The trio (well, duo) got out of the TARDIS and looked around. The hospital stood before them, and all of London surrounded it.
"So where do you think Hamlet is?" the Writer asked the Doctor.
"I don't know. His chameleon circuit was functioning, and then there's the perception filter... he could be anywhere. You really should have checked where you landed before you transplanted."
"Well I wasn't thinking about that! I was thinking about how much I didn't want to fight in the war!"
"Anyways, we'd better start looking."
"Where should we start?"
"I think we should start inside the hospital," Cynthia suggested.
"Cynthia has a point," the Writer confirmed. "The transplant was pretty clean, which suggests a close proximity."
"Right, well then, let's get started." The group walked toward the building. Cynthia and the Writer entered, but then they noticed that the Doctor wasn't with them. They backed out and looked for him. He was staring at something on the perimeter of the building.
"Doctor!" the Writer called. "Come on!" He seemed to snap out of it.
"Right. Yes. Coming."
The Writer was so lucky that the Doctor found her. Even if she had woken up on her own, and figured out where Hamlet was, she never could've gotten past reception without the Doctor's psychic paper. She was now with him and Cynthia walking up a hallway on the first floor of the hospital, looking for signs of anything even slightly unordinary. Suddenly the Doctor stopped. Cynthia and the Writer looked at him. "What is it?" Cynthia asked.
"What security code did you say you used?"
"Sigma."
"And, that activated a level what exactly perception filter?"
"Twenty-seven. Why?"
"Because... last I checked, hospitals didn't number their rooms with greek letters." The Writer and Cynthia looked where he was looking: Door 27Σ. The Writer smiled excitedly.
"Ooooh! He always was a clever boy!" She ran up to the door and put her hand on it lovingly.
"How are you going to get in?" the Doctor asked. "You don't even have your key!"
"He's a type 98; he doesn't need a key." She knocked on the door in a particular pattern. It swung open. The interior of a TARDIS not much different from the Doctor's was revealed. The Writer smiled coyly.
"How did you do that?"
"He's imprinted on my psychic wavelength. I'm the only person in the universe that can open him. And, I don't need a key. It's even safer than isometrics." She ran inside and the Doctor followed her in. She gave Hamlet a big hug around his center column. "I missed you so much Hammy! Yes I did! Oh, how fabulous it is to be back! Did you miss me?" Hamlet bonged. "I know, darling, I was gone for far too long. I'll never do that again." Then she kissed him. She suddenly shifted into Cynthia.
"You are crazy," the human girl told her. "Can I have my body back now?"
"Oh! Yes, of course darling." She got down and moved toward the back of the control room. "Stasis chamber is here. Doctor, I'll need your help!" She began fiddling with the machinery of a large contraption: the psychic transplant machine she used to leave her body in the first place. The Doctor ran over to help her. He saw her old body lying down in the stasis chamber. Long, straight brown hair framed a face that looked about mid-twenties. The eyes were closed behind those square glasses he remembered well. She was thin, and looked about 5' 4" tall. She was wearing a tan jacket from a suit over a pink T-shirt. Here jean-shorts went almost to her knees, and white socks peeked up over the tops of long brown boots that laced all the way up. A brown scarf hugged her neck. She was half-smiling like the Mona Lisa. Nice girl, Mona Lisa. A bit snippy, but he always kind of liked attitude. "Alright," the Writer piped up again. He looked her way. She had Cynthia sitting in a device similar to the Chameleon arch - headset and all. She handed him a big red button while still fiddling with other machinery in her lap. "When I say to, hit that button. That's all you need to do."
"Are you sure this will work?"
"I'm positive." The machine started beeping. "Now, Doctor!" Hesitantly the Doctor pushed the button in his hand. The machine whirred and smoked. Sparks flew everywhere. All kinds of beeps and sounds came from the device. It stopped. Everything was still for one long, sickening moment. Suddenly the Writer's body gasped to life from within the stasis chamber. Quickly the Doctor rushed over and pressed a button on the side. The glass slid open and she tumbled out into the Doctor's arms.
"Oh, blimey..." she panted. "I am never doing that again."
"Well, you've got no reason to now."
"Yes... I suppose you're right... I just... I just don't believe it..."
"I know," the Doctor whispered. "But think of it this way: At least we have each other. You can't imagine how wonderful it is to find you here." The Writer smiled at him. "Well, now that we've got that settled, how about we take a spin around the universe? You, me..." he glanced at Cynthia hesitantly, "Cynthia..."
"Oh no," Cynthia insisted. "I'm not gonna get dragged God-knows-where just to watch you two make out. I'll wait here. You two can enjoy your date."
"Honey, are you sure?" the Writer asked. "I hate to leave you..."
"No, really, it's fine. But if you don't come back for me I'll find you and kill you however many times it takes for you to stop regenerating!"
"Wouldn't dream of it, darling. You're like a sister. We'll take Hamlet; that way we won't get lost," she told the Doctor pointedly, "and I know he won't kidnap me because he's practically married to his TARDIS."
"At least I didn't name her!"
"Shut up!" She turned to Cynthia. "We'd best get going; Hamlet's itching for some exercise. Poor thing's been stuck here sixteen years." The trio walked out of Hamlet, and Cynthia looked at her imaginary friend as though it would be the last time, because for all she knew, it might have been. The Writer smiled and winked, and the otherworldly pair turned back and disappeared inside Hamlet's door. Suddenly, a blue ring apeared around the door, and Cynthia got worried. She knew from the time lady's memories that were shoved inside her head: This shouldn't happen. She ran to the door as Hamlet dematerialized in pixels, not at all the way a TARDIS should. By the time Cynthia reached the door, it was gone – nothing but a bare wall. Cynthia looked up at the ceiling. Her only friend was gone – probably forever.
