Author's Note: Everything about Emily's completely true to the book. The bit about being a companion is almost a word-for-word quote. Only thing I changed was Emily's eye color (blue to hazel). Creepy, huh?
"But she didn't… she couldn't… that was after…" sputtered the Doctor. He was not often at a loss for words, but he had never quite found himself in this situation before. He looked back at Sara, thinking of all the worlds she had described — worlds that he had visited. Of the characters she used in her stories — at first, unrecognizable, but now that he reviewed them more carefully, he could see bits of his companions inside of them. The pretty mermaid had shown sparks of Ace's enthusiasm, had shared Zoe's laugh, had spoken a little like Barbara. He thought about Sara's endless curiosity, her need to defend those less fortunate than herself, the wisdom that seemed far too old for her years. And suddenly, it became obvious. Sara Crewe was not a Time Lord.
She was the Doctor.
"But that's impossible!" said the Doctor.
Sara regarded him with her curious green eyes, and the Doctor could practically see the thoughts turning over in her head. Oh, no. This couldn't, couldn't be possible! That he would someday regenerate into a girl — and a prepubescent one, at that — and then lose his Time Lord consciousness and be forced to live out his days as a human. It had to be absolutely, utterly impossible.
"Suppose," said Sara, her eyes lighting up, "suppose that nothing was ever really impossible. Suppose that impossible was just something possible that no one's thought of yet."
The Doctor tried to swallow, as he kept staring at that terribly familiar doll. "You said… you said you knew Emily the moment you saw her," said the Doctor, his voice shaking a little.
"Yes," said Sara. "I told my papa that I was going to make a companion of her. But in the end, I think it went deeper than that. I gave her my heart, you see, and she gave me hers. It was all I had left to give."
The Doctor met Sara's eyes. Oh, she was definitely him. A much better mannered, smaller, female version of him, but definitely him. He thought his legs might give out, and dropped into a waiting chair — one right beside Emily. He stared at the doll again, wondering how someone could possibly have thought to make a doll of a woman who would not be born for nearly a hundred years.
"Are you feeling quite well?" asked Sara.
"No, not really," confessed the Doctor. "Ever had one of those days when you thought you'd got everything all nicely worked out, and then, suddenly, your whole theory comes crashing down around you?"
Sara nodded.
"That's my day," said the Doctor.
Sara frowned. "Because of Emily?" she asked.
"I know her, Sara," he said. "I've met her before. Not the doll, I mean. The person. She's real. She's still out there somewhere. Far, far away. Worlds away." He instinctively took the little doll's hand, as if it really were Rose sitting beside him.
Sara examined the scene in front of her with a haunted, lonely look on her face, a look of loss and isolation that the Doctor knew too well.
"I liked to pretend she was real," Sara confessed, in a quiet little voice. "It was so hard, when there was nothing to eat, and the cook was cross, and I had to trod through mud and dirt all day. But Emily was always there for me, in my darkest hours. Sometimes, it felt as if there was no one in the world except for Emily." She gave a small blush. "I know I am too old for dolls, but if I ever lost Emily…" she trailed off.
"Yes," said the Doctor. "I know."
Sara met his eyes. "You do," she said, and she seemed a little surprised by it. She examined him again, a little more closely, and all of a sudden, her eyes lit up, and she gave him a brilliant smile. "Of course you do," she said, more confidently. "After all, I knew Emily the moment I saw her. And so did you. It only makes sense."
"Sara, do you keep a journal of your dreams?" he asked. "Sketches, stories, anything?"
Sara shook her head. "I can't draw," she confessed. "And I never remember my dreams." Her eyes sparkled, suddenly. "Can you draw?" she asked. "Perhaps you can draw Emily's family. I've so wanted to give Emily a family, but it never quite felt right. Lottie was once her older sister, but now Lottie says she's outgrown it. I hate the idea that Emily might be alone."
She ran to gather a pencil and sketchpad. She handed them over to the Doctor, who felt a little bit put off by having to draw Jackie. But he did so, and in an act of supreme kindness, he drew her looking at least five years younger than she was. "This is Rose — I mean Emily's — mum," he said. Then he drew Pete — the way he was in the other universe. "And that's her dad."
Sara looked at the drawing, considering it very carefully. Then she smiled. "It seems a little silly," she confessed, "that I wasn't able to imagine them myself."
"Do you recognize them?" he asked.
"No," said Sara. She tore the paper from the sketch pad. "But perhaps Emily will. We must show her." She ran over and began to introduce Emily to the picture of Jackie and Pete — as if Sara were conversing with a real person, and not a doll at all.
That was when a rather odd idea popped into the Doctor's head. He was not surprised that Sara could remember only bits and pieces of her own past; he had been the same way back in Farringham, when he was human. But he remembered which images kept popping up in his dreams. It would be futile to try and convince Sara that she was not human herself, but she had the imagination to imagine other worlds and places, and pretend that she was in them. Perhaps, if he could jog a few more memories, he would help her in some small way.
He began drawing the images that he remembered had turned up most often in his dreams, back when he'd been human. He drew a Dalek. He drew the outside of the Tardis. He drew the inside of the Tardis. Then he drew Martha, just for good measure.
Sara had noticed him drawing again, and came to watch. She didn't interrupt, just studied him intently.
When he was done, he showed her the drawings. "Do any of these look familiar, Sara?"
Sara frowned. She pointed at the Police Box. "Is this what a Police Box looks like where you're from?" she asked. "I've seen them before, but they don't look like that."
"No, they don't yet," agreed the Doctor. "Not for another forty years or so. 1960's. Bit of a ways in your future, I know, but do you recognize it? When you look at it, do you feel you know it the same way you did with Emily? With me?"
"No," said Sara.
The Doctor gave a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Guess that's to be expected," he muttered to himself. "Memory fragmentation and whatnot. Human psyche's filtering through the information and extracting only the bits you can use, applying them as landscapes and backdrops inside the imagination. Best thing for it, really. Prevents all that information from causing massive neural implosion." He looked up at Sara, and said, in a louder voice, "Anything you recognize here, then?"
Sara considered the other pictures. Her eyes lit up when she saw Martha. She pointed. "She's quite sad," said Sara.
The Doctor looked down at the picture he had drawn. He had drawn Martha smiling, her eyes full of joy and excitement. "Sad?"
Sara gave an annoyed sigh. "No, that's not what I meant," she said. "Not sad. It's difficult to put into words. Have you ever had that — that rush of feelings and emotions that comes at you out of nowhere, that overwhelming surge of ideas that just will not force its way into language?"
"Well, not into this language," agreed the Doctor. "But Martha — the girl on the paper, I mean — you remember her?"
"I don't remember, exactly," said Sara. "But I recognize her. And I can suppose about her." She stared at the drawing intently, her eyes seeming to wander far away, lingering in the landscapes of her mind. "Suppose that she is in danger. In trouble. Suppose that she is trapped somewhere and unable to get free." She looked over at the Doctor. "Do you know her?"
"Yes," said the Doctor. "She's… well, she's a storyteller, like yourself. Saved a whole planet, once. Brilliant girl."
"Is she all right?" asked Sara, with such genuine worry and fear in her voice that the Doctor could see that she really did care. "Is she safe?"
"Oh, yes," said the Doctor. "Safe and happy, at home, with her family. Large family. Lovely people. Would you like me to draw them, too?"
Sara thought about this a moment, then decided against it. Instead, she pointed at the Dalek. "What's that?"
"That is a Dalek," said the Doctor. He studied her face as he said the name, hoping to see some immediate reaction to the term, but there was nothing. "You don't feel any… overwhelming fury? Sorrow? Fear? No rush of memories or emotions or anything when you see it?"
"No," said Sara. She looked at him, her forehead creasing in concern. "You seem surprised."
"You could say that," the Doctor confessed. The Daleks had been one of the things that haunted his nightmares back in Farringham. Even with full amnesia, he was fairly certain that the name 'Dalek' would still manage to send a shudder up his spine. He gave her a sad smile. "Guess I can't complain. Wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy."
Sara gave him a sudden harsh and disapproving look, a look of such rebuke that the Doctor was actually taken aback. "Do you often wish horrors on your worst enemies?" she asked. "Perhaps that's why they're your enemies. Perhaps if you wished them well, they would be your friends."
The Doctor was tempted to ask her if she'd ever tried to have tea with a Dalek, but knew the argument wouldn't really score him any points. She couldn't remember Daleks or the war, and that was probably for the best.
Feeling slightly chastised, he started to draw some more people. Jack, Astrid, Donna in her wedding dress. He showed Sara the pictures, and he could see that spark of recognition light up in her eyes.
"Yes," she said. "I know her!" She pointed at Donna. "It's like there's some magic that keeps bringing us together. She's…" Sara tried, in vain, to find the right words, but "loud" was the best she could come up with. "I quite like her."
Astrid drew a complete blank.
When she got to Jack, she actually shuddered. "That's very strange," she said. "He looks like rather a nice, amiable sort of gentleman, and yet — I feel as if I want nothing more than to run away from him. Why is that?"
"It's really, really complicated," said the Doctor. "And probably best if I don't say anything, since I believe he's around in this time period. You might even see him, one day."
"Might I?" said Sara. Her voice was filled with hope and a trace of fear. "Might I see him, really? I thought there was something… wrong with him."
The Doctor laughed at this. "Just a bit," the Doctor confessed. "Better not mention that to him. It's sort of a touchy subject."
Sara gave the Doctor a sideways smile, the kind he always gave when he was secretly amused. The Doctor returned it with his own boyish grin.
After a few more sketches, the Doctor began to notice a pattern to what Sara could remember. Sara recognized all his friends and companions — with a few rare exceptions, like Astrid. Yet she remembered none of his enemies, nor any of his traumatic experiences. It was as if she had been given all of his best memories, all his most cherished moments and feelings, and been spared all his heartache and loss. No wonder Sara had turned out so well-tempered! She had been given a universe-worth of love and happiness right from the start, enough to last her through even her darkest days. The Doctor had to admit, it was a good retirement package, if he ever decided to pack it all in, settle down and lead an ordinary, human life. He wondered how his future-self would have managed to accomplish it.
He started to draw his other selves, and she recognized those too, and felt a particular fondness towards them. She very nearly laughed at his having to draw all of these different pictures of what was so obviously the same person, but at the last moment, she stopped herself. She decided that it would be rude to laugh, when her new friend seemed so in earnest.
"Sara," said the Doctor, after this had gone on for quite a while. "Have you wondered why it is that we both seem to remember the same people and events? That we both know the same worlds?"
Sara beamed at him. "I did wonder at first," she said. "But then I worked it out. I've figured out who you really are, and now it all makes sense."
"Have you?" asked the Doctor.
"Yes," said Sara. "You are my character."