A/N: This was designed and written mostly as a bit of fun but depending on how popular it is, I might carry on with it. Possibly.
This ties in with another story I've uploaded, 'Cold', but their link is quite unnoticeable until later on in that particular story.
Other than that though, I'll only carry this little thing on if people like it. So, let me know!
Recovery
In the 'middle' of the 'night'…
Amy stumbled into the Library upon an unhappily extended quest in search of the toilet. She was, understandably, half-asleep and was fully intending on going back to bed once her business in the toilet had been completed. Eyelids drooping and ready to fall at any second, it took all of her balancing skills to remain upright. She was wearing a dressing gown, a huge fluffy white one attained from the apparently infinitely large Wardrobe. Rubbing the sleepy-dust out of her eyes with her fists, she blundered her way noisily into the vast Library, whose utter vastness rivalled even that of the Wardrobe.
"Amy!" came the unnaturally energetic voice, "You're awake!"
Amy grumbled, her response indicating the negative being emanated by her throat as a pathetically incomprehensible murmur of sound. Though her eyes had adjusted to the light, which the TARDIS had seemed to have dimmed out of sympathy, the brightness of the Library came as quite a surprise to her delicate just-barely-awake eyes. She could hear perfectly fine though as the loud bounding strides of the Doctor charged towards her, throbbing noisily around her head as he approached her with an energy that seemed simply unnatural.
"Or maybe not," corrected the Doctor, his voice audibly disappointed, "Are you okay, Pond?"
Amy mumbled an inaudible 'no'. Her bleary, blurry eyes tried to make out the Doctor standing before her but he turned out as just a blobby mess of colour, much to her frustration. She could feel him clamp his two massive hands around her head, swinging her head around and staring into her two unfocused green eyes. Feeling irritable, tired and confused, she pushed him off with far more strength than she had imagined she was capable of. Now standing a good metre or so away, the Doctor approached once more but, this time, far more slowly and with a great deal more tact than he had previously managed.
"Amy?" he asked, his voice a sensitive whisper that was loud enough for her to hear but quiet enough so as to not drag her any faster from her half-sleeping state, "You should go back to bed, you're dead on your feet."
"Can't." she mumbled.
Her eyes began to focus slowly, allowing her to make out the confusion on the Doctor's face as his head listed slightly to the left. She rubbed her eyes once more and unleashed a lengthy and loud yawn, indicating the full extent to how tired she was. The Doctor smiled and placed a hand delicately between her shoulder blades, moving her towards a conveniently placed seat that happened to be nearby. He helped her to it and she happily plonked herself into its massive comfy frame. Though unable to see it completely, she could sense that it was like an old granddad's chair. Simply from sitting in it, she was taken back to the days when she used to visit her grandparents in Scotland; her granddad was forever sat in his chair.
"Why not?" asked the Doctor, crouching down before her, "Why can't you go back to bed? I can walk you there if you'd like, the TARDIS likes to play these little games every so often, I'm sure she doesn't mean anything by it, unless she's doing it to me."
"I need the toilet."
The Doctor's face fell, becoming sheepish and embarrassed in a second. It was in moments like that that he was at his most alien and his most human at precisely the same time. Smiling awkwardly, the Doctor slowly rose to his full height, instead of leaping to it with all the speed and agility of a gazelle. Amy later worked out that this was because he didn't want to make her jump, though he countered the concept with a reason so convoluted that it wasn't even worth her remembering. Helping her to her feet, the Doctor promptly led her to the toilet, waited for her to finish and then escorted her back to her bedroom.
"Nighty night," stated the Doctor waving as he waited for her to enter the room so he could close the door, "Pond."
"Nuh-night." droned Amy, still half-awake as she dragged herself back towards the bed. Settling down into it, and finding herself able to quickly snuggle back into the very position she had left ten minutes earlier, she fell asleep. It was only once she had awoken the next morning and she and Rory had decided to locate the Doctor, that her memory probed its way into her mind, leaving questions afloat, ready to be answered.
The 'next' 'morning'…
The double doors to the Library were huge, brown and ornate. They appeared to have been made out of wood, which specific tree, Amy was unable to name, but the colour was a very deep brown, so deep in fact that it almost resembled black if one were to give it a passing glance. Rising tall in the corridor, the double doors seemed imposing and heavy but were in fact very light and they opened with little more than a squeak. Engraved into the doors were two symbols encased within a circle on either door, a symbol that neither recognised but a symbol of untold familiarity to their driver who had, from the state of the symbols, tried fruitlessly to remove them in the past.
"What makes you think he'd be in here?" asked Rory.
"I walked in here last night when I was trying to find the toilet." Amy declared, nonchalantly opening the one of the two doors as she did so.
"You walked into the Library when you were trying to find the toilet?" Rory queried incredulously.
"I was tired."
Rory's expression remained unchanged.
"I was tired!"
When Rory's disbelieving face refused to change or accept Amy's defence, she rolled her eyes and walked into the Library. The pair had both been in there before, in fact, they had noted, it was where the Doctor spent an awful lot of his time. They'd always find the Doctor sitting towards the front, in an ancient old chair, with a book in his hand and post-it notes and a pen in the other. Usually a smile upon his face, the pile of books collected on the desk before him never seemed to diminish. Despite this, the sheer vastness and beauty of the room never ceased to grasp them firmly by the throat and make them pay attention to it.
The room was tall, rising high into the ceiling where glass panels projected the sunlight from a clear blue sky into the room. This sunlight bathed the white marble floor upon which, in most areas, a rich red carpet or rug sat. Within the beams of light, dust could be seen fluttering delicately, as though it thought itself a collection of butterflies dancing in the summer months. There were two levels to the Library and it was the entrance that was elevated above the lower floor from which an infinitely large labyrinth of bookshelves stacked with books seemed to progress and grow deeper into the bowels of the Doctor's ship.
The elevated level met with the lower level via a grand staircase that swept from the top floor from the platform's left and right, meeting at the centre before progressing downwards to meet the red carpet that engulfed the lower level's floor. However, the entrance itself was immediately greeted by an old desk, a battered and stained coffee table and an ancient granddad chair whose musky old scent induced nostalgic feelings within the couple as they approached it. Normally, leaning into the chair with a cup of tea on the coffee table, would be the Doctor flicking through a book before throwing it behind the chair and picking up another one. This occasion, however, was different.
"Doctor?" asked Amy.
The granddad chair was tucked neatly into the desk and the Doctor was leaning over the desk. A collection of pieces of paper sat strewn upon the desk. They had been scribbled upon ferociously, as though the information had to be written down before it fizzled out and faded forever. Taking a few steps closer, they discovered that it was the Doctor whom was responsible for these frantic scribbles. Pen in hand, the Doctor's right hand flew across the clean white sheets before throwing them thoughtlessly into the pile and continuing on the next blank page that sat below the unfortunate one that had just been launched vigorously into a messy pile whose purpose was known by only one man.
"What are you doing?" asked Rory, whose question carried more of an accusatory tone than his mind had originally intended.
The Doctor looked up sharply, as though having only just acknowledged their arrival into the room. His pen fell out of his hand and in one deft movement, he had pushed the chair away and run over to hug Amy and pat Rory. A smile sat across his face though his eyes briefly told another story that seemed painful to him. Disregarding the look, as it changed immediately to one of surprise and excitement, the couple were unsurprised by their unruly greeting. He did it every morning. Without fail. It would have been impressive if he wasn't so obviously insane.
"Amy, Rory! How are you?" queried the Doctor, his voice full of energy.
"Alright," replied Amy, "I just had a couple of questions-"
"Never mind that!" interrupted the Doctor, "Come and look at this!"
The Doctor sprang over towards the desk, grabbing the bits of paper and, somehow, arranged them into the correct order. Smiling goofily, he held them proudly up to the TARDIS generated sky. He then promptly placed the back down on the table and slung himself into the comfort and safety of the granddad chair which seemed, oddly, to suit him. Smiling, he signalled for them to walk over. Confused, the couple walked over, picking up the bits of paper and scanning them, reading but not full understanding what it was they were meant to be reading.
"Uh," began Rory, placing the papers back down on the table where they were promptly snapped back up by Amy's hands, "What's that?"
"Are you writing a book?" asked Amy, "Like a real book."
"Yes, well, sort of." replied the Doctor, a smile a mile wide on his face.
"What sort of book?" queried Amy, her voice brimming with excitement and curiosity so energetic that it bubbled out from her as lava erupts from a visibly violent volcano.
"A non-fiction book, all full of facts and figures and stuff, couple of pictures and stuff as well," declared the Doctor, pride audible in his voice as it resonated around the vast echo-y Library, "Can't stand non-fiction books without pictures! Drives me mad!"
"What about?" asked Amy at precisely the same moment that Rory questioned, "Why?"
"Well, I'm the last of my species, a subject I rather like to avoid so no questions there, please, but we rather had a reputation for being old and stuffy and, well, just generally bo-ring!" explained the Doctor who had leapt to his feet and begun waving his hands about as though without these things, the explanation would be pointless, "So! I decided that I'd rewrite our reputation!"
"Last of your species?" asked Rory, "What do you-"
"Rather sensitive subject, I'm afraid, kind of angst-y and well, miserable so I'd rather avoid it if at all possible," rattled the Doctor briefly before smiling and continuing, "All you really need to know is they're gone, gone with all their stuffy oldness and they deserve a better reputation than what they've got at the moment."
"And this has nothing at all to do with your reputation?" asked Amy, imitating, unknowingly, Rory's incredulous interrogations, "Can't imagine you'd like having a reputation of stuffy, old and boring."
"Ha! No!" laughed the Doctor, "I was a right rebel, given renegade-status and everything. Got put on trial twice, well, I say twice: judicial review and all sorts!"
"You breaking the law?" asked Amy, before adding sarcastically, "I'd never have seen that coming."
The Doctor frowned, disapproving of Amy's comment but, as always, not making any sounds that would otherwise refute the statement; indicating clearly that, though the Doctor disliked it, strictly speaking, it wasn't actually wrong. Rory, though he'd never admit it, thoroughly enjoyed watching the Doctor purse his lips and frown when Amy had successfully outwitted him. It was highly amusing and Rory always found himself struggling to suppress a smirk, something Amy had already noticed and mentally noted. Turning attention away from the subject of the Doctor's renegade lifestyle, he snatched the papers away from Amy.
"Anyway, so, I've been writing up stuff about our culture, our society, our philosophy, our politics, our way of life, because it's never been done before," rambled the Doctor, his face brimming with brightness and light as he spoke, "Never for 'outsiders', never for aliens. And all that'll die, with me, unless it gets out."
"And that's why you're writing a book!" added Amy.
"Ex-actly!" proclaimed the Doctor as he pointed at them, "But! Slight problem, mass production could mess up the timelines and I've done enough of that for couple of lifetimes. So! Solution! Make several copies and put them on specific planets, give them to specific people, people I can trust, people who won't let the book fall into the wrong hands. And voila! change of reputation without destroying the timelines!"
"Destroying timelines?" asked Rory.
"Yeah, say if the book fell in the wrong hands and say, the Sycorax found out how to kill a Time Lord stone dead before I met them at Christmas a few years back, it could have changed what happened, really severely changed what happened and messing up my timeline is a very very incredibly bad idea."
"Because you're the centre of universe?" mocked Rory.
"Sometimes, yeah."
A brief moment of silence passed as the not-quite-so-modest declaration sank in. In fairness to the Doctor though, when he had 'rebooted' the universe, he basically was the centre of the universe so his declaration, immodest as it may have sounded, was true. Turning his attention away from the and back to the scribbled pages of writing he pulled out a few and decided, though he never really wondered why, to read out a couple of paragraphs. He paused first though, explaining the continued ingenuity of his attempt to regain some of the lost culture of Gallifrey.
"But, of course, leaving the whole book with one person isn't the best idea, so, I'm going to split the book up and give the different sections to different people I trust," continued the Doctor, "Further decreases the risk of destroying the space-time continuum which is in a pretty rough state because of all of my meddling anyway."
"How're you going to split it up?" asked Amy, "Like give one person five chapters and someone else another five?"
"Sort of, but whole sections, they could be books on their own really, a section on language given to one person and one on politics given to another," elaborated the Doctor, "So, the question remains, which section would you two like?"
The couple paused. They looked at each other. They were both well aware of the scale of what the Doctor was offering. It really served to show them just how much he trusted them as, from time to time, his trust could seem withheld, as though he never fully opened up to anyone. He frowned as his two companions pondered the scale and vastness of what he was asking them, for he himself didn't quite understand the significance it held for the newly-weds. He began tapping his fingers and sighing to indicate his impatience and eventually the pair replied, though it was not the sort of answer he was expecting.
"You're gonna give us a bit?" asked Amy, "For real?"
"Yes." the Doctor's tone relayed his confusion.
"You trust us," began Rory, "That much?"
"Of course I trust you! Do you really think I'd let you in the TARDIS if I didn't?"
The Doctor was perturbed and seemed ever so slightly offended at the thought that they didn't think he trusted them. Why would he ask them to trust him if he didn't trust them? He'd always assumed trust was mutual. It was one of the few reasons why the Council had been able to catch him out twice during the Last Time War. They'd said that he had their unconditional trust, and so he'd returned that trust, naively. Despite that, his belief in mutual trust had continued long into his eleventh incarnation and he strongly suspected it would stay with him until he died. Properly properly died, that is.
"Now!" declared the Doctor, "Which bit would you like? I've got Politics, Physiology, History, Society, Culture, Education, Language, Family-"
"Family." they interrupted in perfect synchrony.
The Doctor seemed puzzled. Their choice, somehow, had slightly caught him out of the blue, though, the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Rory naturally seemed a sort of family man and Amy had an undying curiosity as to the Doctor's own family, as he had once let slip about having children and an aunt with two heads. He searched through the pile frantically until he pulled out a bundle of pages that had been bound together by a couple of pieces of string where one would normally expect to see a spine. He flicked through it, smiling as he did so, and chucked it to them. Rory caught it and the pair stared at it in awe.
However, the Doctor had an underlying sadistic streak and he wasn't about to let them read it when there was adventure to be had. So, he clapped his hands together and skipped past them, proclaiming that they should put that 'thing' away in their room and come to the console 'ASAP' because there he'd had a call in the middle of the night from a 'nice old lady' who was having problems 'with a load of cat-shaped sentient lamps' who were trying to 'overthrow the government' and enforce 'slightly uncanny laws'.
Begrudgingly placing the bound document in their room, in a bag that they were positive they would take with them when they left the TARDIS for good, they made their way to the console room. On their way, they heard a purring sound throughout the TARDIS, but dismissed it as nothing. The Doctor, who was at the console piloting the TARDIS through the ravages of the often savage time vortex, knew in his hearts, felt in his hearts that the TARDIS was happy. She was happy that he'd begun to properly recover from the Time War.
"You know, Dear," whispered the Doctor as he affectionately patted the console, "I can't believe they fell for that story about cat shaped sentient lamps! Humans, eh?"
A Slightly 'Comprehensive' Guide to Time Lord Civilisation
Introduction
So, a big book on a weird alien race you've probably never heard of called Time Lords. It could all be a bit confusing and unbelievable if you didn't have this handy little introduction to summarise a whole load of pretty important stuff. So, to get the ball rolling, a good place to start is their planet.
Gallifrey was a sort of reddish planet that could be found in the constellation of Kasterborous, or as the one bit of the Universe called it, 'the Seven Systems', or as another bit of the Universe called it, 'the Minyan Constellation of Kasterborous', or as it's known by most pilots, 'the Kasterborous Sector'. Anyway, due to its reddish colour, Gallifrey was also known as the 'Shining Planet of the Seven Systems'. Oddly enough, it wasn't actually the Time Lords that came up with that name, stupid as it sounds.
Gallifrey was a quite a big bit larger than the Earth, or Sol Three, and was pretty much the same with its oxygen levels, gravity, temperature and stuff, but the weather was usually a lot better than some particular areas on Earth that you could mention… *coughBRITAINcough*. The elements found in the air on Gallifrey were virtually identical to that of Earth, except there was no argon, but as an element, it doesn't really do anything very useful anyway. It was the only planet in the cosmos where you could find white star diamonds which would be an impressive achievement if they didn't look very very similar to normal, much cheaper diamonds. It was also the most abundant planet for Gallifreyan Zinc – duh! - which is one of the hardest known metals in the universe… or was anyway, not much of it hanging around anymore.
Gallifrey had two suns, and the second sun, which was made, always rose from the south, just to confuse people who got lost when they wandered off into the middle of nowhere. The original sun, the one that wasn't made, was called Pogar, which is a pretty rubbish name as far as names go. Of course, because there were two suns, nights were really short but more of that later. There was also a moon, there usually is when it comes to planets. There was only one moon though and it was called Pazithi Gallifreya but was known eons ago as the Virgin Moon Goddess which is a mouthful in English, let alone in Old High Gallifreyan. It orbited every twenty-seven days and changed colour depending on the weather conditions, but it was always ivory and visible during the day.
On Gallifrey (see! this was going somewhere!) lived an ancient race known as Time Lords, or Gallifreyans, or Chronarchs or Lords of Time, or their latin name which is dominus temporus. The civilisation of the Time Lords was one of the oldest and most powerful civilisations in the entire universe. They held 'absolute power' – though what exactly 'absolute power' is supposed to be is beyond me – for ten million years but were wiped out during the Last Great Time War, which left only one remaining survivor.
This book is an encyclopaedia, a fountain of Time Lord knowledge: an attempt to shout out to the universe that the Time Lords weren't just 'stuffy and old'; they were also interesting and very, very clever, though, admittedly, they were still very, very old and a fair bit stuffy. But, to be fair, when you're that old it's perfectly acceptable to be a bit stuffy.
Signed,
D