Clara was sitting in the library, staring at the same page she'd been staring at for 20 minutes when she heard the sound of footsteps throughout the TARDIS. She felt her stomach twisting nervously and wondered how the Doctor was. Today was a particularly bad day for him; she already had a bruise to prove it. After he had yelled at her and hit her over little more than simply existing, he had stormed out of the TARDIS. Clara didn't know what planet they were on but she didn't care; he never went to Earth anymore and if she was not home it mattered little to her where they were. Once he had gone she had hidden herself in the library and tried to bury herself in a book. But she found she could think of nothing but the Doctor and what he might be up to. She couldn't understand what was going on with him; it was like there was something inside his head that turned his emotions on and off. There were days he was happy and like his old self; but other days, like today, he was violent, scary and harsh. She knew something had to be doing this to him but she had no idea what.
Clara stayed back in the library until she could no longer hear the sound of the Doctor walking among the corridors before she made the journey from the library to her room. She was concerned about what the Doctor had been up to but she was very aware of the fact that today was not the day she wanted to cross paths with him much less ask what he'd been doing.
Clara walked into the console room, crossing over to the hallway that lead to her room but something made her stop and she felt a sickening feeling gather in her stomach. She saw drips of blood on the floor of the console room, lying here and there from the door to the hallway that led to the Doctor's room. Clara felt dread rise inside her; she was quite sure that this blood was not the Doctor's. The fact that she even came to the conclusion so quickly was alarming. But the small part of possibility that it might be his, that he might be hurt, spurred Clara down the hallway to where the blood led. Her footsteps were slow and careful as she walked and it didn't take long before she saw the Doctor ahead of her. Blood was splattered across his clothes as he walked down the hallway and he wiped around quickly, his sensitive ears taking in the sound of Clara's footsteps. Blood covered the front of the Doctor's shirt and jacket, dots of blood splatted across his face. It was a lot of blood and it was obvious by the way it landed across the Doctor that it wasn't his. The blood wasn't as alarming as the look on his face, the blackness in his eyes.
"Get out of here Clara….stop being so damn nosy" the Doctor said, giving her a hard stare.
Clara felt her throat go dry at the look. "I…..I was just…..worried….I saw the…and I thought maybe you were hurt" she said. She forced her voice to be as steady as she could be in failed miserably.
The Doctor walked slowly from where he was standing so that he was inches away from Clara. The smell of blood was heavy on him and Clara's stomach rolled. "And what do you think now?" he asked darkly, tilting his head. He was daring her.
He was a murder; it wasn't like this was the first time she knew he had killed someone. But somehow this was different; she couldn't say exactly why but she felt this was different. She didn't want to say he was a murder…she didn't want to say that he was evil. "I…..I…..um…..well, you're obviously alright" she managed to say.
The Doctor laughed a cold, hard laugh. "Alright? Really….you think I'm alright?" he gestured down to the blood on his clothes. "Then what is all this?"
Clara felt herself beginning to sweat as nerves overtook her. He wanted her to say it, to tell what he had done and she didn't want to. If she heard the words in her own voice, then that would make it true. "Doctor…" she started. But he simply laughed at her hesitancy.
"What's the matter Clara?" the Doctor asked with a wicked grin.
"I…..I don't want to know" Clara said, admitting it hoping that she could get away. "I'm sorry I followed you"
The Doctor could see fear and disgust in her eyes and he fed off of it. She was so squeamish about the blood; most people were. He didn't know why; it made him feel stronger. It always made him feel alive. The blood that covered him, the blood that filled his nose filled his body with excitement. "Do I scare you, Clara?" he asked. He could sense her fear, almost smell it on her.
It was a complicated question; Clara was scared by the things that the Doctor did, but the evil that he was now capable. But she was not afraid of just him; he was still good inside, somewhere. "No" she managed to say, looking up into his abnormally dark eyes.
"If I tell you how I got this blood on me…..will that scare you?" he asked.
Clara's answer was quick and certain. "Yes" She hated having to say it but she knew that she needed to. She didn't want to hear the details of his killing.
The Doctor laughed; she was so innocent, so weak. Sometimes he liked it, sometimes it infuriated him. Right now it was just cute…how easily she could be hurt. "Why…..why would that scare you?" he asked out of curiosity.
Clara was cringing inside; she didn't want to look into the Doctor's face, the one that simultaneously spoke of danger and innocence and listen to him detail how he had taken someone else's life. "Because it's not you" Clara said honestly. And it wasn't; it wasn't like the Doctor at all to take someone's life and delight in it.
"Are you sure?" The Doctor asked dangerously. Clara, like so many of his companions, had always believed that innocent, kind Doctor impression that he had on the outside was his true self. Even now, after the things that she had seen him do to prove otherwise, she believed that inherently he was good. She was either very loyal or very stupid; maybe both.
"Are you sure that this isn't the real me?" the Doctor asked. "Are you sure I'm not a killer deep inside? That I don't love to see blood….to hear the screams? That I don't-"
"Stop it!" Clara burst out. It surprised even her; she didn't normally yell at the Doctor. She just couldn't stand to hear him saying those things. It was hard enough to accept the fact that he killed people, that the man that had sought so hard to preserve life now willingly took it when it suited his needs. To accept that he really enjoyed it…..that wasn't something she even wanted to pretend to accept.
The Doctor smiled at her with far too much pleasure in his eyes. "You're weak, Clara" he said. "It's alright…..I was once too. But you don't need to be afraid of getting your hands dirty"
Clara felt sick at her stomach; coming this way had been a mistake. She turned and began to walk quickly down the corridor toward her room, her heart beat thundering in her ears. If her being afraid and disgusted by killing made her weak, then she would gladly be weak. She should have known better than to try to reason with the Doctor on one of his really bad days.
The Doctor simply smiled as he watched Clara practically run down the hallway. At first he had been miffed she was following him but her reaction was simply too good to get upset. He liked to see the fear in her eyes as she realized what he had done. The only thing better than that would have been if she had looked at him with admiration; to have her alongside him in his 'dark adventures' would have been even better. He had companions in the past he might have been able to turn toward his dark purposes but he didn't think Clara was one of them. She was simply too pure at heart, too weak when it came to such things.
The Doctor walked back to his room, heading for the bathroom. When he got into the bathroom he could see his reflection in the mirror, blood beginning to dry on his shirt and vest, the red dots on his chest a contrast to his pale skin. The Doctor smiled, running his hands along the spots that were dotted with the crimson liquid. The pounding, demanding thing inside him that sough blood was so strong in him this morning; when he had awoken from a night of not pleasant dreams, it had been there. He knew that it was not to be ignored, nor did he want to ignore it. His hearts had been beating loudly in his ears as he had walked down the street, looking for the one he would claim. Normally he would have picked someone who was a bit of a challenge, finding enjoyment in the struggle. But today the pressing need for blood was so strong, so desperately clawing at his insides looking for release that he wanted it done as soon as possible and he had picked a pathetically weak target. He had cornered him in an alley and it had taken him next to no time to take him down. The screaming was still ringing in his ears, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in excitement. The need for blood had been so desperate, painful even; but as he had stabbed the man, over and over again, watched his blood drain from his skin, the aching need had ebbed into a feeling of relief and strength. All the pain and desperation was gone and he felt….good.
With some reluctance, the Doctor stripped off his blood covered clothes and stepped into the shower. Part of him was reluctant to wash off the evidence of his kill; he missed the scent of it when it was gone. But still, the warm water washing over his skin made him relax even more.
His eyes were closed as he looked up toward the faucet and rinsed his hair, memories of blood and power going through his mind when something popped into his mind. It was a voice, something not of his own, intruding from within his mind. It was an intrusion, an invasion….it hurt.
You're being upgraded…yes…..you're almost there. You're turning out so wonderfully…
The Doctor slid down into the tub, landing hard on his backside, gripping his head. No…..not now…..anytime but now. The voice that visited him in his nights had made an appearance in the day, right after a kill. This was not right…..not right at all. He'd given it what it wanted.
Doctor, Doctor…..don't fight it…you like it…you know that you do. Stop fighting…
The Doctor did like it; that much he could admit and not be afraid. But that voice…..the one that terrorized him made him feel controlled…..that did scare him and he didn't like it.
"You don't make the rules…I do" the Doctor said to the voice in his mind, determination hard on his lips as he scowled. Nothing was going to control him.