Chapter 3: The Grave Mistake

Red and blue lights faintly bathed the shop. They filtered in through the grimy windows and illuminated the scene inside in flashes. Sirens wailed in the distance, becoming nearer. The Doctor stirred as the sound grew louder, piercing his ear drums. He had the most splitting headache.

He grimaced and pressed his fingers to his temples firmly, trying to massage away the pain. He squinted his eyes open against the flashing lights. What was all this for?

He took in his surroundings. He was still in the same little mineral shop. Why was he slouched on the ground against the wall? What was heavy in his hands? His gaze trailed down to his palms and found that they were coated in an inky blue-green liquid. He recoiled in disgust and shook it from his fingers, splattering it on the wall behind him. In his other hand he clutched a large pointed chunk of Kapponite. It too was coated in the sticky liquid.

The air smelled of copper. He wrinkled his nose. His jacket had somehow been discarded and laid in a wad at the base of the counter, which was empty. Where had the woman gone?

Deciding to investigate, he scrambled to his feet and peered behind the counter.

To his horror, the elderly woman lay dead, her once vibrant green eyes half-lidded. More of the inky liquid soaked her robes and, panicked, he realized that it was blood. He dropped the crystal. It impacted the carpeted floor with a heavy thunk. The woman appeared to have been stabbed. Holes had been punched through her gray skin all throughout her torso. How had this possibly happened? He had been here the whole time and never saw an intruder. He tried to remember and found that his mind was dark and foggy. All he could recall was an enormous sense of rage.

Police burst through the door, brandishing their laser weapons at him. Not knowing what else to do, the Doctor raised his hands in surrender. The officers ignored the gesture and charged him, tackling him to the ground. The wind rushed from his lungs with the force. Coughing, the Doctor raised his hands again, trying to appear as harmless as possible. "Whoa, whoa, fellas, I just got here. I–."

A black-robed officer smacked him across the face, shutting him up. The scales on the back of his hand scratched the Doctor's face, leaving thin red lines behind. "Save it for the judge, filthy alien."

The Doctor rubbed at his stinging cheek, confused. "The judge?" he mumbled. His eyes widened. "Wait, you don't think that I did this?"

"That's exactly what I think," the officer growled. He gestured broadly to his disheveled appearance. "Look at yourself."

The Doctor did as he said and gasped as if suddenly realizing the implications his bloody appearance fostered. "Wait, I don't understand, I–" he stammered. "I just got here. I was asking her to sell me some Kapponite and she refused and then…" he trailed off, not knowing how his own story ended.

"And then you tried to steal it and murdered her when she tried to defend her shop," the officer finished, pointing a clawed finger at the broom in her limp grasp. "Yeah, yeah, we get it."

All the color drained from his face. Heavy metal handcuffs clapped around his wrists and dug into his skin painfully. The Doctor did not even feel them. He felt numb. Had he really done this? The evidence all seemed to point to him. His thoughts kicked into overdrive as he examined the gruesome scene around him. There had been nobody else in the shop. He had been holding the murder weapon. He was covered in blood. He had no alibi. Logic dictated that he was the most likely suspect. Was he really the cold-blooded murderer that the officer thought he was?

The hour was up and Clara Oswald returned from her shopping to find that the Doctor had not shown up at the agreed upon time. Nothing new for him, but something felt off. She pursed her lips, deciding to wait for a bit. Something in her gut told her to go look for him. After several minutes with no sign of him, she set off to the north, hoping to run into him. She was ready to get out of here. The locals hadn't exactly been friendly to her either, though they did begrudgingly sell her a pair of shoes.

Colored lights flickered rhythmically in the distance. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she decided to follow them. As she traversed the dusty cobblestone streets, she saw no sign of the Doctor.

The lights drew closer and she realized they were emanating from lightbars atop police hovercraft parked in front of a small mineral shop. She furrowed her eyebrows at the remarkable similarity to police cars on Earth. Perhaps they had picked up the design from human visitors.

Orange police tape surrounded the shop. One officer lifted the tape to allow two others and a suspect to pass underneath. The sky was darkening but the suspect seemed familiar. The lights caught his face. Her eyes widened in recognition. It was the Doctor. A chill ran up Clara's spine. What the hell had he gotten himself into now?

She sprinted to him, dropping her bags. As she drew closer she could see that he was covered in ink or something like it. His face and hair were spattered with blotches of the stuff and his cuffed hands were stained black.

"Doctor!" she cried. What the hell had happened? Was he hurt? Why was he being arrested? He raised his head and caught her gaze. His light blue eyes seemed scared and lost, like a stray dog's. His pupils were blown wide and he even appeared to be shaking. An officer grabbed her as she ran, holding her back tightly. She struggled against his grip, kicking her legs. "No! Doctor!" she yelled. "Let me see him!"

"Clara!" the Doctor called, snapping out of it. "I have no idea what happened, I…" he trailed off, studying his bloody hands as if he could not believe they were his own. "They think I did this."

Before Clara could respond, the officers shoved him into the back of a hover car and took off with a whoosh. She watched the cars disappear towards the large buildings at the center of the city. Was that blood on his hands? Clara begged the remaining officers to let her see the crime scene, but they firmly pushed her back behind the tape.

Not knowing what else to do, she ran out of the city and onto the dark jungle path. Panic fluttered in her stomach like butterflies. Her heart pounded in her throat. Small branches and vines whipped at her skin but she did not care. Surely the Tardis had something that could help him.

Finally, the trees cleared and the blue box came into view. Clara dove inside and slammed the doors shut behind her. She yanked the video screen around and searched the local news for any information. The story was already up. "Time Lord slays shop owner for refusing to sell to him." Clara's blood froze in her veins. She shook her head. It couldn't be true. There were certain constants in the universe and one of them was that the Doctor would never just murder someone in cold blood for something so minor. Not her Doctor. She banged her fist into the console, setting off a shower of sparks. Nothing made sense. She snatched the phone from its cradle and dialed.

Over the next few days, Clara contacted every lawyer in the immediate galaxy. To her dismay, nobody wanted to represent his hopeless case. Once Kapponian minds were made up, they were nearly impossible to change. His face was plastered all over the news. People whispered of the scandal in the streets. It seemed clear that the entire planet hated Time Lords, and, due to her passing resemblance to one, they did not like Clara either. Locals refused to speak to her as she tried to launch her own investigation. Nobody would listen to her questions.

The hearing came only three days later. Possibly the worst public defender on the planet was assigned to his case. Sitting far back in the courtroom, Clara could do nothing but watch as they scrutinized every piece of evidence against him. His clothes were soaked in the woman's blood. His fingerprints and DNA were on the murder weapon. His jacket fibers were found stuck to her wounds. He had motive, a shady history, and the means to commit the crime. The prosecutors used his statement against him. He should have never talked to the cops.

The useless attorney did not even try to challenge the evidence. Instead, he encouraged his client to accept a plea deal for lethal injection over a slow torturous death. Some help that was.

But the worst thing about it all was that the Doctor seemed to believe it. The fight had gone out of him. Clara mentally begged him to stand up for himself. She practically screamed at him but he did nothing. Guilt was written all over his features. He sat chained before the judge's podium, shoulders hunched and body slouched. He must really believe that he had done it.

He may believe it but Clara refused to. She clenched her jaw. There had to be some explanation.

To her horror, the Doctor accepted the guilty plea. The judge sentenced him to death by lethal injection and that was that. The gavel banged on the podium and Clara felt her breath catch in her throat. She shot up from her seat. "Doctor! No, you can't!" Tears welled up in her eyes. She had never felt so helpless.

He glanced back in response to her voice. He looked sadder than she had ever seen him. He looked like a man who had accepted his fate. That was not the Doctor she knew. What had happened to him?

She tried to run to him but was caught by a pair of strong hands. Guards in red robes gripped her under her arms. and escorted her from the courtroom. They left her on the steps outside and disappeared back inside, locking the doors behind them.

The remaining days seemed to drag on and fly by at the same time. The wait was torturous for it being so little time at all. No visitors were allowed to visit the condemned. There were no exceptions. She could not hear his side of the story. Worst of all, she couldn't even tell him goodbye or any of the other things she had always meant to say to him.

The police refused to release the investigative report or let her anywhere near the crime scene. Armed guards surrounded the scene at all times while the cleanup was in progress. They were thoroughly disinterested in her pleas for a further investigation. As far as they were concerned, they had a slam-dunk case.

Finally, the time came and Clara found herself led into a small room with nothing but chairs and a dark window. The air smelled stale, like the musty dampness that seemed to coat the entire city. Her whole body felt numb. Her feet shuffled along automatically, not feeling like her own. She had tried to convince herself that she would be strong, but when they switched on the lights revealing the Doctor, her Doctor, strapped to a gurney in a cold gray room, she could not hold back the tears any longer and they never stopped.

All too fast, the execution was carried out. The whole procedure seemed to take less than five minutes. How could you reduce someone as powerful as the Doctor to just five minutes? Clara could not believe that the mighty Doctor had fallen so easily. She had seen him take on Daleks, Cybermen, sun gods- and always come out of it unscathed. How could he be brought down by one tiny needle? The whole experience was surreal.

They wheeled the Doctor's lifeless body out of the room and turned out the lights. One by one, the other people in the viewing room exited. Clara remained, staring blankly into the black window. Her eyes had run out of tears to cry long ago. An alien hand landed on her shoulder and she flinched. The female Kapponian standing over her gently encouraged her to get up. The show was over. How could it all be over?

Slowly, she rose to her feet and turned away from the Kapponian wordlessly. For one of the first few times in her life, Clara Oswald had been rendered speechless. Not knowing what else to do, she made the long trek back to the Tardis. It was twilight now and Clara swore she could feel every eye on her as she walked through the darkening streets. She was sure she was a mess but didn't care. Nothing mattered to her anymore.

She set onto the jungle trail and quietly began her journey home. Well, if the Tardis could be considered a home. It was one now. She had nowhere else to go. No friends, no money, and a crippled Tardis. How would she ever get back to Earth? What about her job? Her family? Her life?

Fresh tears pricked her eyes. She had never felt more scared and alone. She drew her black leather jacket around herself tighter and hurried. The jungle frightened her. Who knew what kind of monsters lurked amongst the trees.

Finally, she spotted the Tardis in the distance. The old ship clicked on her lights so Clara could find her way easier. Sheer weariness ate at her bones. It had been a long week and she hadn't slept properly in days. Her legs ached and her head pounded. Blearily, she reached into her jacket and pulled out her Tardis key.

Suddenly, a dark figure appeared from around the corner of the box. Clara shrieked and dropped the key into the dust. Had a Kapponian followed her back here? What were they going to do with her, the associate of a murderer? She backed up, raising her arms in a defensive stance. She was not going to go down without a fight.

"Oh Clara, please," the sultry voice crooned in a Scottish accent. It was feminine and definitely familiar. "I know it's hard to believe, but I am not here to cause trouble."

Clara lowered her fists slightly. She squinted her eyes, unable to make out the figure in the darkness. The silhouette stepped into the light with a wicked curl on her lips that didn't quite hide her worry. Clara stumbled back, raising her fists again. Her heart pounded in her throat. Her previously exhausted body was now pumping with adrenaline.

"Missy!?"