A/N: I promise it's not as bad as the summary sounds, and I'm trying not to have my OC go down Mary Sue lane. Review! Please! Constructive criticism is my lifeblood.

Dimension travel was difficult. Sort of like wandering through an endless, dark room that's larger than space itself and smaller than an atom at the same time. There's no way to know where she'd end up- she'd experienced some strange realities before- but nothing she had ever truly liked. The rules were a problem, too- in some realities, she learned about the whole of another's life- only to step into a reality with them and be unable to help. Messing with a universe's natural course of events- strictly forbidden. Made things a tad boring, unfortunately. She knew everything, had seen everything, all the patterns a thousand times. When she stepped through the curtain this time, though, felt herself coming into existence, something was different.

The ground rushed up to meet her, hard asphalt tearing into her skin. She groaned, her head pounding and her heart racing- everything was too bright, too loud. There was a stranger's hand on her shoulder, turning her over- the sun on her skin burned. Frantic voices echoed in her ears, too loud, scared and confused, the voices of strangers ringing through her mind.

"Something's wrong- hey, are you alright? Someone call 911- there's a hospital nearby- it's okay, you'll be okay-"

She clutched her stomach, the cells reconstructing, building up layers and layers of skin and bone and muscle. It might've been seconds, minutes, hours of scorching pain until she felt a cool surface underneath her- straps buckling, holding her down. A needle sunk into her skin, and mere moments later she was unconscious.

When she woke up, everything was bright. A cot, with white sheets, surrounded by a white curtain.

"Where am I?"

"Royal Hope Hospital," and older gentleman in white responded, turning to a group of what looked like medical students standing around her cot.

"This is Charlene Bennett," the older doctor announced. "Admitted this morning from ER, experienced a sudden loss of balance followed by convulsions and muscle contractions. Ideas?"

A timid young man raised his hand. She couldn't make out much, her eyesight was still in the works and he looked like a big tan-and-white blur.

"Yes, Oliver?"

"Uh, possibly a stroke? So, check the heart and look for head trauma?"

"Alright, anything else? Think simpler."

Charlie saw one of the blurs moving, raising a hand (at least she thought it was a hand.)

"It could have been an abnormally high fever," the blur said in a decidedly female voice, adjusting her clipboard.

"As a matter of fact, the cause was a high fever. She was running 107 degrees Fahrenheit when she was admitted. Scanned for head trauma, nothing, heartbeat is normal. Standard procedure is...?"

Her eyesight was getting better, and this time she could make out a figure raising their hand. "Keep an eye on her temperature and overall health for two to three days, Mr. Stoker."

"Correct."

With that, group of students shuffled off over to the man in the cot next to her. Mr. Stoker waited for a moment, and rummaged around in his pocket before pulling out a faded wallet and flipping it open.

"I believe this is your ID- it was in your pocket."

"Thank you," she said, as he dropped it onto the bedside table and offered her a tight-lipped smile, heading over to the group of students.

The man in the cot glanced at the wallet- the only thing inside was a single piece of paper.

It was blank.

"Now then, Mr. Smith. How are you feeling this morning?" Mr Stoker asked, and the man smiled cheerfully, turning back to the group with a shrug.

"Aw, y'know, not so bad," he rambled, "Still a bit, well, blah."

Mr. Stoker offered him the same bland smile. "Mr. Smith was admitted yesterday with severe abdominal pains. Jones," he motioned to the young woman standing by him, "Why don't you see what you can find? Amaze me."

She nodded and tugged the stethoscope off of her neck. "That wasn't very clever, running around outside, was it?"

"Sorry?"

"On Chancellor Street, this morning? You came up to me and took your tie off."

Mr. Smith looked at her oddly. "Really? What did I do that for?"

"I don't know, you just did," the student replied.

"Not me! I was here in bed, ask the nurses."

Across the room, a disoriented Charlie rubbed her eyes, trying to focus on the man in the cot. Wildly messy brown hair, arched eyebrows- somehow, he seemed so very familiar. In fact, the whole conversation stirred a feeling much like deja vu in the pit of her stomach. Her ears were ringing again, drowning out the conversation, but she still couldn't shake the feeling.

Her eyesight cleared enough for her to see Mr. Stoker pick up the metal clipboard, a jolt of static electricity shocking his hand.

"That happened to me this morning," Miss Jones commented with a frown.

"I had the same thing on the door handle."

"And me, in the lift."

Mr. Stoker grabbed the clipboard off of the bed and brushed off the students' concerns.

"Well, that's only to be expected; there's a thunderstorm moving in, and lightning is a form of static electricity, as proven by...? Anyone?"

"Benjamin Franklin," Mr. Smith answered.

"Correct."

"My mate Ben - that was a day and a half- I got rope burns off that kite, and then I got soaked."

"Quite," Mr. Stoker said, in that condescending manner people use when talking to complete morons.

"And then I got electrocuted," He finished, with a funny sort of smile.

"Moving on..." Mr. Stoker led the group away from the man's bedside, murmuring quietly to the staff member next to him, "I think perhaps a visit from Psychiatric."

Charlie frowned, trying to pinpoint where she'd heard this exact conversation before.

Oh.

"Doctor Who," She murmured. "Of all the universes in existence, I get stuck in Doctor Who."