Intro

Greetings, gentle reader! Wait, too formal, too 18th-century? Ok.

Hey guys! This is my first foray into FanFic, after enjoying many wonderful stories such as RaggedyTimeTraveler's "When I Began to Run" ( goo-dot-gl/Go1z3E ) and RazielLordOfSquirrels' "A Captain and a Madman" ( goo-dot-gl/NGGVor ).

My main purpose for this fanfic is to "discuss" various philosophical/religious concepts with the Doctor, and to have friendly conversations/disagreements with him. Yes, I said religious. Hang on, don't leave me just yet. I've read a good bit of campy/preachy Doctor Who fanfics, and I don't have any desire to make this story like that. My intention is to make religious concepts a part of my character's process of self-discovery, not to use this fanfic as a platform to lecture my readers (or the Doctor himself). I'm nothing if not polite. :)

I prefer to keep the Doctor Who timeline as undisturbed as possible, so similar to how some comic books operate, this story is set in between two stories from the show, specifically "Vampires of Venice" and "Amy's Choice." So, my only real change to the Whoniverse (at least to begin with) is that the Doctor's companions go home for a little while between those two episodes.

I hope you enjoy the story. This first chapter starts off kind of slow and laborious (I spent what seemed like an eternity proofreading it repeatedly), but the chapters after this should be more interesting, but there won't be a lot of "action" (violence) in them, and no sex (sorry, thrill seekers).

Anyway, sorry for the insanely long introduction, here is Chapter 1!:

Rho and the Doctor

The first thing I remember is lying face down on a pane of glass, my vision blurry and my head swimming. I could vaguely make out some tubes and wiring on the level below me, glowing an eerie green. I struggled to think clearly in the haze of dull pain, my ears ringing with the assault of foreign sounds.

Overwhelmed with all of these sensory stimuli, I lost consciousness for what I assume was a few minutes.

I came to as I heard initially casual, and then increasingly urgent footsteps against the glass coming in my direction, but I didn't bother to look.

"Oi, I don't do visitors!" said a quizzical and rather annoyed British-sounding voice.

I tried to lift myself up to my hands and knees to respond, but all I could do was weakly move my arms and utter an incomprehensible "Mmmmph."

I felt a pair of hands grasping me on the side and shoulder as I was gently turned to lie on my back. The movement was uncomfortable, but I was happy to have my weight resting on my back now, rather than on my face, knees and ribs. The room had started to spin in reverse as I was turned, but it settled back into the now-familiar slow, planar spin once I was on my back.

I tried opening my eyes again, but the overhead lights were too bright. Squinting, I could only see a vague form of a man bending over me.

I then saw a small green light being waved above me, and a not-particularly-pleasing buzzing noise emanating from the light.

The buzzing ceased, and I heard that same British voice say (in a more concerned and less demanding tone), "I don't know who you are, but you're in quite a state. You're body is practically bathed in Hilaron particles, and I haven't seen those since pretty much the dawn of time. Not really sure why they're on you, but they're starting to dissipate now. How about telling me your name, and why and how you snuck on to my ship."

What the hell? I wanted to demand where I was and who he was, but all I could muster was an annoyed groan. At this point, my eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the room, but my vision was still very hazy.

After a moment, the stranger helped me sit up straight on the glass floor, and my vision cleared. I beheld the man before me, all gangly limbs and ridiculous floppy hair. I studied him for a moment as the vertigo settled and the ringing in my ears began to dissipate. Looking around at my surroundings did not help my feeling of confusion: there was a central column of glass and metal, and the roof was made of a sail-like material with concentric rings emanating from the column. The walls were oddly shaped and decorated, and the layout was spastic.

The man reached into his tweed jacket and produced an ordinary-looking mint.

"Here," he said, "this will help clear your head."

I didn't have any idea what a mint could do for my head, but being highly suggestible in that stupor, I took the mint. It had a very pleasant, almost effervescent flavor that started to clear my mind like a really good, strong cup of tea on a winter night.

"Right. Glad you're better," he said. "Mind telling me who you are and how you got here?"

"Well, my name is R–––", I started to reply, but it was like the words fell right off my tongue. My vision blurred again for a moment, my mind went completely blank, and I found myself unable to complete the sentence or recall any of what I was about to say.

The green buzzing thing was back out and waving around in a flash.

"Your neural traces are sort of... coalescing into a stable pattern. It must be a side effect of the Hilaron radiation. Can you remember your name? You were about to say it, R-something."

I strained to remember. Whatever I might have known about myself the moment before was completely gone. I was a blank slate, at least as far as self-knowledge was concerned.

"I can't remember what I was going to say! I can't remember my name, or where I live, or anything else!" I replied in alarm.

"It's all right, don't go all collywobbles," the lanky man replied, "I can help you. First, let's start with your name. You said R-something, but I obviously can't just call you 'R.' So, I don't suppose you could be a Robert… or Rudolph? How about Randall or Richard or Raymond or Roger?"

I shook my head, "No, none of those sound familiar at all, although I can't be totally sure. I really don't know how I got here, or where I am. You said I'm on a ship?"

I looked around again at the metallic room, the central console which looked like it was cobbled together from years of garage sale finds, and at the visually loud decorations in unusual shapes all around the room.

"Looks more like a fun house to me," I said curtly.

"Oi! Don't insult the ship!" the lanky man retorted. "She's... sensitive."

He gently touched the console beside him, which seemed to respond with a sympathetic hum... But I'm not sure if I really heard that or if it was just my ears ringing a little bit again.

This was really getting weird, but I didn't have the strength yet to get up and find an exit, assuming we were at port, and assuming this was a ship at all, which seemed very unlikely.

The man looked pensive for a moment, and then said, "Right. Since you can't seem to remember your name, how about we just call you Rho for now?"

I didn't really like the sound of that. "Ro? Is that a girl's name?"

"No, no. It's Greek. R-h-o, it's the 17th letter of the Greek alphabet. It's…" the man smirked, "quite manly. And a lot cooler than being called 'R'."

"Okay," I said," Rho it is... for now. And you are?"

The lanky Brit smiled as he helped me to my feet. "I'm the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" I said, quizzically.

"Yes, the Doctor."

"That's your real name? I mean... did your parents hate you or what?"

The Doctor almost looked hurt, "No, it's a *fantastic* name, and it's the name that I chose."

"I guess we have that in common. What's wrong with your given name?"

The Doctor looked uncomfortable for a second, and then changed the subject, "So, Rho. What can you remember about yourself? Or... your world?"

I looked down at the glass paneled floor and the round support column below as I tried to remember something, anything about myself or my life.

"I can't really remember anything, Doctor."

"Ohh-kay. Well, see if you can tell me this: what year is it?"

I thought for a moment. "I don't know for sure. What year *is* it?"

The Doctor paused. "Here's the thing: we need to determine which year you remember the last, or if you have any consciousness of time at all. It will help, for reasons that are… very complicated and Sciency-wiency."

"Uhh... right. Well, you're the ship's Doctor. How do we proceed?"

"I'm going to rattle off some years, and you tell me whether they sound familiar to you:

2050"

I laughed: "I'm guessing that's fairly far off in the future. The number doesn't seem real to me." I looked down and noticed my clothes for the first time - striped dress shirt, no tie, slacks, and loafers. Not shabby, but no real clues on who I am or where I'm from.

"No, I didn't think so, but I had to be sure," the Doctor replied. Noticing my brief self-examination, he added, "Your attire suggests early 21st century, but there are always retro waves, so I had to check."

"Wait a second," I said, "you make it sound like *you* don't know what year it is."

The Doctor chuckled, "Of course I know. Purely neurological diagnostic questions, I assure you. Let's continue. I name a year, and you give me your first impression, completely unfiltered."

"Okay."

"19... 75!" the doctor said, as if to surprise me.

I thought for a second, and shook my head. "Nothing about that year seems familiar to me. I don't know if I was even alive back then."

"2005"

"Mmm, I feel like I lived through that year. I can't remember what I did during that time (or any other), but the number itself means something to me."

"What about 2010?" the Doctor asked pointedly.

"That sounds like a familiar year, but definitely in the past."

"Are you certain?"
"I think so."

The Doctor stood pensive for a while after I said that. "Well... that's interesting."

I started getting a bit concerned. "Why? Where are we, anyway? Are we out at sea or docked? I'm not feeling any waves."

The Doctor beamed, spreading his arms wide, "Oh, we're definitely out at sea, mate... as far out as it gets!"

He then whirled around and flicked a few switches on the console behind him, and then a large circular screen on the other side of the room flickered on.

I walked forward and looked at the picture on the screen. It looked like a video of some strange tube of fire, and then morphed to be a cool blue plasma-like material.

"What is that, a video game?" I said, curiously.

"Vid— no, that's the Time Vortex! I'd open the doors to give you a direct look, but that would be a really bad idea at the moment. We're in the 'space' in between all points of time!"

I looked at him completely befuddled, and then noticed a pair of very out-of-place-looking wooden doors to the left of the screen. Something about those doors was really unnerving. What kind of modern ship has wooden doors? Nothing about this place made any sense.

I moved slowly towards the door and noticed the same pattern of colors coming through the small windows.

I stepped closer.

Pulsing, swirling streams of energy coursed around in chaotic patterns just outside of that door.

That. Wooden. Door.

I turned to face the Doctor.

"What the heck is this place?! Is this some sort of mad house for mad scientists?" I shouted.

I turned again to look for a moment at the mesmerizing convolution of chaotic colors, and then slowly backed away from the painfully ordinary door which was the only thing protecting me from whatever the heck that energy discharge was. I felt my back bump against a metal railing, and I spun around and instinctively tried to run up the stairs, but found myself suddenly sitting down on the third step, holding on to the railing for dear life, as if the room was about to suddenly turn on its side.

I looked up at the Doctor to see the excitement (and blood) drain from his face as he took in my horrified expression. He came and sat down on the tan chair to the left of me.

"I'm sorry, really very sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I… get carried away some times. I can see that this was far too much at this stage."

I looked at him with wide-eyed terror and anger.

"The thing is, when most of my friends meet me, they meet me on Earth. Then, I get to show them the TARDIS, and introduce them to space/time travel, but with you, everything got a bit out of order. It's sort of a big high point for me, watching the wonder on people's faces when they see the TARDIS or… other wonderful places for the first time."

The feelings fear and anger began to dissipate as I observed the Doctor gesticulating wildly as he tried to explain himself. Humor crept into my face in spite of my anger and bewilderment: I still didn't know what to think about what he was saying about time travel, but I couldn't help smile at his funny demeanor. It was almost like his arms were the arms of a suit tailored a few inches too long, and he was still trying to figure out how to use them.

"Wait, did you say the Tah-dis?" I replied.

The Doctor smiled and motioned all around him in a proud, sweeping motion, "She's the TARDIS: Time and Relative Dimension In Space. She's my ship."

The interior seemed to hum almost proudly with his statement.

"I can tell you one thing about yourself, Rho," the Doctor smirked, "you're definitely an American."

I blinked. "I guess I am. I never really thought about that."

The Doctor laughed good-naturedly at my simplistic comment.

I relaxed my iron grip and let go of the railing.

"I guess you're from the U.K., then?"

The Doctor stopped smiling. "Umm, no. Not exactly. I just... spend a lot of time there."

I got the feeling that he didn't want to talk about his origins, so I continued asking about practical matters.

"So, I guess you regularly go back to Earth from this... time vortex place." I still didn't really believe his story about where we were, but I didn't know what to do, other than humor this odd man in an odd ship. For all I knew, we could both be delusional. "Is anyone else here? ...in your... ship?"

"No, just the two of us at the moment, I dropped the kids off at home for a bit after our adventure in Venice."

"Oh, so you have children!" I said happily.

I instantly regretted saying that. Immediately there rose in that skinny man's eyes such a cloud of darkness and anger that I scooted up one stair instinctively.

As soon as it came, it was gone.

"Oh, no, just some friends!" the Doctor said extremely cheerfully, and then was quiet for a while.

I looked at the unpredictable character before me suspiciously.

The Doctor looked up, "Are you hungry? I picked up this fantastic pasta maker in 2051. It's called the Pastamatic! It doesn't just make the pasta, it prints out the whole meal, pasta, sauce, and all!"

My stomach grumbled in spite of my wariness. Did he say 2051?

"You mean there's more to your ship than this… rumpus room?"

The Doctor laughed. "It's the control room. You might call it a bridge or helm. Let's go to the cafeteria!"

"You have a cafeteria on board… but you're alone."

"Well, you never know when you'll have uninvited visitors," the Doctor smirked, "so I keep things well stocked. There's the cafeteria, chef's kitchen, informal kitchen, scullery, larder, entertainment center with five centuries of movies, antigrav rec room, and just wait until you see the library!"

I didn't understand a couple of the words he said, but the library intrigued me, at least.

"All right then," I said, "let's eat. I could go for some lasagna about now. At least I can remember what I like to eat!"