A/N: I decided not to delay posting this story in it's entirety. I am due to start work on Monday (yay!) and it's a new career path for me to end my owned forced retirement from being a Personal Support Worker due to health reasons. Now it looks like I'll be a Financial Advisor. I can live with being in an office - working for a living beats pension any day, especially when it's a forced early retirement... so, I'll be a bit too busy to post this over the next few days. Legacy will continue to be posted at a rate of one new chapter every week to two weeks until we finish with the special just in time for May Day.
CHAPTER FOUR
Donna walked in, looking him over as he slept. His colour had vastly improved from the first day they had brought him in here. He was no longer ashen, nor deathly pale with the faintly blue lips. She smoothed back his hair and was surprised when his brown eyes opened. She smiled. "Hey Dumbo, how are you feeling?"
"Better," he answered roughly, then cleared his throat. "Still feel tired all the time. Thank your grandfather for me for the clock."
"Thank him yourself," she said. "He's coming with me this afternoon. Had someplace to be this morning but said he'd be here come hell or high water in the afternoon."
"On that... where is here exactly?"
"You didn't know?" she asked.
"No, I don't," he answered.
"UNIT headquarters in London, not the warehouse either, their office and intelligence headquarters. Tower of bloody London, if you believe it."
"Not a hospital?" he asked, bewildered.
He was indeed in the same room.
"Well, it does have a medical suite and lab here," she said. "Xeno-medical, that is, as well as human medical."
"Seemed so modern... thought it must be a hospital."
"Well, where you are has had some refits, Space Boy," she grinned. "But not the rest of the place. It's all on high alert right now. Like they're expecting some sort of invasion while you're off your feet. Something about that being the likely pattern and all. Thought that was just a Christmas thing."
"No, seems to follow those times when I need others to run around for me," he grimaced. "Although, was laid up on a Christmas, and the whole world was nearly enslaved had I not recovered fast enough to prevent it."
He yawned and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, she was still there but in a chair reading by the window. "Don't tell me..." he said as he put a hand to his head in frustration.
"Yup, you fell asleep mid conversation on me," she chided gently. "That's okay though, you weren't out long. Just half an hour or so. But at least you're on the mend."
"What if we can't travel anymore?"
Donna was struck speechless, her mouth slightly open in shock. "What?" she finally asked, then brushed that off. "Don't be such a Dumbo! You're tough and you're young." She ignored the snort at that. "Don't be in a rush to get back up, heal up completely... and I mean completely... and enjoy having your feet up for once. Then maybe."
"I saw the chart, Donna," he smiled and cut in gently. "Read it three times. I'm really sorry... I know how much you loved it out there."
For a long moment she was silent, her hands working into jeans tensely before she blew up. "Don't... be... such... a... BLOODY IDIOT!" she finally burst out, and he pushed himself in the bed in the vain effort to get out of the way of the hurricane that was about to hit in the form of Donna. "You're giving up and you haven't even started yet. You haven't even tried!"
He sighed and held up a hand in defeat, and to placate her. "Didn't mean I gave up, Donna."
"Sounded it."
"Listen to me, I read the charts," he said gently. "The damage to my right heart is... well... bad. I also have damage to my left. Stress could literally kill me. Think about that for a long second."
She did and then her eyes widened. "So... it's over now?"
"Didn't say that. Still have the TARDIS..." he trailed off.
"Unless you've got a pocket pilot in those bigger than the inside pockets of that suit, or there's another Time Lord or such hiding in the TARDIS, I don't see how we can travel..." she was equally gentle, but also firm.
"I'm so sorry..." he said quietly.
"Don't be such a dumbo," she suddenly snorted. "Listen to me. Regular broken record. Seriously, though. I'm no pilot of that thing. And... I'm the one that's sorry."
"There's one I didn't check on," he said, blowing out a breath. "My granddaughter - my actual, born from my son who I had with my wife who in turn got married, bonded, himself and had her. She's on Earth. Or she was. Will be. I left her in the 22nd century with a nice bloke by the name of David. They fell in love, got married, had a son of their own the last time I checked."
By this time Donna's eyebrows had risen almost up her forehead. "You have a what?" she demanded. "A bloody grandfather? Never mind that, a GREAT grandfather? You not feel like telling people this fact... oh... that's what you meant by not as young as you appear."
"Yup," he said, popping the "p" as he usually did. "Surprise! I'm actually old by the standards of my own people. Maybe not in maturity level... they always thought I was half-baked to put it lightly... but definitely in actual years. Don't ask. I can't remember."
"Can't remember what?" she asked, then she laughed. "Oh no way, you can't even remember how old you are? So what, dumbo, you're not really nine hundred and four are you?"
"Not even close. I was at least nine hundred and fifty three in my sixth incarnation. This, before you ask, is my tenth. My seventh and eighth incarnations had... to put it lightly... issues with time lines and such so badly that I was muddled up most of the time in regards to my age. Never bothered to keep track," he admitted. "By the time I cared to it was after the Time War and, for the life of me, I just couldn't remember. I picked a round number and went with it when I reentered life in my ninth. So many lost years."
"How long do your people live?" she asked, then suddenly realized by the sudden surprised look on his face that she had accidentally referred to the Time Lords in the present tense, as if they were still living.
"Well, my wife was over six thousand earth years old. Granted, she was older than me. My mother was approximately four thousand years old, give or take a century or two, when the Time War destroyed them all. She was in the Panopticon trying to reason with Lord President Rassilon when Gallifrey burned," he winced at the thought. "Patience had already been killed in the first battles... oh sorry, Patience was my late wife... and my sons were military. My youngest son died in the first battles, before it was an all out war. The second died on Gallifrey, also in the military but he had long since chosen that life. He was military before I left Gallifrey the first time, with said granddaughter... Susan was Hawke's daughter. I didn't want her to be forced into his idea of a life so when she graduated I... I took her away with me. I'm ashamed to admit that my choices meant that Susan and Hawke never saw each other again. Not even before the war. I couldn't go back to her as the sole survivor... and the destroyer... of not just everything we knew but also our own family. Not after taking her away from it all..."
He fell silent and Donna sat quietly. It was the most he had ever told anyone and she wasn't sure of what to say. She certainly understood his deep aversion to anything military. "But I also had another daughter. Her name was Rylenandrelys, or, as I preferred to call her, Rylen. She was the only one that didn't fall into the military, the only one to survive the longest. But, I'm sure she fell as well... she had been accepted into our senate, our council. I am almost one hundred percent sure that she was also in the Panopticon, helping her grandmother - my mother - in trying to reason with Rassilon before the fall. Rylen was a beauty. Not that Time Ladies weren't all mostly beautiful, but I guess in a father's eyes the most beautiful woman he will lay eyes on other than the mother of said children is his daughter... and Rylen was her father's daughter. Out-spoken, but instead of running like me she chose to work within the system. She had dark, dark hair like my mother and like my hair had been when I was young, and brown eyes like mine. Her mother's creamy complexion. Unlike Patience who was cool and marble like, Rylen was warm, like me... in later years. Her eyes always danced with some hidden mirth. Such a happy child... and I spoiled her... oh how I spoiled her... she was my youngest. My absolute youngest..."
He didn't know what was wrong with him. He was literally spilling his guts on things he would have died before admitting, let alone gone into any great detail over. But Donna was sitting there, encouraging him to continue, soothing him and, as usual with his gob, once on a roll he couldn't help but roll with it. "Rylen was properly bonded to proper Time Lord from a proper House in our Chapter. They never had children - children were rare among our people and treated like rare diamonds. There are myths on how we have children... or not... and we helped create them. The better to protect them with if our enemies don't know where to look exactly... well, it started like that. And then we simply couldn't admit to ourselves that we were the same as all others and needed that contact and bonding to perpetuate our race. How much better for our oh so dusty, musty and dignified legend if even our children were created in an equally controlled and clean manner instead of like every other creature in the universe. We'd kidded ourselves... ha, made a pun there... into literally believing in the Looms that it became taboo to speak of any other way outside of the most private rooms of the House, or the bonded pair's private living quarters in said house. So secret was the truth that even the children, and 'teens' of Time Lord society were raised with the belief that we were all 'Loomed' that when they were finally bonded and the truth came out some wouldn't fully bond with their mates for centuries after, not until the draw to each other was too much to fight. In refusing our 'savage' nature we'd only become more savage in return."
He took a breath and Donna held up a hand to silence him. "Where are you going with this?"
"Susan!" he exclaimed as if it should have been obvious from the very beginning. "If she is still with Alex then she, and he, are safe and... the TARDIS knows her..."
He looked at the clock and realized that they had been talking for nearly an hour. Or rather, he had. The Doctor felt as if his brain had been drawn out through his ears. He'd told her so much, and much of it was painful to even think about. He yawned and Donna patted his shoulder. "Yeah, dumbo, I think you've had enough for a bit. Why not close your eyes for a bit and I'll wake you when my grandfather gets here. Small wonder you two get along. Two old men..."
"Ha..." answered the Doctor drowsily, already dropping off.
Donna watched him as he fell asleep then looked up in surprise from where Martha stood there silently as tears ran down her face. "He's sleeping again," said Donna, completely unnecessarily. "Um, how much of that did you catch?"
"Everything about Rylen on," she answered, wiping the tears away. "He'd never said anything. Not in all the time we traveled... I had to drag anything about Gallifrey from him by force, and then he only gave me an encyclopedic answer. Trees, grass... what it looked like and a bit of the Citadel... but nothing like he just said."
"Is it true?" asked Donna.
"Is what?" asked Martha, confused.
"He said he saw his charts, managed to lift them off of a nurse while they were caring for him last night I guess... and he read them a good three times before they were taken away again," started Donna.
"Oh my God," said Martha, blanching.
"It is. He's... not going to be able to travel anymore?"
"Not like he has been," answered Martha, swallowing. He knew now. That changed things. "Not getting into and out of trouble. Even to get up to the point where he will be able to travel short distances will take months, maybe years. He will be weeks in here, and then months with near constant care outside of this infirmary."
They were silent for a moment more and then Donna followed Martha out of the room. "Know which nurse that might have been?" asked Martha.
"The entry from the Doctor said a bit before ten in the evening."
"That would Rory Williams, yes," said Martha. "He's a good nurse... there was no way he could know how fast the Doctor can read, even when a bit out of it. I have a feeling the Doctor wasn't likely as out of it as he was playing at when Rory went in... and he was waiting for the opportunity for someone to slip up long enough for him to get his hands on it."
There was a bit of a laugh at this and even Donna had to agree. It was certainly sneaky... under handed... and something he would so do to get information he felt he wanted. "I'll have a chat with Mr. Williams, but I won't go too hard on him. We didn't warn the nursing staff on just how quick he can be. We'll be fixing that."
She was waiting for him that night when he came into work. Rory set his stuff down and she waved him off. "No, Mr. Williams, you can get ready as usual. Yes, I do need to talk to you, but it's not anything terrible," Martha assured him.
Rory nodded, went into the changing room and came back out in his uniform and scrubs. "What can I do for you, Dr. Jones? Is his routine changing?"
"Yes, but that's not what I want to talk to you about," she motioned him over to the desk. "I heard that he managed to see his own chart."
"It was only for a second!" Rory exclaimed, surprised.
"Yes, but his reading speed is fast enough that he read it, and memorized it, three times over," pointed out Martha. "Now, it's a bad thing, but also a good thing. Firstly, the patient does have the right to read his own information. It is his. Most don't because they don't know what they're looking at, but he does. So, you're not in trouble for letting him get his hands on it on that technicality, but do be more careful around him. He picks up things quickly and in the span of seconds. Now, the good part about this is that he's accepted his situation and is finally accepting our advice concerning it - by virtue of reading the information for himself. So, on another count... I have to thank you. That likely saved his life."
Rory blinked and felt relief surge through him. "I'm glad about that. I have a wedding to help pay for."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, Amy finally agreed to marry me," he said, then something filtered in.
Something they had grown up with. "I have a question about him, if I can be so bold..." he began, and Martha nodded. "Amy and I... well... Amy that is... she grew up with this imaginary friend. Only, I suppose he isn't all that imaginary. Seen too much working for this outfit to dismiss it out of hand... anyway... I was wondering if he can change his appearance somehow?"
"Why would you want to know that?" she asked, very alert all of a sudden.
"Well, you see, when Amy was a kid this man, this 'Doctor' landed in her backyard. She always called him her Raggedy Doctor. She made cartoons of him, dolls... we even pretended... and we were kids at the time and it was her idea really... that the blue shed in her back yard was his ship."
Rory noticed he suddenly had her very rapt attention. "Really?" she asked. "How did she meet him?"
"She was only eight years old. A kid, like I said, and she had this crack in her wall. She said she asked Santa for someone to help and the box just landed on top of the shed in her back yard. She asked him if he was the police, and he asked why she would think that... but it was because his ship said, 'Police Public Call Box', and it was blue... and about the size of a shed... but he came out, having to climb up because it was on its side, all soaking wet... fell into the pool or something like that but the box... well, like I said she was just a kid," explained Rory. "She told him about the crack, and... then... well, he helped her. He fixed the crack but not before he opened it and she said there was some huge eyeball thing inside the wall. Then he used this blue tipped wand thing and closed it again. She, ah... never saw him again."
Martha leaned back. "What did he look like?"
"Young, longish brown hair... kept getting into his face. What was left of a suit, possibly pin stripe but she didn't see a jacket, just blue trousers... light blue dress shirt and a tie. But, he isn't the same man in the bed as now, which is why I asked. Same man or some sort of title," Rory shrugged then. "I wish I could tell her he's around... or someone like him is... but I understand what classified means and I like my job."
With a nod, Martha thought about it. "No, it was the same man, only it sounds like he... the one you see... is an earlier incarnation. Yes, he can change his appearance, but only if dying beyond what he can heal, or if already dead. He can cheat death, but he changes. Completely. And that is between you and me, got it?"
"Understood!" nodded Rory. "So, somehow this man is an earlier version of that man... like he moves backwards or out of order in time... no, don't want to know... anyway... I should start my rounds."
Martha watched him leave thoughtfully. She refused to let that little flutter of hope surge. If what Rory said was true, and he wasn't confusing him with an earlier incarnation, then the Doctor had at least one more left in him. By the description, this Doctor of Amy's was the very next. A crashed TARDIS worried her, however. What would the Doctor get himself into to cause that, she wondered.
