Title: Armageddon

Rating: T

Warnings: Major spoilers for "Utopia", "The Sound of Drums" and "Last of the Time Lords"; violence; mild language; allusions to rape (but I promise nothing explicit or graphic)

A/N: Once again, I feel like we should just gloss over how horribly long it's taken me to write this and instead focus on the positive: NEW CHAPTER! Yay. Ahem.

Thanks to those of you who reviewed! I appreciate it!

Armageddon:

Part III: The Year of Hell

Chapter Seventeen

It was late in the morning whenever Crowley appeared outside of the old barn, seeing the doors splintered a thrown open. Even from the road, he could see the shape of a body lying face-up in the dirt and hay-strewn floor.

Carefully, he stepped around blood and muck, his upper lip curling as some of the mess stuck to his very expensive shoes. This is why he made a point to be careful when he tortured people, he mused. Appearance is everything. Plus, he liked the way the thick butcher's apron made him look, very Hannibal Lecter. He smirked and his eyes flash over the dead young woman. Amelia Richardson again. He'd been very surprised when his Hell-hound collected her soul that morning. She'd barely even lasted a day. Then again, a witch among Winchesters – it was more of a surprise that she'd lasted five minutes.

He hardly bothered to pay her attention. Witches were whores, as far as he was concerned. Stupid, power-hungry whores. His attention focused on the red-head who was sitting up with a groan. Her hair was matted with blood – in fact, her whole face was. The dark stains went all the way down her throat and shirt and she was trying to scrub it off with the back of a hand when she spotted him.

Her nostrils flared, "Crowley," she snarled, "kinda late to the party, aren't you?"

He snorted, "That's a nice look for you, Meg," he said, "The Winchesters do that? Isn't this, what, the third time they've beaten you? I think you might be off your game, Sweetheart. Azazel would be interested to hear about yet another failure."

She glared at him, "This wouldn't even be a problem if you'd just killed them last night, when you had a chance." Her eyes flashed black, "Think he'd like to hear that?"

"Someone's not reading the memos," Crowley said, "Sam Winchester is off limits,"

"Dean isn't," she growled, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Dean's an idiot," Crowley snapped, "besides, think Sammy will be inclined to do anything Azazel wants if we kill his brother?"

Meg rolled her eyes, "I don't exactly care about the plan right now,"

"No," Crowley nodded, "just petty vengeance. You know what they say about revenge."

She hissed and threw her hands up, sending Crowley flying back toward the barn's entrance. "Who are you to tell me what to do?" she snapped, "Some pathetic crossroads demon?"

"King of the Crossroads," Crowley corrected her, standing and brushing himself off with look of distain, "but if you don't want my advice, fine. I don't particularly like you much anyway."

"It's mutual," Meg said. She didn't bother saying anything else, her eyes flaring black again as she opened her mouth and a cloud of black smoke escaped, flying out of the barn while the host body screamed. Crowley watched with distant eyes as the red-headed woman collapsed, choking on her own blood as she started bleeding internally again. It took her almost a full minute to die.

~/.\~

Tosh straightened from her position bent under the hood and grimaced. Her back ached and her hands were sore, but she figured they were nearly ready to try to hotwire the car. She watched Owen, still bent down, furiously working and muttering to himself. His hand slid and hit something, causing him to jerk up and bang his head on the open hood.

"Fuck!" he swore, scowling and rubbing his head viciously, glaring down at the engine.

"Owen –"

He cut her off, muttering more swears as he moved toward the driver's side door. Before he could pull it open, Tosh's hand shot out and grabbed him by the elbow, "Owen, stop," she said, frowning. He turned toward her with narrowed eyes and she let out a huff, pushing hair from her face.

"You need to calm down,"

"I am calm,"

"No you're not," she said, "you're far from calm, Owen. You're starting to scare me."

His face softened just a bit at those words, but he still turned away and she frowned, sliding in front of him and blocking the door. "I'm being serious, Owen."

"So am I," he said, "we need to try to get this car started so we can get out of here as soon as we can. The longer we stay here, the more danger we're putting everyone else in."

Tosh shook her head, "You're head isn't in the right place here, Owen," she said, "Why don't you go inside and watch John. Send Jake out here, he can help me."

"I'm helping you," Owen snapped.

"What you're doing is pushing yourself," she said, "I don't think swearing constantly is doing us much good with the car. Send Jake out, we'll finish it. Besides, John needs a real doctor."

"John is a doctor," Owen said, "he can tell Jake what to do."

"Owen," Tosh narrowed her eyes. She didn't want to be angry at him, but she was getting frustrated. She knew he was hurting – they all were – but she also knew that they needed to focus. Grieving was necessary. Being an angry ass was not.

His jaw tightened and he eyed her for a long moment before turning on his heel, muttering to himself. Tosh watched him go and winced as he slammed the door loudly behind him. Her shoulders sagged and she turned toward the car again, biting her lip and fighting back a fresh round of tears as she heard the door open and Jake's footsteps behind her.

~/.\~

"I'm picking up a lot more active users in the network," Abby said, "it's like they're all getting closer to breaking it altogether, but missing something. I can see them there though,"

"You can see them?" Tony frowned, "how?"

"They're like… little pocket worlds," Garcia said, "inside Archangel. Just barely hidden, not operating outside of it,"

"Like infiltrators," Abby said, "Ya know, they're in the network, but not quite a part of it. I'm surprised the Master hasn't picked up on them yet, but there's something keeping them not-totally visible."

"So why can we see them?"

Abby shrugged, looking to Garcia who shook her head. "No idea," Garcia said, "but we can. At least, now we can. We couldn't before…"

"Can we communicate with them?" Hotch asked, frowning.

"Probably," Abby said, she and Garcia already sending messages through to as many of the others as they could explaining that they were federal agents in the US and asking for contact. "They have some interesting handles though…" she smirked.

"Handles?" Gibbs frowned.

"Hacker handles," Garcia said, "like a user name, you know."

Gibbs blinked again and she sighed, "It's basically their alias inside the network."

"Ah," he nodded slowly and Abby just laughed, shaking her head.

"Anyway," she said, "they're really interesting. Like, I thought 'Dr. Badass' was strange, but we've got a 'Princess Leia' showing up now and there's one that's gone dark that was apparently 'Torchwood Three' and then there's 'Mr. Smith' which only makes me think about that movie…" she smiled.

"Ooh! We've got something," Garcia waved her hand excitedly and Abby turned back to the screen, "It's from Mr. Smith…" her eyes scanned the message.

"It's a woman," Abby said, "She's in the UK… Her name's Sarah Jane –"

"Sarah Jane Smith?" Ducky asked, leaning forward to look at the screens.

"I guess," Abby said, "she didn't give a last name. Did you know her?"

He smiled, "I met her when I was with UNIT," he said, "If I recall correctly, very bright young woman."

Reid's eyes were wide, "She was on the Wanted List," he said, "Her name is fairly high up, which means she probably poses a threat to the Master rather than just being a one of the Doctor's old friends. She could know something that could help us, she could -"

"Holy your horses, Junior G-Man," Garcia said, "we've got to give it a minute. She says she's in an underground safe house. She's got a bunch of kids with her and – holy cow – some kind of supercomputer she calls Mr. Smith."

"No wonder she was able to get in undetected," Abby whistled.

"We should tell her about Ducky," Prentiss suggested, "she might remember him."

The two women were already on it when another quiet beep came and they blinked, "She asked if we've heard of Martha Jones…"

"The Jones girl?" Rossi frowned, "Isn't the Master after her? She was on the Wanted list…"

"She was," McGee nodded, "her family is the one that's on the Valiant. It was her brother, I think, the Master killed that day, remember?"

"Apparently," Garcia said, "Martha is one of the Doctor's friends too,"

"How many friends does this man have?" Fornell frowned.

"Well," Ducky said, "The Doctor is quite old and enjoyed traveling,"

"In a time machine," Reid added, "He probably has friends all over the world."

"Then that should make it that much easier for us to fight this guy. If we can get everyone connected together, ready for a fight –" Gibbs said, but Garcia cut him off before he could finish the thought.

"The Doctor has a plan," she said, looking back toward everyone.

"A plan?" Hotch frowned.

"What plan?" Gibbs asked.

"She's getting to it…" Abby said, her eyes still on the screen, "she says she can't give us everything. It's too dangerous until Archangel is cracked. But she says to be on the lookout for Martha… She's been traveling, to get the plan out to as many people as possible."

"To rally the troops?"

"I guess," Garcia said, "According to Sarah Jane, the plan is going to need everyone's cooperation to work, so Martha is making sure everyone gets it and passes it along…"

"We're definitely not fighting alone," Tony said, hope in his voice in the first time in a long time.

"Definitely not," Prentiss agreed, a small smile on her face. "The Master didn't know what he was dealing with when he decided to attack the Earth."

~/.\~

Charlie Bradbury – as she'd started calling herself a few months ago, just before the Decimation – was definitely not panicking. Nope. Not at all. Her eyes scanned the dismal Palo Alto skyline, looking for more Toclafane. She clutched a satchel around her neck carrying her one and only item of value: her old laptop. There was a noise to her left and she skittered back several feet, letting out a loud squeak before covering her mouth.

Damn it, she was not liking this. She kept closing her eyes and telling herself it was like any number of apocalyptic scenarios she'd played through on her computer, but this was real and not going away. Real life was so much more frightening than a game – though she did at least have one advantage: she knew how to disappear.

The scuffling noise grew louder and she grew just a tiny bit braver, holding a broken flashlight out in front of her like a weapon as she approached the alley. A cat jumped out at her and she nearly squeaked again, then her shoulders sagged and she started laughing at herself.

"It's just a cat," she said, the sound of her own voice somehow comforting. "Stop being ridiculous, Charlie, you've got to keep it together."

She scanned the area again and, with a glance back at the horribly emaciated cat, she bit her lip. For a long moment, she debated about the cat, then scooped it up into her arms and took off in a slightly clumsy jog toward her destination, keeping her eyes peeled for Toclafane at every turn. It took her hours, the sun hovering high in the sky by the time she finally reached the old motel, but it was worth it.

No one, at least no one human, came near the old motels anymore. Not in this area at least. Most of Palo Alto was entirely deserted, the people moved to Pasadena or Sacramento to where the work camps were. Palo Alto was a place of refuge for underground camps and safe houses. Toclafane did regular sweeps of the area, but Charlie figured she could dodge them easy enough if she kept moving around.

She found an empty room that was mostly intact and made herself more or less at home. The electricity didn't work, but, to her delight, there was water. No hot water heater, unfortunately, but a cold shower was better than no shower. She shared some of her food – mostly dried beef jerky which she absolutely despised – with the cat and went to clean herself up before settling down at her laptop and firing it up.

She scratched the cat behind the ears, smiling as it purred at her.

"Alright," she said, "time to take another crack at this Archangel thing Emperor Douchebag set up…"

Her eyes were focused on the glowing screen whenever she heard the scream – it was pained and difficult to make out, but after a moment she was certain she heard someone screaming for help. Tensing, she held her breath and waited, silently praying that she was imagining things. Then the scream cam again, out of breath and hard to discern. Gulping, Charlie shut the laptop and shoved it back into her back, carrying it with her as she left the motel room. The cat – she figured she'd have to pick name for him soon, seeing as she'd apparently adopted him – followed her out cautiously.

She felt a bit calmer with the cat there and smiled down at him, "You're a brave little guy, huh?" she asked, "Braver than me at least…" She looked forward and eased her way down the sidewalk in the direction she thought the sound came from.

As she went, she threw open motel doors and found nothing. She was apparently totally alone. She was starting to think she really had imagined the voice whenever she finally heard it again, louder and clearer this time.

"HELP! SOMONE!"

She bit her lip and turned toward the section of doors, easing toward them and throwing them open one at a time, jumping back quickly in case someone attacked. Nothing happened until her third try whenever she threw the door open, jumped back and edged forward to see a young, dark skinned man lying on the bed.

He was only half-conscious by the look of it, his skin tight and gaunt against his face. And there was blood. A lot of blood. More blood than Charlie was comfortable seeing. Bile rose in her throat and she tried not to vomit as she eased inside.

She didn't exactly know much about doctoring, but she'd do whatever she could. She grimaced as her eyes locked on the pool of blood and realized that it was so thick because his left arm was wrapped in bloody sheets and his hand was missing entirely. Resisting the urge to vomit she moved closer. He didn't seem to notice her, but whenever she put a gentle hand on his forehead, his eyes jerked open and locked on her, his breathing speeding up.

"Who are you?"

His voice was raspy and thick with pain, but so tired. She tried not to think too much and instead just took a deep breath.

"Ch-Charlie," she said, "Um… Look, I'm not a doctor or anything, but do you – I mean… I can help. Maybe. Try to at least."

He smiled, but it looked more like a grimace and she took that as consent enough. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out the rest of the jerky and half a bottle of water she'd been trying to save. She had bandages too, but she wasn't sure how much good they'd do him.

He winced as he swallowed the food and water – she made sure he ate and drank slowly and didn't take too much water. He was probably dehydrated and she knew enough to know drinking too much too fast would make him sick.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tried to think of anything she could remember from medical shows she'd watched. There wasn't much. She eased the sheet wrapped around the hand away and forced herself not to look too closely.

"W-What's your name?" she asked, glancing up at his face, remembering vaguely that keeping a person talking could help.

"G-Guster," he coughed, but smiled at her, a bit less grimace-like this time. "Burton Guster,"

"Well," Charlie tipped the water over the wound, certain that the clean cut had been made by a Toclafane's sharp blade. She shuddered as she saw the bone. "Burton Guster, don't you worry about anything. I'll have you patched up in now time,"

"Thought you weren't a doctor?"

She shrugged, "Well, I'm not," she said, lifting the injured arm and looking away as she began to put a fresh bandage over th area, "but I played one on TV," she joked.

He laughed and she smiled brightly. Well, at least he was so far gone he couldn't get a joke.

The cat jumped up onto the bed and he eyed it curiously, "He yours?"

"I guess," she shrugged, "I just found him… He's kinda cute though, isn't he?" He was a grey cat, with eyes that matched. He tilted his head up at her, giving her a strangely human stare before easing his way toward Burton's head and mewing gently.

"Think he likes you," she said, sitting back as she finished bandaging the arm and wrapping a tourniquet around the wrist to help stop the bleeding. It was really all she knew to do. She could only hope she hadn't done more harm than good and silently wish for a doctor.

He eyed the cat a bit warily, "What's his name?"

She pursed her lips, thinking. Well, if she was going to keep him he'd definitely need a name. "Gandalf," she said, and Burton smiled at her, "Gandalf the Grey."

He laughed and she looked him over, "Any other injuries?"

She hoped not. She really, really hoped not because she wasn't sure she could stomach it. She already needed to scrub herself again and she wasn't sure she'd ever get the blood out of her skin. He shook his head and she relaxed.

"I'll get more water and food in a couple of hours," she said, "you look like you need it."

He smiled gratefully at her as she went to see if the sink in the bathroom was working so she could wash her hands. When she came back out, Burton was cautiously petting Gandalf with his right hand, eyes softening as the cat purred at him.

She plopped herself on the floor and pulled out her laptop, firing it up once more to get to work.

"So…" she looked up at him, "what's your story?"

He frowned and started telling her about his friends in Santa Barbara, about the trip he'd been on with one of the guys when they'd been attacked and separated. He'd nearly gotten captured by the Master's men, but he'd managed to give them the slip and ran for it. He'd been doing fine, trying to get back to Santa Barbara, but unable to find anyone to help. And then a day ago another run in with Toclafane had ended with him losing his hand.

She tried not to grimace as she listened, but it was a horrible story. He kept talking about his friend Shawn and how he'd been worried sick about him. How he needed to find them again. She pressed her lips together.

"Don't worry," she said, "we'll find your friends. And then we can work together to kick the Master's butt."

He laughed but she was serious about that. She turned her attention to the computer and he asked her what she was doing. She tried to explain it in technical terms, but stopped herself and said, "Trying to hack this Archangel network. I know there's a way in, I just need to find it." She frowned, "it's never taken me this long to hack something before."

She hated the Master all the more for creating something she couldn't hack so quickly. She'd hacked NATO for God's sake! This should not be this difficult. Then again, alien technology might have something to do with it.

"Is there anyone else trying?"

"Lots of people," Charlie nodded, "I've been in contact with a woman called Sarah Jane," she said, "She's got some massive supercomputer or something. A couple of days ago I spotted someone in the network, messaging, but I haven't been able to track them down yet. The more people we get working on this though, the better our chances are."

~/.\~

Owen was less than happy, but he knew Tosh was right. His head was in a dark place. He wasn't going to apologize for that; he felt like he had a right to be pissed. It wasn't helping anything, but he couldn't really be bothered by that when he felt like something had been ripped from out of his chest.

He sat himself down next to John and checked the bandage on his legs. He appeared to be doing okay, considering the circumstances. He was at least not bleeding and the dressing, while bloody, was clean. He'd help him change it in a couple of hours.

They were silent for a long, tense moment and Owen could only be grateful that Sherlock was still upstairs doing whatever it was he was doing. Owen honestly didn't care. He was just glad that he had the decency to stay out of his way.

"You know," John said suddenly, shifting a bit so that he could get a better look at Owen's face, "if Gwen were here right now she'd tell you that you're being an arse."

Owen's lips tightened, "Well, she's not because she'd dead,"

John flinched a bit at the harsh tone, but shook his head, "You know she'd be upset that your acting like a dick," he said, "I know it hurts, Owen. I didn't know her as long as you, but Gwen was a good person and she didn't deserve to die like that, but you've got to get your head on straight. There's a bloody war still going on out there."

"Maybe I don't care anymore,"

"Not about Toshiko? Or Ianto? Me and Jake?" John frowned, "or just not about yourself?"

Owen sent him an angry glare and turned his attention toward the window, "Where is Ianto?"

"Upstairs," John said, "and you're avoiding the question."

"I don't want to talk about it," Owen said, his eyes shifting around the barren front yard and landing on Tosh and Jake by the car. Suddenly he went rigid and spun around.

"Owen –"

"Shut up," Owen hissed, ducking down and digging through the duffle.

"What are you –"

"There are people outside," Owen snapped, "They're armed."

"Shit," John swore and Owen finally straightened up, pulling out the gun he'd been trying to find. "You need to warn Ianto and Sherlock."

Owen pressed his lips together but didn't look happy about it. He grabbed a blanket and through it over John entirely, hoping that if they looked inside they wouldn't spot him immediately. He gave John a gun and hurried upstairs as quickly as he could.

From downstairs he hears Tosh scream and then a man's guttural yell and he nearly whirls around and races downstairs again when a long-fingered hand grabs him and snatches the gun away. Ianto, white faced and pale, hurried down past them and Owen met Sherlock's cold eyes with a glare.

"What are you doing?"

"Ianto is getting our things together and hiding John. I suggest you help him."

"Like hell I will," Owen snarled, "give me the gun,"

"You're angry," Sherlock said, already bounding down the stairs, "Your aim won't be a true if you're clouded with emotions."

"And yours will?"

Sherlock turned to look at him again, "I'm an excellent shot." He said.

The sounds of a struggle could be heard very clearly outside now, Tosh was saying something in fast voice and it took Owen a second to understand – "We're alone," There were several hard words and swears from Jake and then a distinct crunching, snapping sound. Sherlock moved quickly toward the window and his eyes were wide.

"Your friend seems to have broken one of their necks," he observed.

Owen ignored him in favor of helping Ianto get John into a standing position. He couldn't hear what else was being said, but suddenly Sherlock lifted the gun, took aim and squeezed off a shot. There was a faint thud that followed the loud bang and seconds later Tosh and Jake rushed into the house with wide, panicked eyes. There was blood on Tosh's mouth and Jake appeared to have been splatted by it. Owen tried not to let either of those things make him angry.

"We've got to get out of here," Tosh said, her voice still high pitched.

"Is the car in running condition?"

"It's good enough," Jake said, already grabbing the duffle bag, "we need to move. There are probably more patrols in the area, let's go!"

~/.\~

They waited until nightfall the following night to make their escape. The Master was asleep, the guards were at their minimum and there was no one inside the conference room except the Doctor and Spencer.

The air was heavy with tension as the Doctor slipped the small screwdriver from his pocket where he'd hidden it and pointed it at the manacles holding them to the wall. With a faint whirring sound and a glow of blue light, the manacles snapped open, clicking as they fell to the floor. Spencer lifted his wrists and examined the deep bruises. There were worse bruises on his ankles. The Doctor eyed the dark skin with a well of guilt and then pulled Spencer to his feet gently.

"We have to move," he whispered hoarsely.

It was almost too easy for them to move through the bowels of the ship. There weren't many guards on patrol the farther down they went. As they reached the cells where the Joneses and Jack were being kept, the Doctor exclaimed his confusion at the surprising ease and lack of guards. Even the Master couldn't be this arrogant, could he?

But at the sight of the Joneses in the cell, he stopped worrying about their so far unimpeded escape and instead felt his blood boil. He tried very hard not to think about what the Master had done to this family. Francine Jones seemed like a shadow of herself, leaning into her ex-husband's arms, fitfully sleeping. Tish looked like a beaten child, bruises on her face and wrists that the Doctor could see where she'd curled up like a child at the head of the makeshift bed.

They were all asleep except for Jack, who looked, possibly, the worst of them all. Beaten and bruised and covered in sweat and blood and grime. He spotted the Doctor and Reid and a big smile spread across his face.

"Thought you'd never show up," he said as the cell doors swung open and Reid roused the Joneses from their sleep.

"We had to wait until everyone was asleep," the Doctor said, moving quickly over to Jack to undo his restraints. Jack practically moaned as he was able to move again, rolling his shoulders and stretching taut muscles that had been cramped into on position for far too long.

"Oh, that feels good," he sighed.

"Where to, exactly?" Clive asked, his arms still around Francine. Tish stood very close to her parents, holding herself around her middle and not saying anything at all, just staring at the Doctor with wide, pleading eyes.

"We're going back down this way," the Doctor said, "It'll be dangerous, since we're in the air, but there are rescue crafts and air masks on the top level. If we can reach that, you and your family go first. Then Spencer and Jack."

Jack frowned, eyeing the Doctor, "You weren't kidding about you not escaping,"

"I have to be here," the Doctor said, "to infiltrate the network. But if there's a chance of the rest of you getting safe then we have to take it."

"I don't like it," Spencer said, "I don't want to leave you here by yourself."

"Spencer –"

"The kid's right, Doctor," Jack said, "You're barely holding on as it is. The Master is gonna be any less cruel just because you're the only prisoner on board. We can find some other way to get you into Archangel –"

"No," The Doctor shook his head, "I have to get in through the inside. The Master won't notice it that way. Now come on, we're wasting time."

The trip back up out of the cells seemed as easy as the trip down. They moved quietly through the twisting halls and up to the main section of the ship. Everyone was starting to feel a bit uneasy at how quiet the ship seemed to be. Even at this time of night, there were always random patrols going by, but they'd yet to see a single guard the whole way up.

"Something's wrong," Spencer whispered, edging closer to the Doctor. The Doctor reached out without thought and clutched Reid's hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"We'll be fine," he whispered, though the doubt in his voice was not missed by any of them.

It happened as they rounded the final corner, about to approach the bay area with the equipment for going down to the earth. They heard the steady, mocking sound of someone clapping and came to an abrupt halt.

They could see him, but they heard the Master's voice over the speakers.

"Bravo, Doctor," he said, "you nearly made it! I must say, I expected a better plan from you. You really should've been more anxious at how easy it was to get to the cells."

His hearts were racing in his chest as he made the group spin around and they came face to face with several armed guards, guns pointed at them. Spencer's hand in his clenched tightly, cutting off feeling for a moment. He heard Jack yell for them to run, but didn't quite register the fact that his feet were moving until he was halfway down the corridor.

He stumbled and Jack caught him, tugging him up and pushing him along and he managed to drag Reid with him. There were bullets ricocheting inside the tight metal space and then a loud, pained gasp came from somewhere behind him.

"Jack!" Spencer screamed and turned around, coming to a stop as Jack fell, a round hole in the center of his forehead.

"He'll be fine!" the Doctor insisted, pulling Reid along, his own real thought being that he had failed and the people he was trying to protect were going to suffer for it. There was another scream and he spun to see Clive, clutching his shoulder, blood pouring out of the wound. He stumbled to a stop and turned to run back, helping Francine pull Clive to his feet again. Reid was standing next to Tish then, staring anxiously at the mouth of the corridor ahead.

"We're trapped," he whispered.

The Doctor looked up and saw the guards waiting there, heard the distant sounds of the guards that were chasing them. His shoulders sagged and he continued to help hold Clive up as the guards kept them in place with their guns. Somewhere behind them he heard Jack gasping back to life and then the slow, steady sound of footsteps came and the guards parted.

The Master stood there, still in his suit, eyes bright, a manic grin on his face as he eyed his prisoners. Without a word, he aimed the laser screwdriver at the Doctor, the bright light zapping out and hitting him full in the chest.

Reid screamed as the Doctor crumpled and convulsed, and the Doctor felt his hands on his face, trying to help him sit up again. Everything was spinning and burning and twitching and he had to blink several times just to focus on Reid's face.

The Master seemed absolutely delighted by the sight in front of him, still grinning that manic, full grin of his.

"Well, now, what am I going to do about this horrible disobedience? Doctor? Any ideas?"

~/.\~

A/N: So… that happened. Urm. Not really sure. I don't hate this chapter, but I hate writing "action" scenes and I kind of suck at it, I think, so I'm never sure how they really turned out.

Also, for those of you who don't know: Charlie is the adorable, nerdy hacker-chick from Supernatural and also Princess Leia is her handle. I'm not terribly fond of that though, so if anyone has a better idea of what Charlie would use as a handle, let me know! I went with Princess Leia being of her tattoo.

(And please guys, don't hate me for cutting Gus' hand off! I could've killed him, just so you know, but I wanted him to be alive! …I'm also note quite sure yet how he ended up in Palo Alto which is over 100 miles from Sacramento, but I'll figure it out!)

Opinions are much loved! Please review, even just a couple of words will be appreciated! Hope you enjoyed!