Hi folks

Here comes the sequel to my story A Full Circle. It's the story of an OC who stumbles into Doc 10 and how the events that follow turn his life upside down. The story is hinted in the first chapter, but to fully understand his difficult relationship with the Doctor it would help to read A Full Circle.

Again, I'm not a native English speaker, so if you like this and want to help improve it, contact me, beta readers are greatly appreciated.

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Chapter One

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A few months later, the impact, of my little adventure with the Doctor on my life became less and less deniable. I had contacted professor Miller, my old doctoral advisor and the outcome couldn't be called anything else than devastating. At work I incurred dark looks from my colleagues because I had been just moody and unproductive lately. Then Jack left earth for good, and I startet to fall back into my old drinking habit. I felt cornered by Martha's attempts to coach my return to my old, brand new life. I hadn't answered her calls and mails for ten days, I was indulging in denial when one evening the doorbell rang. It was Martha. I wanted to slam the door shut in her face but she was quick enough to put a foot in.

"David! We have to talk!"

"No. You have. I don't," I retorted

But she was fiercly determined. There wasn't much of a chance to get rid of her so easily now, so I gave in. "All right, come in then, stay, if you can't help it, but you'll not get me into more problem blah..." I returned back to my messy living room.

Martha followed me, eying my laptop and the open beer on the cluttered table with a frown on her pretty face, but didn't comment it. She thew a pile of clothes off of one of my chairs and settled down, ignoring my icy mood. She just started telling me a story. I didn't really want to hear anything about travels through time and space, but she continued. It was about a a trip to the end of the wold, a professor named Yana and a year that never was. Her year that never was.

By the time she had ended I felt quite sympathetic for her. I hadn't known, what she had been through with the Doctor. But she had an advantage I thought. Her ordeal was over. She had a good job, a nice husband and I could only congratulate her for her ability to adapt to all this madness. But it rather increased my frustration.

"Ah, and what about my life that never will be?" I shot at her.

"David, honestly, you call alcoholism, drugs and sex affairs a life? I..."

I felt hot blood rush into my head and cut her short. "What do you care! Is it your business, what life I want to lead?" Of course, it was her business, I thought bitterly. The Doctor had made it her business.

"But according to the Doctor, it's going to be all right" she tried to console me, looking at me with these soulful brown eyes that would have pretty much melted my soul under different circumstances.

"Yeah. According to the Doctor." I yelled, "Your life is still your life. But mine is not mine anymore. Last week I got a decline from Professor Miller's office. I called him to persuade him to take me back as a doctorand. I pleaded him. You know what he said? Only over his dead body." I continued with slightly more moderate voice, "Martha, he can't stand me. And maybe he`s right. And now I have to bow and scrape, not to say crawl in front of that man until maybe he gives in?"

For a moment, there was an awkward silence..."Oh dear!" She replied, "That's bad news! Maybe the Doctor can..."

"The Doctor, the Doctor, always the Doctor. His this, his that." I burst out, "Know what? I'm sick of it. Of what he's done to me! I get claustrophobic, every time somebody mentions the word doctor." It was good to let off some steam. But I was aware, that it betrayed my true feelings to her, what meant, that she would probably set said Doctor on my tracks to "set me right". Well, my behaviour lately would have caused that sooner or later anyway. This was so hopeless! I slumped back in in my chair. "Martha, thanks for all your concern, it's better you go now." I sighed. Her fingers stroked along the perception filter she wore around her neck whenever we met. She opened her mouth to reply something surely meant to reassure me, but I cut her off. I liked her, personally. A lot. But I had lately become so tired of her attempts to babysit me. She had just no idea what I was going through!

"No. You can say whatever you like. I don't want consolation. I want that stuff out of my head. I don't want to see people die, that I know, I have the means to save. I want to be close to people without the constant nagging feeling that I can't be completely honest, and have to hide something from them. Have you and idea, how it has been at work for me lately? I don't want to lead a double life. I don't want to know my future! That's all. And you can't give that to me. So just leave!" I looked into her eyes. What I saw was just deep concern and I couldn't bear it. "Please go now." I asked her quietly.

When I finally had succeeded to usher her out of my flat, I downed another beer. My mind was getting pleasantly foggy, but I was restless. A stroll through dark, cold London led me to some boozer. I just wanted to forget. Getting tanked up. Alone but in like minded company. And spent the greater part of the night doing that successfully.

I just remember that my return home that night involved some vaguely familiar face and my desire to punch it, a taxi, and not wanting to be brought home.

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When I opened my eyes again, light seeped softly through the curtains of my bedroom window. I had just enough time to move my spinning, aching head over the bucket, that somebody had left at my bedside, then I convulsed. In my misery I heard the floor boards creak. I felt somebody leaning over me, supporting my shoulder and head while I heaved and wretched miserably to empty my stomach into that bucket.

Fortunately he had the sensitivity to spare me any fuss or claptrap and just quietly handed me a towel and then a glass of water. My stomach wouldn't even keep the water, so just seconds later I was hanging over the bucket again.

Martha had indeed set him on me after our encounter last night. Although I hadn't anticipated that he would turn up at that bar to find me roaring drunk... I refrained form any whining about my misery and suffered in silence. I was almost glad, that I was so busy throwing up, because somewhere between my anger, fear and also shame, it was an excuse that I didn't have to talk to him.

...

When I woke up, the first thing I saw was the disturbingly red display of my alarm clock. It showed 2.46 PM! My sluggish, aching brain reported, that this was somehow not good, concerning that it was Tuesday. Work! I had to call my boss! I grasped for the mobile, but it wasn't at it's usual place on my night stand. I vaguely remembered, that I had been drinking at a bar last night. Now I was in my bed, in pyjamas, sick and with a sour taste in my mouth. That could only mean one thing. A memory crept lazily into focus. Martha and, of course, who else, him. A sense of panic welled up in my mind, but another sensation became prominent, it told me, that my next destination was definitely the toilet, dealing with the Doctor had time. I sat up rather more quickly than advisable in my condition and then got up, opened the curtains and staggered to the bathroom, zigzagging around the junk on the floor as good as I could.

There was the Doctor's blue box, parked in my living room. The doors were open. I spotted the Doctor on my sofa, in his usual pinstriped suit and trainers, just where the night before Martha had been sitting. He was playing with my laptop, expectantly looking up at me. But I decided to pretend, he and his blasted ship weren't there. That was pretty much my standard way of conflict management, which had already cost me one or two relationships. I just wished, it cost me this one, but in this case I reckoned, my chances were rather slim. The Doctor just raised a very worried eyebrow, when I bolted past him. It somehow reflected Martha's expression the other day. But fortunately, again, he didn't address me.

When I had released myself, I rinsed the foul taste from my mouth. With a groan, I lowered my head into the sink and turned the tap. The cold water brought instant relief and I just let it flow for a very long time, as if it there had been a chance, that the water could wash away all my sorrows and problems along with the pain. I wished, that I could lock myself up in my bathroom for indefinite time to escape the unavoidable.

After some time and despite that I had locked it, the door opened and a freckled face lined with concern appeared in the gap. Great! Not even in my bathroom he could leave me alone!

"David, let me help you. Please!" He squeezed his lanky frame in and settled down on the rim of the bath tub, watching me from under his unruly mop of hair. I hastily turned off the water, grabbed a towel and fled the bathroom without comment, the Doctor jumping up and following me. There was just no escape from him. I slumped in my chair and buried my head in my hands as a last resort. He squat down in front of me and covered one of my hands with his, his eyes searching mine. I wished I had been able to shout out my frustration, but instead I recoiled, like an injured earthworm recoils into its hole.

"I know. Martha told me. Don't try to run away, come with me. I'll try to find a way to fix this." He said softly, "And if we don't, I can wipe your memories. The full version or partial, your choice."

I looked him in the face for the first time. He was seriously meaning it. "And what about the future?"

"It's your life. Not my choice to make." I thought of the dark ages that he had promised for humanity if I didn't function properly as the little cog wheel in human history. A future, that I probably wouldn't get to see but he had to live with. What choice did I have! Could I actually let him wipe my memories, knowing, what it would cause?

He laid a shabby gray book in my lap. It was my old dissertation, with the message in it. "David, you gave me this book. Or, you will give me this book. There must be a way. It has happened. Somehow. Come with me. Holidays. Time to think and sort it out. Okay?" He locked his gaze onto my eyes and held it until I replied with a faint, uncertain nod.

"Good!" Relieved, he blew out a puff of air, releasing some of his tension. My eyes wandered to the telephone, my boss!

"I've made that call for you. Don't worry. You're free for the rest of the week. However long it will take." The Doctor reassured me. I watched some water from my hair drip onto the booklet. and shoved the thing back into the Doctor's hands as if it was some kind of dangerous animal, not an innocent book. Well, it was not an innocent book. No. There was no easy way out. And on top of it my headache slowly returned.

I took a shower and two Aspirin, dressed slowly and packed up a few things into a sports bag. The Doctor shepherded me into his ship, where I slumped down on the raggedy bench. The place gave me the strangest feeling. I couldn't help to admit, some part of me had missed the Tardis.

"It's gonna be okay. Trust me." The Doctor's cheery grin didn't quite convince me, but I nodded

"All right then!" I swallowed hard and grasped the railing behind me, when he started spinning around the console like a mad pianist mistreating his instrument. The column began to pulse and glow and only an instant later, to the sheer delight of its owner, the Tardis began to rock and shake like a bucking horse throwing off a rider.

A tiny little bit of the exhilaration of the experience just started to rub off on me, when, when with an ear shattering screech of the engine and a sudden outburst of violence the ship lurched almost upside down. What followed then could be described as the experience of a mouse in a tumble drier. In an instant I was completely sober. I clung to the seat for dear life, over all that noise heard the Doctor's screams. It can't have been very long. Maybe a minute. Then, abruptly the ship was steady once more. The deafening screeching and howling of the engine ended and turned into its usual, low, comforting hum. I pulled myself up on the seat, panting like a marathon runner. For a moment, I thought we were safe now, although I was not sure if I wanted to know, where this obvious malfunction had brought us.

Then all of a sudden, the hum started to fade and the lights went dim. The Doctor, who had clung to the railings during this hell ride sprinted to the console and in a frenzy lifted some parts of the floor grating underneath. He crawled into the abdomen of his ship, not rambling gibberish, as usual, but working with grim and silent determination. He completely ignored me, I wouldn't have been much of a help to him anyway. It dawned onto me, that the outcome of our first encounter might not have been some nasty coincidence. The Doctor was probably one of these individuals who attracted havoc wherever he went. Maybe he even was the reason for the turmoil in the first place. I asked myself, why the hell a ship with travelling habits that violent had no seats with safety belts. Probably because the Doctor liked it that way... I rubbed my head, that had collided with something hard during the ride and seriously questioned my sanity for even setting a foot on board of his Tardis, after what I had been through with the Doctor the first time round..

„Oh no, no NO! Not again! Please, you can't do that to me!" I heard his muffled pleading that was followed by the clanking of his mallet.

The life signs of the Tardis stabilised. But a moment later it was shaken by a deep, resonating boom. The lighting flickered and the gravity field destabilised for an instant, commented by a high pitched„What!" by the Doctor.

It felt like an impact of some sort. According to all I knew about the Tardis, this was not supposed to happen. Not at all. And since it obviously frightened even the Doctor, I was getting slowly more than a little uneasy.

Grimacing he crawled out of the ships engines, jumped to his feet, hunched over the console to get to the screen. He switched it to exterior images and we both saw, where the Tardis had brought us.

Into the orbit around a blue-green world, into the middle of a space battle. The Doctor gaped at that scene, transfixed to the spot and did... nothing.

„Doctor, ah... wouldn't it be wise to dematerialize, you know, get away from here, do something?" I carefully addressed the Time Lord.

„Wise? Yeah. There is just this little problem, see, ... I can't! Sorry..." He scratched his jaws, gave me an unnervingly goofy grin and started gyrating the console like a madman once more, turning switches seemingly at random. Then he stopped dead, dropped out of his self absorption, and froze there for a moment. I just watched him, flabbergasted. And frightened.

"This universe out there is not our universe." He finally addressed me. I was really happy, that finally I got some explanation, but that wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear. "We somehow made it into a parallel reality. What shouldn't have happened at all, because under given circumstances it's impossible! My Tardis is not compatible with the energy here, we're cut off from anything she can use."

"So we are stuck here forever?" I asked him in sheer disbelief.

"Ah no. Don't worry. I can fuel her from my life energy for one jump, but this will take time. A few days." He shrugged, face lined with tension.

„So this out here" I pointed in sheer disbelief up to the ceiling of the console room, „This is not our universe anymore? Do I get this right?" I asked him to make sure, I had understood what he had just said.

„Yeah... I know, it's a bit hard to understand..." He ruffled his hair apologetically.

„So we are out of gas in the midst of a space battle in a parallel universe?"

„Yep. I'm afraid, you nailed it." He replied with a wry grin. My mood went from the bad of this morning to below zero, as we watched the events outside. It seemed that the planet was under attack from an armada of ships and we had so far been hit only because we were just at the wrong place at the wrong time, not target of the attack.

"Oh great!" I exclaimed, I just opened my mouth to smother the Doctor with a flood of reproaches, when suddenly the Tardis sounded its weird alarm. The Doctor started to move his hands frantically over some switches.

„Dammit, they are scanning us!"

Then the alarm ended as abruptly as it had begun.

We both watched the screen to see what happened. All of a sudden, first one and then two more huge crimson red space ships appeared. They seemed to disable the attacking crafts. As the Doctor watched this scene, his jaw dropped and he just stared blankly at the screen. The expression of sheer, exasperated disbelief on his face could only mean that what happened out there was really bad.

„Did they just use transmat technology to travel here? I thought, that this was impossible, the range, the mass of a big object like a ship..." He tore his gaze loose from the screen and stared at me with a feverish frenzy in his eyes. "Yeah, quite impossible, to transmat ships from one star system to another." He replied. His eyes wandered back to the screen, transfixed, he knitted his eyebrows and arched over the console to get a better view, his nose practically touching the screen.

„These are …."

He turned to me, with a look of utter terror on his face. „Tardises!"