Part One: An Empire's Criminal

"I am tired of hiding, tired of misspent and knotted energies, tired of the hypocrisy, and tired of acting as though I have something to hide." - Kay Redfield Jamison (An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness)

Chapter Eight: If/Then

"Today we'll be doing something a little different, Mr. Smith."

John looked up from his book to meet not Oswin, but Kate Stewart, the rather stressed administrator of UNIT who's facial expression told him that she really didn't want to do this, but wanted to look professional nonetheless. His eyebrows raised as he stood up from his bed, trying to smooth out the creases in his clothes as he asked, "Where's Oswin? Is she alright?"

This time it was Kate to give him a questionable look. "I'm surprised by your concern, but yes, she's fine. But with it being your third week of simulations, the test you'll be taking next is one of the utmost importance, one that I will administer by myself." She paused for a moment to clear her throat. "Seeing that you've taken a sentimental attachment to the girl, you will be seeing Oswin later today; but for now, you're coming with me." She gestured his her hand for John to follow her, accompanied by several guards. He actually hadn't seen them in a while. Oswin knew that no matter how irate he could be, he'd never hurt her.

"Where am I going?" John asked as he tried to peek above the officer in front of him. Kate didn't turn around, nor did she reply either, which only made him huff in exasperation of this woman. Not only was she pretentious, but she was unnecessarily dramatic as well. "Could I at least find some time to change, I mean-" he started to pant as he tried to keep a fast pace. "I'm still in my pajamas."

Oswin would've laughed at that.

She would've thrown her head back and laughed a triumphant laugh, her lips curved into an open smile that was as contagious as the plague. Instinctively, she would've teased him too. It only made John realize how much he missed her presence here beside him, which he then found absurd knowing that he had just seen her yesterday.

But alas, Oswin simply made him feel a little more optimistic about himself and the world around him, and he wanted to return the favor. It was as if he was always on a mission to please her, to make her smile, to do anything that would pull her out of the memories that so deeply haunted her, the memories that she kept to herself, locked away behind a door at which he couldn't seem to open. She denied it every time he asked, and though he found it impolite, he couldn't help but ask again.

His train of thought was interrupted by Kate's extravagant announcement.

"You sir—" she said proudly once she had lead him through past the walls of UNIT's endless maze, the group now standing before a pair of double doors. "—are going outside today." And with her words, she scanned her thumbprint onto a gadget at the door frame, allowing the double doors to slide open revealing an empty conference room, electronic maps of Gallifrey displayed on each of its four walls. Outside? John thought, for he didn't understand. "Outside, as in-?"

"Above-ground, yes, if that's the word you were looking for." Kate supplied as if she knew his exact thoughts. "Please, sit." she gestured towards the vacant leather seats surrounding the oval conference table. John obliged, his posture as straight as a board as he awaited further information. "These are the four regions of Gallifrey, as you know," Kate then explained, motioning towards the maps around the room. John felt too timid to nod. "And you are allowed to chose one to visit for your outing today, of course, you will be required to wear a tracking device at all times and you will be monitored from our hovercrafts above the city."

The man felt himself shake his head. He didn't want to have to do this, to walk amongst a people of which he didn't belong, he didn't feel ready yet. "...no." he replied at last.

Kate raised her eyebrows dubiously. "No?"

"No," he repeated, with more confidence this time around. "I'd rather stay down here, under simulation, with Oswin."

Her laugh sent a wave of discouragement throughout the room. "John, I don't think you understand." she stated, sitting down at the chair directly in front of him. "You are under simulation, you were three weeks ago, you will be a week from now; it's all for one purpose. To craft you into a man of stature, to turn you into a man you never had the chance of being!" Her coy smile only spread to her eyes. "Don't you want that chance, John?"

He did. Of course he did. It was at the top of his list of priorities. But he didn't want to admit it to her, to Kate, a woman he didn't trust with his words. "Why-" he started to speak, but his voice seemed caught. He took a moment to clear it. "Why this? Why are you putting me through this?"

She only shook her head as if he still wouldn't understand, and John didn't; in fact, he was far from realization. "To see how you'd fit in with the rest of this world. Why else?"

I'm so done. She thought to herself once morning had overcome her senses. Staring at herself in the foggy bathroom mirror, Amy looked back at herself in disappointment. You didn't waste time. She tried to encourage herself as she rubbed her eyes tiredly, hoping that they would simply replenish themselves, that they would look a little more excited for the day ahead of her. You just led yourself to an end that wasn't one you expected.

The letter had been stained with tears once Amy found the courage to read it again. It's ink smeared, distorting the letters into odd disfigured shapes, it was as if it were seeing the real him for the first time. John. Oh god. Amy kept thinking to herself, for she felt as if he'd knew it all along. He knew she was going to look for him, traces of him to fill up the gap that throbbed so emptily in her heart. He was my almost best friend.

And he was expecting her not to worry about him. That he was something worth forgetting about, but the amount of vigor that Amy put into finding herself an explanation begged to differ. He had left her hanging, a conclusion that she wouldn't put up with, so she ventured out to find one for herself. A proper ending. Typical Amelia Pond, always getting herself into trouble. John would've said to her with a sly grin, and she would've grinned back.

She kept finding herself rereading the words he had dedicated to her. Tracing her fingertips over the small ink indention on the paper. And, last but most certainly not least, to Amelia Pond, my best friend...

And that's when she'd start crying again.

It was the same feeling that she felt when she knew that her favorite novel series had ended—in a way that she didn't want it to end—only worse. She felt as if John were dying, being taken away from her, and she didn't deserve it. Nobody deserved to lose their best friend, whether they were a saint or a sinner.

And she absolutely hated the feeling because, she knew she would have to move on from it.

In the kitchen, Rory poked and prodded at a plate of scrambled eggs, his apron still tied tightly around his neck and his hopes of having a peaceful morning slowly fading as the minutes passed by. It was a faint sound, he admittedly tried to pretend he didn't hear it at first, but his ignorance eventually led to guilt. She's crying. He thought to himself, his grip tightening on the fork he held as he tried to contain himself. He heard it all, the little whimpers that she made when she tried to stop, the sigh of giving up when she knew that she couldn't.

"Amy?" he asked in a bleak voice seconds later, making his way towards the closed bathroom door. "Amelia, are you alright?" he asked again, her crying suddenly stopping altogether, as if she had been caught doing something terribly wrong. "Amelia, can I come in? Please, I just want to know if you're okay." His hand rested on the knob of the door, and opening it slowly, there his wife sat on the filthy bathroom floor, her face stained with the salt of her tears and a letter in her hand.

His heart seemed to contract. "What's wrong, what's that-?" his voice was cut short by the look of grief that twisted onto her face, and pulling her knees close to her chest, the woman sobbed quietly, much to her husband's confusion. He slowly made his way towards her broken figure and carefully took the piece of paper out of her fingers; she didn't seem to mind. His eyes scanned it briefly, and with every line he was starting to understand, and it wasn't much, but it was enough to know who had written its words. Rory only shook his head. "Where did you get this?" His voice was firm, but inside he was afraid.

"I-I found it." she replied shakily.

"Yes, but where exactly?" Rory asked, willing to be patient with her.

"I lied." Amy blurted out suddenly, as if it were a mere starting point for her explanation. "John's place, his old flat, I went in there, and I found that." she clarified, as if she were talking to herself. "I found the key, I hired a man to trace an address, and I lied." she repeated, emotionless, as if she had nothing to lose. Her voice spoke as if her words had been written for her to recite, and her husband tried his best to hide the rage and worry that boiled inside of him.

He sighed. "Amy-"

"Don't tell me that I was foolish, or childish, because I'm tired of hearing it over and over...Rory, I needed to know." Amy shook her head. "If you had a best friend who just left you without reason, if they weren't who you expected them to be, would you simply give up? Or would you search for an explanation until you find the answers to your questions?" she asked, and it wasn't out of hatred, but of curiosity. "If you'd just rather me stopping, then no need to worry about me, because I'm done." She bit her lip. "I'm finished with finding answers for myself, because apparently he doesn't want me to."

There was a slight pause. "Who's 'he'?" asked Rory.

A bleak smile spread her face, yet it didn't reach her eyes. "Who else could it be?"

Rory closed his eyes, a hand masking his face as if to smooth out the creases of his skin. "Come here," he said at last, holding out his arms. Amy hesitated, looking up at him from the floor, for an embrace for her husband was something that she hadn't received in a long time. Slowing picking herself up off the floor, she walked into his arms, only to be met with the warmth and comfort she hadn't realized she needed. Sighing in slight content, Amy hugged him back, burying her face into his shoulder. For once she had found an ending, a conclusion to this entire mess, and despite her not wanting him to ever fade, both her and John knew that a friendship like theirs couldn't be shared together side by side.

And then there was Rory. A man whom she still loved, and she still had hopes for him feeling the same way. "Why are you still here?" Amy asked suddenly. "With me, after all this time?"

He rubbed her back gently. "Because, even after all this time, you've changed; we both have, but that doesn't mean I love you any less."

Arcadia seemed different to him. Brighter.

He considered that to be a good sign.

It was almost blinding to step out into the sunlight, with John being so used to the dim flickering lights of the underground headquarters. The warmth soaked into his skin and soothed the chill that he never knew he felt until then, and it was somehow the most comforting welcome the outside world could give him. He didn't even feel the prosthetics on his face as he strolled through the city's bustling sidewalks, it was required by UNIT to disguise the man so no one would recognize him, and John took that as a reasonable excuse for him to act like an elderly man for a day. He didn't like the ankle brace, however, but Kate's words were still profound in his mind. "If you touch anyone—it doesn't matter if it's accidental—this shock brace will be the death of you."

Great. The man thought to himself as he saw the hordes of people on the streets. He'd have to act as if physical contact or bacteria were things that frightened him. Yet he was persistent, trying to avoid brushing shoulders with anyone, which admittedly earned him a decent amount of wary glances from miscellaneous passerby.

What else was he supposed to do but walk and breathe in the polluted air around him? John wasn't exactly sure what this 'simulation' was supposed to be testing him for. Oswin would usually give him a heads up, an introduction of sorts about what would be expected of him, but Kate wasn't Oswin, and Oswin certainly wasn't Kate. Just be yourself. Oswin would joke with a smile. I'm sure you're an expert at that by now. In truth, John didn't think he was, and to him, being 'himself' didn't seem like it was going to help.

Meanwhile, his eyes had slowly trailed towards a little girl walking on the edge of the sidewalk, her honey blonde strands of hair peeking out from underneath a hood of a red jacket, a backpack hung from her two tiny shoulders. John wondered where such a small child could be heading in such a large and dangerous city of Arcadia, for she seemed to be alone. His concern only grew as he realized the chances of her being taken, kidnapped, from anyone in these hectic streets. It's not safe, yet this girl seems so confident. He thought to himself, bowing his head in regret of it. He realized that he was a part of the reason why this city was considered to be unsafe, an exact reason as to why she and everyone else around her should be afraid of him.

There was a pang of loss that cut through to his heart, and at an instant he couldn't help but seem different from everybody else. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white; it mirrored the way his mind felt, closing and contracting, as if it were trying to shrink away until it wasn't able to be seen. Perhaps that's what Kate had wanted him to feel from the start. Guilt.

Suddenly, a faint little noise snagged his attention and at an instant, the man's head snapped up. He could see her, the little girl in the red coat, trying to make her way into the crowd with the hope of a few weak pleas. "Excuse me, I'm sorry-" she mumbled as confidently her small voice would allow, only to be ignored by the much taller people around her. Her feet were balancing on the edge of the sidewalk. Suddenly, just as her mouth was about to open again to ask, a businessman shoved her onto the street, not seeming to care for the girl as she fell before an oncoming taxi cab only seconds away from hitting her.

All of John's other thoughts had suddenly collapsed away, and he was now shoving others aside, not seeming to care whether or not his ankle brace would be the death of him, because if he did, it would be the death of her. Grabbing the girl's backpack straps, he hoisted her off the street, away from the angry honking taxi cab that raced past the two, its impact making the strands of her hair fly into her face, hiding the shocked expression that made her heart race at an exhilarating speed.

The excruciation pain was now getting to him, a blasted shock spreading throughout all the nerves in his left leg. He winced as he placed his weight onto his right, trying to contain it, for he felt more relief for the girl more than all the agony that he felt for himself. Once he found the strength to speak, he said, "What on earth are you doing out here all by yourself?"

"I-I was..." The girl panted for breath. "I was just going to see my mum, sir."

"You were nearly killed." he observed, wishing that a cane had come with the entire 'disguised-as-an-elder' package, for his leg desperately needed something to depend on.

"But I wasn't." the girl then shook her head. "T-Thank you, you really did save me." she said, offering him a shy smile.

"P-Please," he held up his hand in interruption, leaning on a nearby pole. "No need to thank me, but you really should be more careful." he pointed out. The little girl only shrugged. "That's what all adults tell me, but apparently I never listen." John laughed heartily as he managed to stand on his two feet again. "Who does?" he replied, a grin spreading throughout his face. After a brief moment of exchanging warm smiles to one another, he asked, "What's your name?"

"Merry, Merry Gejelh." she responded brightly.

"How do you spell that last name of yours?"

"G-e-j-e-l-h; substitute teachers can never pronounce it right." Merry said despondently, looking down at her shoes that were worn and coated with a layer of mud and dusk. "What's your name?"

"Ah, never mind what my name is. It doesn't matter." he replied with a wave of his hand, suddenly feeling older than he really was.

"Everybody matters." Merry said in defense, wearing a slight frown. John's eyes met hers for a moment, and a little spark of hope flamed up inside of him at the sound of her words. He only nodded his head grimly. "Better get to where you're going, Miss Merry Gejelh; don't want to keep your mum waiting."

"Oh, no need to worry, she has all the time in the world." Merry reassured him with a brisk nod of her head. She suddenly perked up, as if a light-bulb had illuminated overhead, for an idea had struck her. "Would you like to meet her?" John's eyes widened as he shook his head, releasing a shaky chuckle to the girl as he replied, "No need, I'm quite alright-"

"But sir, I know my mum will love the company; and she's not too far from here!" Merry pressed on, her smile beaming from her face at the excitement. John couldn't argue with her, for she was already pushing her way through the oncoming crowd. He could do nothing but sigh and follow her lead, for he wanted to make sure that she got home safe. Green eyes fixed onto the vibrant color of her red hoodie, he wove his way through the pedestrians that surrounded him. His legs tried to keep the fast pace that his mind expected him to have, for Merry certainly had the advantage of the two, with her small form and adrenaline pumping through her veins. It had seemed so long since he had endured such a chase.

"Well, here we are sir!" Merry announced, panting as she brushed back the baby hairs that stuck to her sweaty forehead. His heart seemed to stop by that point, and he didn't understand, for he was standing before one of the five memorials commemorated to the fall of Arcadia, his stomach suddenly weighing down the memories of five years ago. "Hold on, let me just find her name..." Merry mumbled, wandering off into the memorial, a death bed to so many. Ten arches, each one carved with the names of the victims. Suddenly, it all seemed to make sense to him.

"Here she is!" Merry exclaimed, waving over for him to join her. His hands were now shaking as he stuffed them hastily into the pockets of his tweed coat, his feet unstable as he walked over to the fourth arch, Merry crouched at its base, her fingers tracing over the letters of a name. "Melena Gejelh." she whispered, sitting down and touching the petals of the potted flowers placed there, for she knew that no matter how many gifts were placed in honor of her mother, none of them could ever build up the tangible memory of her. "Five years ago, passed away trying to save so many, or so I hear." she mumbled, as if she were trying to remind herself. "I'll never really know for sure."

John was starting to lose his sanity by then. All these names that once belonged to living, breathing lives were now gone, this being the only memory of them on this world, a world that should have been theirs for so much longer, longer than John deserved, he knew. I could have stopped it. He thought to himself. I could have said no.

"You can talk to her." Merry said after a lasting silence, but John didn't want to. Not aloud.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Five Years Ago, May

If is was to be done, it had to be a unanimous decision. If one didn't want word, their vote would be given to the lower vice.

That was how The Deca worked, like a government, an organized system that gave an impartial voice to all. When he joined, he had to forget his life, his past, for they didn't mourn the memories of a life that had betrayed them, or so it seemed. "Choose a new name; you shall forget the one you now have." The Master explained at induction years ago, for he was the one who initiated it all. John Smith considered this carefully, for he could never forget his own name; it was too bland to forget in the first place.

"The Doctor." he said after minutes of contemplating. The Master nodded, and shaking his hand with a firm grip, he announced, "Welcome to The Deca, Doctor."

An illegal society of rebellious criminals, conspiring together, always moving, never staying in one place for too long. The Doctor had gotten used to the location transfers, for wanting desperately to earn a position in The Deca's council, he declined all other offers and usually traveled with the group. Years of fake identities and passports, working in a dingy office spending his hours finding information, hacking, believing that all of his dedication and sacrifice would lead to something more important.

And, to his expectations, it did. Somewhat.

He had earned the entitlement of Tenth Member in Seminar (there were only ten members), The Deca's overall congress, and despite the little importance it held, The Doctor couldn't have been more enthralled to be awarded and even acknowledged by his commitment. He had never considered the constraint that came with the title. Being the final member meant he received the final say, and, often being a victim of peer-pressure, he always said yes, even if he didn't entirely understand what he was agreeing to.

But today, he completely understood. And he was silenced to death.

"Should The Deca's defense unit be used to annihilate the five science institutions of Gallifrey's second city?" The Master had prompted them as they had all sat down, and musing over cups of steaming coffee, the discussion began. "Ushas, you may state your opinion and final word." Ushas, also known as The Rani, was the First in Seminar, therefore she regularly influenced the other nine behind her.

The woman herself grinned, her dark painted lips curving into a mischievous smile. "I say yes, give em' hell."

The rest of the seminar stated their words in nervous stutters. "Yes." Second said. "I-I give my consent, it's a yes." Three said. And so on, so forth, even though the rest knew that this was unlike anything they had ever decided on before, wanting to be the criminal they thought they were, they said yes. When all eyes had landed on The Doctor, he nervously twiddled his thumbs before blurting out, "Listen, don't you think that this is going to far? I mean, this will make national news-"

"Exactly." said seven, as if that were the whole point.

"Come on Doc," Ushas cracked a grin. The Doctor preferred Rani. "Don't be such a sissy."

"You got this position and now your doubting-"

"It's his word, he can make whatever damn decision he wants." The Master interrupted all of them, while The Doctor face flushed a dark red. The entire fate of this depended on him. He could hear a few snickers come from his fellow colleagues. He felt embarrassed, ashamed, as if he wanted to hide away and pretend he never had existed. Pairs of eyes stared at him as if they wanted to bore a hole through his skull. "I-I..." he stuttered, looking down at his lap. He could feel the pressure close down on him. "I'm not feeling well. May I be excused?"

The Master raised an eyebrow. "Shall I give the decision to your vice, then?" The Doctor only nodded, and after a second that felt like an eternity, he stood up from his chair and left, running down the hallway as fast as his feet would carry him. If he said no, he would have been ridiculed and scorned by the rest of the Seminar and the Chapter. If he said yes, the lives of people he didn't even know would be taken by simple the power of his decision.

He decided take neither path, trailing guilt and humiliation behind him instead.

His vice had said yes.

"Hey, you." Oswin smiled once she saw John's lanky figure coming down the hallway, his mop of hair damp from a shower. He offered a shy smile as he approached her, the guard only nodding in Oswin's consent for him to leave. "Did you have a fun time with Kate today?" she asked jokingly, typing in the pass-code for his room. He merely shrugged with a slight grimace on his face. Oswin laughed.

At that moment, Vastra came strutting through the hall, a tablet in hand and an expression of distress as she came before the two, looking between the young psychologist and the criminal with a tight smile on her face, as if to say 'John, if you would ever so kindly get out of my peripheral vision?' Oswin bit her lip as she said, "Go on in, I'll be there in a moment." He obliged, realizing that he didn't belong in this conversation.

Closing the door behind him, John heaved out a shaky sigh as he could hear muffled talk between the two women. He took a moment to recollect this thoughts, reflect upon his day, think about all the times he had the chance of doing something right, but avoiding it and leading to a disaster that was far from his expectations. Her mother is dead because of me. He thought to himself, staggering over to the bed. He felt lightheaded all of a sudden. They're all dead, because I was too scared to speak up.

The mirror that always stood in the corner of the room reflected the image of a man who wasn't supposed to live this long, who didn't deserve the compassion that was given to him, and it snagged his attention as soon as he saw. His head snapped up insanely as his tired, crazed eyes stared at their copy in the reflection. Standing in front of the mirror, John stared at himself. The stubble that he had forgotten to shave, the hair that grew past his ears; he felt no need to maintain his tattered self, for he had long forgotten what it felt like to be alive.

What had he done to deserve this? This pamper, this luxury for one who had committed such sin. I should've been shot the day they had caught me, in the middle of the capitol's square at the census. He thought to himself. It sure would've been an extravagant death, with everyone watching. A self-absorbed ending for what was a self-absorbed man.

He didn't deserve this second chance.

He suddenly didn't want it anymore.

Hands grabbing the sides of the mirror, the man threw it to the ground, ashamed of the image it showed. The sound of its crash made his ears ring with irritation, the glass shattering into thousands of different components. John stood in the midst of it all, enraged, his eyes red and tearing, bits of glass stuck at his feet. Having heard the noise, Oswin ran in, eyes widening at the mess he had made. "John," her voice was soft, comforting, and it stung like water on a wound. "Are you alright? What happened-?"

"D-Don't." he said unsteadily, holding up a hand to silence her. The tears streamed down his face and he couldn't help but feel as though he meant nothing towards her. Oswin shook her head, clearly not understanding, and carefully approaching him, her feet crushing the shattered pieces of the mirror as she said, "John...don't think that I don't care. You..." she trailed off, having to arch her neck to meet his eye, for she hated admitting this to him now. "You're the closest thing I've had to a friend in a very long time." Taking his hand in hers, she squeezed it gently and asked, "What happened today? The truth, please."

Her skin was so warm against his. He shook her hand off and turned so he wouldn't have to face her. Instead, he placed his hand on the edge of the bed frame, as if to hold himself up as he said, "I did it."

"You did what? For God's sake, John, look at me."

"I did it!" he repeated forcefully, hands tightening until his knuckles turned white. "It's my fault Arcadia is the way it is, I was the coward, I could've said no but I DIDN'T-!" he was cut short on breath, falling atop of the mattress in defeat as choked sobs tainted what was to be a deadly silence. The woman before him was speechless, for she had never expected such a confession from the man. "I-I'm sorry..." he cried, hiding his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, Oswin."

She bit down on her bottom lip, a habit she had when she was contemplating. The one responsible was he, he had told her himself; she could report it to UNIT and it would make headline news at an instant, only for the man who looked so broken in front of her to be punished to a further extent. Yet, despite his words, she knew there was more than just him. More than just a man and his guilty pleas.

"...Clara." she spoke quietly.

He looked up at her. "...w-what?"

"My name's not Oswin. Just Clara." She shrugged her shoulders, for she figured he didn't want to explain his statement furthermore, not now. "I figured someone ought to know around here." He didn't know what to say, for he didn't exactly see her differently, but as if he saw more of her than he had before. "Clara." he echoed, as if to feel the way it rolled off of the tongue. "That's a pretty name." he replied at last, trying to offer her a bleak smile. "You should definitely keep it."

She scoffed lightly, sitting down beside him on the bed with her hands folded in her lap, not like an adult would when they were to interrogate you, but like a friend when all they wanted to do was talk. "Trust me, I will." she nodded her head, smiling despite herself.

"Why are you telling me this?" John shook his head, leaning back and laying down to stare at the ceiling.

"Because...I'm tired of acting." she said quite frankly, the tension in the room diminishing to a quiet peace, the calm after a storm. "Acting as if I have something to hide when really... I just want you to see me." And it was true. All this time she had layer after layer of coverage from who she was, as if it wasn't allowed to be herself in front of him, when in truth, herself was the only thing she wanted him to see.

Slowly, like a criminal in the dark, John's fingers traced paths along the bed sheet until they met hers, her hand seeming to stiffen at his touch, yet she couldn't find the strength to move it away, as if her skin were fascinated by the way he felt. He gently took her hand and followed the creased lines of her palm with his fingertips, his voice a mere mutter as he replied, "Then tell me a story, Clara."

Three Years Ago, May

They were only four years-old at the time. One of them was three, tiny Amadeus.

Clara had tried her best to stay calm as she heard the head administrator announce on the intercom, "Attention to all students and staff, we are under lock down. No one is to be permitted in the hallways or outside of campus buildings." Her voice was rushed and shaky, and Clara's heart seemed to stop as the atmosphere collapsed into a deadly silence of suspense. "Into the closet. Now." She instructed, oblivious faces of children who didn't know what was going on looking back at her. "Now." she repeated sternly, the sound of crayons and papers shuffling around filling her ears. She did a double count. Eighteen. She thought to herself in a rush as each one of them piled into the dark supply closet.

"Miss Oswald, what's going on?" Allie asked loudly, her teacher raising her finger to the child's lips as she said, "We have to hide so we'll all be safe, and you must be very quiet." Placing her hand on the small of her back, she led her inside with the rest of her classmates. Making sure that everything that could be opened was locked properly, Clara ran into the dark closet and closed the door, only to be met with questioning students.

"Miss Oswald, why are we in the-?"

"It's dark in here."

"OW! WHO STEPPED ON MY-!"

"Fingers on lips." she reminded her students, which meant for everyone to be silent and polite. Though she couldn't see them, the chatter died down. "Now," Clara started, wondering if the children could hear her heart pumping through her sweater. "I don't know how long we are staying here, but I know that we all must be quiet. Am I clear?"

"Crystal." all of her students whispered in unison. Clara felt a smile tug on her lips. "If you want to take a nap, you can, I have extra blankets-"

"Miss Oswald?" a hand tugged on her shirt. She recognized the voice. It was Ella. "Is there a bad man coming to get us?"

Her eyes didn't have to adjust to the darkness to see that she was obviously frightened by the idea of it. "Oh, sweetheart." Clara sighed, pulling the small child into her arms and stroking her hair. "I don't know. I really don't. But I promise, you will be okay; I will protect you no matter what." Her voice wavered nervously albeit her constant attempts to keep it steady; she had to be strong for the students that she treated as children of her own. It was her first year of teaching. Trust meant everything.

Silence enveloped the cramped and boxy supply closet like a plague, the only noises being the quiet breaths of the little ones. Clara couldn't help but hold hers. She realized that Allie was still clung onto her sweater, wholeheartedly intended on staying right there. She was afraid that she could be able to feel the impact of her heart racing.

Her phone vibrated from within the pocket of her jeans, Clara carefully pulling away from her hug to look at it. It was from a fellow teacher of hers, Danny Pink, the sweetest gentleman, really. He asked her out for drinks on Saturday. Soft, calming voice, an awkward persona around her especially; seeing his name upon her screen only made her smile with hope that everything was going to be alright. He had sent her a text attachment, to the Gallifreyan School District Chronicle. She read the title, her smile wiping off her face as if it were never there. WALTER SIMEON, 43, THREATENS TO SHOOT SCHOOLS OF DISTRICT. But it was published three hours ago. Clara thought to herself, turning off her phone. Her eyes still stung. Certainly the threat would have been resolved in three hours.

What seemed like hours passed by, the absence of her student's tiny voices making Clara wonder whether they were really there or not. Of course she had to coax a few, the ones who couldn't seem to hold in their pee, or the ones who were inevitably scared of the dark. But Miss Oswald was a mother to them to the best of her ability. And her students truly seemed to understand that, with their blissful brains and talkative mouths. But all was quiet now.

The sound of the gun broke the silence.

"It's, uh, it's difficult for me to explain in words how I felt." she concluded, slumping her shoulders pathetically. "Stepping out of that closet seemed like the bravest thing I've ever done." John sat by her side, knees pulled up against his chest, waiting for her to continue. "I never did get that date with Danny." she laughed dryly, as if she were holding back a sob. "I didn't attend any funerals, I didn't want to. I just sort of...disappeared. I swore to myself never to become a teacher again, because it only reminded me of that scene that I saw once I stepped out of that closet." She clicked her tongue as if to lessen the morbidity of her words, but it didn't seem to have any effect. "And...just seeing the face of the man who could do such a thing...I wouldn't be able to handle it, I think. I don't think I could fall asleep tonight alone knowing that he's in the same building as me."

John didn't even hesitate. "Would you...would you want to stay here with me tonight?"

The look she gave him was bizarre, as if he was out of his mind. But she couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to be protected. By somebody whom she could trust. And right now, that was all she really wanted.

"Yes."