Head Notes: Now the real fun begins. I know I keep saying that, but that's because I had a lot of fun writing this story and I am eager to share it. So without further ado, here's chapter 9. I'm probably going to post the next chapter tonight as well, since tomorrow is Sunday. Anyway, Enjoy!

Chapter nine

Claire hurried along the hall toward the elevators. She didn't know how she was going to pull this off. Samaritan was an all-powerful sentient A.I. that could put together even the most complex puzzles and notice patterns in the most unlikely places. Surely, it would eventually notice what she was doing. But until it did, she was going to do her best.

"Claire, are you leaving so soon?" Mr. Greer called from behind her.

"Yeah, uh," she murmured, searching for an excuse. "I have to go to a school in Lower Manhattan in an hour. My car broke down this morning so I have to take the bus. You know how long public transportation takes."

"Then I won't keep you," he said, nodding kindly.

He watched as she hurried down the hall. Wherever she was going, he knew it had nothing to do with any school in the city.

"Now she's making excuses," he said to the A.I. listening. "Are you sure you want to keep her around?" He asked, taking his phone from his pocket.

AFFIRMATIVE. TAKE NO ACTION.

"Very well," he breathed. "I sincerely hope this doesn't end badly for us."

XxXxXxX

Claire scurried down the street. She had to choose her moves wisely. No cameras and no electronic communication. The tiniest slip-up would get her killed. One mistake, and she wouldn't live to realize it. It was interesting that the brilliance and intelligence she had praised just yesterday now made her feel vulnerable. She scanned each corner, looking for any streets or alleys that lack security cameras.

Turning down an abandoned alleyway, she scanned it and to her relief, saw no cameras. Settling on the ground, she opened her backpack and took out her notebook. She flipped the pages, looking for the page Clara had scribbled on. It was a number. Like a long-distance phone number. The Doctor's contact information, maybe?

She took out her phone and had already dialed three digits before realizing her mistake. If she used her own phone to contact the Doctor, Samaritan would be able to track it. The same thing would happen if she used someone else's phone. Even if she didn't use her phone to contact the Doctor, Samaritan would be able to hear at least her side of the conversation through the microphone. This ability to hijack and listen in on every call was one of the things that had once amazed her. Now it was going to limit everything she could do. It was hard to contact the Doctor if Samaritan could hijack every phone.

Wait, not every phone, she remembered. Pay phones. The one thing that couldn't be tapped. Problem was most payphones were overlooked by security or traffic cameras. But if she could find even one payphone out of a camera's line of sight, she would use it. But first things first. She took out her phone and took the battery out. From now on, she couldn't let Samaritan track her in any way. Dumping both the phone and the battery in a nearby dumpster, she put the notebook back in her backpack and moved forward.

XxXxXxXxX

The Doctor glared at the computer screen long after the video feed had stopped, the fury and hatred blistering in his chest. So far no one had spoken a word, fearing that he might explode into a rage. Perhaps that was a good thing. Feeling his chest tighten, he quietly stood up.

"Okay, here's what we do," he said, his voice forcibly quiet with rage. "We're going to break in there. We are going break in there and get Clara out of there. Where do we start?"

"There's no way we can break in without getting ourselves killed," Harold said flabbergasted. "Samaritan would see us coming and kill us immediately."

"We've got a TARDIS," the Doctor pointed out. "We could materialize directly there."

"Even if we had their current location, it would take weeks to plan a rescue mission on that scale," Harold argued. "And that's assuming we don't materialize in front of a camera and we can't guarantee that. We would need to know exactly where the cameras were so we could avoid them."

"Surely your Machine could handle that," the Doctor replied.

"It cannot account for everything," Harold pointed out. "There may be a few cameras that are only accessible to Samaritan."

"Well, I'm not just going to sit here while Clara's life is in danger," the Doctor roared, making his way to the TARDIS.

"Doctor, please give us time," Harold pleaded, chasing after the Doctor.

"You just said it would take weeks to plan a rescue," the Doctor said. "Clara doesn't have that time."

Before Harold or anyone could retort, everyone turned to the TARDIS as the phone rang.

The Doctor stared at the TARDIS phone not daring to hope that it might be Clara. There was the smallest chance that she had been able to escape - she was clever like that. But he had already been let down yesterday. He simply stared at the phone as it continued to ring.

"Is that a phone in there?" John wondered, breaking the silence.

"No, that's my alarm clock," the Doctor said sarcastically.

He forced himself to move toward the TARDIS and pick up the phone.

"Hello," he answered.

"Is this the Doctor?" the young woman on the other end of the phone asked.

"Who's asking?" he wondered.

"My name isn't important," she answered. "But I know a friend of yours. She asked me to contact you."

"And how do I know you didn't get this number through torture?" he challenged.

"She told me to tell you something, so that you'd know you could trust me," she said.

"What's that?" he asked

"Forgive me," she stammered. "I don't exactly know what it means. But I think that's the point."

"Just tell me what she said or I'll hang up right now," he threatened.

"She said that…'hugging is a way to hide your face.'" She repeated uncertainly.

A steady stream of hope began flowing in his chest the moment he heard those words. This was too important to miss. Clara wouldn't repeat those words to just anyone. And he couldn't imagine that Samaritan would see that as relevant information.

"Where are you?" he asked. "I need to speak to you, face to face."

"That would be dangerous, for both of us," the young woman said.

"Let me guess, too many cameras," the Doctor guessed.

"How did you – never mind," she stopped herself. "Yes, there are too many cameras."

"Well, what if we agreed on a meeting place that had no cameras?" The Doctor suggested.

"A dead zone?" she repeated. "Yeah that might work."

They agreed on a location and the Doctor hung up.

"I have to meet someone," he announced.

"Not without me," John insisted. He turned into the subway car to locate the stash of weapons.

"No. No. Line in the sand," the Doctor objected. "The walking weapon doesn't make the demands."

"It could be a trap. You have no idea who you're going to meet," he pointed out. "You're not going by yourself." He picked out a semi-automatic pistol and an automatic rifle.

"I don't need a babysitter," the Doctor sneered. "Especially not an armed babysitter."

John slowly and deliberately turned to face the Doctor's cold eyes.

"I'm not your babysitter," he corrected. "I'm your back-up. We don't like losing people. This goes sideways, I'm not taking any chances we lose you too. Too many people have already died fighting our cause. I'm not going to let anyone else die in vain. So you don't have a choice. I'm coming with you."

There was no room for argument in his voice. The Doctor watched as he turned back to the weapons and loaded them with ammunition. As much as he wanted to dismiss this soldier as just another grunt, it was quickly becoming obvious that he was much more intelligent than he seemed. In fact, the more he looked at him, the more he saw of himself. That same dark emptiness that told a terrible story. It frightened him to see that darkness looking back at him. It reminded him of the dark actions he had taken; the terrible things he had done during the Time War. The screams of millions that still haunted his dreams and tugged at his waking memory while he was awake.

Usually he could suppress it; bury it deep inside. Traveling with Clara made that easy. The way she looked up to him and saw him as a hero, made him hope that if one so good and kind could see goodness in him, however misguided her perceptions were, perhaps there was some vestige of goodness left in him. But those screams resounded every time he met a soldier. Like they were a constant reminder of everything he had done. Reminders that would forever haunt his memory.

"Well hurry up then," he snapped impatiently.

XxXxXxXxX

End Notes: Yes I did take some inspiration from Zygon Inversion in that last part. How could I not? I'm also borrowing techniques from Shakespeare as a way to showcase intelligence. The way that John can keep up with the Doctor in banter and argue effectively. Especially since most soldiers in the show can't do much more than stare at the Doctor confusedly when he insults them.