Title: Seven Eighths
The Doctor lay back on the bed, breathing hard, and reached over to caress his partner's damp brow. "So, do you remember me now?"
"It might be starting to come back to me," his companion replied. "Remind me again?"
The Doctor was just about to do so when a very rude interruption occurred. "Professor?" Ace yelled through the door. "Are you okay? What are you and that bloke doing in there, anyway?"
"Nothing that need concern you, Ace," the Doctor called back.
There was a pause, then a sullen, "Fine, have it your way," and the sound of footsteps padding away.
The Doctor smiled and thought back to earlier that evening.
He was stalking the night-darkened streets of 1997 Manchester, the memory of Ace's mirthful expression eating at him. "Like an uncle to her, indeed," he muttered to himself. "I was joking, wasn't I, to even suggest that she could ever think of me that way."
Ace had been contrite once she'd realised his overtures had been serious, but it was too little, too late. Obviously he'd been very wrong to think she had grown up enough to view the idea in a mature light.
The Doctor halted abruptly and glanced at his reflection in a shop window. "And I do not look fiftysomething in human years, despite what one particular person might claim. No more than - 43, I'd say. If that."
He resumed his march down the pavement, keenly aware that he needed a distraction. The sight of a queue outside a nearby building provided one. The business bore the name 'The Blue Pony' and the Doctor made his way inside.
Immediately he drew varying reactions from the patrons of the pub. Some glanced at him in amusement, others quickly dismissed his presence, and the remainder appeared to be simply appalled. The Doctor bristled. He knew his current incarnation was short and perhaps not the most handsome ever, but to be considered so very unappealing quite stung.
Other individuals proved to be more popular. The Doctor noted that one in particular was attracting far more than his share of attention. Curious, he paced a bit closer. Then his stance stiffened, his eyes narrowed, and his grip on his umbrella tightened.
He knew that noble profile, those artistic curls, and those deep wells of eyes. He had accidentally encountered the next him several times before, in defiance of the Blinovitch Limitation Effect, and lived to remember the incidents. His eighth self was popular, attractive, and charming. And no one snorted with laughter when he tried to kiss them.
He came to a quick decision, then purposefully crossed the room and tapped the future him on the shoulder. With a thin smile, he announced, "So, we meet again."
The other him looked blank. "Do I know you?"
How fortuitous - he had caught himself at a point when he was stricken with amnesia. With that realisation, the Seventh Doctor's plans altered. "Oh, I think you could say that you know me very well indeed, Doctor."
"You do know me!" exclaimed the future him in a tone of pure delight. "And you say I'm a doctor? You know, I've thought that before. It just feels right to me, to be called 'doctor'."
"Come with me and you'll find out a lot more about yourself," the Seventh Doctor promised. As he headed for the door with his companion, he noticed that the looks that now came his way were envious, confused, and curious.
Disappointed murmurs, catcalls, and taunts accompanied them as they departed. It seemed that nearly every patron of the Blue Pony had been interested in the Eighth Doctor and wanted to give their opinions of his choice of companion for the evening.
The Seventh Doctor ignored their comments and used his umbrella to help sweep a path to the doorway. Once outside, he set off down an alleyway in the direction of the TARDIS.
The future him trotted along at his side like an overexcited puppy. "You know me? You really know me?"
"Certainly I do, and very well, at that."
His meaningful words were not lost. The future Doctor said hesitantly, "Were we... I mean, you and I... were we... involved?"
The Seventh Doctor's plans abruptly took on a sharp new focus at this moment. "Yes, we most certainly were. Now, do be quiet and stop bouncing around. You're like an out-of-control yo-yo." If no one else would have him, he vowed, he himself would.
Several minutes of brisk walking brought them to his destination. There, not wanting to have to explain the TARDIS's oddities to his amnesiac companion, the Doctor instructed him to close his eyes and to keep them closed no matter what he heard. Then he unlocked the door and pulled his other self inside by the elbow.
As he had hoped, Ace was waiting in the control room for his return. She probably felt guilty over her earlier rejection of him, the Doctor thought. He looked right past her and led himself toward the corridor.
Ace stared in bewilderment. "Professor, who's that with you?"
The Doctor firmly guided his companion past her. "Never you mind, Ace." He heard her footsteps shuffling behind both of theirs, but refused to turn again as he continued down the corridor to the fourth, fifth, sixth door on the left. Here he stopped and reached for the knob.
Ace burst out, "But isn't that the room with all that weird stuff in it?"
"I know what I'm doing," he bit off, shoving the other Doctor into the room. He then sidled inside himself, shut the door in Ace's face, and emphatically turned the lock. His eyes roved over the contents of the room. All present and accounted for, he thought.
"You can open your eyes now," he informed his future self. "And while you're at it, please lie on the bed and position your arms over your head, by the handcuffs."
"Handcuffs?" the older him said faintly.
"Yes. I'm sure the handcuffs will help you remember. And if they don't, we can always try the whips and chains. If you're a good boy, I might even let you tie me up next time!"