The Doctor appeared dazed.
"I dream about where I'm going," thought the Doctor. He was intensely concentrating on something.
"I have a new destination", he pondered; his mind racing.
As he walked slowly through the TARDIS doors, Clara's wide smile she had on for the past 10 minutes faded to concern as she noticed the mix of worry, confusion, and penetrating stare on the Doctor's face.
"Doctor, are you OK," asked Clara?
He resembled a man intensely concentrating on a problem, but not fully sure how to solve it. So many variables, so many unknowns, so many outcomes, he thought. It was an impossible idea.
Home…the long way around, his thoughts continued to wander. He ignored her. Or maybe he didn't even hear her.
"Doctor?" she repeated in a softer, gentler voice.
He stopped just short of the console, but kept his stare out into the vastness of time and space.
"Doctor?" she repeated in a whisper, as she reached out and put her hand gently on his shoulder.
The Doctor jumped - her touch jolting him back to this side of reality.
"Oh. Yes. Clara. Right." He was coming out of daydream. "So!" he exclaimed as he clapped his hands together.
Startled, Clara jumped backwards.
"Where should we go?" the Doctor asked Clara in the most jubilant, cheerful voice. "Where should we go today?" He half ran, half skipped around the TARDIS console, flipping switches, and getting ready to take off.
"Wait, Doctor," Clara said urgently. "Are you OK? You looked like you have just seen a ghost."
The Doctor stopped in his tracks and turned back to her. "Ah, well, I supposed you could look at it that way. I'm not totally sure what to make of it," the Doctor replied, momentarily slipping back into his daze. The Doctor has just seen an incarnation of his fourth self. This man was older than the Fourth Doctor was when he regenerated. How could this be? He was so young at the time of his demise.
Not to be distracted though, he flipped gears once again back to his jovial mood.
"I think we've had a very tough day, wouldn't you say?" he said softly with a big smile, as he bounced over to Clara.
That's the understatement of the century, Clara thought. Day? Century? Millennia? What did it matter? Time was all relative in the TARDIS.
Her memories were fading. The events of the day spanned time and space. Daleks. Queen Elizabeth I – two of them if you count the Zygon. The threat of nuclear annihilation from a bomb beneath UNIT HQ. Gallifrey. Three Doctors, with one of them marrying the Queen. It was all so much to retain. She was tired.
"Home," said Clara, as she too now stared out into nothingness, "I'd like to go home."
Returning from her own daydreaming, Clara noticed the Doctor had his hand on his chin – again back it deep thought mode.
The Doctor pondered the word. Home. Clara wanted to go home. Home is a good place, and may be the solution to my conundrum, he thought. But not 'home' in the way Clara is thinking about it. Where was his home, he continued to think. Gallifrey, of course, but Gallifrey didn't exist anymore, so where do I call home now?
The answer was obvious. Earth was his home. He had spent so much time there. So many lives - even almost an entire live there. Yes, Earth was his home.
"Doctor, did you hear me? I'd like to go home. Doctor?"
"Home?" the Doctor looked up at her inquisitively?
"Home," he repeated, as if 'home' was the answer to all his problems.
"Home!" the Doctor exclaimed as he jumped into the air! Clara stumbled backward. It was the second time in as many minutes. The Doctor was beginning to scare her.
For the next several days, the Doctor ate little, and slept even less. The dedication to his task was something Clara had never seen before. The Doctor's mind was always wandering. It was unusual for him to stay focused on any single task for more than a few minutes. This was different. The Doctor was up to something. He was in full scientific mode. After a day, the floor of the TARDIS console room was covered in notes on bits and pieces of paper from throughout history.
After the second day, the Doctor had moved his efforts, which appeared to be some sort of research, into one of the old laboratories. This lab had its own dedicated library consisting of endless shelves of scientific books. There were books on Chemistry; books on Physics; and books on less Earthly subjects such as Temporal Mechanics, Spatial Manipulation, and an entire bookcase of TARDIS Maintenance Manuals. It was this last set of books the Doctor seemed most interested in at the moment.
By the third day, Clara was bored out of her mind. She had asked the Doctor several times what he was doing. He always replied in generalities such as "Research", or "Important Stuff". Finally, after much coaxing, she did manage to get some sort of answer out of him.
"Do you remember what happened three days ago?" the Doctor asked Clara. Perplexed at the question, Clara stopped to think. They had been through a lot. She knew something wasn't right, but couldn't put her finger on it. She remembered – sort of.
"Yeah, but it's getting fuzzy", she said. "It's almost like it was all a dream. It's getting harder and harder to retain the events. I don't know; I must be going crazy."
"You're not going crazy," replied the Doctor compassionately. "Remember, when my other selves were leaving? I mentioned the time streams were out of sync, and that we wouldn't be able to retain the memories."
"Yes," replied Clara. "That part I still remember."
The Doctor continued, "We're the closest ones to the actual events; they concluded in our 'present', so we're retaining the memories the longest. But it won't last forever. You've even said the events seem like a dream to you. Well, they're all getting fuzzy to me too. That's why I've been doing all this," said the Doctor as he opened his arms and waved them across the endless mounds of paperwork and books and notes sprawled across the tables and floors.
"I need to write this all down," said the Doctor.
"Write what?" inquired Clara.
"My other selves came to help," stated the Doctor.
"Yeah, that was kind of weird," replied Clara, "I thought three of you were a lot. It would have been nice to have a family reunion and meet all of you. I mean me – this version of me - to meet all of you at the same time."
"Only three of me were pulled into the time-locked events on Gallifrey. The others," the Doctor paused, slightly confused, "well, I'm not quite sure yet how they were able to show up. But nevertheless, they were there. I do have some theories. That's what I'm working on. I need to ensure my other selves show up at exactly the right time and place."
"But Doctor," Clara interrupted, "since your other selves did show up, doesn't that mean…"
Now it was the Doctor's turn to interrupt.
"Clara, cause and effect are intertwined beyond timey-whimey now,", the Doctor started instructively. "We don't want to put ourselves in a paradox. I didn't notice how many of my other selves made it to help us out, but I need to guarantee at least some of them do."
"But Doctor," Clara said, "how do you know they already don't know what do to? How do you know everything you've been doing here for the past three days hasn't been done already?"
"Ah, yes, well," the Doctor admitted, "that's the problem with cause and effect when you're a time traveler. Sometimes the effect and cause are reversed, or the effect is the cause. It gets confusing. Honestly", he sighed, "I don't know I haven't done all this already."
The Doctor's voice trailed off as he concluded, "I just have a feeling I haven't yet."
Clara woke on Day Four to the distant sound of an awful racket. The sound was muffled, but definitely sounded like some sort of large machinery. As she yawned, she put on her robe, and walked out to the Console room. Hmm, no Doctor, Clara thought. She began her quest to find the Doctor. She searched through all of the rooms she knew about: the Library, the pool, the gardens, and several of the laboratories. Nothing. The TARDIS was vast, so even trying to simply follow the noise was nearly impossible.
Finally, she thought the sound was getting louder. She continued to trust her senses, and ended up in an old, dusty room. There were machines making all sorts of loud sounds. She walked over to one of the machines. It looked like the inner workings of a giant, ancient typewriter.
"Doctor!" Clara yelled over the noise of the machinery. No response.
"Doctor! Are you here!?" she screamed again.
The Doctor popped his head from around one of the machines. "He—o, Cl-," said the Doctor.
Clara held her hand to hear ear indicating she couldn't hear the Doctor above the racket. "—c—n't h-re y-!" she yelled back.
"Di- y-u h—e a goo- ni—t's sle-?" the Doctor asked.
"I ca—hea- -ou!" she screamed louder.
"Wha-?" the Doctor replied perplexed.
"I ca—HEAR…" she paused, yelling at the top of her lungs. This time the end of her sentence was clearly heard as all went silent with the flick of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. "You," she finished her sentence in more normal tone.
"No need to shout, Clara," the Doctor said curiously.
"Doctor, how did you do that?" Clara asked in amazement.
"Well," he started as he took out his multi-purpose magic wand, "there's a reason, well, many reasons, but definitely relevant reasons it's called a sonic screwdriver. Setting number one thousand, two hundred, thirty-six – 'Cancels out any noise over 100 decibels within a 1000 foot radius.' – like a giant cone of…," the Doctor paused, embarrassed, realizing what he was about to say. He finished his sentence in a soft, apologetic tone, "silence." He bowed his head, turned, and walked away from Clara.
"Doctor, are these printing presses?" asked Clara inquisitively.
"Why yes! Very observant of you", the Doctor replied, his mood instantly more jovial.
"What are you doing with all of these printing presses?" she continued.
"Well, see," the Doctor started, "I need to get instructions to my other selves. I need something that will withstand the test of, well…," he paused, and looking slightly embarrassed again, "time."
Clara looked on in disbelief, "Doctor, you built these? When? Why? How do you know how to make ancient printing presses?"
The Doctor looked hurt. "Of course I know how to make a printing press. Who do you think gave old Gutenberg the idea? Elves? It was me! So many great advances from your silly history would have never happened without a nudge or swift kick in the backside from me!"
The Doctor explained what his plan was. The best way to withstand the test of time was via the printed word. Books have survived throughout the ages. Also, books were unaffected by any technological blip, quirk, or paradox he's been through over the centuries.
"So," he concluded, "I'll put a copy of the instructions in the TARDIS of each of my other selves. I'll set up a time lock to…"
The Doctor stopped abruptly. He was merrily explaining his ingenious plan, spinning and animating each part with his body and flapping hands when he noticed it. He had to keep a straight face. This was all wrong. He had never noticed it inside the TARDIS. This was very wrong. He mustn't let on to Clara that something was wrong. What to do? He realized he must think fast!
"Home!" the Doctor exclaimed out of nowhere while clapping his hands together.
As Clara had been engrossed in the Doctor's explanation, she was caught off guard. "Huh? What?" she asked in a confused tone.
The Doctor pointed at Clara, "You wanted to go home. How about now? Now is a good time."
"Uh, uh. No way! Something's going on. I can see it in your eyes," Clara replied urgently.
"No, really, this is boring stuff," he continued in a depressing voice. "I'll take you home, and be back in a month or so once I finish all this silly printing. I'm not going anywhere exciting. I have to add ink, add paper, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Very boring."
Reluctantly Clara agreed. She deserved a rest. Clara stopped off in her room, changed, packed her overnight bag, and then continued back to the console room. The Doctor was nervous. He was constantly looking back over his shoulder, hoping Clara didn't notice.
In the console room, the Doctor opened the TARDIS doors. As Clara walked past the scanner, she noticed the screen flashing INCOMING TRANSMISSION….INCOMING TRANSMISSION.
Clara stopped in her tracks upon reading the scanner screen, "Doctor, someone is trying to contact you."
"What?" the Doctor scrambled over to the scanner.
"Ah, that's nothing", he said as he waved his hand to dismiss the subject. "I get those all the time. It could be anything. Might be a distress call." The Doctor stopped to ponder the thought. Brushing it off almost instantly, he continued, "More likely somebody selling Space Encyclopedias or a totally inaccurate guide to the galaxy. Probably just some random message."
"Goodbye, Clara," the Doctor said.
"Goodbye, Doctor. Don't be a stranger."
Clara walked around to the near side of the console and headed up the ramp to the doors.
Even before the doors fully closed, the Doctor started rushing back to the printing press room. On his way, he paused for a brief moment as he heard a familiar, ominous sound in the distance. More urgently, he sprinted to the printing room. As he crossed the threshold, he stopped abruptly as the Cloister Bell chimed in triumph. The Doctor had a sinking feeling of horror. It was still there. The Crack in Amy's Wall was here, inside the TARDIS. The books would have to wait; there were other, more important mysteries to investigate.