Eyes Open
Chapter One: The Somewhat Confusing Nature of Time Travel
Eyes open. The Doctor stared straight up at the darkly beautiful face of Martha Jones and, for the life of Rassilon, could not remember what had happened to Donna. Wasn't Donna his companion now? When had Martha come back? Not that it wasn't nice to see his friend, but…
"Are you all right, Doctor?" She was checking his pulse with all the quick, professional doctor-likeness that she had gained. Her bottom lip was caught under her teeth, something she did when she was concerned. "You look dazed."
"Hmm…? Me, I'm right as Mitarian rain." He sat up to prove the point but the entire alleyway careened to the side. He grabbed for Martha's arm. He managed to scoot over and put his back to the brick wall so he'd have something to lean against. That jarring movement was nauseating and he considered tossing aside all pretense of being fine and having a good throw up.
He pushed aside her hands that were on his neck as she tried to peer into his eyes. "Now, now, Martha, I'm fine." He paused, frowning at the alley around him, "You know this looks very London-y, London-ish, London-like. Sort of a bad section of it but still very…"
"You don't remember where you landed the TARDIS?"
"Aw, you should see your face. All worried and wrinkled like a little prune. Love prunes. Have a reputation—mostly deserved—mind you, but you know what? I think they are mainly misunderstood."
"You are the most dreadful patient." Martha muttered. She tightened her grip on his face, as if trying to force his rambling thoughts into submission.
The Doctor could feel her thoughts, ever so slightly, though the warm soft tips of her fingers. In his youth, he rarely touched companions, too inexperienced to keep their thoughts from seeping in and too fearful of "what they might think" of him. But, he was too old to care now, too tired to be bothered by things like worry, or invading others privacy.
"Are we on the original article or New Earth," he looked upwards, thoughtfully, "I suppose we could be on New New New Earth, or New New New New Earth-"
"We're on regular earth, in regular London. April of 2009…Don't you remember, Doctor?" Martha swore softly, tilting his head down so she could check the back of it. "I think you have a concussion."
"Oi! Really?" It was rare for the Doctor to have a medical condition. All that exercise, good Gallifreyan stock and pure luck. It was sort of exciting and scary and he grinned, wriggling a little bit. He regretted that instantly. The churning of his insides alerted him to the possibility that he might just (very un-Timelordly) vomit on Martha's nice boots. Swallowing, he covered his difficulties, in the same manner he always did; with talking. "Rather quick prognosis, bit uncertain. Modern medicine is a bit like fastfood, it's fast but you're not always sure they got the order right… Was that rude?"
She kept her body language professional, and the Doctor wondered if this had been part of their problem as Doctor and Companion. He could never tell when she was upset, or perhaps he didn't take proper notice of her.
"Yeah. Rude regeneration this." He put a hand on her arm, "Martha Jones…"
"Haven't seen you in months. Always off saving something. Barely say two words to me when I call…And now, first step off the TARDIS, you get hurt. This why you've been staying away, Doctor? Earth just too painful?"
Martha leaned back, crouched in front of him. The sweep of her bangs and the gleaming yellow circles of her earrings reminded him of when they first met, when she'd been a young medical student with a sense of wonder and an instant fancy for him. Weelll… not instant, it had probably started the minute he kissed her which was for the best reasons—none of them romantic.
But now, with the dark, militaristic clothes, and passionless face, he could only see what Devros has said. He took people and made them into soldiers. His weapons. And that was true of the woman before him. Looking harder, he saw what he needed, wanted, hoped to see; the pain in her eyes. She was still his Martha, his emotional, jealous, sulky Martha.
"Have I?" He said absently, laying a hand on his knee. She was right: Earth was pain. Humans, companions, England, cricket, tea, the whole planet, he loved them, but in the end… humans died, companions left, England elected his arch-nemesis as prime minister, his favorite cricket teams lost, he could never find a cup of proper tea. Oh, and the planet would burn one day. He'd seen it first hand.
So yes. He had been avoiding this little blue-green backwater orb of death and disappointment for a bit.
"Weellll," He grinned, trying not to be too adorable and attractive—he didn't want to give her false hope—"I came when you called, didn't I? Details are all a bit wobbled, as to the whys and what fors…"
"My cell ran into some weird interference so Torchwood helped me out. You can't recall this? This must be more severe than I thought." Her brooding vanished rapidly, and she was fussing over him again. "I'll call an ambulance."
"Ah. No. Won't be necessary at all, Martha." He said rapidly, tried to smile wider but it hurt his face. He did like smiling all sorts of smiles: maniac frenetic smiles, cunning grins and sad smirks (which is quite a difficult thing to accomplish without practice but the Doctor was naturally gifted). He was practically beaming now, trying to prove to Martha he did not need an ambulance.
The Barbaric, archaic technology of earth was something he'd experienced twice and considering the first time it killed him, it was another good reason to avoid his favorite/hated planet.
"Doctor…"
"Barmiest thing, but I have this fear of being lab-rat-Time-Lord. Must be something on my Mother's side. Or maybe it all has to do with my childhood. They're always saying something like that, aren't they? Go into any psychiatrist's, shrink's or healer of the mental distresses' office and no matter the century, it's "tell me about your childhood."" His merry expression melted into one of a more pensive nature. "Or aspirin. Might be all about the aspirin. Something is not right about places of medicine that dispense poison."
Martha looked at him from the corner of her eyes and half-laughed, half-scoffed. "You're obviously not right."
Looked like her independent attitude was reasserting itself. Lovely. Good old Martha, "Come now, Martha," He scolded her with a breezy tone, rising without aide to his feet. "I'm always going on about something, or have you forgotten so quickly. A first grade-rambling-rambler, I am. Still. We should probably get out of this alley…"
Martha's arm encircled his waist and she reached up to guide his arm onto her shoulder. He was about to brush her off, but then again, it would calm her nerves to keep him close and he'd had enough female human companions to know that their nerves were not to be trifled with. He set the pace, not exactly brisk, but not exactly snail-speed either.
"There was nothing slippery in the alley."
"Mmm," The Doctor had been pondering about a cup of Gixley banana coffee, which stuck him as oddly ironic considering bananas peels were known galaxies over for being slippery and Martha had been going on about something… weelll, something slippery. He was about to begin formulating a clever quip when she spoke again.
"So if you didn't fall… Were you attacked, Doctor?" Martha's perfect eyes were now fearful, and her eyebrows hovered high and anxious above them. "So it might still be around!"
"No fear of that, Martha Jones!" A warm cheery voice came from the end of the alley. Leaning with one hand on his blue-box, the woman was dressed in purple from the cap on her head to her lavender sneakers. A periwinkle cravat was tied around her neck and tucked into a striped plum-colored vest and pinned into place. Dangling beneath the cravat was a purple lanyard with a key dangling from it. From her other hand, perched on her hip, hung a silver sonic-screwdriver. "The Doctor's here to save the day, my fine fellow."
"What? What?" The Doctor grabbed at Martha's arm. Cold panic flooded through him.
The purple-creature tilted her head, spinning the sonic-screwdriver (not his, but something very close to it, a more advanced model, perhaps) through her slim fingers. She began to smile at him, a slowly spreading smirk of a practical joker or a canary-eating cat.
Obviously, he was the Doctor. Obviously. She had to be referring to him saving the day… except, he eyed her and she grinned back, they both knew she wasn't.
Losing a bit of his memory and getting knocked out was part of the Doctor's job but this purple-wearing woman was something ghastly. It just couldn't be… he couldn't regenerate into a female… could he? Wasn't that against every decent law of nature? He fumbled in his brown overcoat for his brainy specs and stared down them at the creature on the other side of the alley. He couldn't think of anything more to say than a perturbed, "What!?!"
"Doctor Ten! Fancy meeting you here, my dear man!" She bounded over, stopping only to pick up an empty coke can and shove it into the pockets of her long sweater. "Don't you hate litterers! Ugh! It drives me crazy that I spend every waking moment saving this miserable planet from alien invaders and they can't even bother picking up a bit for my arrival. Truly, Martha, I should complain to someone. Perhaps you can think of an appropriate committee, my dear fellow."
She slapped Martha's arm in a friendly, too familiar way and turned her attention to him. In one easy swipe, she hooked her finger on the Doctor's glasses and drew them off. Her freckled face and warm gray-green eyes were young, arrogant and intelligent. Something in her bearing screamed Gallifreyan, although he couldn't determine what it was exactly.
"Could I have those back, please?"
"Certainly, Doctor Ten." She bounced on her heels and crammed the spectacles back on his nose.
"Ow!" He rubbed his nose. That had been painful. This stranger—how he hoped it was not him—seemed to be a bit like a gangly puppy. A might unused to its own skin.
She had stepped back, and was smiling widely and throwing her arms out. "I think its time for a hug!"
"She's daft. Horribly, hellishly bonkers." Martha stared at her, continuing to mutter under her breath about the stranger.
"Now, now, Miss," The Doctor scanned down the outstretched arms, and then back to the woman's face, "I am sure that in some future, we have met—and you've probably fallen madly in love with me, happens all the time—but at the moment…"
The Doctor was feeling considerably better then when he'd woken in the alley, so he shifted from Martha's side to stand on his own. When someone was going about claiming your title and job, it was best to confront them head on, in a strong fashion. Except… the Doctor was in a bit of shock, so he talked about something or other while he tried to think. "…and weellll, you obviously understand the somewhat confusing-"
"…Nature of time-travel. My fine fellow, I live and breathe it, see the depths and waves of time and space and I think this is not the time for a lecture on the top-ic." She split the last word oddly, making a popping sound on her lips. She pulled her cap from her head, revealing a short crop of ginger hair. Stuffing her sonic screwdriver in, she replaced the cap and smiled at both of them. "Shall we get you back to the TARDIS, Doctor Ten? But then comes this extraordinarily horrific dilemma, which TARDIS…yours…" She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder at his police-box and then pointed behind him, "or mine."
"You have a TARDIS?" Martha gaped.
The doctor turned and saw a blue sports-car with shaded windows with a sign protruding from the roof that read "Police Car". Whoever she was, if the car was indeed a TARDIS, she had fixed the chameleon arch.
"Certainly, my dear past companion. I might be altogether an incredibly wondrous Time Lord but I still can't snap my fingers and magically appear at every distress call the earth puts out. Wait up! Wait up! If you called for Doctor Ten, why'd you send me one too? Is it something so altogether horrific and deadly that it requires a double dose of the Doctor?" She looked saddened by the prospect, "I never get a day off. Why doesn't the earth just stay saved for a bit? I certainly don't mind helping out… but you'd think these villains would learn… and take up hopscotch, instead… Do you fancy hopscotch, Martha? I have become quite good at it… the strange hobbies one takes up after regenerating…perhaps you could both come over – after the aliens are all blown up – and we could all have a cup of tea and a game of hopscotch."
"Hopscotch?" The Doctor nearly choked. He had stopped breathing somewhere during the distressing babble of the woman. So she was the Doctor (or really seemed to believe she was). And she played hopscotch. And wore purple. And hated having adventures. In that moment, he would rather have suffered a plain ordinary human death then to become this bizarre creature before him. It wasn't worth having ginger hair if it brought all these revolting traits along with it.
"I tried ballet. Just not graceful enough. And I hate standing on my tippy-toes." She made a girlish face and stuck out her tongue. "Wait up! We have a prisoner to interrogate… if you don't mind joining me on this adventure."
"Me! Join you?" The cheek! This was his present and his companion and he was the Doctor and this was his "world-saving" moment.
"Brilliant, my fine fellow! We really should do this more often. It is horrifically depressing to do something extraordinary and there is absolutely no one to see it. And you, being a Time Lord and all, can really appreciate my magnif-icence." She parted the last word with that odd emphasis and wandered back down the alley towards his TARDIS, picking up litter as she went and humming an Elvis tune.
"She can't… she can't be you… Can she?"
"Martha Jones," He shook his head, "I am very rarely surprised. But weellll…at the present..."
"Come along, my dear companions!" The purple Doctor was unlocking his TARDIS…
In nearly 70% or perhaps more like 82% of his adventures, running was involved. The Doctor had practice on his side, plus some very nice converse, and so when he wanted to "be off" he was quite fast. Before the imposter in purple bounded up his gangplank into his console room, she was grabbed by her back collar and yanked back into the alley.
"Oi!" She squeaked, rubbing her neck and fluffing her cravat.
"I'll bet you and your kind spent a whole afternoon thinking this little escapade up. 'You know what would be a laugh?' 'Oh, go on, you come up with the best schemes, Bert.' 'Let's trifle with the last of the Timelords'—which is very," the Doctor snapped his fingers twice trying to think of a good word, "…Let's just call it dangerous, eh?"
The woman ceased frittering with her necktie and stared up at him with eyes full of indignation. "When did you become a pessimist?"
"Factual-ist." He invented the word on the spot and slipped the stethoscope in his ears and into place on her chest. "I know for a fact that I am the only Timelord."
One heartbeat, strong and steady. He switched to the other side of her chest, eyes bleary from the bright stripes on her vest and… second heartbeat, slower and weaker, but its very existence was the unmistakable marking of a true Timelady.
"Satisfied, my fine fellow." Her eyes were all twinkly and happy again.
"House?"
"Lungbarrow."
"Impossible. Weelll, mostly, almost certainly, implausible. I'd recognize my own cousin—no matter the regeneration."
"Re-what?" Martha's interruption reminded him that he had better get in the habit of warning his companions about regenerating. He always forgot to and then there was this awkward "Gah, your face!" and "Where's my Doctor!" which made the New Doctor feel rotten and unwanted.
But for now, he was going to ignore Martha. He licked his lips, dread settling into his stomach, and addressed the Timelady. "Prove it."
The woman, the other Timelord, unbuttoned her sleeve and shoved the purple fabric up to reveal a clean expanse of white skin. "Well?"
The Doctor stepped forward, ignoring the soft confused, protesting sounds from Martha. He twisted the tip of his sonic in a series of smooth movements that he thought he'd never do again. Pointing the end at her shoulder, he activated a pale green-gold beam of light. Like luminescent ink, slowly the silvery twisting dragon form appeared on her skin, and beneath it, her Lungburrow cousin number. The markings were faded, aged perhaps by time.
"Doctor? What's it mean?"
"I'm not a liar." The woman stated, "He's not alone. You're… actually, my fine former friend, I have no idea what it means to you. But you can take your pick of the other two." With that, the woman rugged her sleeve down and winked at the Doctor before sobering. Her smile was winsome and wistful and her voice was soft, "You understand now, Doctor Ten? Do you know who I am?"
He extended a finger and poked her cheek. It didn't even feel like him. Not that his skin always felt the same no matter the regeneration, but this skin, her skin, felt all female-like. It was repulsive. Before he could poke her again, she'd caught his hand and squeezed it.
He always thought he'd be able to recognize himself. But apparently not. What more was there to be said? The how and why were all very mysterious but he couldn't argue with proof before his eyes. "Yes. Welll…" He swallowed, stepping back, "someone said something about saving the world?"
Turning on her heels, the woman Doctor raced into his TARDIS, calling out, "Lovely. Let's finish stopping the aliens so we can have tea. Do you like Pringles, Martha? I have boxes and boxes on my TARDIS and no one to eat them with… Ah! Here we are!"
"Don't touch…" He rushed forward, racing up the ramp. But it was too late. She was happily pounding around the console, smashing at the buttons, looking up at him, completely unaware she was scaring him.
"Please, don't touch…" It wasn't like He didn't trust himself…herself… but he did have the TARDIS set up the way he wanted. It was a delicate piece of equipment and even well-meant tampering could…
"Very well. I shall certainly allow you the honor of initiating the final sequence, Doctor Ten." She bowed dramatically, and then busied herself with adjusting her cravat. A split second later, she was hovering over his shoulders as he tried to see what she'd been up to. Whatever she'd done in those few seconds, she'd done a lot of it. She was either: very fast, very smart or very familiar with the TARDIS and it was likely all three.
"I like the back of your head." She flicked the nape of his neck with a purple painted nail. "Even with all that poofyness at the front, you've got enough back here to cover it well."
"I'm glad you approve." Martha muttered. Arms crossed and eyes distrustful.
"My dearest finest Martha Jones, this is a private conversation between Doctors and I am quite certain your opinion is not required." She darted around to the other side of the room, unhinging a cupboard and digging through his storage boxes. "Wait up! Wait up! Doctor Ten, don't bring the ruffian onboard until I've found your… Ah! Here we are! Handcuffs!"
"This is a transmat command… focused on a street two blocks from here."
"Certainly! He was horrifically speedy for being so tall. But I caught up with him, my fine Time Lord! He was trying to escape through a rotating door and I zapped it with Sonic-the-Screwdriver and he's been trapped for a bit."
"Who has been trapped?" Martha demanded, stepping closer to the new Doctor.
"Doctor Ten's foul attacker, Martha! Someone certainly has not been paying attention-atten-atten-attention." She stopped suddenly, dropping to sit on the ledge and setting the handcuffs aside. She lowered her head between her knees and her whole body began to tremble. Great spasms ran across her shoulders and the word attention could still be heard under the woman's breath.
The Doctor and Martha hurried over, Martha reaching for her head to check the woman's eyes and the Doctor tugging out his stethoscope. Then, her head popped up so suddenly, it frightened them both.
"I'm fi-fine. Just 100% brilliant. Top-notch." Her eyes were unfocused and dilated.
"You had some sort of seizure."
"Certainly. Certainly. My fine fellow, I don't remember you stating the obvious so much before… it is a horrific new tick, Martha, and I suggest you crush it with a large fly-swatter." She smiled weakly and glanced shyly at the Doctor, "It's a new regeneration."
"And you're having difficulties with it?"
"I can't decide if I like blue or purple." She chuckled soundlessly, "And I was going to have a bit of a lie down in the Zero Room and then I got Martha's message and weelll…" She sniffed; a perfect imitation of him that made his hearts skip a beat, "my dear boy…"
Her speaking pattern was the First Doctor's now. He'd lived through this – confusion – before. This confusion over which personality, which identity belonged to him. Now, he was seeing the same thing happening to the ginger-haired woman before him. Before he could open his mouth, the woman bounded up to Martha.
Eyes staring straight at Martha, she smiled widely, her expression the oddest mixture of maniac adventurer and carefree wanderer. "This is fantastic! So where was I? Barcelona! Not the city Barcelona, the planet Barcelona."
That would be the Doctor's Ninth Identity. It was all there: the northern accent, slightly toothy smirk, the darkness that ran deep under the easy-going exterior. Her back straight and she seemed more gangly and tough than before.
She plowed on, "You'll love it, Rose, fantastic place-"
"Rose ain't here." Martha said smartly. She seemed shocked at her own bluntness and glanced at the Doctor apologetically.
"Oi, watch it!" The woman wheeled on them, "You should never contradict, the Doctor! The Doctor is always-always-al-al-ways right."
"And you're the Doctor." He said it quietly, soothingly and reached out a hand to her.
"Oh yes. Not some dandy, or some clown or some skinny chap in a dreadful suit." She ignored the hand and began patting her pockets. "I'll bet Susan has my pipe."
"Susan?" Martha glanced at him.
No Martha, he thought, I'm not explaining any of this. My past is buried deep and this… this Doctor had no right to force me to face it. Not after all these years of running. "Certain you smoke a pipe?"
"Pipe? No," She looked at the Doctor with the brightest, silliest smile and her hands went up to cling at the vest on either side of her cravat. "What I have lost is… I've lost my recorder. My head is so foggy, a nice musical interlude would be sure to set things right. Perhaps you could call the Brigadier and all the nice UNIT men to help me look…" Her body convulsed, hands reached to cup the sides of her head. She ripped a hair from the top of her head and brought it in front of her face. "I'm going to take you to an airless asteroid, Mel! Look, look at what all of that little minx's carrot-juice has done to my lovely hair…"
"I happen to like ginger, Six." He grabbed both of the woman's hands before she made herself bald.
She struggled, still deep in the throws of the obstinate arrogant personality, before gasping and wrenching away. Her eyes flickered to him, hateful, bitter eyes, and then she went all quiet except for a few involuntary shudders. "The dark, the cold, took my voice and then my will, have you taken my body now?" Blank, teary eyes looked at Martha with apprehension, "Is she going to push me out? Out into the dark? I so loved the humans but they were afraid- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- I don't belong. Don't push me out. I don't want to be alone. In the cold. In the dark. So alone."
"This is the TARDIS, Doctor." He rubbed her hands, noting that they had strangely gone cold. The Doctor spoke cheerily, "Besides now, Martha and me are right here and one can't be alone if there are more people present, can you?"
He had a suspicion he was oversimplifying. But in a crisis, one didn't ponder philosophy... unless you were him. Which she was. But the point stood... since there was no malicious alien from Midnight present and she wasn't physically alone.
Her face softened, as if the tragedy of Midnight had suddenly vanished from her memory. Sighing gently, she leaned heavily on his side and put her head on his shoulder. "I'm the Doctor, right? I'm the new Doctor? My head hurts, Theta Sigma. I liked the old me. I didn't want to be new. I didn't want to be the Doctor. Can I stop now, my fine fellow? Can I stop being the Doctor, Theta Sigma? Can-can-can, I stop now…?"
"You don't have to be anything, right now." He grabbed her arms, nodding for Martha to grab her legs. "We're just going to move you somewhere where you can have a lie-down. A nice quiet place to sleep."
"My Doctor's back." Her voice was distant and she smiled up at him. Then, she looked even more troubled, "But you'll die. Your song will be over and it will just be me. Just the Doctor. Alone."
"Look, Doctor, everything's alright. Weellll… mostly alright, but once you get back to your normal self," whatever that looked like, "we'll get this all sorted." He situated her on a padded cart that he'd pulled from the wall after ordering the TARDIS to fetch it.
"They shot me." She whispered, "I crawled to the TARDIS and then they started to come in…"
So it had been a traumatic regeneration. Most were. But there was something about being scared silly that made the mind a bit unstable afterward. "Doctor, Martha is going to wheel you down to the Zero Room." He handed Martha a quickly sketched path to the room. "If anything should go wrong, phone me."
"Hey! Why do I have to crate the crazy Doctor to this Zero-whatever?"
"Because you are a medical professional and I am a professional hero. You fix the sick, I will fix the world." It didn't need saying really. Except, apparently it did. "Off you go."
"Doctor Ten!" The woman sat straight up, her cap askew on her head. "I fixed it. I fixed it in the past. Nothing to fear."
"Lovely, lovely. Off you are now, with Martha, there's a fine fellow."
Unbelievable. Now he was starting to sound like her.
