Title: Armageddon

Rating: T

Warnings: Major spoilers for "Utopia", "The Sound of Drums" and "Last of the Time Lords"; violence; mild language

A/N: Many, many thanks to all the reviewers! You guys are amazing and I love you for it! Sorry for the delay in updating, as I said last chapter, the new semester recently started back and that sucks away much of the free time I usually devote to writing fanfiction. Sorry!

News on the Crowley/Castiel/Gabriel Front: Still debating about Gabriel and almost sure I'll include Crowley now. And after a discussion with a friend (that may have involved bodily threats to my poor Sammy – and the horrible threat of cutting Sam's hair) who gave me numerous ideas, I have decided that Castiel will be included and there are other characters from other fandoms to watch out for as well. I've got a much more solid idea of how to include Cas and probably a few other angels in his garrison.

Now, back to the story!

Please review!

Armageddon:

Part III: The Year of Hell

Chapter Three

The sensation of being teleported was never going to be a comfortable one, Martha decided. She certainly preferred the TARDIS over Jack's vortex manipulator. She felt Sherlock's hand slip from her sleeve and blinked the pain away from between her eyes, looking around her and frowning. They were inside a large, surprisingly undamaged home. Odd. The Toclafane must not have come through here then. She wasn't sure if that was a comforting thought or not.

"This… is where your brother lives?" Martha raised a brow, "Blimey, what does he do?"

"He runs the British government," Sherlock said, sounding once again vaguely annoyed. "At least he did before our very interesting Mr. Saxon took charge. Now it appears someone else is calling the shots. Saxon's managed to keep secrets from even Mycroft, that means trouble."

"He… ran… the government?" Martha raised a brow, "That's not possible."

Sherlock smirked, "You don't know Mycroft. This way!"

He didn't wait for her to respond, turning and heading toward a large staircase. Martha frowned, eyeing the place in wonder. It was huge and full of obviously expensive art work and statues. Though she couldn't help feeling a bit sad, looking around the place. Maybe it was the lack of photographs on the walls or the distinctly museum-like feel she got from the house. In any case, it felt nothing like what she thought a home should.

Sherlock paused outside of an ornate door and knocked three times in rapid succession, a voice calling from the other side promptly telling them to enter. He pushed the door open and entered, Martha right on his heels.

"Well, Sherlock, that was fast. I must admit, I didn't expect you to –" Mycroft's eyes widened, "Martha Jones…"

"Yes, well, I ran into a bit of trouble at the Jones home. No doubt you've heard about it,"

"You mean the assassination?" Mycroft raised a brow, "Or the Toclafane attacks?"

"You don't seem too broken up about it," Martha said, frowning at the other man. His face was void of emotion, calm and set. The way his eyes seemed to look right through her unsettled her even more than his brother's piercing stare did.

"Unfortunately, there is very little I can do about the attacks without knowing exactly what's going on. I've contacted UNIT and they're fighting back to the best of their ability, but it appears that our Mr. Saxon has decided to stage a coup, as it were. Declaring himself 'Master of All'. So, what I'm most interested in at the moment, Miss Jones, is why he seems so interested in you."

"Well…" Martha frowned, chewing her lip, unsure of how much to trust this man with. He gave her the creeps, honestly.

"She's connected with Torchwood, Mycroft," Sherlock said, "She has a Vortex Manipulator and knows Captain Harkness."

Mycroft's eyes lit up, "Ah, that explains it then. Tell me, Miss Jones, what do you know about Torchwood?"

"Hold on a moment," Martha scowled, "Both of you! Look, it's a complicated story, but I'll tell it, alright? But first I want some answers myself. Starting with who the hell you are and how the hell you know about Torchwood in the first place. And my family. And those… Toclafane things."

Mycroft sighed, "Very well, have a seat," he motioned to the chairs in front of his desk and leaned back, "To start off, I doubt I know more about the Toclafane than you do. The Prime Minster was very quiet about his alien guests. I don't believe anyone other than his wife knew what they were precisely. As for your family, that is what I want you to explain. They were taken as political prisoners and terrorists, which is obviously not true. Torchwood? My knowledge is again limited. They're clandestine in the worst way, but their technology and habits have become more public of late. As evidenced by my brother's annoying interest in them ever since they interfered in a case of his."

Martha frowned and turned to look at Sherlock, who was apparently angry about Torchwood's interference if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"Which is where he met Captain Jack Harkness. I myself haven't had the privilege. Now, your turn. Why is Saxon interested in your family? What are your connections to Harkness and Torchwood? How is that you find yourself travelling with an FBI agent whom I know for a fact is at this very moment in Virginia?"

Martha took a breath, "Well, you're asking a lot of questions and not giving me many answers," she said, "To start with, this'll be complicated and… well, it might sound a bit mad, but it's all true, alright? This all started when I met the Doctor –"

"Wait," Mycroft leaned forward, eyes wide, "The Doctor? You've met The Doctor?"

"Yeah…? Why? D'you know him?"

"We met briefly," Mycroft said, "A small matter of Slitheen in Downing Street a few years ago."

"So you know then," Martha leaned forward, "About the TARDIS, about aliens and things?"

"I know only what I've seen in government reports," Mycroft admitted, "And whatever UNIT knows. Where is the Doctor?"

"On the Valiant," Martha said, "With the Master."

Mycroft raised a brow, picking up a photograph of the Doctor, "This man is the Doctor?"

"Yeah," Martha nodded, "That's him."

"He's regenerated then. Of course! Now that makes sense,"

"Regeneration?" Sherlock quirked a brow interestedly and Martha sighed.

"Hold on, stop. I'll explain it. Let me start from the beginning…"

~/.\~

It took Hotch too many long minutes to force himself up, gingerly keeping hold of Hailey's limp body. The sound of Jack's crying had died down, a stifled whimper of a whine now and that was the only thing that made Hotch move. Lifting Hailey in his arms he forced himself not to look at the deep, horrible gash in her throat and slipped her out of the SUV.

He carried her to the side of the road and choked a bit, staring down at her as he laid her on the ground. He wanted to give her a proper burial, but he had no idea when those Toclafane would return or even exactly what was going on and he wasn't willing to drive with her in the car; the very thought made him sick. So he straightened her awkward limbs and fought back another moan as he reached over her and closed her eyes.

Jack's crying broke the silence of the night and after a long, painful moment, he forced himself back to his feet. Jack needed him right now, he couldn't break down. Making his way back to the SUV, he leaned into the backseat, wincing at the sight of blood and lifting his crying son into his arms. There was blood coating the blanket Hailey had wrapped him in and Hotch tossed the blanket aside viciously, checking him over for any injuries.

He was fine, thank God, but still crying.

"Shh," he hugged the toddler to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, "It's okay, Jack, we'll be okay…"

He didn't feel okay, though, and his movements were mechanical as he tucked his son into the car seat and strapped him in securely. He spared one more broken glance for Hailey's body by the road and climbed into the driver's seat once more. He didn't know what the hell was going on, but he did know where he could get some answers.

~/.\~

Gibbs stepped through the doors to the morgue, glad to see that there weren't many people down there any longer – Ducky apparently patched up most of them already. When he entered the cold room he fought back a shiver at the air and the sight of bloody bandages that normally wouldn't have bothered him at all. He'd seen worse in war, but it was such a strange thing to see this much chaos here and now.

A smirk still managed to light his face when he saw who Ducky was working on and relief once again flooded him.

"Looks like we both got a bit banged up out there, huh, Jen?"

The redheaded director turned sad eyes on him while Ducky stitched closed a particularly deep cut on her left arm. "Jethro," she greeted him, "How are things looking out there?"

"Like Hell," he answered grimly, "How have things been down here, Duck?"

Ducky's eyes flitted to Gibbs' face for a moment before turning back to his work and Gibbs felt a weird sense of wrong at Ducky's lack of usual friendly greeting and the hollowness in his eyes looked so out of place.

"Not good," the doctor said, "I've seen more dead bodies and casualties tonight than I have in the past month, Jethro. Those Toclafane ripped them to pieces, slicing into every bit of flesh they can get their knives into."

"I noticed," Gibbs said, suddenly recalling his own injury and holding out his bloody hand, "Think you can fix me up?"

"What the hell did you do?" Director Shepard turned from the table she was on to get a better look at his wound, "Try to rip the blade off one?"

"Bastards caught me by surprise," Gibbs said, wincing when Ducky moved around to see the gash and probed it with gloved fingers.

"You're lucky they didn't reach the bone, Gibbs," he said, shaking his head, "That hand will be out of commission for a while…"

"Perfect," he muttered, "Either of you heard from Ziva?"

"No," Jenny sighed, shaking her head, "I've tried her cell phone, but she's not answering. Most people aren't answering, half the agency's unaccounted for and the way things are outside… I don't know that we're going to hear from Ziva anytime soon."

"She's a big girl," Gibbs said, "She can handle this."

Jenny smiled a bit, "I don't doubt that for a second," she agreed. "She'll be here as soon as she can. We've got bigger problems to deal with though."

"Bigger how?"

"You recognized the Toclafane right?"

"Yeah, those metal things, right? Abby said something about the president –"

"Saxon killed him. Our systems are locked out; we can't access any of our files, our codes, nothing. Some of our techs are working on it. They said it's Archangel, but they don't know how it's happening. We can't get in contact with the White House, Gibbs."

"So we're flying blind," Gibbs muttered, grimacing as Ducky worked on his hand.

"Not exactly," Ducky said, shaking his head, "Saxon's going to address the country today, according to the last news update."

"So what? The son of a bitch just kills the president, sends his metal monsters down on us and expects us not to fight back?"

Jenny sighed, "Gibbs, we don't have an official death count yet, but early reports are in the millions. At least a tenth of the entire world population. And that was in a matter of hours. We have no way of fighting those things."

"We'll find a way!"

"We're looking," she assured him, "But before we can –"

"Ducky!" she was suddenly cut off by Tony's urgent voice as he rushed into the doors with a ragged looking woman hanging off his shoulder, covered in blood. It took Gibbs a moment to actually register that it was Ziva and then he felt the blood drain from his face, though he refused to show the fear he was feeling.

Ducky froze over Gibbs' hand and his eyes widened at the sight of the young woman, "Good Lord, Ziva! Get her over here, on the table, quickly!" he cleared away one of the morgue tables and Tony half-dragged Ziva's limp form over.

"She was barely conscious when she got in," Tony's voice cracked, "Still bleeding. I can't tell where… She wouldn't… I…" he didn't seem to be able to get the words our properly but Ducky understood anyway and helped him lift her onto the table while Gibbs and Jenny moved closer, both staring in shock at her.

Her hands and arms were littered with cuts, but the worst wound was in her chest, a deep, awful gash that was pulsing blood. Her eyes were half-lidded, rolling around in her head for a moment as her hands flailed and latched onto Ducky insistently.

"Du…Ducky…" she managed to rasp, "Ribs… broken… Think…" she swallowed gasping for air, "Punctured… lung…"

"Shh, shh," Ducky shook his head, looking down at her in horror, "Don't talk, Ziva. I'll fix you, alright, dear? Just lie back… stay still…"

He swallowed roughly, looking down at her and glanced up at Gibbs, Tony and Jenny who were all thinking the same thing: how was Ducky going to fix something this severe with what little equipment they had?

~/.\~

"Ugh…" Rigsby winced as he shoved himself up, bits of plaster and glass tinkling off his back as he looked around the destroyed bar. Sliding back onto his heels, he put a hand to his head, pulling it away and staring at the sticky red blood that now coated his fingers.

"Hell…" he grumbled and grimaced, everything was aching. He couldn't remember much of what had happened. He and Cho had gone out for drinks and ended up watching the news coverage of the Toclafane meeting with a few other CBI agents when the bar announced that they were staying open for them to watch.

He clutched his chest, sure he had at least one broken rib. Something must've hit him in the head, though at this point he wasn't sure what. He didn't even really know what had happened. An earthquake maybe? He was only getting flashes… People screaming, guns going off…. Wait, guns.

His hand went to his side, feeling for his gun and frowning when he realized it was gone. His eyes searched the immediate area for his gun, but the rubble hid nearly everything. What the hell happened? His eyes were drawn to a flickering television screen and he squinted at it. It was partially hanging from its mount on the wall, but he could see images of people screaming, running from… from…

Crap.

Blinking, he remembered. The Toclafane. He grunted and shoved himself to his feet, ignoring the pain that flared throughout his body. He still couldn't see clearly, but it appeared most of the survivors were gone already and all that were left appeared to be dead bodies. And there was no sign of Cho.

"…Cho?" his voice was rasped and rough and it hurt to talk, but he didn't care, stepping over bodies and searching the mess for any sign of Cho or his gun. "Cho! You still here? CHO?" He raised his voice high he kicked over a broken bar stool. There were faces he recognized and that made him feel a bit sick, seeing them broken and bleeding like that.

So many bodies, it made him queasy. He was nearing the bar's entrance when he tripped over something and fell to his knees, "Damn it," he groaned, pushing himself back up and freezing when he caught sight of the body lying a few yards away from him.

"…Cho?" his voice was tentative as he eased his way toward the prone form, lying face down on the floor. Slowly he reached out and gripped the shorter man's shoulder, tugging him forward a bit and grimacing when he still got no response from him. "Cho? Man, you alright? You hear me?"

Silence.

Pulling himself right up next to his friend, he braced himself and pushed the body over, a surprised, choked breath escaping from his throat when he met the glassy, dead eyes. Cho's tie was lopsided, shirt disheveled and torn, a massive, bloody gash right through his stomach. His face was hardly recognizable, cuts crisscrossing from one side to the other.

"God… Cho…" Rigsby swallowed bile and shut his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't happening.

"Hey!" a female voice jerked his head up and he blinked, turning to see a tall redheaded woman standing there. Her hair was tangled down her back, blood dripping down her face from a cut on her head. He stared at her dumbly for a moment, eyes scanning her body and frowning a bit when he saw the gun holstered at her side.

"You okay?"

Her voice was gentle and concerned and he finally managed a nod, throat still too tight to talk. She approached him carefully and put a hand on his shoulder, helping him back to his feet and eyeing Cho's body sympathetically.

"Was he your friend?"

"Yeah…" Rigsby's voice finally worked and he nodded, "…Sorry… Who are you?"

"Grace," she smiled a bit sadly, "Grace Van Pelt."

"Cop?"

She frowned and glanced down at the gun, "Rookie," she admitted, "Just started the Academy two weeks ago."

He snorted and forcefully kept his eyes from travelling back to Cho's body. "Come on," she said, "Hospitals are pretty bad, but there are some EMTs down at the station that can check you out…"

"No," he shook his head, "I gotta… I gotta get to the CBI. My boss was there with a co-worker…"

"You need to see someone," she said, "You're bleeding."

"So are you,"

"I'm fine," she insisted, "Come on. I'll go with you to find your boss after you're checked out, okay?"

Rigsby stared at her wide, innocent eyes and wanted to go with her, but the thought of Lisbon and Jane back at the CBI made his stomach clenched. He had to check on them, make sure they were alright. Lisbon could handle herself well enough, but Jane? He didn't even know how to use a gun and Rigsby wasn't willing to lose another friend. "Sorry, Grace," he shook his head, "I gotta check on Lisbon and Jane first."

She sighed, "Fine. I'll go with you, in case you pass out again at least there'll be someone to lug you to a doctor,"

~/.\~

Things at the FBI headquarters were chaotic when Hotch arrived, holding a now sleeping Jack in his arms. There were agents everywhere – many of whom had actually been inside the building when the Toclafane descended. The lobby was full of dead bodies, laid out carefully, but many so mangled it was hard to tell who they were. He recognized a few of them – most of them actually – and it made him a bit sick. He didn't count the bodies, but there must've been at least fifteen or twenty of them.

The BAU was packed, agents separated into groups. Those with more medical training were tending to those who had been injured. The more able bodied agents were carrying the dead downstairs. There were still some bodies lying around where they'd fallen and Hotch averted his eyes quickly, searching the mayhem for his team.

He didn't see any of them and began to worry that none of them had survived at all until a hand on his shoulder spun him around to face Morgan.

"Hotch! Thank God, man, we've been trying to reach you and Gideon for an hour…"

Morgan was covered in blood, eyes shell shocked. There were cuts up and down his arms and a nasty bruise on his face, but Hotch was willing to bet that most of the blood wasn't actually his at all. Hotch didn't get a chance to respond when Jack let out a small cry and twisted in his arms. Morgan's eyes went right to the little boy and then back to Hotch, a pained looked crossing his features when he realized Hailey was nowhere in sight.

"…Is she…?"

"Yes," Hotch's answered was tight and clipped and Morgan nodded stiffly, taking a deep breath.

"The rest of the team's this way," Morgan led him through the throng of people, "Emily and I have been moving the bodies downstairs. Reid's with Garcia; she and some other tech named Kevin are in her office, they're trying to get information on Saxon, figure out what the hell's going on, but we're locked out of the system. She said something about Archangel, but I didn't really follow her…"

Hotch nodded as he listened and then frowned, pausing, "…What's JJ doing?"

Morgan's shoulders tensed and he stared straight ahead, "She didn't make it,"

Hotch felt his stomach bottom out, but forced himself to hold it together. He was supposed to be the leader of this team and they'd already moved into action without him. Garcia and Kevin were working on separate computers, each of them with small, frustrated frowns on their faces.

Hotch was relieved to see that while Garcia's clothes were blood splattered and her hands shaking a bit, she wasn't harmed. He knew that was likely because of Morgan – he would never let anything hurt Garcia if he had any say in it. Reid had a few small cuts and bruises and it looked to Hotch like he might have a broken wrist and there was a nasty look bruise spreading up his other wrist from his thumb.

"Hotch!" Reid looked relieved to see his boss, a tiny trace of a smile touching his face for a moment. He followed Hotch's gaze to his hand and shrugged, "Dislocated my thumb…" he said, hissing a bit when he lifted the hand.

"You should get someone to look at it," the words were spoken calmly and evenly, despite the fact that Hotch felt like he was going to break to pieces inside.

Reid looked down, "There are other people in worse shape. I'll get someone to fix it whenever everyone else is taken care of," he turned to Morgan, frowning, "Nothing from Gideon yet?"

"Not yet, Kid," Morgan sighed, "When it gets light out if those things haven't come back Emily and I'll go check out his apartment. Garcia, Kevin, any luck?"

"No," Garcia's voice shook with anger and grief, "This is one smart, skivvy bastard," she muttered, "I don't know how he did it but he's got Archangel completely blocked from anyone. We can't crack it. Yet."

"Hotch!" Emily's voice was behind him as she entered the room, dark eyes going wide. Hotch turned to face her and winced at her appearance. There was a bloody bandage on her left leg, her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was yanked back into a messy ponytail and he was pretty certain a couple of her fingers were broken as well. She took one look at Jack and her eyes dimmed, instantly recognizing the look on his face.

"…Glad you made it here," she said quietly, her voice stiff.

He nodded and looked around, "Is there anything I can be doing?"

"…There are still more bodies to be moved," Prentiss said, "But you should look after Jack, unless… There's an office down the hall where they're watching the kids. Strauss and Agent Anderson are looking after them. There aren't very many…"

Her words trailed off and Hotch nodded, "I'll be right back…"

~/.\~

"Any word from Bobby?" Dean pulled Jo to the side as they left Ash's room. Ash had explained, in his own Ash-like way, that Saxon, or as he called him, "that snake-oiled, British bastard", had control over the Archangel network that made up most of the world's telecommunications networks in some way or another. Lucky for them, Ash hadn't trusted the guy since he'd began appearing in the news and all of his computers operated as under-the-radar as was physically possible. At least that gave them edge over Saxon and whatever the hell his plan was.

Jo sighed and shook her head, "We've been waiting on a call in," she said, "Ash fixed the phone in the bar; we've been getting heads-up from Hunters all over the country on their way in, but nothing from Bobby yet."

"Damn it," Dean swore and shook his head, "What's the distance on these things?"

Jo frowned, "According to Ash, thirty, forty miles. Fifty tops. Why?"

He sighed and fingered the button on the radio, "Pay phones don't have that Archangel crap, right? Sam and me are gonna hit the road, go check on Bobby and see what's going on."

"Dean, I don't think –"

"He's the only family we got left, Jo," Dean cut her off, shaking his head. "I can't just sit here on my ass knowing he could be lying out there bloody somewhere with no one to help him, alright? We'll be back in a couple of days."

Jo sighed and nodded, "Mom's not gonna like you two going off by yourselves," she said.

"We're big boys," Dean said, "We can handle ourselves out there."

"Fine. Just… be careful, Dean. We don't know if or when those Toclafane are coming back and if you and Sam get caught out there with no backup –"

Dean smiled, "Don't worry," he said, "We'll be fine." He watched Jo head back to Ash's room to check on her mother and sighed heavily, shaking his head and turning to go back to the bar when he almost ran right into Gordon Walker.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath and met Gordon's eyes, planting a cocky smile on his face as the other hunter raised a brow.

"Dean Winchester," he said, a smile twisting his lips. With the blood dripping from his dark face the smile looked sinister and made Dean fight the urge to shiver. Dean thought back to the last time he'd seen Gordon and cringed; the other hunter probably wasn't exactly his biggest fan at the moment.

"Howdy, Gordo," he replied, keeping that grin in place. "See you got yourself out of that room, huh?"

Gordon laughed and again the sound was so damn sinister Dean wanted to bolt immediately, but he was Dean Winchester and he wasn't about to let another hunter scare him away from anything. "Yeah, well, past is the past, right, Gordon? Eye for an eye and all that bullshit?"

His laugh came out a bit nervously and his muscles tensed on instinct. Gordon wanted to beat the shit out of him, he could tell. The only thought running through his mind was "Payback's a bitch, ain't it, Dean?"

"Look, you're angry," Dean said, "I bet you wanna kick my ass for what happened, but this is fucking Armageddon or something right now, yeah? So… how 'bout we put this on pause, huh? Sam and me got places to –"

The last words didn't make it out before Gordon's fist connected roughly with Dean's jaw.

"Son of bitch!" Dean swore and moved his jaw around, feeling it pulse for a heartbeat before Gordon swung again. This time Dean reacted faster and caught the arm before it could do more damage, stepping back and slamming a knee into Gordon's stomach.

"Sammy!" he yelled for his brother while Gordon ripped his arm away and dove in for another attack, managing a solid punch to Dean's chest and knocking the air out of his lungs. Catching his breath, Dean backed up and then caught Gordon by surprise, kicking up and slamming a fist into the side of his head.

"Dean!" Sam's voice came from somewhere behind Gordon and suddenly Gordon was yanked backwards and Dean saw his brother holding the thrashing man back. Smirking a bit, Dean took the opportunity to get a few good hits to Gordon's torso before the bulkier man broke free from Sam's grasp. He started to come at them again when another pair of hunters showed up and pulled Dean and Gordon away, another blocking Sam from going after him.

"Hey! Break it up, guys!" one of them men snapped, "We've got bigger problems on our heads right now. Killing each other can wait."

Gordon eyes the two brothers with a venomous look and shook his head, "This isn't over, Winchester. You know that,"

Dean smiled, though it hurt a bit and shrugged, "Bring it on, Gordon, anytime you're ready,"

As the fight broke up and Gordon went back to sulking with his shotgun, Dean spat a glob of blood and shook his head, "Damn, dude needs to learn to let things go… Think he almost dislocated my jaw."

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes as they headed to the parking lot, "Heading to Bobby's?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "Ellen and Jo haven't heard from him yet. Told 'em we'd be a couple of days."

"Good. Give Gordon some time to cool off at least. How 'bout you don't go near him again, Dean?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Bastard came after me, Sam. Nothing I could do about it,"

"Except maybe not beat the shit out of him in the first place,"

Dean raised his brows, "Fine. Next time I'll just… let the bastard hurt my little brother and get away with it. How's that sound?"

Sam sighed and shot Dean a look that his older brother had dubbed his bitchface before settling into the Impala. "Shut up,"

~/.\~

"Fuck," Owen swore under his breath as the rhythmic sounds of the metal got louder. He twisted his hand and slid the clip open, now vehemently regretting wasting bullets on the television and door. "Fuck, fuck, fuck,"

"Very eloquent," Gwen snapped, shooting him a glare as she checked her own gun. Not that it would be useful in any way, but the weapon gave her a small sense of security at least. Owen sent her a sharp, bitter look but didn't respond as the four of them bunched up against the door, pressing themselves into it as much as they possibly could and holding their breath.

"What are going to do?" Tosh's voice shook a bit, but she was holding her gun firmly in her hands as her wide eyes stayed glued to the entrance and the pounding metal footsteps grew ever closer. "Our guns aren't going to work against it. We can't exactly reason with a Cyberman…"

Ianto surprised them all when he lifted his own gun – albeit with slightly trembling hands – and stared into the darkness with determination. "We go down fighting,"

"Great plan," Owen muttered, "Got one where we actually survive?"

"Shut it!" Gwen snapped, "Ianto's right. We might not stand a chance against this thing, but that doesn't mean we have to stand here and die like cowards. We fight until the last breath, got it?"

None of them looked particularly pleased about their "plan", but of course it wasn't as if they really had another option. They were backed into a corner with a Cyberman fast approaching and they had nothing but a few flashlights, some useless guns and determination.

"Besides," Gwen continued, "We don't know how long it's been trapped down here. Maybe… maybe it's been damaged."

Owen almost snorted, but in all honesty was a bit too scared to snort and found himself nodding in agreement with her, if only because he desperately hoped that maybe she was right. Maybe it was broken or defective somehow; maybe they actually did stand a fighting chance against the metal monster.

The sound of metal-pounding-metal suddenly paused and for a moment they allowed themselves to breathe, daring to hope that perhaps it had died, when the sound picked back up, much closer than before and out of the darkness they could make out the hulking, shadowy silhouette of the Cyberman.

Swallowing their fear, the four of them lifted their guns and aimed it at the Cyberman as it approached them, lumbering forward with quick, ridged steps. They closed their eyes and they all said their own forms of silent prayer as they pulled the triggers of the weapons back, ears reverberating with the sounds of the gunshots. Impossibly bright light suddenly seemed to fill the room, flashing against their eyelids as they waited to hear the sound of the bullets clashing against the metal man, but what they heard was… nothing but the roar of the wind, now incredibly loud in their ears.

Slowly, one by one, their eyes crept open and they blinked, staring around at their surroundings. No longer in the computer lab with the Cyberman, but several yards away from the facility, outside in the snow.

"What the…?"

Owen was the first to speak, slowly lowering his weapon and spinning around, eyes growing huge as he realized that this wasn't a dream. "How the hell did we get out here?"

Tosh was on her knees in the snow, shivering a bit and grateful she hadn't removed her gloves once they were inside. She dug through her pack, "Maybe it was some sort of energy spike or teleportation?" she said, glancing up at their questioning looks. "Hold on…"

She pulled a small device out of her bag and held it up, squinting against the swirl of snow on its screen and frowning as the pale green light lit up and she slowly moved around.

"…Anything?" Gwen asked, holstering her gun for now, eyes darting around the barren wasteland of snow.

Tosh frowned, "…Nothing," she said slowly, "I'm not getting any sort of readings at all…"

"So how'd we get from inside to out here?" Ianto asked, looking just as frightened as he had when they'd been facing down the Cyberman. This didn't make any sense at all.

"I don't know,"

"Well," Owen said suddenly, his voice breaking the somber, frightened mood, "Guess we can add that to the big pile of shit we don't know."

Gwen bit back her annoyed remark and shook her head, "Well I know one thing," she said, "If we want answers we aren't going to find them here. Saxon set this up, let's start there. We'll head to London and figure out what the hell is going on."

~/.\~

"So you two really believe the Doctor can save us?" Tish asked, watching Reid and Jack with cautiously hopeful eyes. "That he can beat the Master?"

"If anyone can, it's the Doctor," Jack said confidently, "Don't worry. He'll have a plan. He'll get us out of this."

Reid nodded, "He's always got a plan,"

They all looked up at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall and Reid and Jack frowned, getting to their feet as the guards approached the cells. "Which one of you is Spencer?" one of the guards asked. They were both young men, holding their guns a bit awkwardly and eyeing the prisoners with sadness in their eyes. Reid could tell neither of them wanted to be there, but it wasn't as if they were being given a choice.

"I am," he stepped forward a bit.

"Spencer," Jack hissed, shaking his head.

"Stand back," one of the men kept their gun trained on them while they opened the cell doors. Francine, Clive and Tish huddled together, watching in apprehension as the other guard motioned for Reid to step out.

"Wait, where are you taking him?" Jack demanded.

"Saxon wants to see him,"

"No way," Jack started to step in front of Reid, but the younger man just shook his head.

"I'll be fine," he said. Though he was almost sure he was lying. His stomach twisted at the very thought of being in the same room as the Master, but he knew fighting back at this stage was only going to cause more trouble than it was worth. Jack looked anything but happy as Reid slipped out of the cell and allowed the guard to lead him by the arm down the hall.

"You tell that bastard to bring him back in one piece or so help me, I'll make him wish he were dead!" Jack called after them. Reid felt a small smile on his face at that thought, comforted to know Jack cared so much. Until they were back on the main deck of the ship and the anxious fear set in once more.

They led him through the main conference room where they passed Lucy Saxon, sitting at the conference table, a small frown on her face. She looked… well, just as distant and plastic as she had before, but also like she was thinking about something. Reid couldn't even begin to wonder what was going through her head at the moment and really didn't want to know in any case.

The guards pushed him farther, into what Reid guessed was an office room or another conference room and he felt a bit sick when he spotted the Doctor, barely sitting up straight in his chair, eyes desperately pinned on the Master until the door opened and they shot to Reid.

"Ooh, Spencer!" The Master grinned, "You know, I think I like that name. Has a nice ring to it, don't you agree, Doctor?"

Reid swallowed roughly, fighting to even remain standing as the guard let go of his arm and disappeared out the door.

"Just leave him alone, Master," the Doctor's voice was ragged and pleading and it broke Reid's heart to hear the sound. "He hasn't got anything to do with this."

"Oh," the Master pouted, keeping his eyes on Reid, "Isn't that sweet, the Doctor defended his new little pet. You know, Spencer, I think you might have gotten in over your head a bit with this one. Have a seat, we're going to have a little chat and see if we can loosen the Doctor's lips a bit, shall we?"

Reid hesitated to sit where the Master directed him, but slowly obeyed, a sick sort of terror twisting his gut. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be anywhere near here. He was almost willing to say he'd rather be in that shed with Tobias Hankle than he would here.

"You look nervous," the Master sighed as he perched on the table next to Spencer, twirling his sonic screwdriver between his fingers joyously. "Don't be nervous, Spencer, I won't kill you. Where's the fun there? Once you're dead, no more fun. Well, except that delightful other friend of yours. Jack, wasn't it? Now there's a thought. I could kill him again and again and again. Wouldn't that be fun, Doctor?"

"Just leave them… alone," the Doctor begged, "Torture me if you have to, but not them."

The Master grinned, "Again," he said, "Where's the fun in that?"

He reached forward and Reid flinched away as his hands rested on the young man's temples. He braced himself, but knew it wasn't any use anyway. Memories immediately began assaulting his mind. Flashing through his skull and making his chest tight. Hankle. The drugs. Getting shot. His father leaving. They all flashed by, repeating over and over until he almost forgot he had a happy memory at all.

And then it happened: an insane grin and a haunting laugh and the connection broke suddenly, Reid panting, near tears, throat raw from screams he hadn't even realized he'd screamed as the Master stared at him with wide eyes.

"Now… that is interesting," his eyes glittered, "Oh, Spencer, you and I are going to have to have a nice long chat soon. You are truly a man… ahead of your time, aren't you?"

"What?" the Doctor leaned forward, well aware of the memories that the Master could have seen inside Reid's head. "What did you see?"

The Master chuckled, "Something I'm sure concerns you greatly,"

Reid locked eyes with the Doctor, pressing his lips together and shaking his head. He felt as if he'd just been hit by a truck, but he couldn't let the Doctor see him in too much pain because he knew he'd only blame himself when it wasn't his fault.

Thankfully, they were interrupted by the appearance of Lucy Saxon.

"Darling," she said, "It's nearly time."

"Well, look at that, " the Master grinned, hopping up and glancing between the two of them, "Why don't you two get a nice chat out? I've got to address my people!"

~DW/CM~

A/N: Woo. *wipes sweat from brow* THAT was a long chapter. But totally worth it, I think. I gave all the fandoms some extra screen time this time!

And I'd like to say that, no, the TW team being magically saved wasn't JUST lame quick fix or loophole. I've got plans for that team, people. And it was also a semi-introduction to a new character. Some of you probably can guess who, but for now I'm not saying.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed and please review!