back. Part of Annie screamed at her to go with him, keep him safe. It suddenly occurred to her that this might be the last time she ever saw him—just the back of his head and her bloody handprint on his jacket disappearing into a crowd of monsters. At that moment, it didn't matter that he was a different man in a different universe.
While her eyes followed her father, her feet followed Rose. She ran until her muscles and lungs burned and she never quite convinced herself to look back to see if they were being followed. She told herself that he would have caught them by now. At the very least, he would have done something to slow them down or confuse them.
They rounded the corner of a building and Rose threw her hand up to signal a stop. They were far enough away that she could barely hear the shrieks of the shadow horde, but she still found herself looking over her shoulder and eying every corner and shadow for movement.
Rose was resting her hands on her thighs, gulping down air. "Do we back for Celeste?" she squeezed out between breaths.
"No," Annie answered quickly. "If she's alive, she's already out."
Celeste wasn't the type to wait for rescue. Or, at least, she wasn't back home. She supposed she didn't really know the Celeste that lived here or what she was like but, if she any different at all, she was more independent and aggressive. Annie quickly reassured herself that she wasn't wrong.
"I can't believe you did that!" Rose suddenly gasped. "I mean, I knew you were going to do something but . . . please tell me that thing will work."
Annie let her fingers run over the cold metal around her finger and nodded. "It should work. Unless there's some other problem with the crown, this should be all I need to fix it."
"And if there's another problem?"
Annie shook her head. "Celeste is the expert. I'm sure she'll figure it out."
She saw a flicker of doubt cross Rose's face. Her mouth moved as if to speak and then she changed her mind. Annie knew what she was going to say. What if Celeste was dead? Annie didn't want to think it was possible, but there would be no point in denying reality, especially in such a dangerous place.
"Sandra might know something about it too," she added quietly. "I can work on it with her if I have to. Let's just worry about getting the ring back."
Rose nodded but the burdened look didn't leave her eyes. She'd caught her breath, but she made no move to carry on.
"I'm sorry I got you tangled into this mess," she said finally. "It's my fault. If I hadn't hidden in the TARDIS or . . . or come to you for help—"
"Stop," Annie interrupted. "It's not your fault. You didn't do any of this. Reality as we know it is at stake, and that includes my universe and my life. I'd rather be involved than not."
Rose smiled a little and gave a slight nod. She didn't look particularly convinced but Annie hoped it made her feel a little better. Guilt was a terrible thing to carry around at the best of times, and a dangerous thing at the worst.
The rest of the journey back to Torchwood was unsettlingly quiet. With the shadow horde occupied with their assault on the portals, the city finally felt as dead as it was.
Annie couldn't stop looking at all the discarded items on the ground. They weren't things that were dropped or forgotten, left behind in a rush to get to safety. They were in someone's hand, on someone's feet, over someone's body, and then suddenly they weren't. Shirts and hats and glasses all hit the ground, abandoned, and the heat from their owners' bodies had lasted longer than the bodies themselves.
She didn't understand how anyone, mad or not, could look at the city and believe that there was anything left to save.
Sandra was still alone when they arrived at Torchwood, anxiously pacing. The severity of her limp suggested that she had been pacing for a while. Annie let Rose do the explaining while she washed the blood from her hands. It had dried to a rusty brown and cracked and flaked off whenever she moved her fingers, yet somehow it still felt warm.
The sound of his scream kept repeating in her head while she washed, as loud and real as though he were right next to her. But it wasn't the pain she was hearing—she'd heard pain a thousand times before. What she heard was something new and unlike anything else she'd experienced.
She could hear that pure, undiluted rage.
It echoed in her head, cutting into her with each reverberation. That wasn't her Uncle John. That was just something else that had taken up residence inside him, and now her hands were coated with its blood. She scrubbed and scrubbed, feeling like she couldn't get clean, like it was infecting her somehow.
"Annabelle."
Her heart stopped for a second. Had she imagined it?
She felt the warm and familiar feeling of her father's hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. She dared to look and saw his dark fingers resting there, the way they had always appeared on every bad day she'd ever had. Without warning, she felt tears well up in her eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly.
She quickly turned on her heel and flung her arms around him. He hesitated for the briefest of seconds and then his arms wrapped around her in return, hugging her tightly. She wanted to cry. Her father was at home with her mother, safe and probably unaware of anything that was happening, and yet he was here. And she was just so, so happy that he was alive.
She looked up to see Celeste standing near the edge of the tracks, with Dr. Kapoor already tearing the clothing away from her bleeding arm. She looked pale and weak, but her eye was fiery and determined.
"Tell me you still have the fucking thing."
Without letting go of her father, Annie proudly lifted her arm to display the ring she had stolen. As it shined and glittered in the dim light, Annie noticed that her hands were clean.
