The Other Side
By TwinEnigma
02.
It is an ordinary day at Torchwood, in Pete's World.
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the threat of alien invasion is low, and the coffee is amazing.
Most people would consider this a good thing, but over the years the Doctor has come to be wary of times like these. They always precede some sort of trouble – in fact, he came up with a quite solid mathematical correlation between the number of days of calm, mundane normalcy and the severity of the trouble that followed.
It has been calm for a month.
One full month of peaceful, mundane, normal life, including getting home before dark, very domestic things, and getting along with his mother-in-law.
Clearly, something is about to go horribly awry. The question is 'what?'
He frowns, spinning back and forth in his desk chair as he stares at the ceiling and contemplates the wriggling timelines in the back of his head. Unbidden, he thinks of the nightmare he'd had the night previously and pauses.
No, he thinks, it's not possible and lets his mind wander down other avenues of thought.
The Doctor sits up, picking up his sonic screwdriver, and twirls it in his fingers distractedly. Perhaps it might have something to do with that rather curious incident last month, the one where the TARDIS had found her way all the way here from the other universe – and really, though he'd known it was inevitable, he'd still mourned his other self and understood why the old girl had come to him. Yes, he supposes, it might make sense. She had to puncture a rift in space and time to get here and, as much as he supposes he should be able to trust her word that it was taken care of, he has to wonder if something wasn't missed. After all, he muses, if that Jimmy character that showed up with her was really his descendant, then trouble should logically follow in his wake.
His descendant – those words always give him pause. He and Rose had never really given thought to anything beyond much of the immediate future since they were left here six years previously. They had just moved on and dealt with the here and now – which wasn't exactly easy, as he recalls, since there was literally so much to get used to all over again and a whole host of familiar strangers haunting him, like Donna, Ace and so many others, even without considering the various timelines ahead of them. Still, they managed and found something of a happy ending for each other, complete with plenty of running and, more recently, a child. He'd always known that having kids with Rose would have an impact down the line, especially since neither of them existed in this universe to begin with, but having been confronted with a hint about the potential extent had been nothing short of a thoroughly awkward experience.
He's curious, though – what man in his right mind wouldn't be? And it is very tempting. He's got the TARDIS now (and a second growing in a pie tin in his workshop), so he could easily just pick up the missus and they could skip off to check things out for themselves.
Gingerbread houses, he reminds himself.
Besides, it's a near mathematical constant that if they did just skip off in the TARDIS, whatever apocalypse or invasion that's been brewing all month will immediately pop up and he's got the proofs to back his calculations. These things always did seem to occur when they were trying to enjoy themselves or were out of town on holiday (and that did not even begin to cover the calculations involved in trouble waiting for them at their intended destinations – really, they were very jeopardy-friendly people, he and Rose).
Best not to tempt fate quite yet, he decides, and wonders if Rose wants to skip out for an early lunch.
Jimmy stares at the building in the distance, his hands in his pockets. He's not sure why he's here. He's not even sure he wants to be here.
Noble, his TARDIS, lets off a soothing telepathic hum. She's currently disguised as a perfectly respectable vintage telephone box – red, of course, her favorite color.
"Jimmy!" a woman calls out from somewhere to his left. She waves, hurrying up to him.
"Ann," he responds, nodding in acknowledgment. "It's been a while."
"Three years," she agrees and he can feel the strain in the words as she comes to stand beside him. "I'm glad you came."
They start to walk and he can feel Noble smugly lock herself down – of course, she was behind bringing him here, the daft motherly old thing. She worries about him.
"How is Sam?" Jimmy asks.
"The same," she admits, sadly. She's aged a fair bit, worry and stress taking its toll. "He's still in there, though – he asks about Lucy, you know, sometimes..."
She trails off, a bottomless ache projecting from her every pore, and Jimmy knows what she's not saying: Sam doesn't recognize her, his girlfriend, but he remembers to ask about his TARDIS.
It's not that surprising, really. Sam Tyler was a good pilot, but he had frequently broken the safety rules regarding the telepathic fields on his TARDIS to raise their reaction times to near superhuman levels. He'd let down all his mental shields, practically immerse himself in her consciousness, and then they'd move as one being. As a result, he and Lucy shared a very strong mental bond, such to the point where any passengers he took along for a ride complained it was impossible to tell where Sam ended and his TARDIS began. They shared the same likes, dislikes and were both similarly-tempered.
But those safety rules had been put in place for a very good reason. And when Lucy was destroyed in that accident, every pilot got a sobering reminder of why: Sam's mind had literally shattered as she exploded.
"Jimmy?" Ann asks hesitantly, pulling something from her pocket and unfolding it. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"
He takes the paper from her, turning it around and examining it. It's covered in concentric circles and geometric patterns, bisecting lines and overlapping shapes. It's utterly alien to him and he thinks for a moment that he can see a mathematical, organized logic to it, but the meaning escapes him. "Where'd you get it?"
"Sam," she replies, radiating unease. "He keeps drawing things like this. The doctors can't make heads or tails of it."
Jimmy sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Can I keep this?"
She nods, sniffling a little. "Sure. He won't miss it. He's got hundreds."
"Go on home," he says, giving her a quick hug. "Get some rest."
She nods again, stiffly, and jerkily wipes at her eyes. "Stop on by sometime. Don't be a stranger."
"Sure thing," he says and they both know it's a lie because pilots are wanderers by nature and lonesome by trade. But he knows that she knows the gesture is no less appreciated.
He watches Ann leave and then starts up the path to the psychiatric hospital.
Jimmy has to leave his coat, keys, the contents of his pockets, and his sonic screwdriver behind at the visitor's desk, locked up in a cupboard until he returns. He feels more than a little vulnerable without them, but he understands the reasoning all too well and simply follows the orderly deeper into the facility. The whole place feels alien to him, unsettling on every level and he's aware of how much he doesn't belong here with each step he takes. And when he's finally in front of the right room, he hesitates at the door, suddenly afraid – he doesn't want to see one of his few friends regarding him as a stranger. Look at how it was destroying Ann! He knows there was a reason he didn't come here before.
"I'll have an eye on you the whole time," the orderly assures him. "If there's any trouble, I'll get you."
Nodding stiffly, he steels himself for the inevitable.
"Sam, you have a visitor," the orderly says, opening the door. He nods, indicating it's all right.
Jimmy enters the room slowly, cautiously observing the man sitting at the table and drawing with a red crayon. Circles in circles and geometric shapes cover the papers scattered everywhere. "Hey, Sam," he says, at long last. "It's me, Jimmy. Do you remember me?"
Sam mumbles but doesn't look up.
"Suppose not, huh?" he manages, shakily running a hand through his hair. "Saw Ann outside. She's worried about you."
"Lucy?" Sam asks, not looking up. His hand pauses over the paper.
"Lucy's dead, Sam," Jimmy explains patiently.
"I know," he says, absently. "She was very clever."
"She certainly was," Jimmy agrees.
Sam raises his head at last, examining him with a strange, burning gaze. He then breaks into a too-large smile as he gleefully exclaims, "Doctor! What a surprise!"
Jimmy stares at him, ignoring the shiver of horror that crawls down his spine.
Sam starts to stand, the strange look not leaving his eyes. "It's been a while, Doctor. I trust you remember my name."
Jimmy backs up, slowly, never breaking eye contact with his friend.
"It's..." Sam pauses, his face flickering with confusion. He then looks around in complete lack of recognition, studying the walls and ceiling, and asks in a clear Manchester accent, "Is this 2006? Am I still in the hospital? I need to get back to '73. I promised Annie. My head hurts! It's burning up... Everything's burning!"
"I'll get the nurse," Jimmy says roughly and knocks on the door to let the orderly know he's done.
As soon as he's out of the room, he stands with his back against the wall, covers his face with his hands and allows himself to sink slowly to the floor.
"I'm so sorry," the orderly says. "You can't stay there."
"Just give me a minute," Jimmy tells him, rubbing his head as he tries to gather his thoughts. Taking a steadying breath, he slowly gets back to his feet and levels his most serious glare at the orderly. "I need his file. Who do I talk to?"
The orderly gives him a quizzical look, but leads on.
AN: Now with moar casual references, including a nod to another series.
Names are so important.