Checkmate

Warnings: Violence, character death, explicit scenes.

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or its associated trademarks, unfortunately.

Chapter Playlist: 'The Impossible Planet' from 'Doctor Who: Series 2', 'The Trial of Loki' from 'Thor: the Dark World', 'Into the Lair' from 'The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones' and 'Crisis in Asgard' from 'Thor.

London, Earth, 1899

The world had changed.

That's the understatement of the millennium…

A mirthless smirk flashed across the face of the woman standing atop the roof of a ruined building, overlooking the eerie remains of what was once London. From her vantage point, she could just about make out where her old university had been. The street near Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament where her favourite coffee shop had been. Or would have been.

With all the gleaming metal and cold glass that surrounded her, it was hard sometimes to remember she was, technically, in Victorian London. 1899, to be exact.

Glimpses of the old architecture still remained beneath it all, but it was hard to see. The snow fell, chilling her beneath her combat suit and overcoat, the weathered brown leather wrist unit bleeping softly against her skin. She'd made a few modifications to it since she'd stolen it from the Torchwood Archive in Cardiff a few years before. With help from a few friends along the way…

She raised her wrist to her mouth and started talking, her voice soft and halting on the cold winter wind that carried her words away. "I don't know if you'll ever listen to this, or even know about any of this. I don't know if this is even going to work…" she trailed off, as memory intruded, as her eyes scanned the dead horizon before her.

She remembered running. Running so fast as her heart pounded in her ears, faster than she'd ever run before. And after the past few months with the Doctor, she'd become very good at running.

She didn't know how much farther she had left to run. How much further she could run before the Cybermen awoke and resumed their attack. Something had made them freeze; she had a fairly good idea what.

She could feel Ha-Ha and Brains at her heels, following her lead. She didn't know where Porridge was, she didn't know where any of the others were. Terror and gut-wrenching grief made her want to cry, but she pushed it aside. She had to get to the Doctor.

She could hear his voice shouting as they climbed the stairs to the room where he was tied up, playing chess. She could hear Angie screaming, and a fresh bolt of terror rushed through her as she forced her aching legs to run faster.

When she finally burst through the great doors, she felt her heart break entirely. Artie lay, limp and lifeless, under the upraised arm of the husk that had been Webley. Angie knelt beside her brother, crying softly now, her voice reduced to a husky wail.

Angie whimpered her name, as her eyes scanned the room, noticing Porridge lay unconscious at the Doctor's feet. The bomb had been tossed into the centre of the room, oddly innocuous-looking for all the destructive power she knew it possessed. But it was the Doctor who drew her gaze, at last.

He looked terrible. He was sweating and his eyes were glazed, almost feverish. They scanned the room impossibly fast, jumping from one thing to the next, before they alighted on her. His hand trembled on the chess board, as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple, the one not marred by the metallic growth that now sought to control one of the most stubborn and indomitable men she had ever known.

And it was winning. All hope died in her heart, as he raised feverish eyes to hers, and called to her. She rushed to his side, careful to keep her distance in case the Cyber-Planner re-emerged. Grief, and anger, at Artie's death boiled in her veins, but she held it back, even when his hand shot out and pulled her down so he could whisper in her ear…

The memory of that awful day had scarred her nightmares for weeks to come. She could still remember the gentle words he'd poured into her ear, belying the terror and the pain that they promised. It had been, technically, three years since that day. Three years of blood, of running and hiding, and waiting. And hope.

Despite all, despite everything, she still had hope.

"I almost hate you for that," she whispered into her wrist unit. "Giving me hope. It would have been so much easier not to hope, to give up and let the Cybermen kill me. But that was never in my stars, was it, Doctor?"

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Other memories intruded, of running to the Tardis with a hysterical Angie, Brains and Ha-Ha with a still-unconscious Porridge over his shoulder, dodging Cybermen that were beginning to wake up. The moment she realised the Doctor had finally lost control. Begging the Tardis to help her, to read her mind so she'd know what the Doctor wanted. Arriving back in present-day London and leaving Angie there, broken-hearted and hating her for Artie's death and for not explaining. But how could she, where she barely understood herself?

And then to Victorian London, to the group called the Paternoster Gang that she'd encountered in Yorkshire. Watching the Tardis dematerialise for the last time, and crying until her voice broke from sobbing and her eyes stung. That was the last time she'd ever cried, she had vowed to herself. Knowing what fate the Tardis had been summoned to, she forced the tears to dry and to get on with the work.

"I'll never forget how much hate there was in Angie's eyes when I left her," she began again, as the wind picked up and the sound of metallic marching sounded beneath her perch, on the street below. She tensed, on instinct, despite the shields which would keep her hidden from the Cybermen's detection systems. "She didn't understand and I couldn't explain. Not then. She died, you know. Her and her dad," she murmured, once the sound of clanging footsteps passed. "When they began invading everything. I'm not telling you this to hurt you, just thought you'd want to know. And to remind myself what's at stake…"

Her voice petered off then, and she stared out at the grim night. There were times when she still forgot that. It was so easy, and yet so hard, to forget. With everything she'd lost, everything she would still lose, everyone she had and would sacrifice. And the last sacrifice to come…

They'd lost Ha-Ha and Brains in 1066, at the battle of Hastings, although not as she'd learned about it at school. In school, the suits of armour had contained all too-living men, flesh and blood, not cybernetics and brain matter. For all their bravery, they'd never stood a chance. They weren't soldiers, and she'd often wondered, what sense of obligation, or patriotism, had led them to sign up in the first place.

But then again, she wasn't a soldier either. Not really. Necessity, or fate, had made her one.

And Porridge. Good, kind Porridge who was more than he'd seemed. She hadn't found that out until the end, when his voice had activated the planet-imploding bomb on 23rd Century Earth. To save her, to help her escape.

There was no one left now. No one left of the tiny group that had survived the massacre and followed her to the Tardis. Only her.

She'd never gone back to the 21st Century, to her time, since. She knew it would have hurt too much, to see her London, her home, the London she knew and loved, turned into a cold, lifeless ruin populated only by ghosts and Cybermen. At least here, she saw only what would be, not what had been. To see a world in a grain of sand…I'm starting to sound like him…She thought wryly, the quote from Blake running through her mind, as she stared at the husk of a world she'd once known and loved.

She could hear the Doctor's whisper in her head again. Soft, gentle, almost loving if she hadn't known better.

"Maybe, I don't know better," she whispered, and she realised she'd been talking the entire time, laying out her heart and her broken soul into her wrist unit. She felt a foreign wetness on her cheek and gasped slightly as she touched her hand to her cheek. A tear. "You git," she chuckled. "You made me break my promise. I'm crying."

"Talkin' to yerself again?" a familiar voice asked, as she spun around. Behind her stood a girl barely younger than herself, with dark hair tightly pulled back into a bun, slender form encased in black leather, a sword forged of reinforced steel at her back. An eye-patch covered one eye, long tendrils of vivid, pulsing red extending from beneath it. She'd lost it in a fight with the Cybermen on Riva VII, a year after she'd found the Paternoster gang. "First sign of madness, yer know!"

"I think we're all past mad, Jenny," she smiled sadly, her fingers deftly pressing a few buttons on her wrist unit, saving the message and time-delaying it. It would be sent in a few hours. Who knew if anyone would ever read it?

Jenny's ruined face quirked as she smirked wryly, before it faded and a gentle understanding bloomed in her good eye. "Madam says everything is ready and it's time to go. Are you ready?" she asked, looking like she wanted to comfort the young woman in front of her, but there was a sternness in her eyes and face now that forbade such gentleness.

For a moment, that stern face gentled and the words that fell from her lips made Jenny want to weep. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what's about to happen," she murmured. "I really am sorry. But if we succeed, none of it will have ever happened…"

With a deep breath, she looked back at the sky as the first light of dawn began to show, and she looked up, up into space and time, where somewhere her nemesis waited for her.

"Well, this is it. Hope you're ready," she whispered, as the cold wind lifted the chestnut brown hair that had fallen from her ponytail and made it float around her face. A grim smirk lit her face as she wiped away the tear, ignoring Jenny's concerned gaze.

After three years of running and hiding, of fighting and losing, Clara Oswald was ready.

Somewhere in Space and Time…

"ALERT! ALERT! ENEMY ATTACK DETECTED IN SPATIAL GRID 001, TIME GRID 000-GAMMA-2133! ALERT!"

"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time," a cold voice drawled. In a cold steel chamber, seated on a chair of steel, the speaker stood and all but skipped down the steps, landing on the deck with a flourish. The pane of glass before him showed a ravaged planet, clouds painted lurid hues scudding across its atmosphere, the continents below desolate and devoid of organic life.

It had been three years, in real-time terms, since the Cyberiad had succeeded in taking over the Doctor's mind. They had gained much, and learned much, and now they controlled all of Time and Space. Well, Mr. Clever did.

The Cyberiad had believed that they controlled him when they created the Cyber-Planner from the Doctor's mind. Little had they suspected he, in turn, would control them.

Now he controlled everything. Time, Space and the legions of Cybermen at his command. Planets upon planets to conquer and destroy, so many races to subjugate, forever and ever. The Cyberiad ruled all. He ruled all. The knowledge of Time Lord science, time travel in particular, had proven invaluable. Those pitiful pockets of resistance, and the millennia he'd left untouched, troubled him little. The paradoxes had been held at bay by his own ingenious innovations.

And now, finally, she had emerged from her hiding place. Clara Oswin Oswald, the Impossible Girl. The Girl who died and died again, only to be reborn. The thorn in his side, the fly that stung the lion, the annoyance that dared to ruin his utopia.

Somehow, she had gained access to the Tardis while he and the Cyberiad had been pondering the little quandary that Doctor had thrown their way during their chess match, and piloted it back to London, 2013, and then to Cardiff, 1899 before he'd managed to reclaim the Tardis using a recall subroutine hidden away in the coding of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. A crude device, but not without its uses…

Ever since then, she had been zigzagging through time and space, warning the peoples of the Universe of the coming apocalypse, setting up resistance movements. She had been the driving force behind the development of new technologies, new ways of fighting the Cybermen. Mechanical exoskeletons which allowed the user to move as fast and hit as hard as any Cyber unit. A mental communications network that the Cyberiad had yet to succeed in hacking. Portable transmat wrist units and then of course, there was the vortex manipulator she carried herself, stolen from the Torchwood Archive in Cardiff, and duplicated to a limited number.

A worthy adversary…

A smirk quirked the pale lips of Mr. Clever as his eyes blindly scanned the data currently being downloaded into his brain. He'd made a few improvements to this new form since he'd taken over. He'd reworked the neural interface as required, and he had augmented the physical strength and speed of this form with cybernetic implants beneath the skin. He ensured the protection of his vulnerable internal systems by replacing redundant systems with cybernetic implants or protective shells for those he was unwilling to upgrade. He had felt no need to upgrade fully, his new form was vastly superior even to the indestructible metal suits of the rest of the Cyberiad. All his implants were beneath the skin, bar the metallic growth on the side of his cranium which linked him to the Cyberiad, so he looked little different to the dying man Clara had left behind, that day on Hedgewick.

I wonder how my little impossible girl will like me now?

The dark, lustful thought drifted across the surface of his mind, and he felt the tremor as the Cyberiad reacted uneasily to the slight surge of emotion. He calmed them, soothed the unease, reining himself in so they were not distracted from their tasks. He permitted himself the mild, easily ignored emotions, ones that could not infect his perfection with sentiment. He admitted to himself, however, that the emotions in his mind towards Clara Oswald, the Impossible Girl, were neither mild nor easily ignored. They were, however, highly enjoyable and frustrating, a contradiction that were it not for the Doctor's darker impulses incorporated into the psyche of the Cyberiad, would have been merely cast aside and deleted.

Emotions helped him counter the pathetic resistance movements' actions. They would help him find, and take, Clara Oswald.

A predatory, unholy, smile grew on his lips as he clasped his hands behind his back and looked out over the universe as his mind gave commands faster than his mouth ever could. Proceed to Earth, 2786. Directive 5548/Alpha. Find and destroy all resistance. Directive 0001/Alpha. Find and capture Clara Oswald. Alive.

As the ship moved to jump into temporal orbit, before jumping into the vortex, Mr. Clever's eyes flashed with dark intent, as he took an unneeded breath of the chilling air of the chamber. I'm coming for you, Clara. Are you ready…?

Cyber Cluster 2881, North America, Earth, 2133

The moment Clara materialised, she heard the screams, the sound of explosions and the smell of boiling blood and seared flesh. The Cybermen were taking no prisoners, this time.

She strode through the chaos, ignoring the shouts of the resistance fighters and the dead, emotionless commands of the Cybermen, the suit she wore allowing her to outrun them all.

The exoskeleton worked on a similar principle to the Cybermen, connected to her mind via an implant in her cranium, just under the prefrontal cortex. It allowed her to control the suit at the speed of human thought, as if the metal limbs were merely extensions of her own. It had been the idea of a rather ingenious UNIT scientist called Malcolm, to use the Cybermen's own weapons against them, but unlike the Cybermen, they could turn these machines off. The machinery flowed over her body like some kind of obscene spider, crouching along her spine, it's many legs flowering out and over her body in a metal embrace, trailing down her arms and legs.

The implant also allowed neural communication in emergencies, and Clara could feel the connection opening up in her head like a flood of thoughts and memories. She grimaced as she concentrated through it all, seeking the one who wanted to talk to her.

Clara!

Captain Jack Harkness's mental voice echoed in her ear like he shouted directly into it. Clara mentally winced.

No need to shout! I can hear you, y'know! She replied irritably. She felt Jack's silent apology, as she took cover behind an upturned computer bank. They were in a conversion factory and power distribution centre in what had once been San Francisco, trying to download data from the Cyberiad computer core before blowing it up. Practically a suicide mission, as Clara had known all along.

She'd first met Jack when she'd teleported onto a space station in the 24th Century, in the Andromeda galaxy. Something about him had drawn her, and when she explained her story, her instinct hadn't been disappointed. A former companion of the Doctor's and the previous owner of the vortex manipulator on her wrist. Together, they'd worked on the vortex manipulators to enhance and upgrade them, though always careful not to do it in the same room. God knows what kind of paradoxes that would have created.

When the Cybermen had materialised in that century, Jack had taken over the resistance movement. When they'd been forced to abandon the 24th Century, he'd retreated to the 22nd Century to continue the fight. He'd also taught Clara to fight, as well as a few tricks he'd learned in the Time Agency.

They rarely spoke of their pasts or of their time with the Doctor, but Clara recognised a kindred spirit in Jack, and someone who could help her get the job done. She was just sorry she couldn't tell him about it.

She saw him approaching through the fog and clamour of the fight, and mentally closed parts of her mind off. She couldn't let him know what was coming next.

I thought you'd never get here. Almost hurt my feelings, still not every day you get stood up by a gorgeous woman with a gun and a vortex manipulator! Jack's cheeky grin belied the strain and the fear Clara could feel in his mind, and she smirked at his flirting. Typical Jack.

I wonder how the Doctor handled all that…? She wondered, remembering how flustered the Doctor could get whenever anyone implied anything about their relationship, before flinching away from the recollection. Focus, Clara!

Sorry for the delay. You know how vortex manipulators are… She trailed off suggestively. Strax says hi.

How is the old potato-head? Jack laughed, and Clara felt the urge to laugh too, forgetting her job for just one second. The weapons fire intensified, and they both flinched away as a laser pulse impacted against the wall near their heads.

Starchy. Talk later. What's the situation? She asked quickly.

Bad. The second group tasked with hacking the data core is down, and we're pinned here. I've lost six of my men, and the other five are trying to hold off three times that number in Cybermen! This is bad, Clara, you should get out of here! He replied grimly. Suddenly a metallic voice that made Clara's skin crawl demanded their surrender, and they both sprang into action.

Clara ducked and threw herself into a dive, coming up on her feet after she rolled and whipping out her laser cannon from the exoskeleton. It fired three pulses at the Cyberman, before another lunged for her from behind. Clara felt a crushing pain as the laser cannon was pulverised, and her arm in danger of the same. Thank God for helmets!

She head butted her captor, not to stun but to throw it off-balance enough to get an elbow free. She elbowed it in the face, before spinning as it finally released her and following up with an uppercut to the chin. The head went flying, but the automated suit came for her again, and she took a running jump, leaping onto its chest and tearing through the chest plate to rip out the central power node. The suit whirred and died, collapsing limply beneath her, and she leapt away as she felt more Cybermen come for her.

She still felt Jack's thoughts in her mind, even as she ran, through corridors that all looked the same. She needed to make this look real, look like an escape.

Clara, you need to get out of here! They want you, they're after you!

I know! She replied. Jack, get out of there! There's nothing more you can do, use your vortex manipulator!

Can't. Lent it to someone else. Was the short reply, and Clara's heart sank.

Damn you, Jack! She snarled at him, and she could imagine his short, cheeky grin and his handsome face vividly.

Already am, darling. Already am. I've still got the charges to destroy the power core. One pro to being immortal, suicide missions never end badly. I'm going to make sure I'll take some of these bastards with me this time! He replied, and she could feel the fear and the determination in his mind. She felt a tear well, but ruthlessly held it back as she always did.

Jack, you'll just revive and they'll have you. The last thing we need is them experimenting with Vortex energy to create more like you! Get out of there! Clara mentally screamed at him, even as she ducked into another corridor at an intersection, Cybermen on her heels. The exoskeleton allowed her to stay ahead of them, just.

But even with the help, her body was tiring.

Sorry, Clara Oswin Oswald. You owe me a drink when this is all over! Jack retorted, and the flirtation was back. A rueful smile twitched on Clara's lips as she panted, adrenaline and fear spurring her forward. Jack's mental voice turned concerned, and she shuddered. Clara, you need to get out. They want you. You're the linchpin of the neural network, the secret to toppling it and controlling the last remnants of resistance. You have to stay free.

She felt his fear as the charges began to ignite, and her hands literally itched to flip open her wrist unit, type in a few co-ordinates and rescue Jack. But she couldn't, this had to look real. They had to think they won, that they'd caught her at last. Goodbye, Jack…

The neural connection was abruptly severed, and the cacophony of voices in her head disappeared. It was just her, and a legion of Cybermen at her back, chasing her down like prey.

Suddenly she gasped as a pulse of energy impacted against her spine, lifting her and carrying her through the air, smashing her into a wall. The exoskeleton protected her spine from the worst of the impact, but she could feel a couple of bruised ribs, at least. Tears blurred her vision, as she felt the crackle of electrical energy across her back as the exoskeleton went off-line, burning her skin and she tore it off desperately. Now it was just her and the Cybermen, and she was at a distinct disadvantage. She stood, painfully, and faced her captors defiantly, sternly refusing to allow herself to think about Jack, or the others who'd died or been converted, about what would happen if she was wrong, if the Doctor was wrong, if the Cybermen didn't act as she guessed they would…

They didn't move, facing her with blank, implacable metal stares, watching her but making no move to actually touch her. She curled and uncurled her fists, waiting. Come on, come on…

Then one stepped forward. "Clara Oswald. What a wholly expected pleasure!" a familiar voice issued from its mouthpiece, and Clara suppressed a shudder. She knew that voice, changed as it was, cold and ruthless. Fear rose up to choke her, but she pushed it down. She was nearly there.

She stepped forward, a defiant smile on her face. "Likewise," she murmured with a flirtatious smile at her captors, knowing the visual and audio feed would be uploaded directly to the Cyber-Planner's mind. "Sorry, no time to chat though. Places to be, people to see, Cyberiads to destroy! Toodles!"

She hauled her wrist up, typing in some co-ordinates and initiating transport, but nothing happened.

"I've initialised a temporal dampening field around your location," Mr. Clever's voice still issued tauntingly from the Cyberman's mouthpiece. A mockery of a conversation. "A new innovation of mine. So you're not going anywhere, I'm afraid, my dear Miss Oswald. I've got you exactly where I want you, Clara Oswald. You're mine now."

Clara didn't find it hard to look frightened and angry, like a cornered animal. She really was terrified. But inwardly, she smiled. Right on target…

"Well, then. I've always wanted to say this: take me to your leader!" she replied mockingly, as the lead Cyberman stepped forward and placed its hand on her shoulder. It hit her with a nerve charge, knocking her unconscious.

Clara didn't feel cold, steel arms lifting her into its embrace or the tingling energy of the transmat beam. She could only feel the last remnants of fear and anticipation in her mind as the thought made its sluggish way out of her subconscious. I'm coming, Doctor…

To be continued...