I know this isn't Chapter 19 of Infiltration, but I was going through some of my old documents, and found this from a few months ago or something like that, and after some editing, thought I would make it my first one-shot ever. So here we go. I'm worried about Clara's characterization, because I'm not super familiar with her character yet (and idk if the last three eps of S7 will be able to help me on that front, although they might), so please tell me if I've gotten her horribly wrong or anything close to that. Even if she's just a little, teeny bit OOC. I would dearly appreciate it.

Clara knew the TARDIS hated her, had known it since almost the beginning of her travels with the Doctor. The doors wouldn't open for her; whenever she was left alone in the console room an ominous noise started up, sending chills down her spine; when she got up in the middle of the night (or what passed for night in the TARDIS) to go to the loo, it took her ages to find it; sometimes the temperature would be just too cold, or just too hot, just enough to bother her.

And the halls were always far creepier when she was on her own in them. Like now.

The Doctor had long since gone off somewhere, to do some "maintenance" somewhere other than the console room, and Clara hadn't seen him since. She wasn't much for exploring the TARDIS, seeing as the old cow despised her, but she was currently unable to find her room, so she didn't really have much choice in the matter.

She trailed anxiously through the labyrinth hallways, her spine stiff with the effort of not revealing her nervousness. She had a feeling the TARDIS would only get smug if she did. The lights overhead, reddish but usually plenty bright enough to light her way, were dimmed enough to cast long, creepy shadows on the walls. Sometimes they flickered, and Clara couldn't quite suppress her flinches. She got the feeling the TARDIS might be laughing at her.

"Oh, stop," the companion muttered, crossing her arms and turning her eyes defiantly to the ceiling. "I'm just trying to get to my room, no need to be grumpy about it."

The lights glowed slightly redder before dimming again.

"Shut up." But now, to her relief, Clara spotted what appeared to be her bedroom door at the end of the hall. She grinned and rushed forward. It had to be hers - most every door in the ship was plain metal, the same as the walls, unlabeled. You had to open them to actually see what was inside. But her bedroom door looked more like wood; it was cool metal to the touch, but instead of icy gray, it was colored more of a golden brown, and had little almost-knots in it, like the oak door in her childhood bedroom. The only thing that set it apart from a regular, Earth door, was the shape, and the fact that it seperated in the middle at the press of a button. Eager to escape the hallway, Clara stabbed a finger on the gleaming bronze button on the wall, and waited.

Nothing happened. The door made no movement, no sound, no anything. Again, Clara depressed the button, and again, and again. "Oh, come on!" she exclaimed in exasperation, slapping the wall. The lights flickered again, but she paid them no mind, too engrossed in her argument with the door. "It's my room, let me in! I'll stop bothering you if you just-" she again smacked the button, and again nothing happend. "Ugh! You old-"

Something like humming floated to her from down the hall, tickling at the edges of her hearing. She froze, eyes darting. Slowly, even as she straightened up and prepared to investigate, the humming faded, as if its source was walking away. She almost didn't want to go after it, in case it was something terrifying, but curiosity prickled at her, and she couldn't resist. She settled for tip-toeing, to give herself some semblance of safety.

Cautiously, prepared for danger with her heart pounding, she rounded the corner, and her breath caught as she found...nothing. Confused, she eyed the long, red-lit hallway, empty of all life. Clara straightened, lips twisting unhappily. "I know there's something here," she announced to the ship, pushing away thoughts of the ridiculousness of the situation. "I heard it. If you're hiding something from me, I-"

Humming, again, closer this time. She whirled around, heart rocketing into her throat again. Her fists clenched. She tried to push down her fear. She didn't dare move, even when the sound faded again. Like an insect buzzing at the volume of a breath in her ear, and then vanishing.

"I can't do this," Clara hissed to the ship. She unfroze and began stomping back around the corner. "Either let me know what's going on, or stop-" she cut herself off, halting as she realized she'd somehow gotten herself lost. Her door had disappeared from its place at the end of the hall, been replaced with a regular steel door. She felt her face heat up in anger. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded of the TARDIS. As if she'd get an answer.

Now the humming returned, behind her. She twisted and found the turning hallway had changed into a straight one, the lights burning dark red. The metal walls looked eerily like blood. Clara suppressed a shudder.

Footsteps, behind her again. Again she turned, and again nothing. She opened her mouth to protest, to argue with the TARDIS further, but her tongue refused to move, dry with fear. "Doctor?" she called, desperately, shaking herself out of her paralysis. "Doctor, where are you?" She didn't really think he could hear her - the TARDIS had probably ensured that he was far, far away. The ship had probably caused whatever issues needed fixing in the first place. A mix of fury and terror nearly stopped Clara's heart. The hallway before her seemed darker than ever before.

"Doctor?" Her voice, but she was sure she hadn't spoken. "Doctor, where are you?" An echo, she thought. As if it hadn't been creepy enough. She didn't see how there could be an echo, though. The hall wasn't constructed in the right way to produce any echo of that volume. She squinted at the ceiling.

"Doctor!" She nearly jumped out of her skin at the new voice from a ways down the hall - definitely not hers. Male, strong and cheerful. Deeper than the Doctor's, just slightly. "There you are!"

"Doctor, please." Now a woman's voice, directly in Clara's ear, startling her enough to send her backing into the nearest wall. But no matter how Clara moved to avoid the sound, it remained beside her, unceasing. "You've got to be joking." The voice was filled with disbelief and insistance, but also had a a hint of a smile in it.

"Professor?" a teenaged voice asked, on the opposite side of the hall from the first voice. Clara peered around, trying to spot where it was coming from, to no avail.

The temperature of the hall dropped abruptly, to an unbearable level. Clara, in her short sleeves and skirt, shivered on instict. Her breath clouded in front of her. Slowly, feeling fragile and very young, the newest companion straightened up, and forced herself to walk down one end of the hall. The TARDIS was clearly trying to drive her away from where she was. If she moved on, things would probably go back to normal. And surely, despite all the creepiness going on, the TARDIS wouldn't harm her. The Doctor would be angry, beyond angry, if Clara was hurt. He'd proved that to her several times over. And the TARDIS had to know that, however intelligent it was or wasn't. It, or she, or whatever the ship was, wouldn't risk the Doctor's anger just for a bit of fun, right?

Marginally, as Clara continued down the hall, it warmed. She'd been right. That was worthy of a sigh of relief. The girl continued on, until suddenly things became swelteringly hot. Clara backed up a few steps, and the temperature returned to normal. A few more, and things started to cool again. Clara found the place in which she was most comfortable, and stood there. Two identical doors stood on either side of her. Both gleamed in the red overhead lights. She glanced between them. Clearly, the TARDIS wanted her to choose one.

"I'm not playing your game," Clara defied, working to keep her arms straight at her sides. She wanted to hug herself for support, or cover her face. But if she showed any sort of weakness, who knew what would happen. She hadn't pegged the TARDIS as cruel, exactly, but it, or she, clearly disliked Clara, and might take a show of vulnerability to mean that Clara wasn't fit to travel, and if the ship somehow convinced the Doctor of this...Clara wasn't ready to leave, not yet.

Laughter erupted a ways behind her and she spun around to find it, although she knew for certain that she wouldn't. Another echo, she thought with a pressing together of the lips. As she expected, the hall was deserted.

But the laughter continued, to her disconcertion, and actually seemed to come closer. She couldn't help but take a step back, digging her nails into her palms to keep from shaking.

And then, specters flickered into view, and she couldn't hold in a ragged gasp, or stop herself from clapping a hand over her mouth.

They weren't ghosts like Hila had been, back in that seemingly-haunted mansion, all creepy, gaping mouths, or blank, boggling eyes - they looked like people. Just see-through people, although they almost seemed to dissolve into mist or pixels every few seconds, flickering like the lights above.

A man and a young woman, clasping hands and chuckling to themselves as they trodded down the hall, apparently oblivious to their eery surroundings. The man was tall, with a nearly shaved head, wearing a leather jacket and dark jeans. The girl was bottle-blonde, bright-eyed, and decked in a pink sweatshirt and sweatpants. The two of them looked at each other in adoration, and clear love. Clara felt some sort of heartache as they smiled at one another. The blonde opened her mouth, but before she could speak, they were zapped away, and Clara was alone in the hall again.

Before she could ask any questions, or agree to pick a door, or even move, someone called down the hall, "Romana!" A man, maybe middle aged. Clara turned, expecting another glimpse, but found nothing. She swallowed.

And jumped back, as another ghost appeared just beside her. She slammed into the door opposite the ghost, breathing violently with the shock.

It was a woman, dark-skinned, with her hair pinned up high on her head, in a spiky, almost pineaplle-looking ponytail. She, like the man from before, wore a leather jacket, but hers was pinkish, and tighter. She faced away from Clara, rapping on the door opposite. It didn't make the same sound as a metal door did, though, when it was knocked. The ghost's door sounded more like wood than metal. "Hello?" the woman asked, in a refined London accent. "Doctor, are you in there...?"

She flickered and vanished. Cautiously, Clara eased off the door she had been leaning against, and moved to the ghost's, touching a hand to it. She knocked, and was greeted with a normal metal clang.

"Ghost door," she whispered. "Should have known." She glanced around. "Alright," she decided at last, louder than before. "I'm going." She pressed the button near the ghost's door, and it slid open, upwards. She thought she heard a confounded voice calling, "Ian, come see this!" from behind her, but she didn't turn around.

She emerged into the console room, to her surprise. As was the norm, it was lit with blue, and as she'd expected, the Doctor was no where in sight. "Is this you saying I'll be allowed back to my room now?" she asked the TARDIS. "You could have just showed me there, you know."

Something whirred deep within the ship, low and gutteral. Clara raised her eyebrows, and rubbed her arms vigerously to rid herself of the goosebumps that for some reason had risen up on them. "Fine then," she said, crossly. "Be like that."

She moved a foot down to the next step, and then halted, her breath catching.

Because suddenly the room was full of ghosts.

The ones she'd seen, ones she hadn't seen before, mixed in together, so many that it was nearly impossible to seperate one from another. They mostly stood in groups though, either in pairs, or groups or three or four. Many of them lingered around the console, leaning on it, tapping it, fiddling with the controls, even sitting on it. There was so much noise, so much talking, Clara might have covered her ears. But she didn't, just stood with one foot on a lower step than the other - frozen.

She was able to make out the couple she'd seen first, hugging each other as if they'd never let go. She saw the woman in the ponytail standing by the TARDIS doors, grinning excitedly at a tall man with spikey hair in a trenchcoat. A young girl with very short hair stood happily by an old man, who smiled down at her lovingly. Several people let out big, booming laughs, all at once. Someone shouted, "Oi, Spaceman!"

Ghosts. All of them. Ghosts of everyone who had ever been in this room before. The laughter was the laughter of the dead and the lost. The conversations were the conversations of people who would never speak again. The pony-tailed girl had once stood by those doors, had once knocked on a door in a hallway, many doors in many hallways, but never would again. The couple hugging would never hold each other again. The young girl with the short hair would never again be on the receiving end of a loving gaze. Never again would anyone that had called out for the Doctor in that hallway speak his name. Never again. The thought sent Clara's mind spiraling in a strange, detatched grief for people she'd never met.

Or maybe they would. Or were, right now. Or never had at all. The Doctor had said things, so many things, about time, when he had gone and taken all those pictures of Earth in the effort of helping Hila. And Clara had said things, about ghosts, the ghosts the Doctor saw in everyone. And despite what he'd said, she found he couldn't quite believe him. Yes, she was flesh and blood now, and yes, she was breathing, her heart was beating, she was living...but to him, she wasn't at the same time. To him, she was...a body in the ground, at the same time that she was smiling at him. A gravestone at the same time she was right here, in the console room. She wondered if he had seen everyone in this room the same way. She wondered if he'd seen their ghosts, every day, every time he'd looked at them, just as she was seeing them now.

"Clara!" someone shouted, and she jolted as cool, alien hands were suddenly on her arms. "Clara? Clara, what's wrong?" The Doctor's hands moved to her face, cupping it so that he could stare into her eyes. She looked away from him, to the console room that was now empty except for them, and spotted a little flicker by the TARDIS doors, as ghost versions of them opened, and someone about her height, in Victorian dress, stepped inside-

"Clara," the Doctor urged. Her eyes snapped back to him. He looked genuinely concerned, his eyes dark with it. "Are you all right?" Despite his obvious worry, his voice was calm and reassuring.

"Yeah," she managed. Her throat and tongue seemed to be coated with sand. "I'm okay now."

"You don't look okay."

"I'm fine." She tried not to be short with him, but she couldn't help it. She tried to relax. "It's just...like I said before...with Hila, and the mansion, and...we're all just ghosts, aren't we?"

He blinked at her. "That again?" he asked. "I thought I explained it, Clara. Time-"

"I know," she interrupted. She had to leave now, before she got too upset. She could already feel a lump rising slowly in her throat. "I heard you. That doesn't very well make it easier, does it?"

"Clara-"

"I should go," she said, cutting him off again. She pulled away, and turned to leave. She looked back before she rounded the corner, though, expecting to find him to have gone back to the console, or maybe even have started after her, but he just stood there, watching her.

With a ghost on either side of him. One a woman, with clearly red hair, older than Clara by only a bit, looking at the Doctor with no small amount of affection. The other was a man, the woman's age, with slight scruff on his face, handsome, blondish-brown hair. He had a look on his face just like the woman. The two of them met eyes, and grinned. They each reached out and took the other's hand, from behind the Doctor. "So Doctor, where next?" the woman asked, with a Scottish accent coloring her words.

Clara locked gazes with the Doctor. He offered her a tiny smile, but it did little to hide the lost and confused look in his eyes. Clara didn't think she'd ever seen him like that before.

She couldn't bear to watch any longer, so she quickly looked away, and went to her room, this time met with no resistance. She wondered, as she opened her door successfully and stepped inside, why the TARDIS had done what it did. To try and scare her off? To threaten her with what she would eventually become? To warn her?

She turned off the lights and laid in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, trying to take her mind off the ship's strange actions, trying to keep her thoughts away from the ghosts that could be wandering the halls even now.

Trying desperately not to imagine herself joining them.

Thank you for reading! Please review and tell me what you thought. Constructive criticism is dearly appreciated. I don't care if it's just a spelling error, or a pacing issue, or OOC characters or anything - just give me some feedback, please. As always, it makes for better stories. And since this is so short, I can fix it almost immediately.

Thanks again. :)