“What the hell is that?”
“It’s my Farnsworth. Sorry, thought I put it on vibrate.”
“It’s fantastic! It’s transmitting both image and sound from 2011 to us now in…what year did you pick again?”
Claudia smirked. “I didn’t. I closed my eyes and turned the dial.”
“Oh…we’ll figure it out,” he paused. “Aren’t you going to answer?”
“Nah, probably just Artie. He’d be a total buzzkill.”

in honor of being halfway finished with the continuation of my 11/Claudia fic.

The Doctor had an aisle dedicated to him, broken things he had no use for or demmed too dangerous to look after himself. There was a single artifact that had a shelf unto itself. It just sat there, mocking her, with it wonders and mystical shenanigans tightly packed into the shape of a pocketwatch. Claudia’s days were dark; Mrs. Fredrick had taken the metrinome and left her with a warning not to partake in stupid dreams. Steve was dead and her world was dark, dark, dark.

She didn’t even know why she was standing in the Doctor’s aisle, staring at that little gold watch. All she knew was that Artie had glanced at it and told her to put it away. Raising on her toes, Claudia picked up the watch; held it in her hand and felt a million voices call to her. The Doctor would need his watch back…the Doctor would know how to fix it.

Claudia held the watch to her eyelevel, staring with parted lips as it twirrled on it’s chain. “Tick tock.”

“You fix things…right? It’s why they call you the Doctor, isn’t it?”

The Doctor barely heard her, entranced as he was with the object clutched in her hand. “Where did you get that…”

“Artie…I have a bad feeling. Claudia’s missing.”

Artie snapped his head in the direction of the last place he had sent Claudia, his eyes still heavy from his nightmare. “Oh no..”

drabble by thecunningclock

“Hey, legs! Drop the gun.”

Myka snorted, tightening her grip on the Farnsworth she had pointed at the man in the trenchcoat pointing his own gun at her. “You drop the gun.”

“Seems we’re at an impass,” he said, smirking in a way that grated on Myka’s nerves. “You wont put away your gun and I wont put away mine.”

“Give the guy a gold star for observation,” said Myka absently, glancing around for some kind of leverage. There wasn’t any. “Look I’m with the Secret Service and you’re-”

“Trespassing? And you’re not with the Secret Service, at least you’re not anymore.” if it was possible his smirk got even more annoying. “I know a Warehouse agent when I see one.”

Myka lowered her gun sharply, cocking her head and widening her eyes slightly in the way Pete dubbed her ‘Someone’s Gonna Get Got’ look. “Jack Harkness? You’re Torchwood?”

“Myka Bering,” he answered, sliding his gun into the holster at his hip. “You are in a lot of trouble.”

warehouse 13/torchwood