[A/N: Special shout-out to two people for this chapter and the next. First to my best friend Alyssa for giving me the sort of general idea of this chapter and secondly to my friend Nona for helping me with the details. You guys rock, and it's great to have people to bounce my ideas off of and go through the editing process with me. This chapter is for you, guys! I love you so much!]

Chapter Five—Abducted

Clara

THUD.

They landed hard—it felt like they had crashed. Clara fell back from the console because she wasn't holding on hard enough, and she and the Doctor both slammed hard into the ground. Clara yelped, sure she was going to have bruises, but he just laughed and got up. Clara followed suit, rubbing her backside a bit sourly.

You did that on purpose, she thought crossly at the TARDIS, knowing it would hear her. It didn't respond, of course. Rarely did when the Doctor was watching them. Clara sighed.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Littleton, Colorado. Quaint little place. Just outside a graveyard," he told her with a grin. Clara frowned.

"Why are we outside a graveyard? You said we were going to do something fun."

"We are! I've heard this place is riddled with ghosts. We're going to be—"

"Don't say it!" she cut off, trying to scowl; but she found she could barely contain a grin.

"—ghost busters," he continued blithely, smirking at her. She rolled her eyes and tried not to blush when he grabbed her hand, dragging her outside. "Just come on," he told her. He grabbed his coat and scarf and pulled them on as he went. Clara trotted behind him, thinking that the coat and scarf suited him rather well.

When they stepped outside it was snowy and everything was a shade of white or grey. White snow, grey headstones, grey-white fog…Clara shivered as the cold fog drifted against her bare legs, wishing she had put on trousers instead of a dress. The Doctor grinned at her, looking excited.

"Spooky, eh? Gives you that chills-up-your-spine sensation." He shoved his hands in his pockets and set off at a leisurely stroll and Clara scrambled to keep up with him, not wanting to lose him in this fog. She glanced over her shoulder, and already she could barely make out the blue box behind them.

"How will we find our way back?" she asked anxiously, reaching for the Doctor's hand instinctively. He wrapped his palm around hers but his fingers were chilled and not as warm as they used to be. She shivered again, goose bumps prickling along her arms.

"I'll be able to find her. Always can," he said, not seeming worried as he looked around.

Something ahead of them moved in the fog. Clara shied closer to the Doctor as the hazy dark figure ran away. The Doctor tore his hand free and gave chase. Clara's jaw dropped—he had never left her behind before when there was danger. She chased after him, though, planning to slap him later for abandoning her like that.

When she caught up to him he was crouched, studying a thin, smoking trail in the snow. Clara scowled and stood by him, crossing her arms, but he didn't even seem to notice her. He was absorbed with the trail. Oh, he was so getting a good slap for that.

"Clara, come here. What would you say this is?" he murmured. Clara scowled but she knelt by him, her knees crunching the snow quietly and she shivered yet again. She frowned at the Doctor. His last regeneration would've offered his jacket. This one didn't seem to be aware of social propriety or even aware of her discomfort, aware of her. Did she even matter to him anymore? Had she ever?

She shook her head with a sigh, her heart aching, and looked at the thin line emitting grey smoke. She reached out to touch it and jerked her hand back with a hiss, her fingertips stinging and bright red. The stinging faded after a moment and she felt numb. Not just physically—inside, like everything inside her had been frozen and ruined. For just a moment nothing mattered, nothing was alright, nothing was worth doing. She was…empty.

Then she felt cold hands gripping her shoulders, shaking her violently; heard a frantic, sharp voice saying her name, over and over; saw wide, panicked eyes the pale green color of frosted-over grass they were kneeling on.

Doctor…the Doctor. That was the Doctor. He sounded worried…he was worried about her.

The Doctor mattered.

Clara shook herself and muttered, "I'm fine, Doctor…I'm fine." It was a lie. She wasn't fine. But he needed her to be fine. He needed her…the Doctor needed her to be fine. So she would try to be fine. For him. For the Doctor. Anything for the Doctor…

She shook herself again and the Doctor put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to her feet and leading her away from the smoking line. She felt slightly better every step they took farther from that trail. She leaned into the Doctor's warmth, closing her eyes. But she opened them again almost immediately because she needed to see him—he kept her grounded and kept the black despair at bay. He would make it alright if she kept her eyes on him. She pulled in a deep, shuddering breath that sounded perilously close to a sob. She was comforted, though, when the Doctor squeezed her shoulders.

"Clara," he said, turning to face her, his eyes intense as they studied hers. She wondered what he saw there: despair? Hopelessness? Perhaps just emptiness. "I need you to tell me what you are thinking. And feeling. Tell me as clearly and concisely as you can, do you understand?"

Clara nodded. "I'm thinking…that you matter. Nothing else. Nothing matters. I feel…empty. Not quite hollow. There's a heart and a brain and plenty of functioning organs. But I don't…feel," she said dully. He frowned at her and his hands tightened on her shoulders until it was almost painful, but she didn't mind. The pain meant contact—meant he was touching her. Right now that was all that was allowing her to maintain a grip on her sanity.

"Forgive me for this," he murmured. She opened her mouth, but before she could ask he slid his hands up from her shoulders to her face and leaned in and down, pressing his mouth against hers.

Every synapse in Clara's being short-circuited and for a moment she just stopped. Didn't think, didn't breathe, didn't emote, didn't do anything but register the fact that the Doctor was kissing her.

Then, every nerve came alive all at once and she was flooded with thoughts and feelings and sensations and she was stunned that she didn't spontaneously combust from the sheer magnitude of it all.

His lips were soft and warm, a sharp contrast to his cool, hard body. They moved against hers and gently coaxed a response from her mouth, asking where his hands and body almost demanded. Clara shivered again.

This close, with both of their eyes wide open, Clara could see a thousand colors dancing in his eyes, a million shades of blue and green and even little flecks of gold.

Her hands were curled on his chest and she could feel his hearts. They were beating a hair faster than usual.

Oh god he's kissing me!

Make him stop—we shouldn't be doing this—we'll both end up getting hurt. This is a bad idea.

Please, dear god, this is so fantastic. I never want him to stop! Doctor, my Doctor…

I love you.

When the last thought snapped into place she finally found the will to pull away and she did, using her hands on his chest to push lightly so she had some space. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were warm, and she was embarrassed to find her breathing and her pulse racing double-time.

"Sorry about that," he said, letting go of her and running a hand through his curls. "I needed to snap you out of it. Did it work?"

Clara nodded, clearing her throat. "It worked…quite well. What was that?" she added, casting a wary glance at the still-smoking line and shuddering as she remembered the pain and desolation touching it had caused within her.

"Something not-human," he murmured with a far-away look in his eyes. He strode back over to the trail and studied it closely, face intent. Clara trailed behind him, being cautious not to touch it, having no desire to repeat that experience. The hopelessness, that is. The kiss…she wouldn't mind being kissed like that again. She blushed at the thought and this time she was grateful that he didn't seem aware of her so he didn't ask her why she was blushing.

"Well if it's not human, do you know what it is? Have we found our ghost?" she asked, hesitantly stepping closer to look over his shoulder. His fingers hovered over the trail, tracing it without touching it. Clara watched anxiously, not wanting him to go through the same thing she just had.

"I have a theory," he said, dusting off his hands and standing. "I need more conclusive evidence before I want to rely on it. Come along, Clara," he said, striding off abruptly. Clara scrambled after him, hurrying to keep up with his long legs.

"Dare I ask where we are going?" she asked warily.

He smirked at her. "Use your eyes and guess." He frowned. "No, wait, I take that back. Don't guess. Gather information and form a conclusion. Deduce. Yes, I like that word rather a lot. Deduce, then, Clara, where you think we are going." He walked even faster, and Clara had to jog to keep up with him now, trying not to slip on the snow.

"Why can't you just tell me?" she asked exasperatedly, huffing slightly from exertion.

"Several reasons."

"Name some."

"It wouldn't be any fun. A second opinion is always valuable to an investigation. I like watching you think. And I want to see if you can figure it out. Now shut up and deduce already," he told her, rolling his eyes. She scowled at him for a moment before resignedly turning her gaze to the path that they were taking.

She noticed it almost right away and sucked in a shocked breath, eyes widening incredulously as they snapped back to the Doctor. He chuckled, knowing she knew, but he let her say it anyways.

"We're following the monster's trail. Aren't we?"

"Indeed we are, Clara. We're following the smoky trail to find the monster."

"For God's sake, why?" Clara didn't want to sound so pathetic and afraid, but she couldn't help it. If only touching the trail of that creature could have such a tremendous effect on her, she literally shuddered to think of how the real thing would impact her.

"How else would we find and stop it?" he asked, giving her a perplexed look, like the answer should be obvious. And it was, in a way. That was what the Doctor did: find problems, find danger, and fix it, remove the risk. She ought to have been expecting this when he said "something fun". What else would be fun for him?

For the next half-hour or so, they walked through the fog and as they walked, it got thicker. Colder. Clara had that feeling you get when you feel like someone is watching you, a prickly sensation on the back of your neck that caused chills down your spine and an increase of your heart rate. She shied closer to the Doctor, feeling jumpy. He seemed relaxed. Downright delighted, actually, the more and more uncomfortable the situation became.

She couldn't stand to watch the fog—she kept seeing shifting figures that turned out to be a crow, or a tree, or a statue on top of a grave. She was driving herself insane with paranoia. So instead she watched the Doctor, watched his eyes roam the blank grey expanse ahead of them. Watched as his eyes narrowed and then relaxed.

Because she was watching him, she never saw it coming.

One moment he was calm and relaxed, and her hand was tucked into his arm, more for her sake than his. Then she felt a cold grip on her upper arm, wrenching her away from the Doctor. The grip was chilly but it also burned like acid seeping into her pores.

"Doctor!" she shrieked, kicking her feet as tears pricked her eyes.

"Clara!" he cried, but his voice already sounded far-off. Much farther than should be possible in the few seconds they had been separated. She opened her mouth to scream for him again, but the grip on her arm tightened and a hand wrapped around her mouth. She thrashed and kicked, tears of pain and desperation leaking down her cheeks. But she felt weak and tired and so afraid…drained like a cell phone someone had forgotten to charge after using it all day. She was running on empty. Still she struggled, because she wasn't one to give up. She kicked her feet and waved her arms, ignoring the bite and sting of the acidic grip.

She didn't see the fist. She only felt the grip on her arm release. Before this had even fully registered, there was a sensation of blinding pain just above her left temple. It lasted only an instant, however, before everything faded into grey oblivion.

[A/N: Ah, cliff-hangers. The lovely tool of any good writer. I feel like such a sadist right now. Leave a review with comments and thoughts, love or hate or "meh" or feels or angst or any reaction whatsoever—I wanna hear it from you. Tell me what this chapter inspired within you. I already know how I'm going to have the rest of this adventure play out, so I'll probably update again soon so you won't have to wait too long for the rest of the adventure. Keep it real and happy Christmas!]

—Makenna