It was Blue who found him. Finally, it seemed their efforts of containing SCPs was getting somewhere, and after they'd checked the storage rooms, the ruined hallways, the rooms filled with gas or bloodied bodies, they'd checked the roof. There were many bodies here, many instances of the now named SCP-049-2. A figure was collapsed on the ground, a heap of black fabric. Blue, limping, led her squad over to it. "It's SCP-049," she said into the walkie-talkie at her hip. "Yeah, he's unconscious. No sign of Clara, but we'll bring SCP-049 back inside for containment. Roger that, Hollaway."

Days slowly passed. Foundation members from other sites were called in to help with the cleanup. SCPs were contained in temporary housing. A few had escaped, but they'd managed to find most of them relatively easily. Search teams were out finding survivors. Counting the bodies and taking death tolls. MIA numbers skyrocketed. Retrieval teams went out to neighboring towns, containing anything that had gotten farther than it should.

Slowly but surely, things were getting back under control.

Funerals were held. Bodies were buried and memorials were built, but nothing to the public eye. To anyone who knew Foundation members who had died, stories were created. Tragic accident. Gas leak. Explosion. Any explanation that was more believable than the truth. This was the largest breach in Foundation history, so the cover-up was extensive to say the least. Survivors were discharged after intense psychiatric and physical care without question. All remaining D-Class that had survived were terminated. Causes of the breach were still unknown in their entirety, but enough evidence pointed toward certain SCPs that they were kept in even stricter containment. Some were moved off-site. The halls were rebuilt. Cement was poured into cracks and holes. Cleaning crews came and scrubbed the blood from the walls. They worked fast, and some had suggested just building a new facility from the ground up. It wasn't the worst idea, and while the old facility was being repaired and improved upon, that's what they did. Temporary containment for remaining SCPs.

It wasn't easy. Mentally and physically. Blue had buried Bear herself. Given him a funeral. What they found of Tetris was buried too.

Jack was never found. Neither was Clara. Part of Blue hoped they had gotten out, somehow. There were no reports of a rampant figure in an owl mask attacking cities, or hoards of monsters swarming over villages. She wanted to believe they had made it out, but something in the pit of her stomach couldn't force herself to believe it completely. Something telling her that it wasn't the case, something that she couldn't describe.

Nevertheless, her life moved on. She'd been promoted. Level 5's sang her praises for a while as the hero of the breach, along with Hollaway, who'd managed to recontain SCPs and weed out the traitorous Ivar, and the medals she'd been bestowed weighed far too heavily on her shoulders.

"SCP-049. You need to explain your actions," Hollaway said, this time a thick, glass wall separating him and the Doctor. There were holes in the glass, just big enough for sound to travel through. "Where is Clara?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," SCP-049 stated. "If Clara is not with you, then she must have escaped. I haven't the faintest idea where she could have gone."

"You don't remember anything?" Hollaway pressed.

"No. I remember facing her, I remember trying to inject her with my serum, and then nothing. I'm afraid I won't be much help you to, Dr. Hollaway," SCP-049 said, leaning forward pressing his hands together. The shackles that bound them pressed heavily against his gloved skin. A new accessory he doubted would be removed any time soon.

Hollaway sighed. "This is getting us nowhere..." he stood, haphazardly gathering the files in his hands and walking out of the room before he shouted. He needed answers, and SCP-049 had gone back to his old, cryptic ways. Never directly answering a question, never really telling them anything in a way that made sense. Hollaway closed the door behind him, heading into the observation room with Blue, who had watched the interaction with crossed arms. "I don't have time for this shit. I've got other things to do," Hollaway grumbled.

"Top brass bringing you down?" Blue asked.

"I want answers just as much as they do, but there's too many variables here. Trying to line up what happened from the eyes of a monster won't get us anywhere. The Level 5's may just have to accept that Clara escaped," Hollaway said. He paused, then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn. I must be too exhausted for this today." He headed out. "I'll see you later, Blue."

After he left, Blue was left alone in the room, staring through the window at the Doctor. Her hands shook for a moment, and she limped into the room to speak with him. Her limp was ever present now, and the pain in her gut came and went as it pleased. Currently, it was eating her up inside.

She sat down across from him and swallowed. How could she ask the question lingering on her mind? How could she form the words she didn't want to be true? She didn't even know why she was here, in this room with him, when she could be anywhere else. But part of her hoped maybe she could get the answers Hollaway couldn't.

"I do hope your Foundation isn't planning on removing my mask like they did Clara's," he said, startling her. She hadn't expected him to speak without prompt.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, apart from a repeat incident of what happened," the Doctor explained. "I just don't think it would be wise, for my own sake, of course."

"You're not being specific again," Blue snapped.

"And you're not being patient so I can explain," the Doctor responded. "What I'm trying to say is, this body was greatly wounded in that battle. Removing my mask, well, the mask is the only thing keeping this body alive. Removing it would kill me."

"And why exactly wouldn't we want that?" Blue growled, leaning forward and slamming her hands down on the table. "You're part of what caused this whole mess!"

The Doctor chuckled, leaning forward as well. He stared at her, and Blue paused. Something in his gaze was different behind that mask.

"I assure you, you would regret it."

"Well, don't worry," Blue said, rising from the chair. Hollaway was right, this was pointless, she regretted coming in here already. Her heart was beating more wildly than before, and Blue was caught between emotions that felt like fear and sadness all rolled into one, for a reason she couldn't describe. "Level 5 has prohibited all further testing of you or any other instances of SCP-049-1 or SCP-049-2. You're to be contained, and nothing else. No more test subjects. No more cure or Pestilence. You're on your own."

"What a shame," the Doctor mused. "Oh, if I may though...is it true that you all have no idea where Clara has gone?"

Blue paused, nearly out the door. "No. We don't know if she survived, but no body was found. She just...disappeared."

SCP-049 was silent, then. Blue took that as her cue to leave. She shut the door in a hurry, gathering her things and heading out. Her mind was swimming, still trying to comprehend their talk. But there was something else eating at her mind, something else that she couldn't shake.

Weren't SCP-049's eyes green before, not blue?

Years drifted by like sea foam beneath her feet, changing patterns in the sand. Shifting, twisting, sifting. She'd stopped aging long ago, her body an immortal tomb of regrets and memories of years past. She couldn't ever forget what happened all those years ago. She's not sure she really wanted to. Her memories were a spark of life on cold nights, a flame she kept tucked away in her heart. A reminder that once, she was human. They both were. Angels in purgatory, they had walked empty halls hand in hand, ignoring the monsters tucked away in corners and rooms.

A cabin in the mountains, seated against a clear lake. A small piece of isolation. Out of sight of security cameras and watchtowers. The trees grew taller than buildings, and the clouds brought sweet, cool rain to mingle with tears. She'd let it hit her face, brush the hair from her forehead, feel the cool of it drip down her cheeks and fall to the earth.

Spring. Summer. Fall. Winter. All seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. Stars mixed with satellites as time came, blinked at her, and continued on his journey. A record player sang solemnly from inside the house, calling out to her at the lake. There was still sand here. It wasn't the ocean, but the ocean had dirtied and filled with more filth than she could clean, so she fled to the mountains, away from prying eyes and gaping mouths of people who still stank of infection.

She'd long since stopped caring about the Pestilence. She wasn't sure she ever would, but this world seemed too fragile already for her to care about such things. An ungrateful audience, she decided that they could live with their sickness if they so pleased. It made no difference to her. And without the mask, her mind healed. She no longer craved to cut flesh. To cure.

At night, she watched the stars. Drew out new patterns and forms. Made new shapes to tell her stories. Mapped out their names and tales instead of research notes in her leather bound generals. The old pages had been ripped apart, her notes on the Great Pestilence fueling the fire in her hearth. The mask, or the pieces that remained, no longer called to her as they once did. Their lingering voices turned to soft echoes, then gentle whispers, then finally, nothing. Perhaps the occasional murmur, the occasional song, but they were easy to forget. She hoped whatever souls were trapped inside could find peace now, somehow find solace through her. It was a small dream, but one she still clung too in the dark of night, when those lingering sounds were her only company.

She'd make trips to the city now and then, down the mountain, but the world was changing too quickly for her anymore to keep up or blend in. Clothes that weren't in fashion, mannerisms long extinct. She stopped making her trips to the city and lifetimes passed by without her. Better off. And they didn't come see her either, this place that became too green and too removed for them to taint with their smog and waste. The air was thinner here, too thin for people to linger long, except for her of course. She lingered. After centuries passed by, her lungs grew used to the thin air.

She didn't know what became of the Foundation. They never sought her out. If they tried to find her, they'd only come across a lone woman in the mountains, who faintly resembled the old "Clara" of their notes, and suspicions would die when faced with her gentle smile, kind voice, and they'd leave thinking that she couldn't possibly be the monster from the stories, from that old report years ago of the breach above all others.

There was only one thing that lingered. One thought that resurfaced above all others. One face.

She'd paint him on sunny afternoons, out by the water. She wasn't good at it, painting, but having years go by without electricity, without much else to do, meant she had plenty of time to practice. And his memories of him were as fresh as ever. She could still see those beautiful blue eyes. That smile that told her everything would be alright. The laugh that made her heart feel light and airy. How cruel for her to find love in such a loveless place as that facility. She told herself she was content with her paintings. She told herself that just having his face there, with her, was enough for her to be satisfied. Even when she lay awake, clutching her pillow, calling his name out over and over, just praying that he would appear, she pretended it was enough.

And then, he appeared.

She'd been watering her garden. Fresh strawberries and tomatoes, avocados and apricots, green beans and parsley. Lush vegetation brought new life from the crisp lake water and pure oxygen.

And there he was. She didn't need to turn around to know it was him. His feet crunched up the soft, barely noticeable path. No humans came here anymore. There were no roads to this cabin, only grass and ferns pressed down by animal hooves and paws, walking up from the depths of the forest to reach the lake water for a drink, and they never bothered her, this lady at the lake, for she was such a constant by now that they were used to her, and she never harmed them. To them, she seemed as old as the lake itself.

He stepped up behind her. Looked around at the cabin, the lake, the trees, before turning his gaze back to her hunched over form, delicate fingers carefully brushing over fruits of all kind. And she paused. She knew he was there.

She turned to look at him, and slowly stood.

Her hair had grown longer, the only sign that time had passed around her. Aside from that, she was exactly the same. She looked identical to so long ago.

"Hello," she said softly. "Doctor."

Her voice was sadder than he remembered. Softer. The voice of a young woman, but the tone, the volume of an old woman who was too tired to raise it.

He hadn't changed either. His cloak. His bird-like mask. The wind breezed through them both, tossing the cloak and her hair into its embrace, coupled only with the ever-present bird songs and still singing record from inside.

"Hello Clara," he answered softly.

She bit her bottom lip, a question lingering there. "Are you...here to kill me?"

Kill her? "No," he said. "You are not infected."

"Then...why have you come?" she asked.

"Because I miss you."

She froze, then looked away. "...I'm not your mentor anymore. You shouldn't miss me."

"That's fine," he said, and took a seat by the water. "I'm not your apprentice anymore."

She hesitated a moment, but then took a seat beside him. "...are you still...curing people?"

He didn't answer. She thought that might be best. She'd regretted the question the moment she'd asked it. She didn't really want to know if he was still doing those things. Having the answer might be more painful than remaining ignorant.

"It took me a long time to find you," he said. "I searched quite a while."

"I tried hard to stay hidden," she said. "I didn't want anyone to find me."

"But I did," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Clara rolled her eyes.

"So why'd you come?"

"I told you. Because I miss you."

Those words were like daggers.

"That's not fair," she whispered. "It's not fair for you to say such things."

He was quiet. He knew it was cruel.

"Is it still...is it still him, under that mask?" she asked, trembling for a moment.

"Yes."

"Can you let me see him?"

He reached up, Clara followed his gloved hand to his face, watched him pull back the hood, and calmly lift up the mask. It still touched his forehead, never breaking this hold, never separating the two like her painful separation years ago. Her breath caught in her throat, and tears swelled in her eyes.

Jack looked down at her and smiled.

"It's...it's not really you though," she said, and oh how she wanted it to be, she wanted to believe it was him, that those blue eyes were his and his alone, that his smile was genuine, and not the Doctor's, she wanted to believe it. "I should have just let you go."

"And why didn't you?" he asked. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, feeling the cool mountain air fill his lungs.

Clara was quiet.

"I need to hear you say it, Clara."

She made a choked noise, her hand digging into the earth. So many years of guilt. So many times she'd banged her head against the wall, screamed at her own reflection for her selfishness. She'd broken all her mirrors, and even the lake's reflection brought a fresh sense of shame. She couldn't let Jack die, and so he was cursed to be like her. Even after he'd begged her not to. Even after he'd screamed at her through broken tears and sobs to not put on the mask, that he'd never forgive her if she did, she did it anyway. She did the one thing he begged her not to do because she was too weak to accept living in a world without him.

And then she'd just left. Abandoned him. Too pathetic to face the embodiment of her shame. Her fear, untempered, keeping her from returning to try to free him, to try to remove the mask. So she just ran like a coward.

Now here he was. After all this time.

"Because I love you, Jack," she said, her voice breaking now, and she was crying in front of him, moving to wipe away her tears before they fell. His hands reached out, grabbing hers and pulling them close to him.

His lips were warm. Warmer than she thought they would be for someone who always seems to deal with death. And while it lasted only a moment, it was enough to send her crashing back down, falling deep into her feelings for him again, reminding herself that he had been her rock, her savior. And now, he was somehow both her angel and her devil. Her greatest fear with the face of her greatest love. She felt torn in her feelings, unsure of what to do or how to even respond to him. But in this moment, it didn't feel like the Doctor. It just felt like Jack.

And maybe, she could pretend it was. Maybe she could pretend it really was him, that maybe he'd broken free of the voices, that it had been him this whole time, that it wasn't just another drop of water in the ocean. Maybe she didn't even have to pretend, maybe it was real. Maybe the reason he'd sought her out was because it really was Jack.

"What will you do now?" she asked him.

"...you know I have to keep with my purpose. I must continue to cure the Great Pestilence. I must seek it out and destroy it."

"There is no Great Pestilence!" she said. "It doesn't exist, I've spent so many years up here that I've figured it out, Jack, we're the ones who are infected, not anybody else, we're the infection and we spread from person to person, spreading out our disease simply because we believe that anyone who isn't like us is...is..." Clara trailed off, hanging her head. "It will never end. Never ever. Not until everybody is dead. I'd rather live in a world of infected."

"Perhaps you're right."

She paused.

"I have traveled so many different places. The Foundation fell. Civilizations and governments always do, after a while. Some big disaster or another. Everything around us must always come to an end. The walls rotted. The people decayed. Some disaster went out and did my job for me. I lingered in those walls, lingered and drifted in and out, trying to remember my name, to remember how I even came to be there. So many years passed by like a swift breeze. Time is such a fickle thing. Minutes can stretch on to feel like days, and suddenly, lifetimes can pass by in a blink." He stood back up, looked out over the water. There was barely a ripple.

"So you're saying...this world is cured?" Clara whispered. "There are none left?"

"Not even a mosquito with a drop of infected blood. That is why I came to you," he said. He turned to her, Jack's face, Jack's smile, Jack's blue eyes. "It's time to move on to the next world. And I want you to come with me."

Her heart stuttered. "I don't have my mask anymore," she said. "Nothing but pieces remain. I can't help you. I wouldn't even if I could," Clara said.

"I'm not asking you to help me. I know you can't anymore," he said. "I'm just asking you to trust me." He outstretched his hand for her, and Clara paused. He smiled, his eyes softening. "There's a whole universe out there, Clara. I don't know what the future holds. But I want you to be apart of it with me."

Hearing that from Jack's lips shattered any lingering doubts she had of whether or not it were him. His mind, his thoughts.

There were so many unknowns and impossibilities. Another world, another universe, there was no guarantee that the next one would be any different. For all she knew, they were trapped in an endless cycle of death and rebirth, curing and infecting, arriving and leaving a world after they'd killed off whatever imaginary Pestilence they thought existed. Things could be worse. They could be better. It may end one day, or it may never end. Infinite worlds all stretching out before them. She didn't know how many they'd traveled to before now, or how many still lay before them. Could she live with that? Could she travel the stars with him, leap between the fabrics of space, squeeze between the thin lines dividing one universe from another, just to stay by his side? Would she do that for Jack? Would she do that for the Doctor? Both?

Clara felt a smile spread across her lips.

She took his hand.

The End.

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To everyone who followed me on this journey, to everyone who enjoyed my writing, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Writing this story was a joy from start to finish, and the smiles brought to my face after every excited review, every new follower, every new favorite, has made me believe in my own writing abilities.

I hope you like the ending. I know it may not be a clear-cut "happy" ending, but I think it's happy all the same, and was always what I intended the ending to be from the very beginning. I wanted to leave the ending up to my readers to interpret.

Is it really Jack? Is it just the Doctor? What will happen to them now? These are all things I wanted my readers to decide on their own. I want each reader to decide their own ending, and decide whether or not they believe it to be "happy" or not.

Again, thank you for every review, every follow, every word you read. I hope this story made you smile, made you happy, made you sit on the edge of your seat wondering what would happen next. I look forward to my next writing adventure.

Thank you for reading The Color of the Cure.

Ending Credits Song (If you want one):

"Silhouettes" by Of Monsters and Men