A/N: Ok, ok. I know I'm a total lazy piece of trash to have not updated this story in nearly TWO YEARS. I really have no excuse lol. I did have to rewatch the entire 8th and 9th season of Doctor Who and reread this entire thing again before I could write again, but well, here we are. Now that season 9 has long since ended and such, I've decided that this story takes place somewhere in the time interval between "Last Christmas" and "Before the Flood." I'm basically ignoring season 9 after that lol. Remember, this is an AU where Day of the Doctor never happened, Gallifrey was never saved.

Anyway…I'm back! I have this entire story plotted out all the way to the very end. Do not expect fast updates, but I will aim for biweekly if I can. This will be finished. Enjoy!

Chapter 14: Rusted Locks

The tiny Dalek cell was unremarkable in every respect save for the value of its prisoner. Dawn surfaced over the horizon of whatever planet Clara Oswald was now captive to, if it was a planet at all.

The cell possessed no windows to the outside world, but recently Clara had grown accustomed to recognizing when new days began, no matter where she was in time and space. It was a new day, and her body knew it was time to wake up.

Pitted stone bit into Clara's skin and the temperature suddenly seemed frigid. The haze of unconsciousness started to clear from Clara's mind. Hesitantly, her senses began to return. Smell came first, nearly shocking Clara out of her groggy stupor with the pungent odor of drying blood- her blood. She gagged weakly, her tongue feeling like a plank of wood in her mouth, her chapped lips burning as they began to split. She licked her lips, tasting fresh blood.

Her hearing returned abruptly with a deafening ringing that finally roused Clara from the abyss. She gasped and clutched at her temples, the sound cutting through her skull like a blade. She squinted her eyes open, rubbing crusted blood from the corners. Even the dim light from the dirty bulb on the wall seemed too much for her.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight again and curled into a ball. She reached out in her mind for The Doctor. His glow was still there, but it was paler than usual. She gave him a tentative nudge which elicited no response. Normally Clara would be worried, but in her current state of mind she brushed it off, assuming he was sleeping.

Clara found purchase on the rough ground and managed to sit up, leaning against the wall for support. She took a deep breath and attempted to open her eyes again. Light stabbed into pupils and triggered a throbbing headache. She reached up to rub at her temples again, but refused to close her eyes. They finally focused on something—the empty bowl in the corner, and Clara was suddenly made aware of the fact that her throat had turned to sandpaper overnight and her skin was beginning to shrivel from severe dehydration.

She looked at her skin again and a flood of memories shocked her addled mind. Missy. Missy had tortured her the previous night with some kind of electricity. Clara remembered the bright orange arcs searing crimson marks into her skin like cracks in a pane of glass. The marks looked more faded now, her skin a latticework of tender pink lines. She coughed several times, her lungs trying to expel the dust that had accumulated in her system overnight.

A loud clank shot Clara to attention. The shriek of a rusty metal door opening echoed down the corridor outside, and then there was a faint, familiar whirring, gradually increasing in volume as if it was approaching.

Adrenaline spiked thorough Clara's system, her body instinctively moving into a more defensive position against the wall. 'Daleks.'

"WHAT VALUE DOES THE HUMAN FEMALE HOLD FOR US?" a metallic voice boomed down the corridor, "HUMANS ARE WEAK AND NOT SUITABLE FOR WORK IN THE DALEKANIUM MINES."

"THE HUMAN FEMALE KNOWN AS CLARA OSWALD IS AN ASSOCIATE OF THE DOCTOR'S," another voice grated out.

"THEN SHE MUST BE EXTERMINATED."

"SHE IS AN ASSET TO THE DALEK EMPIRE. WE ARE UNDER ORDERS TO CONVERT HER AT THE MASTER'S COMMAND."

Clara's heart shot into her throat. As the voices came closer, she found herself scrabbling clammy hands against the dirty ground- looking for anything she could use to defend herself. Convert her? Surely they didn't mean to convert her into a Dalek, did they? Clara tried to deny it as best she could, but deep down she knew it was a very real possibility. Why else had she been kept alive? The Daleks never take prisoners without a good reason.

There was a loud screech as the latch to her cell disengaged from its rusty hold. Blinding white light flooded the room, and it was all Clara could do to raise a hand to shield her eyes and rise shakily from the floor. She leaned heavily against the wall and panted slightly with the effort, her damaged muscles screaming in protest.

The two Daleks in the doorway were a stark contrast to the dinginess of the cell with their immaculate Dalekanium armor. They stared at her through piercing blue eyes, sizing her up. Clara steeled herself, refusing to break eye contact.

"CLARA OSWALD, YOU WILL COME WITH US."

Clara's face did nothing to betray her true emotions. Her heart beat erratically in her chest and all the blood drained from her skull.

'This is it,' she thought, 'they're going to turn me into a Dalek.'

She swallowed a lump in her throat, refusing to cry, but the thought of those...creatures...turning her into one of them, a murderous hate-filled squid and packing her into a metal case was beyond overwhelming.

The Daleks turned around and started down the long bright corridor, and without a word, Clara stumbled after them. Once out of the cell, Clara was finally able to see her prison. There were rows and rows of cells with numbers on the outside of thick metal doors and a small control panel for each one. Number 323, her cell.

After a significant struggle, Clara was able to walk reliably with only a slight limp. Her legs kept seizing painfully, possibly a result of trace amounts of Sikron electricity escaping her body through her legs and into the floor. Her vision swam, her lungs burned with the air meant for a species other than her own. One of the Daleks moved around behind her, nearly pressing its deadly gun into her back- wordlessly pressuring her to move faster. She looked down and focused only on putting one foot in front of the other. This seemed to help stem the rising nausea and give her some sense of orientation.

She walked with the Daleks for what seemed like hours until they came to a large room containing rows of suits hung on pegs against the walls. She almost didn't notice in time that the Dalek in front of her had stopped and nearly crashed into it.

"YOU ARE TO PERFORM MANUAL LABOR IN THE DALEKANIUM MINES UNTIL FURTHER INSTRUCTION."

Clara looked up in surprise and breathed a sigh of relief. They weren't going to convert her just yet. She glanced at the suits displayed on the walls. They appeared to be plated with some kind of metal and were equipped with a helmet and a backpack-like oxygen tank. Most of them were obviously not made for humanoids.

The two Daleks left the room, slamming the door shut behind them. There was a slight shuffling sound, and out of nowhere a creature appeared from behind a locker. And Clara noticed with wide-eyed curiosity that this creature was definitely not a Dalek.

Clara's eyebrows shot up at the sight of the intruder. It was a humanoid alien; its head was roughly cone-shaped and it carried a glowing orb in one hand, but its most remarkable feature was the hundreds of small tentacles that dangled like spaghetti from where its mouth should have been. Clara had never seen one before, but somehow it still looked familiar.

"Oods," she said, suddenly recognizing the alien from a picture she had seen once in the Tardis records, "You're an Ood."

The Ood nodded slightly, saying nothing. It browsed the armored suits on the wall before selecting one and presenting it to her. Clara took it hesitantly.

"You must wear this to survive," the Ood said quietly, seeming to speak from the orb it held, "The atmosphere and temperatures outside are not suitable for members of the human species."

Clara nodded, still studying the strange new face before her. Despite its appearance, it almost seemed friendly. Like she could trust it. "What is your name? You have a name, don't you?" she whispered, not wanting to have to call a sentient creature "it."

"I am called Jomos." he said with the artificial voice, "Please put on your suit. There isn't much time."

Clara nodded and complied, slipping on the suit that was only slightly too big for her. "I am called Clara. There isn't much time...until what?" she asked.

Jomos pressed a button on the wall. "Your shift."

A door opened with a hiss of escaping air to reveal an equally beautiful and dangerous landscape outside. Clara gasped, and the Ood circled behind her to start the flow of oxygen into her helmet. The outside world appeared to be a comet or an asteroid, steel-grey, and dotted with outcroppings of jagged copper-colored rocks and deep craters. It seemed to be orbiting a large gas planet not unlike Jupiter, but it was larger and had thick swirling bands ranging in hues of color from aquamarine to deep indigo. The stars shining brilliantly from a nearby nebula bathed the asteroid in a dusky crimson light.

Clara breathed deeply, grateful for the extra oxygen clearing some of the fuzz in her brain. The sight of this strange new world gave her hope with the fact that even in the darkest, dirtiest, most dismal of situations, not even the Daleks could silence beauty forever. She looked to the stars, almost expecting to see a certain blue box shooting by, coming to snatch her up and steal her away from this place.

"Go." Jomos said, snapping Clara from her trace and pointing towards a structure about a hundred yards away. "Report to the Equipping Station. There you will receive your task and your equipment."

Clara squinted to locate the small station swimming in the haze and suddenly it seemed like it was a million miles away. The door behind her hissed shut, leaving her all alone in this vast alien expanse. She considered running away and hiding, but then she noticed several Dalek security camera drones hidden amongst the rocks- sure to zap her into dust should she stray. Clara inhaled deeply and began the long trek to the station.

Despite the constant influx of fresh oxygen, her suit was beginning to feel stuffy and hot. The humidity from her breath was causing the glass to fog up and suddenly she could hardly see at all. Clara knew there had to be some way to clear the fog, like a defrost button or something, but she couldn't figure it out. She stumbled blindly, doing her best to weave around the razor-sharp rocks jutting up at her from every direction.

She was surprised at the glaring stupidity of the Daleks. The Doctor always made them seem like geniuses. "They can't even make proper suits or proper paths through these hell rocks," she grumbled to herself.

The heat and humidity was coaxing her nausea to return with a vengeance. Clara refused to throw up while trapped in this dumb space suit. She had done that before in the past and it was...not pretty.

After several long minutes, Clara finally stumbled to what she assumed was the entrance to the godforsaken equipping station. She narrowed her eyes, trying to read the sign above the set of thick metal doors which stood before her. She panted heavily in exertion, increasing the fog in her helmet.

The doors slid open and she was quickly pulled inside by a pair of dark red alien hands. As soon as she heard the airlock doors close behind her, Clara tore off the helmet and gasped for air. The owner of the hands that had grabbed her snarled menacingly, dripping red juices from its mouth. A Zygon, Clara realized. It wore a thick Dalekanium collar around its neck with the numbers "487" stamped into the center- a fellow slave. Clara wondered briefly if the collar had anything to do with preventing this Zygon from shapeshifting, a skill that could be a considerable advantage in a prison.

The Zygon took her helmet and pressed a few buttons on the inside, clearing the fog from the glass instantly.

"Stick out your neck," it rasped, holding one of those thick collars, this one printed with the number "323." Clara thought about resisting but decided against it, reasoning that her best chance of survival would be to comply until she could come up with a proper plan to escape. The collar clasped around her neck with a loud snap. The weight of it immediately triggered her already sore muscles to scream at her in protest as the heavy metal bit into her skin. Clara swallowed thickly, trying to get used to her new confinement.

"If you attempt to escape or remove your collar, you will be vaporized instantly," the Zygon said coldly. It secured her helmet to her suit once again and shoved a large gun-like piece of machinery into her arms.

"This is your drill. You will go into the core of this asteroid and mine for Dalekanium until the whistle blows. Do not remove your helmet. Do not associate with other prisoners. Do not attempt to resist. If you do not meet your quota for more than three shifts, you will be incinerated."

The Zygon gave her one last look over its sucker-covered shoulder, entering in a code on a keypad. "Do you understand?"

A door opened up to reveal a small rusted chamber with metal bars- an elevator, perhaps. Clara nodded and stepped inside. The doors slammed shut behind her and suddenly it felt like the whole world was having a seizure. The elevator lurched and shook violently before finally coming loose from its corroded brakes and plummeted deep down to the asteroid's core. Clara screamed in surprise and gripped the bars for dear life.

The elevator came to an abrupt screeching halt in pitch darkness. The little lights in Clara's helmet were the only things she could see. She focused on the lights, trying to stop her head from spinning and force the bile back down her throat. The doors opened with an almost comical "ding!" and Clara found herself in the molten core of the prison. Whoever came up with the idea of hell must have been to this place, Clara thought. Pools of magma steamed in makeshift tanks and countless stalactites dangled precariously over Clara like teeth. She hugged the drill to her chest in unconscious nervousness.

Clara was suddenly shoved hard in the small of her back and nearly lost her footing. She heard a familiar whirring and froze on the spot.

"MOVE." the Dalek ordered, shoving her with its gun again.

Clara swallowed thickly, resisting the urge to cough to regain the air kicked from her lungs. She scrambled to her feet and joined a line of fellow alien slaves- some species she recognized and some she did not. They leered at her with a mixture of curiosity and disgust, making Clara arrive at the uncomfortable realization that most of them had probably never seen a human before.

Several checkpoints later, Clara found herself at the base of a mighty stalagmite. It just looked like a basic rock to Clara, but according to the scanner of a nearby slave, this particular stalagmite was the source of a bounty of Dalekanium. One by one they all switched on their drills and began boring deep into the rock. Clara fidgeted with her drill for several minutes, trying to figure out how it worked, until another slave turned it on for her. She wanted to thank the green-skinned alien, but it vanished from her sight as quickly as it came, lost in a nearby crowd. Clara pressed a button experimentally and a bright orange laser beam shot out, thankfully not hitting anything or anybody. She released a breath she didn't know she was holding and began slowly drilling into the rock, copying the others around her.

After about an hour, Clara began to get the hang of it, but her arms were screaming in protest. The drill put out strong vibrations which shook her to the core and made her feel as if her heart was beating irregularly. The nausea was coming in waves and despite the heat-shield coating of her suit, the extreme temperatures outside were beginning to slowly cook her in her suit. Sweat seeped out from beneath her skin in rivulets.

A mixture of dehydration, nausea, and exhaustion began to take their toll on Clara. She swayed where she stood, her vision swimming. At some point she vaguely remembered gasping for help, but she couldn't figure out how to turn on her helmet's built-in communication device. Darkness crept up into her vision. Clara knew she was going to pass out. She fought it for as long as she could, not wanting to draw attention to herself, but her body wasn't giving her a choice. It was all Clara could do to shut off the drill and manage to crumple to the floor away from the drill-site. She heard the muffled shouts of other prisoners and the angry bellow of a Zygon guard. She saw the Zygon arrive in a streak of red and could vaguely make out the shape of a rifle in its hands.

"This human is weak!" the Zygon rasped, taking aim, "She is of no use to us!"

Clara weakly raised a hand in a feeble attempt to shield herself from certain death at this Zygon's hands. There was a flash of blue light and suddenly the Zygon was no more.

"CLARA OSWALD IS A PRISONER OF VALUE TO THE DALEK EMPIRE. SHE IS NOT TO BE HARMED."

Clara did not have the strength to look up, but there was no mistaking the distinct grating of a Dalek's voice. She heard it leave and breathed a sigh of relief. A pair of strong arms suddenly cradled her under her shoulders and Clara noticed it was the green-skinned alien again. Clara did her best to focus her vision. Scales. It had scales. Was it a Silurian?

Clara collapsed into the arms. The blood pounding in her head clouded her vision.

Everything went dark.

...

A mild stinging sensation from beneath her skin prodded Clara out of unconsciousness. She gasped suddenly, as if suddenly remembering how to breathe. She sat up abruptly, triggering a violent coughing fit. Stars burst in her eyes and Clara groaned. Blinking rapidly against the light, her vision slowly began to clear.

She was in her cell again, propped up against the wall. She looked down to her arm, the source of the stinging. A large hypodermic IV catheter was buried in the crook of her elbow, infusing her with some kind of fluid coming from two bags hooked above her on the wall. One of the fluids looked to be water but the other was a milky yellowish liquid. Clara didn't care what it was. All she knew was that she was out of the mines, alive, and that the nausea was gone. Her tongue was no longer dry as the Sahara desert, and her muscles were less sore. The scars on her skin were nearly gone now and she was grateful.

She almost thought that she had hallucinated her entire little trip, but then she felt the thick metal collar around her neck. It had surely formed bruises by now-at least that's what it felt like. She rubbed her neck instinctively and decided that she would get used to it. She was just glad to be alone for once, even if it had to be in a tiny fetid cell.

She tried looking for the presence of the Doctor in her mind again. His pale golden glow had not changed since this morning, still not moving and still not responding to Clara's touch. She decided to leave him alone, but she couldn't help feeling a sinking pit of dread forming in her stomach. She didn't know how and she didn't know why, but she got the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

A loud metal screech reverberated down the hall and caused Clara to start. There was some kind of exchange of words among at least two Daleks, some faint whirring, and a heavy metal clang that Clara had come to recognize as the sound of a latch engaging. Clara froze, hearing new sounds from the previously deserted cell next to hers. It sounded like a Dalek, but why would a Dalek be an inmate in a Dalek prison?

"I SEE YOU." it spoke suddenly. Clara nearly shrieked but clasped a hand over her mouth to prevent it from escaping her lips.

"I SEE INSIDE OF YOU."

Clara raised an eyebrow. That was weird. Daleks didn't normally speak like that. She didn't know where she found the courage, but she managed to clamber to her feet. She peered hesitantly through the barred window between her cell and her new neighbor's… and found herself standing face-to-face with a Dalek.

"I KNOW WHO YOU ARE." it grated out.

"Everybody does," Clara replied with a strange confidence she didn't know she possessed, "Every Dalek in this camp knows who I am."

"YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. I KNOW YOU."

Clara shook her head in disbelief, her heart beating rapidly, "How could you-"

"I SEE THE DOCTOR INSIDE OF YOU. I RECOGNIZE YOUR SOUL. YOU ARE CLARA OSWALD."

"But I don't understand, how can you see my soul, how do you know-"

"YOU NAMED ME," it cut her off, "THE DOCTOR SHOWED ME HIS SOUL. I SEE IT IN YOU. I SEE INTO YOUR SOUL, CLARA OSWALD. I SEE BEAUTY, I SEE DANGER, I SEE A POWER WITHIN YOU THAT YOU CANNOT SEE."

The Dalek approached her, positioning its eyestalk just inches from her face with its unblinking mechanical eye. "YOU AND THE DOCTOR SAVED MY LIFE."

Clara's eyes widened in sudden realization. She found herself backing away from the wall, trying to absorb what incredible fortune she had just stumbled upon. An ally. She now had an ally. Somebody who knew her and presumably was on her side. She almost felt like laughing with a newfound sense of hope.

"...Rusty?" she asked tentatively, still not believing her luck.

"CORRECT."

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