Space Sickness

Eventual M

Post Hell Bent, but before the Husbands of River Song which doesn't happen after this story! The Doctor contracts a mystery virus causing him agonising pain, confusion and sensory alteration. He is in desperate need of advanced Time Lord medicine but he's travelling alone with no-one but the TARDIS to help him. Prohibited from taking him back to Gallifrey she does the next best thing and contacts the nearest Gallifreyan spacecraft, another TARDIS close by. A TARDIS piloted by an old forgotten friend.

Something wrong… something…. Can't think….

The Doctor staggered along the corridor to the console room half covering his eyes with one hand, the other outstretched to protect him if he bumped against the walls. He was unsteady, his head bursting with pain, his hearing and vision distorted. Images whirled and deceived him while sound echoed and mocked, unknown voices calling him. Around him the Cloister bell was ringing deep and sonorous and the lights moved in waves, flashing red in the darkness.

He stumbled and tripped, catching himself against the psychic interface, gripping onto it for dear life while the pain behind his eyes escalated and burned paths through his mind. Every limb followed in flame, hot nails tearing through his skin, down to his fingertips, across his chest. His breath caught and he slumped to the floor, hands searching the console desperately for leverage.

Need… help…

This would never happen if he had a companion. River had been right, never travel alone Doctor, and he hadn't, he had travelled with someone for years, but they were now gone; an empty place in his head left behind.

He had to get help somehow. On a planet or a ship. He had long since disabled the TARDIS automatic homing device knowing it would take him straight to Gallifrey now that the planet had re-emerged from the pocket universe. He had no wish to go there, no matter how desperate he felt. He could feel his concerned ship protesting against his stubbornness as his fingers slipped into the interface and he thought as hard as he could about futuristic hospitals. If he would just let her take him back to…

'No! Anywhere but there… anywhere…' he panted, the image of the Citadel in his mind. 'There has to be somewhere else…'

Somewhere else that knew about Time Lord medicine. Not that likely was it? He felt her frustration mount with him but she could not override her programming.

'Somewhere else…. There has to be…ah!' The Doctor's hands came away from the interface and the metal floor of the room came to meet him with a thump, cold against his cheek. It offered little relief from the pain. Now every nerve in him burned. Maybe it was too late, maybe whatever this was had done the damage, maybe he was dying… he needed medicine now, it couldn't wait.

He heard the engines surge suddenly around him and the ship jerk hard as if she had impulsively, furiously decided to give him what he needed after all. He felt the odd combination of her fear and her sense of responsibility driving her to find him help and as darkness grew around him he had no choice but to put his faith in her.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Where did you take me to, old girl?

No more Cloister bell. The silence filtered slowly into his consciousness, a place normally filled with the ghosts of memories and tangled thoughts. This silence was peace itself, light like snow and just as white, he followed its path through his mind and down his spine, seeping left and right along peripheral nerves, easing the remnants of pain and wrapping him softly in its presence.

Maybe I'm dead?

He tried to open his eyes but as yet his body wouldn't follow commands so instead he tried to focus on what he could feel. Softness at his back, under his head, the feel of something similar over his torso but leaving his face and neck exposed. A very slight discomfort in one arm alerted him to the presence of something more solid, a restraint? An intravenous drip? Something unnatural anyway, something which might represent treatment.

So, not dead, being treated. That was good. A hospital? His TARDIS had taken him somewhere where he could be helped and it seemed to be working, the pain under control. He tried again to move, managed to wriggle against the softness around him. Sheets he surmised. He could smell them, a light clean fragrance, oddly familiar. His eyes opened a crack, squinted.

Too bright. Painful.

'Hey…' a voice to his right, the sound of someone pushing back a chair, 'you're ok, but you might want to keep your eyes shut a while longer, they'll be sensitive.'

He wriggled slightly again, opened his mouth to reply but his query got stuck in his throat. He swallowed, tried again.

'Same with the speaking thing,' the voice explained to him gently, 'It'll come, but right now you're too weak. You need time… don't worry, there's plenty of that, you're quite safe.'

He felt his muscles protest at his wriggling and fell still. He really was weak and he would just have to hope his TARDIS had brought him to people he could trust. The possibility he couldn't made him feel horribly vulnerable. He wished he could see where he was at least, wished he could drive back some of the aching fatigue which was washing over him. His breathing was becoming slow and heavy, his head light. He had to stay awake, he had to work out where he was. He tried to breath in deeper, bite down on his tongue to dismiss the exhaustion but it was closing in on him like a tidal wave. He couldn't move, couldn't fight off sleep. A small sphere of panic formed in his throat.

Then a rustle and the owner of the voice was closer now, adjusting his sheets, pulling them up to his chin. Hands lingered a moment over his upper arms, patted him gently.

'Sleep now,' the voice said, 'I know you're not a fan of it, but you need to. It's ok, it's part of the illness, it'll get better, but you just need to go with it right now.'

He managed to make a low moan in protest. One hand closed over his arm.

'Ok, I'll tell you basics but then you must sleep,' the voice said and he felt a weight beside him on what he assumed was the bed. He grunted approval. 'It's like a sleeping sickness,' the explanation came, 'it's a rare virus that attacks the nervous system. When you arrived here in your TARDIS you were already unconscious but I expect before that you were in a great deal of pain, that your hearing, touch and other senses were distorted. It would have come over you quite suddenly. One moment you would think you just had a space flu the next….'

He moaned, the description was accurate. Space flu. Where had he heard something like that before? Space…not flu… space something….

'It must have been agonising,' the sympathetic voice continued. He felt a thumb rubbing at his bicep soothingly. 'You're lucky you got here in time. From what we've read about it once you reach the point of unconsciousness a lot of damage has already been done; anymore and…' it stopped, took a moment, 'well its fine, it's fine because we found you…' the voice sounded relieved, like it was reassuring itself more than him.

'Have you mentioned I'm basically a linguistic genius and worked out what was going on from that ancient old medical text?' a second voice interrupted, 'I told you learning Gallifreyan was worth all the hassle. Hell of a language though, all those circles…. Hey is he awake?'

'Yes… he's fading in and out a bit I think, he's woken up a few times but I'm not sure he remembers that.'

'Maybe he just doesn't remember you?' voice two speculated. 'Either way his abilities to lay down memories will be affected by the virus. All those nerve cells and neurons are still smarting from it, look I think he's passed out again, probably best thing for him right now.'

'It must have been so painful,' voice one said with compassion. The quality of it sounded warped and the Doctor fought to listen on. He felt as though he was at the bottom of a well complete with echoes and ricochets.

'I'm sure it was,' voice two agreed, 'But he is on the mend, he is, so please don't do the thing with the eyes.'

'I know I'm sorry, I just…. I'm struggling with this whole thing.'

'It's hard, you didn't think you'd ever see him again… it's been so long….'

'It's not that… at least I don't think it's that,' voice one explained. 'I think we were always going to run into each other eventually. It's more when he does wake up after all this time…' The Doctor felt the hand on his arm lift and move away from him and as though a rope had been severed he felt himself falling, darkness rushing from all around, exhaustion pouring over him. He tried to fight it but it mocked him mercilessly, pulling him further and further from the pleasant voice above. 'When he does wake up,' it was saying, 'He still won't know who I am.'

XXXXXXXXX

There had been a conversation. He could remember that. He had some sort of space sleeping sickness according to the voice. And there was another voice too, a second voice which was very familiar, but the first voice was kinder. It had comforted him and then there'd been a conversation. Another one. One he couldn't place.

He frowned and tried to force his thoughts down his still burning neurons to retrieve what had been said but they just wouldn't go. He just couldn't reach the information. He sighed in frustration. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep either and that bothered him. As a Time Lord his sense of time was such that he should be able estimate if he had been unconscious for days or weeks but he was coming up blank. He could have been here years. Well it was time to do something about that. First things first, eyes open.

He opened them a crack and immediately yelped in pain. Well at least he could now make suitable yelping sounds, it was a step up from a low moan. He heard a small clatter and voice one commanded the ship turn down the lights. 'Try now,' it said to him, moving closer.

Cautiously he opened one eye and was met with a dark blue gloom. It didn't cause him pain so he followed up with a blink and a wary opening of both eyes.

'Take your time, adjust,' voice one said. The Doctor stared at the ceiling which in the dark didn't give him much clue as to where he was. As though reading his mind Voice One offered an explanation. 'Still in the medi bay. You've been here ten days in total. More recently you've been waking for longer periods but your memory is still a bit patchy.'

He swallowed hard trying to lubricate his throat so that he might speak. 'Wait I'll get you water,' the voice said. He heard it move off and briefly thanked the Gods he seemed to have landed such an attentive nurse who appeared to be able to read his needs. Telepathic species? Then again he may be linked up to some futuristic monitor that could do the same.

The glass of water pressed to his lips and the hand under his head angling him safely cut off his thoughts. He sipped on the water and had never been so grateful for its cool clear sensation in his mouth. After a little while he sighed contentedly.

'Better?' the voice asked gently.

'Yes…' he managed.

'Well look at you, talking,' the voice sounded like a smile, 'There's a step forward.' His own lips twitched in response, something about the quality of the voice evoked pleasant feelings in him. It was a woman, he was clear headed enough to tell that now, but he didn't recognise it.

'It's dark…' he observed.

'Your eyes are still sensitive.'

'I can't see you, or where I am…'

'If we lift the lights too early we might cause more damage,' it said evasively.

'Oh…'

'Can you sit up, do you think?'

'I don't know… maybe…'

'Take your time I'll help you,' the voice said. He heard the glass being put down and felt arms come around him. The Doctor took a breath and pushed himself up the bed a little guided by the woman's hands, bracing himself on her forearms. She quickly fixed some pillows behind him and let him settle back. 'Well done,' she said.

'So how long until I get better?' he asked. 'I'm a Time Lord I should have healed by now.'

'You need to be patient, you're getting there…'

'I'm not the patient type.'

'I know,' she laughed.

'How do you know?'

'Trust me I just do,' she replied a hint of something in her voice that felt melancholy to him.

'Where's my TARDIS?' he asked.

'On board, she's safe.'

'On board? So this is a ship?'

'Yes, a ship like yours actually.'

'I doubt that very much,' he said a little smugly, 'I'm a time traveller, that's what TARDIS stands for. Time and….'

'Relative dimensions in space, I know,' the voice cut in. The Doctor hesitated.

'How do you know that?'

A giggle from beside him, a light, fruity sound. 'Because Doctor, I have one too.'

'That's impossible.'

'No it isn't!'

'Are you from Gallifrey?' he felt a knot of panic. Damned TARDIS had taken him to the nearest Gallifreyan vessel. The next best thing to the planet. Now the two voices he had heard would return him there, the last place he wanted to go.

'No,' the pleasant voice said, 'I'm not from Gallifrey, I'm on my way there. But I'm not in any hurry.'

'Take my advice and don't go, the place is nothing but trouble,' the Doctor said.

'It depends how you look at it…' the voice said vaguely.

'So this is a TARDIS?' he asked. 'You have your own TARDIS? They aren't exactly common.'

'Yup my very own.'

'But that would mean…. Ah!' a sudden burst of pain at both temples drew him away from the conundrum in front of him. He clutched at his head helplessly where the burning was beginning to spread.

'Doctor?' rising alarm in the voice now.

'Pain… pain's back….. like it was before… before I was here. Oh Gods make it stop….'

He felt the woman lean over him, her fingers on the tight area on one of his arms, a moment of fumbling and an icy sensation in his veins followed by a rush to his brain of lightheadness, pain relief following in its wake. He slumped back against the pillows.

'Careful,' the voice said.

'What was that?' his breath was coming in short bursts, he shut his eyes against the dark blue light briefly.

'You're not fully recovered, you are liable to have the odd burst like that, I've given you something to help.'

'What triggered it…?'

He heard her take a breath and then stop. 'I think it might have been my fault,' she said.

'What were we doing?' the Doctor tried to think through the cloud of pain medication and burning neurons. 'What were we talking about? I'm on a ship… a TARDIS…. You said it was a TARDIS…. But I've got the only TARDIS.'

'Don't right now,' she said, 'You might trigger another attack.' He could feel her trying to guide him away from the subject gently and he might well have followed her suggestion if she hadn't laid her hand on his.

Touch telepathy had its place when other senses were struggling. It was what evolution was all about. When his sight was compromised he automatically engaged what little skills he had in reading others.

Through the darkness of his disparate thoughts there was a rush of imagery. A diner in the desert. Snacks and Gas. Elvis Presley on the wall and lemonade in glasses. The soft sound of a sad song played on an electric guitar deafened by the roar of engines. The building dematerialising around him leaving him quite alone. The mural on the door of his TARDIS and the face he saw there.

The face he saw there, the face he couldn't quite recall but he remembered seeing it. He remembered looking at that panel on the door and realising something so important. Something so vital. There was a woman, a woman in a blue dress. She'd served him lemonade and listened to him telling a sad story. There was a woman… and… he couldn't reach it….

'There was a woman…' he muttered, 'In the desert.'

'Doctor you should rest now,' the voice beside him was saying with concern.

'There was a woman! Can't rest, this is important, this woman…. She had a TARDIS, she disappeared. She had a TARDIS too because… because….'

'Doctor…'

'Because I stole one, I opened a passage in the Cloisters to the repair workshop and I stole one. Another one, for us… for her,' he shut his eyes and tried to picture the scene. Kneeling on the Cloister floor trying to open the seal and beside him… he was aware of the tears running down his cheeks.

'Please don't,' the voice said and he felt her hands come to his face, brush away the tears.

'Clara,' he said suddenly and the hands jerked from his cheeks. 'She was in the Cloisters, Clara was in the Cloisters and then we stole the TARDIS and…. And… neural block, we used the neural block, I went too far…. I went too far and we had to be apart but I can't remember….'

'Shhh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned the TARDIS, shh, rest now.'

'No, I have to remember.' The pain was unbearable now, washing in burning waves through his mind, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to recall. The woman's hand wrapped around his now, linking fingers, tugging.

'Doctor… Doctor don't do this… don't you're in pain, just let it go…. Don't force the memory, the memories were wiped for a reason, right? Don't fight it now…. Please I can't bear to see you like this…'

'But it's so near. And there's only one logical conclusion, don't you see? Don't you know? You have to know... I stole a TARDIS, a second TARDIS, and she was in it, Clara, and I saw her face in the mural and I realised it had been her in that Diner all along but then I forgot again, I forgot again and I couldn't picture her. And now….this is a TARDIS this is….you are….'

He stopped briefly.

'Turn the lights up,' he said to the room, 'turn them up, turn them up!'

'Doctor please, please stay calm, you're not well,'

'Turn up the lights!' he ordered.

'She won't obey, this is my TARDIS,'

'Then you tell her to raise them!' he shouted.

'No… you need to rest, you need to lie back down…'

'So I can forget again? Is that it? So I can succumb to this virus and the block and have it wipe out my memories the moment I'm asleep again. So that the next time I wake I won't have a clue who you are? So I have to work out the puzzle over and over? Oh Clara, if you are Clara, would you really want that for me? I spent billions of years doing just that, dying, forgetting and restarting my little journey, for you. Don't make me do this again.'

He could hear her crying next to him, a dark silhouette in the med bay, her features undiscernible.

'Please Doctor I don't want this… I don't want to hurt you, I don't want you to feel the way you felt then….'

'Then turn up the lights!'

'I can't….'

'No but I can,' the second voice said suddenly, 'That's enough, both of you. Turn the lights up! Now!'

The lights overhead came on strong and white and for a second all the Doctor could do was blink against them, his hands over his eyes lifting slowly to try and adapt to the surroundings. Then finally his eyes fell on a figure by the door, darkly dressed with the face of a girl but he knew immediately she was a being as old as him at least.

'Ashildr,' he said, 'The Lady Me.' He saw her open her mouth to respond but his gaze had sharply turned to the other woman in the room. Brown hair, big brown eyes, tearstained cheeks. She looked at him terrified, anxious and caring, as though for all the world seeing him was both the only and the last thing she wanted.

'Hi,' she said quietly, her hand still on his. He looked at it, flicked his eyes to hers requesting permission and she nodded, never moving her gaze from him. He watched her memories of them together roll slowly through her mind. It was her, of that he had no doubt, she shared the experiences he knew related to her. In her head he watched himself on the Orient Express, their time on Skaro, the Raven on Trap Street. He tried the same memories in his own mind. It was her but in all of his own memories he couldn't see her face.

Clara, his Clara was there, right in front of him, frozen in time, she hadn't aged a day, he knew that. No pulse at her wrist, no breath. He had lifted her from her timeline and now she sat between heartbeats unchanged, beautiful. This was the heroine in his story. This was the woman for whom he was willing to destroy the universe. Whose death had driven him to the edge of sanity. For whose life he spent an eternity in his confession dial so that he could bargain for it. He had loved her more than anything he had ever loved, he remembered that much but he could never remember her.

They silently watched one another and he was acutely aware she still had all of her memories, that on some level this was as painful for her as it was for him. He could see it in her eyes, in the emotions he felt through her skin. He wished that he had more than an academic appreciation of those feelings. That he still felt his love for her and not just the memory of it.

His Clara. Sitting by him now. He could touch her, look into her eyes and share with her reminiscences of the things they had done but it didn't feel real, it didn't feel complete. He didn't know her anymore. He just knew she had been so important. And she could see that in his face, she could see it and it was hurting her. With each passing second her expression saddened.

'Hello,' he said quietly at last, 'You must be Clara Oswald.'