Scared
The Doctor was scared. He refused to say it, or even think it that often, but in this moment, he was petrified with fear. He had lost too many friends. There was no way he was losing Clara as well.
The Doctor had left Mrs. Ellis' apartment in a rush, trying to keep calm. Even the TARDIS seemed off as he made his way to the crime scene.
He should have known that sending Clara to Coal Hill School was a bad idea. Anyone could have remembered those details. He had put Clara in the the school that his granddaughter had gone to. The school where his first two companions, Barbara and Ian, had worked. What was wrong with him?
The Doctor took a minute to calm down. He knew that going in too angry wasn't going to get anything done. Besides, Clara wouldn't want him to be angry at people who had done no wrong.
The crime scene was on a residential street. Blue and white police tape cut off both sides of the were four police cruiser parked at either end of the street.
The Doctor pushed passed the onlookers, not bothering to acknowledge the dirty looks people were sending him. He quickly flashed his psychic paper at the officer, and walked down the street. The rest of the officers were spread out throughout the neighborhood.
One kid, around eight years old, was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk; a shock blanket was wrapped carefully around his shoulders. A woman, his mother most likely,was holding him close. He was talking quietly to a short man with blond hair. The Doctor's sonic confirmed that both were human.
"-Then I saw them carry the girl away! I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry for not calling the police. I didn't know if it counted as an emergency or not," the boy sniffled, "I'm so sorry."
The women continued from there, "Roy told me what happened once I got out of the shower, and I called you guys right away."
"Thank you both for your time," the man smiled at the two, and gently ruffled the kid's hair, "Don't worry Roy, you did the right thing by telling your mom."
The man gave the two one last wave before heading back to a group of officers. The Doctor followed closely behind, listening careful to every word said around him. Somebody had to know something.
"Sherlock!" the blond haired man called.
The man in question turned from his spot near, what looked liked, Clara's messenger bag, and stalked over to the man. The Doctor was tempted to run over to it and riffle through it, but that would probably only get him in trouble.
"John, I need to know what the kid told you. Now." Sherlock barked, typing something angrily into his phone.
"You know," John stated matter-of-factly, "I pretty sure the kid would have told you exactly what he told me if you hadn't called him, and I quote, an incompetent idiot for not calling the police."
Sherlock scoffed at that, "Everyone should know to call the police when someone is kidnapped."
"He's eight, Sherlock. Eight." with a sigh, John continued, "Roy said he saw two men talking to Clara. He said that Clara had then proceeded to pull out a bright purple gun and shoot one of the two men with it. She ran, with the other man chasing after her. A few minutes later, the other man got up, and none of them came back past their house."
Sherlock ran his hand roughly through his hair, pacing back and forth, "None of this makes sense! Clara is a teacher, she doesn't make much money. There hasn't even been a ransom call yet! Her apartment shows no signs of drugs or gang involvement, so that doesn't help. And where did she get a purple gun. No one sells purple guns, and no one paints their gun purple!" Sherlock huffed around for a few seconds before continuing, "If those idiotic children hadn't touched the bag, we might have been able to use it to get prints or something!"
Then it dawned on The Doctor. A purple gun.
He was an idiot sometimes. The universe's biggest idiot. He had given Clara a Stunner for times like this; when her life was in danger. How could he have forgotten about that?
He could find her now. He could save her from whatever monster took her. He could bring her home and protect her.
The happiness he felt must have been pretty noticeable because both Sherlock and John were staring at him.
"Sorry," The Doctor sputtered, fumbling for his psychic paper, "I forgot to introduce myself."
He held the psychic paper out in front of him. John leaned forward, reading it slowly. Sherlock, on the other hand, just glared at him.
"British Intelligence?" John questioned, "What are you guys doing here?"
The Doctor couldn't keep a smile off of his face, "That's classified. But thank you for all the help you've given me." With that he pulled the two into a bone crushing hug. He held them for just a bit too long, but he didn't care. He knew how to find Clara, and he had them to thank for that. The Doctor kissed them both on the cheek and raced off towards his T.A.R.D.I.S.
"Well that was the strangest British Intelligence officer I have ever seen," John remarked, staring off after The Doctor.
"The paper was blank John. There was certainly nothing identifying him as British Intelligence," Sherlock replied, his eyes hard.
John gaped at him, about to argue back, but he realized something. He couldn't remember the badge. He remembered it being British intelligence, but he couldn't remember any details about it. He couldn't even remember what name had been printed across the top.
"What the hell just happened?"
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The Doctor dance around his T.A.R.D.I.S, pulling up the Stunner's information. The target was literally on the other side of the world, in New York City to be precise. The Doctor hated New York. Literally nothing good ever happened there.
He would not lose Clara like he lost Amy, and Rory. He refused.
Setting the coordinates into the T.A.R.D.I.S, he took off, trying desperately not to let his mind wander. He forced himself to think about Grangief, the planet of a thousand moons. At night, moons hung like stars in the sky.
Before he landed, he quickly turned the T.A.R.D.I.S invisible. The T.A.R.D.I.S strained herself to do such a complicated task, but it had to be done. He had no idea what he was going up against, and nothing could go wrong with him being invisible. He would be patient and watch. He would not be a fool and mess up this plan.
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"Are you sure this is a good idea, Tony. You're looking a little intoxicated," Natasha pointed out, gently swinging her legs on the table she was sitting on.
"I have to agree with her, Tony," Steve stated, glancing around the workshop with unease, "I would rather you not accidently blow something up."
Tony scoffed at that, "I would not do such a thing. Slightly intoxicated does not mean fully intoxicated. I'm sober enough to work on my suit, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."
After their mission in Kansas, Steve and Natasha had made their way to Stark Towers in New York. They would have stayed at the Washington base, but Fury had told them to get some rest, and the beds at the base were like rocks compared to Tony's beds. Besides, New York was only a couple of hours away by quinjet.
They had arrived, ready for some sleep, when JARVIS had informed them that Tony was working on a new suit, while drinking. Their new objective was to not let Tony blow himself up.
"Why don't you just go to bed and finish working on your suit in the morning?" Steve suggested.
Tony glared at him, "I don't how much time we've got. I know what I saw, and what I saw was definitely not human. I need something to fight it with, without it being too conspicuous, and what's better than my world famous Ironman suits? No one will suspect a thing! Well, that is of course, if it will die like a normal human being."
Natasha and Steve glanced at one another, worry etching their features. Tony usually wasn't this
paranoid, or at least didn't show it. What had he seen that had made him this worried?
"Tony, why don't we all just get some rest and talk about this in the morning? It's getting pretty late, and it'll be easier to talk about once you are sober and have gotten a good night sleep," Natasha said gently.
Stark only shook his head in response, "You guys didn't see what I saw. It wasn't… Right. Fury's eyes were just… wrong. He was just wrong."
Natasha's eyebrows knit together, "What do you mean."
"He was wrong, Natasha," Tony fretted, and began pacing, "I'm good at reading people. I've learned to be over the years in order to keep myself safe. And I've been noticing differences about Fury: the way he talks, and walks. It's like he is a completely different person." Tony stopped and looked Natasha in the eye, "And then I saw his eyes turn black. I mean his entire eye was pitch black."
Steve looked a little shocked at his proclamation, and looked at Natasha, eyes begging her to say something that would knock some sense into him.
"Ok, Tony. You've been under a lot of stress recently, I understand that. But I think we need to get you some medic-" Natasha froze mid sentence.
Steve took a step towards her, "Nat, are you ok. You ju-"
The Black Widow shushed him. No one moved. They could hear the quiet ticking of the clock in the corner. There was something else, just a bit louder than the ticking. Footsteps.
In an instant, Natasha had both her guns out pointed towards the glass door. There was a man there, his head hanging low. He looked like he was in his mid thirties. He was dressed in a tweed jacket and bow tie. He looked like a cliche university professor. In his right hand was a metal rod.
The man didn't lift his head as he began to speak, "It was on my bucket list to one day meet the Avengers. They were suppose to be the bravest people who ever walked the Earth, willing to risk their lives for people who couldn't save themselves. At least those are what the tales said. How they were wrong." He paused, his face falling more into the shadows, "Rory and Amy thought you were heroes. The best of the best. Maybe believing in heroes is what killed them. Heroes don't exist, even the ones who pretend to be."
The man stepped forward, slowly lifting his head up. His eyes made everyone freeze. They were old. Very old. They looked as if they had seen a million deaths, and each one hardening his gaze further. Behind the old eyes were rage. A rage that seemed to be begging to be let loose.
"Stay where you are," Natasha demanded, her voice quaking slightly.
The man did as commanded, his eyes wandering over all three of them, "I've lost everything. Everything I have ever loved, and probably everything I will come to love. There are events that I would have given anything to change, but those are a lost cause. This is not. It's not a fixed point in time. I can change whatever happens next, but you have to give her back."
"Sir," Steve said said softly, as if not to startle the man, "We don't know who you are, or who you are looking for. I ask you to put your weapon down so we can figure it peacefully." He didn't notice a pale Tony beside him.
"It's not a weapon," the man muttered, "As for who I am: I go by many names. To some, I am known as Theta Sigma, to others, a god, or a Time Lord. To the dead, I am known as The Warrior. To the living, many call me The Doctor."
Steve heard Natasha take in a quick breath. This was not suppose to happen. They were suppose to have at least a few more days to figure out how to stop him, but now he was literally right on their doorstep. They had no plan, no way to protect themselves.
"You're looking for Clara," Steve stated, "I'll tell you now that she's not here."
"I know that," The Doctor breathed, "I already scanned the entire building. She's not here, but the person who took her is." He slowly pointed his stick at Natasha, then Steve, and then at Tony. He didn't move on from Tony.
"Put the stick down," Natasha threatened, clicking the safety off her gun. The Doctor didn't move, just kept looking down at Tony. "Now!" When he still didn't move, she pulled the trigger.
Steve didn't know what he was expecting. He didn't expect The Doctor to go down with one, or even to two, bullets, but he did expect something to happen. Some blood, a scream of anger, something. He also, most definitely, expected the gun to go off. But none of that happened. All that changed was the look on Natasha's face; it was a look of calm to a look of horror as she realized her only weapon had failed her.
"I don't like guns," The Doctor whispered, before proclaiming louder, "Where is she?"
Tony looked at Steve, a panicked look on his face. If he lied, there was a good chance The Doctor would kill him. If he told the truth, The Doctor might still kill him. He was royally screwed either way.
"Look, Doctor, I have no idea where Clara is!" Tony had decided to lie, trying to covertly signal JARVIS for about the fiftieth time with no results.
The Doctor frowned in his direction. He moved his stick, and pointed it at things around the shop. For a moment, nothing happened, then mass chaos broke loose. Every part of his many Ironman suits that were stored in here came to life. They instantly began shooting their repulsor rays at the three Avengers, but didn't even look in The Doctor's direction.
The Avengers managed to find cover behind I turned table. They could feel every shot the weapons made rattle the table. Leaving their cover was a death sentence.
"What the hell did he do to my armour!" Tony yelled over the chaos, his hands working his hair into wild mess.
Natasha peeked her head over the table and practically threw herself to the ground to avoid getting hit by one of Tony's deadly weapons,
"He's trying to gain access to the computer," Natasha spoke in a deadly soft tone, "He's at the wrong angle, I can't take him out."
Steve sighed in frustration, trying to ignore the destruction around him, "JARVIS will protect the files on the computer, right Tony?"
He shook his head in response, "I haven't been able to contact him. He's been shut down, and I have no idea how."
The spider's eyes hardened even more, "He absolutely cannot get a hold of anything on there. If he finds out where Clara is being held, a lot of people will die." She took at deep breath, steadying herself. Before either Steve or Tony could move, Natasha flung herself over the table towards The Doctor. Both Steve and Tony had screamed in horror as they watched their friend surely die.
The two Avengers waited for the screams of pain, but there was nothing. In fact, there was no noise at all. They slowly peeked their heads over the table, preparing for the worst.
Natasha was standing there, hands clenched in fists. Her eyes were filled with an overwhelming amount of rage.
"He's gone."
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The Doctor almost wanted to dance in glee. Almost. After several minutes of searching through the computer, via the sonic screwdriver, he had found where Clara was, and he was not happy. She was being kept captive in a S.H.I.E.L.D facility in Washington. There were two cell units there, but it hadn't specified which one she was in.
In particular, he was not happy about who had taken her: S.H.I.E.L.D. Sure, they weren't friends, but they were most definitely not enemies. They had made that very clear to each other the first time they met.
The Doctor had been travelling with Amy and Rory. They were suppose to have landed in England, right on the Pond's front doorstep. Unfortunately, the T.A.R.D.I.S had different plans.
The three adventurers had landed on a brand new S.H.I.E.L.D helicarrier, just a few months after the Battle of New York. To say that they were unimpressed would be an understatement.
The kerfuffle ended with a truce of sorts. S.H.I.E.L.D promised not to bother him if, in a dire emergency, he would help. They had promised.
Either Director Fury had retired and his replacement had disregarded the hours of negotiation that happened, or something weird was going on. Something no-human.
Either way, someone was going to pay for taking his Impossible Girl.