Notes: The characters aren't mine, and the story is! This is my take on the whole "how Season 6B must have started" plot.

Jamie didn't understand what was going on. One moment ago, he had been out on the moor. Now, he was unable to see a thing—a cold darkness was all around him.

What had happened? The last thing he could recall was running—running from an enemy solider. He thought he had known the moors well, but not enough, it seemed; he had tripped, stars exploding in front of his vision as the ground collided with him.

A booted foot had kicked him over and the soldier aimed his bayonet at him, a sneer on his face. Jamie tried to fight back—refusing to give up without a fight, but the solider quickly pinned him to the ground by planting his foot on the Scot's chest.

The darkness had begun to close in as Jamie's head hit the ground a second time. And just as he lost all awareness, there had been a sound—a whirring, grinding sound that seemed oddly familiar and comforting to him, though he couldn't place it. The enemy soldier's gaze was averted for a moment as he appeared shocked at… something appearing out of thin air. Jamie caught a flash of blue as his eyes closed against his will.

And here he was, still in the darkness. Had he died? No, he couldn't have—the Phantom Piper would've come for him first, surely…

Suddenly, there was a flash of silver in front of him, and a tall, metal being stood before him, staring at him with empty eyes. Jamie's first thought was that this was the Piper, but a voice dismissed that—

"That's not your Phantom Piper, Jamie; you learned that once before. Think hard, now. You know what it is."

That voice… that warm, kind voice was like one solitary beacon to him in the surrounding darkness. It was a voice he had often heard in his dreams—always comforting and reassuring him, in spite of the occasional teasing.

Jamie looked back at the silver creature and shuddered.

"Can ye make it go away?" he asked.

"…I could," the voice said, somewhat dejectedly. "But how will you remember it, then?"

"I ne'er seen that beastie before in my life! …And how de ye know I can see it? Are ye making me see that thing?!"

The thing vanished in an instant.

"I… I'm very sorry, Jamie. I was only trying to help you remember."

"There's nothing wrong with my memory!" the Scot said, indignantly. "I wouldnae forget something like that!"

He ignored the nagging doubts in his mind. He didn't want to admit that, sometimes, he did feel as though there were parts of his memory that weren't working right. It felt as though he had lived another life—but that, he knew, was impossible.

The voice, in the meantime, had not replied him.

"If ye're through with showing me images of beasties, ye could, at least, show me the way oot of here, can't ye?"

There was an awkward silence.

"Jamie, I don't quite know how to tell you this, but… you're not really anywhere. You're still unconscious—everything you're experiencing now is inside your own mind. I know a few tricks to forging mental connections; it's allowed me access—"

"Ye mean ye're tramping aboot in my head?!" Jamie exclaimed.

"…I did take the liberty of that, yes. I was hoping you could be a little understanding once you remembered—"

"Understanding!? Of an intruder in my mind!? I thought you were someone benevolent at first, but it's becoming clearer that ye're not!"

"…I am truly sorry."

The voice was growing fainter, as though the mental connection was breaking up. And though it felt as though he should be angry—furious, even—Jamie suddenly realized that he did not want that voice to go away.

"Wait!" he cried.

The voice returned, the connection stronger again.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened," the Scot said. "I… I just…"

"Oh, Jamie. Can I help you try to remember? No… beasties this time; I promise…"

There was the sound of footsteps near him, and Jamie turned to see the image of two young girls—one was dressed in a long frock, while the other was wearing the most outlandish clothes that Jamie had ever seen.

"Am I supposed to know these lassies?" he asked, as he shook his head, helplessly. "I'm sorry, but I don't recall…"

Jamie trailed off; creeping up behind the girl in the frock was an almost-cylindrical creature with a long stalk in its face, topped with some sort of lens. Odd appendages protruded from where arms should have been. Unlike the two girls, it was illuminated with a bright light.

"No beasties, ye said!" Jamie cried.

"I'm not showing you any beasties!" the voice insisted. "…That can only be your own mind showing it to you—you're trying to remember on your own!"

The creature now turned towards the Scot, and a sound—a word—issued from it.

"Ex…ter…mi…nate."

Jamie yelped as the thing shot some sort of laser beam at him; instinct took over, and he fled. The creature followed him, still screeching the same word, over and over again. The voice—the kind, comforting one—was trying to make himself heard.

"Jamie! Jamie, it's fine; it's all in your mind! It can't really hurt you!"

"Aye? Well, it looks and sounds real enough to me!" he retorted. "I—"

He stopped short, finding himself staring at the same silver creature from before. This time, it, too, was in the light.

He dashed to the left, only to see a tall creature with scaly, green skin also bathed in the odd light. His heart was hammering in his chest—he was nearly surrounded.

"Make them leave!" he pleaded to the voice.

"I have no control over this," the voice explained. "But… but I promise to you that it's a good thing! You're starting to remember on your own!"

"I don't want to remember!" Jamie exclaimed, staring at the creatures lumbering after him. "They're horrible things—I'd rather forget aboot them than think about them again and again!"

"…You don't want your memories back?" the voice asked. He sounded crushed—devastated.

"What difference does it make to you whether I remember or not?"

There was no reply.

"It never occurred to me that you wouldn't want to remember," he said, at last. "I am sorry."

With that, Jamie felt a presence leaving; the warm, reassuring feeling had been replaced by a deep loneliness—as though he had just lost something-or, rather, someone—very, very precious.

"No…!" he cried out, at last. "Come back! Come back!"

He was suddenly aware of the tears escaping his eyes, and he wondered what was wrong with him. He had hardly ever cried—why now? Why over a voice he didn't even remember?

"Jamie…"

The Scot turned around as he heard the voice again; he blinked in surprise to see a man with a shabby black suit that matched his tousled hair. Like the creatures around them, he was illuminated in light, meaning that this version of him was what Jamie was conjuring from his own mind.

"That was ye, then?" he asked, quietly. "Aye, I… remember ye… I think. Ye're that Von Wer chappie, aren't ye?"

The man gave him a sad smile and turned to face the three approaching creatures.

"I'll hold them off for as long as I can," he promised. "When I say run, run."

But Jamie suddenly found himself unable to run. Those words… he had heard them before, multiple times. And as he watched on in horror, the silver creature and the scaled creature held the man in place as the cylindrical one aimed one of its appendages at the man's face.

The names of the creatures suddenly flashed through Jamie's mind, illuminating the darkness with each name that passed his lips.

"Cyberman… Ice Warrior… Dalek…"

And then he stared at the man, who had his head bowed in resignation.

"Doctor…?"

The Dalek fired, and the Scot could only stare in horror.

"DOCTOR!"

The light from the Dalek was suddenly outshone by a bright light all around; the darkness was lifting…

…And then Jamie suddenly opened his eyes to see the Scottish sky above him. He sat up, catching his breath. He was far away from the spot on the moor where he had fallen. The enemy soldier was gone, and, looking down, Jamie saw that his head had been cushioned by the Doctor's suit jacket.

The Doctor…!

He had been here! He had been trying to help him to remember! But why…? Why had Jamie forgotten?

The realization returned to him like a punch to the gut—the Time Lords… the trial… the broken promise—

"I won't forget ye, ye know?"

His thoughts were cut short by the whirring and grinding of the departing TARDIS. Jamie turned sharply towards the source of the sound, crying out as he saw the familiar blue box beginning to fade away. He got up and ran towards her.

"No! NO! Don't go!"

But the TARDIS had nearly vanished now; Jamie shut his eyes, unable to bear the sight. He clutched at the black suit jacket in his hands, holding it close to him.

It took him a moment to realize that he could still hear the TARDIS, and, once he dared to open his eyes again, he stared in disbelief to see her materializing once again in front of him.

The doors opened to reveal the Doctor staring back at him in a similar state of disbelief; there was a mark on his hand from where he had practically slammed it against the Fast Return Switch.

Neither of them said a word—there was no need to. The Doctor gave him a questioning look, which Jamie responded with a nod that told the Doctor exactly what he had been hoping to know—

I remember.

The Gallifreyan and the Scot drew each other into a hug.

And, this time, the TARDIS left with two aboard.