Clara Oswald is going the long way round (alwaysbeenthere) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2020-08-15 16:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, clara oswald, william laurence |
Who: Clara and Laurence
What: Cyborg!Laurence wants the TARDIS for Darkseid, Clara has other plans
When: 15 August
Where: TARDIS
Warnings: Violence
Status: Log | Complete
If Laurence ever had a tenant, it was that Duty came before all else, and Laurence had never once wavered in what his Duty should be. Once, it had been to serve Queen and Country, but that had been long ago.
Now, his Duty was to serve Lord and Master.
And he knew exactly how to do that. With the TARDIS in hand, Lord Darkseid would be able to conquer the known Universe, and Laurence would be happy to deliver that to him.
The door to the diner may have been unlocked, but Laurence hadn’t bothered to check before he ripped it from its hinges. The lower half of his body had been replaced with a nearly serpentine body, if not for the four clawed legs that rose from it, and the left half of his face had been replaced by metal, his left eye glowing red in its socket, but his blond curls on the right side of his head were untouched, and his blue eyes scanned the diner for any signs of resistance. His lips were curled down into a frown as he did.
When the Paradooms had shown up the day before, Clara had done what she always did in situations like this. She’d offered a safe haven or a way to get somewhere safe. So the TARDIS was obviously open. And it wasn’t like she’d been sleeping. She didn’t need it and the threat wasn’t one that was going to take a break during the night.
Having set down for a bit, Clara was in the control room when she heard the door kicked down.
“What the...no no no…”
The TARDIS wasn’t happy. It had sensed the threat and locked its doors and activated the security protocols but apparently they weren’t a match for whatever it was that came in. Eyes narrowed, the brunette grabbed the gun she’d received for dealing with Cybermen and all she could do was stare in shock when she realized who it was.
“....Laurence…”
Danny Pink. Bucky. Now Laurence. Why was she always surrounded by people who seemed to get brainwashed and given cyborg limbs.
She had known that people had died but this… ? Maybe she should have paid attention to the network on the off chance someone had mentioned this newest development.
Laurence brandished the fine Chinese sword that he had died with, an elegant dragon carved into the hilt, pointing it at Clara. “Lord Darkseid has need of the TARDIS,” he said, his voice tinny. “Relinquish this vessel, and I will permit you to leave unharmed.”
So that’s how this was going to go. True, there was always the risk of showing the TARDIS to the wrong person, of them trying to take it over… hadn’t she planned on doing just that in the Dreams to bring Danny back and it was only because she had been living in a Dream she hadn’t destroyed all of the TARDIS keys? But this was….this was not a Dream or a dream and this was really happening.
The one good thing was she wasn’t able to die. Oh, she could see what the Paradooms could do and she wasn’t really wanting to test the theory against them but a sword? A sword she could survive.
“You know I can’t do that.”
True, she could ‘relinquish’ the TARDIS and it still wouldn’t work, safety protocols and all. But it was also not in her DNA to back down. She needed the TARDIS to rescue people. And she couldn’t let Laurence do something he might regret once this was resolved.
If it was resolved
She really hoped that it would be resolved.
Would the techniques used against Cybermen work? She had the anti-Cyberman gun, she was pretty sure she had hand pulses as well as sheets of gold that had worked to allow the Doctor control when he’d been taken over...Probably not. At least not the gold. But she’d still try. She may be little but that didn’t mean she was defenseless.
Laurence's lips tightened, which was the only warning he gave before he scuttled forward, inhumanely fast, his undulating body crashing into the stools and tables to either side of him, splintering them or sending them flying. He stopped directly in front of Clara, sword arm raised above her, staring down at her for a moment before he spoke.
"Then perish." He brought his sword down.
Well that was more than slightly unnerving. Even so she just had to look between the sword and Laurence as he was suddenly there. Perish? Really? Not like Clara had much time to really react to what was going on because suddenly she was having to dodge a sword. Just because she could survive it didn’t mean she was wanting to get stabbed. It would still hurt after all.
Sword currently avoided, Clara spun and shot the (thankfully) charged anti-Cyberman gun at the cyborg side of Laurence.
Laurence's body twitched, stopped for a moment, the red light shining from his eye socket flickered for a moment, and then he turned toward her. He rushed toward her again, his body just a little slower, though his sword arm was just as quick as he swung at her.
Yep. Definitely unnerving. Still, it was a good sign that the gun worked. If she kept up at this and used the hand pulses as well while the gun recharged, she might just be able to keep Laurence occupied and disoriented. In theory. She could at least get him lost in the TARDIS. There were a lot of rooms, ones he had never seen and she had a feeling it would help create a maze as well.
So with Laurence again chasing after her, she dodged and went through the ‘bathroom’ door. The one to the console would be locked and fortified, defense features kicking in by that point.
Laurence’s eye flicked toward the console doors, wondering, briefly, if he could just ignore Clara at that point and attempt to commandeer her ship without needing to bother with eliminating her first. The thought only lasted for a moment, however. Clara was a threat, no matter how he looked at it, and the TARDIS no doubt still recognized her as its captain. Commandeering ships was much easier when they weren’t sentient.
He burst through the bathroom door, seemingly unsurprised when he realized he had not, in fact, cornered Clara in a bathroom.
Clara had always thought the Doctor was a bit, well, weird when it came to how he would speak about the TARDIS but right now? She was exceptionally grateful for it essentially being sentient. Oh the Doctor’s TARDIS could be a right cow to her but that very factor was going to come in use now.
Having used the door to head to a corridor, Clara quickly ducked into the Zero Room. It wouldn’t heal her but maybe it could heal Laurence? Maybe? Doubtfully. It wasn’t like this was a difficult regeneration issue. Though it could be used for rapidly healing.
Even so, it wasn’t something she was going to count on. It was just a room to duck into, though admittedly not a good one to hide in.
Laurence skittered after her, slamming through the door to the Zero room. He spotted Clara instantly, and moved toward her.
“Surrender, Clara,” he said again. “Surrender to the might of Lord Darkseid. He cannot be stopped; you’ve no choice but to join him, willingly or otherwise.”
Definitely not one of the better rooms to be in, and clearly the hoped for (but unlikely) outcome of the room managing to heal Laurence wasn’t happening. No matter. She’d dealt with worse. Right? Sure, she would go with that.
“I would think you should know by now, I don’t surrender. And I always have a choice.”
The Doctor meant to erase her memories? She reversed the polarity and refused to let him take away her memories. Just because things were looking bad right now didn’t mean she would give up. So instead she managed to dodge through another door, this time to the library. Which meant aisles of bookshelves and different hiding locations where she could hopefully come out behind him and use a hand pulse against Laurence to make him stop, even temporarily.
This was getting tiresome, and Laurence found himself wishing that Darkseid, praise be his name, had given him a pistol. He followed her again - had he been himself, he may have wondered where the TARDIS had kept all these rooms, but now he followed her with single-minded determination.
When he was hit by the second pulse, he did stop, this time for longer than the first, his machinery sluggishly coming back to life a second or two later.
Well a pistol wouldn’t do much good in the long run either. Not that Laurence knew that. Certain things Clara kept to herself unless it came up in very awkward ways. Even so, she was definitely relieved she didn’t actually breathe because it meant she wasn’t getting winded with all of the running.
Oh, running was a thing that happened in the Dreams all the time. But not within the confines of the TARDIS.
For now though, she was relieved that the hand pulse worked and left the library for the wardrobe room. More places to hide. More places to avoid. She was still trying to figure out the best course of action. If she could knock him out, tie him up until this was resolved - it had to be resolved - that would be best. But who knew how long that would be and if she could hold Laurence off for that long.
Right. Thinking and planning and running. She could do this. Because like hell was this Darkseid getting a hold of the TARDIS.
Sluggish though he already was, Laurence hesitated still more when he entered the wardrobe room. Something that was almost like a memory tugged at the edge of his mind, one that he couldn’t quite grasp onto.
Not that he would want to, he reminded himself. All he wanted was to fulfill Lord Darkseid’s will.
He swung his sword at one of the period costumes, cleaving the clothing in half, trying to spot anything that could possibly be Clara.
Memories were funny like that. Not that Clara knew what was going on in Laurence’s head. She was instead just focused on ensuring nothing went wrong and that people who would use the TARDIS to cause harm wouldn’t get it. Better she do that than have it self destruct.
And...that was definitely a close call. But no matter. The wardrobe room definitely was good for hiding. So she made her way deeper into it, knowing where all the ways in and out were. And if she could either wear him out or just knock him out… Charging up another hand pulse, she waited for Laurence to come by where she was to see if it would work to properly knock him out so she could find a place to keep him until this was resolved.
Laurence had always been a patient man in life, though now, as he searched for Clara, his patience was drawing thin. He stepped forward, slashing his sword at yet another costume, not voicing his frustration, though it was evident in the set of his jaw and the tension of his muscles.
Seeing Laurence so frustrated? That was more than slightly unsettling. Because Clara was used to his calmness, his patience. And in a life as unpredictable as Orange County was? The things that could be counted on were nice - even for someone who lived for adventure and the unexpected and got bored all too easily now. And once he was in place? Clara’s arm suddenly shot out and used the hand pulse against him once more.
Laurence caught sight of the movement moments before Clara pulled the trigger, and for a second before he was hit, he lunged toward her. But then the pulse hit, and his mechanical legs faltered, the red light in the cyborg half of his face blinked out, and he crashed heavily to the ground.
Okay, that was a good sign. It was going to take timing and a lot of good luck, but Clara grabbed the currently unconscious Laurence and dragged him back to the Zero Room. If she could keep him in stasis until a solution was found, that would be enough. Luck it seemed was on her side and getting Laurence where she needed, Clara pulled a chair out and just sat, waiting. Hoping. She should be out there helping others but Laurence needed her more, even if he didn’t know it.
Time had a weird way of moving in the TARDIS, and in general for Clara but suddenly it was as if a bright white light engulfed the TARDIS, or went through it or...something. It wasn’t harmful or a threat, Clara had to believe that if it were harmful then it wouldn’t have gotten through but as it vanished, she was still in the Zero Room and there was Laurence. As himself again, no sign of the cybernetics that had been on him.
Standing up, the brunette made her way over to where he was essentially levitating, not sure if he was awake or not.
“Laurence….?”
It was hard to tell what, exactly, was real. The demons that had torn him apart, that couldn’t have been real, no matter how real it seemed, no matter how he felt he could remember the smell of blood, and the sound of rending flesh, and the pain.
And his attempting to kill Clara, that certainly couldn’t have been real. He would never…
He heard her voice, and his eyes flew open, and suddenly everything rushed to him at once, and he thrashed violently, as if he could escape it all, and suddenly he was falling. The sudden, painful contact with floor shocked him, and he gasped as a fish out of water, not quite able to pull the air into his lungs, and he turned his gaze to Clara and recoiled away, suddenly, unaccountably afraid that he would harm her.
If Clara could stop being attacked by those she cared for, that would be great. Even so, it wasn’t like she would ever hold that against Laurence, how could she? Something had happened to him and he’d been controlled. Orange County did that. Hell, the Dreams did that.
She wanted to soothe him and help him calm down from thrashing about but then he was on the floor and she sighed softly as he recoiled from her. So she just lowered herself to the ground slowly to be on the same level, hands up.
“It’s okay, Laurence, you’re yourself again.”
She hoped. He certainly seemed to be himself again.
The fact that Clara had to clarify that he was himself again could only mean that what he hoped was a terrible nightmare had, in fact, been at least partially true. He had to apologize to her, but as he searched for the words, his fingers were already probing himself, quite of their own accord, making sure that he was all flesh and bone, with no unexpected metal parts.
Which was how, when his hands came in contact with his bare thighs, was how he realized that he was not wearing any trousers, and he flushed, glancing down quickly as if to confirm. He wasn’t even wearing his unmentionables, and he turned redder still, quickly covering himself with his hands.
“Oh dear, my apologies,” he said, his words nearly tumbling over themselves to escape from his mouth. “I seem to have misplaced - I don’t suppose that you would have any…?”
Clara hadn’t even realized Laurence’s state of undress until he did. And while she had no issue with it, especially right now, she could only nod.
“Yeah, of course. I’ll be right back.”
Normally she would tease him, and undoubtedly she would find the opportunity later, but he was clearly still in distress over what had happened and it wasn’t the distress she could break up with light hearted teasing. So instead she just got up and left the Zero Room and went to the Wardrobe Room and found a pair of trousers for Laurence. That done, she returned to where she had left them and placed them beside him and turned her back to let him preserve some of his modesty.
Once Clara left the room, Laurence held his hand to his mouth, fighting to keep the sick from coming up, trying to banish the images that rose to the surface. His last clear memories were of his body being torn apart as he told Pidge to run, run you stupid child, and he wondered, through his nausea, if Pidge had listened.
The memories that had come after were hazy, as though he were seeing them through a film of darkness, Lord - no, not Lord - Darkseid’s overpowering voice overriding most of them. He had flashes of charging Clara, intending to strike her down, and though some small part of him had hesitated - evidently enough for Clara to remain relatively unscathed - it hadn’t been enough. He’d wrought destruction upon the TARDIS, and that was worse, somehow, than the images from before. He wondered if he should offer to make repairs to the TARDIS, but that thought was quickly followed by the absolute knowledge that Clara would wish nothing more to do with him after all this.
He lowered his hand from his mouth when he heard Clara’s footsteps returning, and when she entered the room he did not look up at her, simply said, distractedly, “thank you, dear,” when she left the trousers beside him.
He slipped them on, smoothed the front of them, his fingers lingering longer than necessary on his legs. He touched his face, and then smoothed his shirt, tucking it into his trousers. He was doing a remarkable job of not thinking of the brownish splotches that stained it as blood - his blood, most likely, he hoped - despite the wave of nausea that crashed over him every time he caught one from the corner of his eye. The shirt was, of course, irreparably ruined, he thought with sorrow, as though it had gone to Hell and back - and perhaps it had - and would have to be incinerated at his earliest convenience. The lower half of one side was gone entirely, showing the left side of his midriff, and he touched it, closing his eyes to the image of his lower half being rent from his body. There was no scar, which he thought of as a small blessing. He touched his face, wondering if it has also managed to escape any unseemly scars, and then smoothed his hair, or attempted to. He regretted the absence of a mirror just then, though perhaps it was for the best.
He touched his face, and fixed the cuffs of his shirt, touched his face once more, and then, before his fingers could linger any longer on the flesh that was still, thankfully, there, he stood at attention, hands clasped tightly behind his back, chest out, chin up, heels together - it was only then that he realized he lacked shoes too, and he wished he had had the foresight to ask for a pair of shoes as well, and perhaps a fresh shirt. A hair brush would not have been remiss. Suddenly the idea of asking for Clara for anything more than she’d already provided, especially something so inconsequential, was laughably funny, and he felt the laughter bubbling up in his chest. He suppressed them by clearing his throat, certain that if he let the laughter out it would quickly morph into the worrisome, hysterical type.
“Thank you, Miss Oswald, I’m decent now,” he said, in the clipped tones of an officer of the Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. He tried not to dwell on the irony of the statement. His appearance was no doubt far from being decent, and he should have to find a way home - home, which was undoubtedly ruined. He wondered how he would clean the glass and blood from the carpet - and his behavior was even further from having been decent. He waited until Clara turned, not meeting her gaze, focusing steadily at a spot just above her head.
“I thank you for your assistance in returning me to normal. I know it could not have been any small feat, especially given the circumstances. I regret all the trouble I had caused you, and I will, if you desire it, make any reparations needed. If you find it difficult to speak to me directly, you may make any requests through Mrs. Blakeney at the Pimpernel Outreach Centre, and she will be sure to pass the messages along." He felt wretched volunteering Marguerite for the task without consulting with her, though he was sure she would understand, given the circumstances. “I had promised you my friendship, and I cannot express how sorry I am at how monumentally I have failed. I will not ask your forgiveness, for what I've done is unforgivable, though I wish you to know that if I could have done anything different, I most certainly would have. I will understand completely if you wish for no further contact with me. If the TARDIS would be so kind as to provide me a clear path away, I will see myself out.”
As Laurence put his trousers on and made sure that he was all together, Clara remained as she was. She was worried about him. How could she not be? He’d been through something she couldn’t even imagine and not for the first time, she wished that Bucky were there. He’d undoubtedly have a better understanding of how to help. Danny as well even though she didn’t want him to Dream and go through everything that he would in them.
Hearing that Laurence was decent, Clara turned and sighed.
“How many times have I told you, call me Clara. Miss Oswald is for my students.”
She wasn’t surprised he was slipping back to being unspeakably formal but that didn’t mean anything had changed for her, and so her voice was light. There would undoubtedly be guilt, trauma. How could there not be, but Clara never was one to treat someone differently, especially since it wasn’t like Laurence had been in control of his actions. Not really.
It did hurt, though. Not what had happened, but seeing Laurence so rigid and staring above her head and acting as if she would want nothing to do with her.
Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me makes a difference?
She hadn’t been able to really understand how the Doctor could forgive her for betraying his trust and their friendship in her desperation to save Danny in the Dreams. The guilt from that… and yet? If he could forgive her for her conscious (albeit in a dream state because he wanted to see what would happen so she hadn’t truly destroyed the TARDIS keys) state, how could she not do that for someone who hadn’t been truly in control of their actions.
So instead, Clara did what she always did. She hugged Laurence.
“William Laurence, if you think so little of me that I would let something like this come between us, then you really don’t know me at all.”
Oh. Oh. Laurence wished she hadn't done that, and when her arms wrapped around him, he looked up to the Heavens as though to pray for strength, and then all his careful efforts to hold it together fell apart entirely, cracking under the pressure of Clara's arms. He held his left hand to his face, covering his mouth, as the weeping began, and his knees buckled under the weight of it so that he had to lean on Clara, clinging onto her shoulders with his right arm for support.
Sometimes, no matter how one might not think so, crying and grieving for what had happened was necessary. So Clara just remained as she was, holding Laurence and rubbing his back soothingly. She didn’t care how long she had to support his weight as he let himself actually react and respond to what had happened. She didn’t need him to be a proper navy man, she just needed him to feel and know it was okay. It’s what made them human.