Chapter 9: Broken Memories and Burning Light

As the dashed through the streets, any concept of vehicular travel long forgotten, Christopher's mind buzzed along with its own problems. He couldn't care less about Solace and Sleepers and bodiless and everything else. All he cared about now was who he was.

He was so certain that there must have been a mistake, that the Doctor was wrong. He remembered his childhood. At the school for orphans. Gifted orphans, perhaps, all very intelligent and very quick and strong, but…normal. Yet the more he tried to remember his life, the more pieces of it seemed to slip through his fingers. It was like every sad or angry memory just didn't exist. Like all he remembered was being perpetually happy. No one is always happy, he thought, no one.

And his friends. His childhood friends. He couldn't remember their faces, even having spent most of his life with them. James, Marshall, Susan, Patricia, Lucas. Their faces were blurred and distorted and invisible to him. Hoe could he not remember James' face? They had boarded together, not only at the orphan school, but in college.

And that was another thing, he now realized. All of the orphans had attended the same college, it seemed. In fact, Christopher couldn't much remember anyone else going there. Oh, the vaguest sense existed of there being others, but they didn't actually exist. It was like his memories had been made to not pass under close inspection. But of course, he had never inspected before. He had just assumed what he thought was right.

By the time he had come to that conclusion, his feet and eyes had let him follow the others to a courtyard off White Church Road, named, unsurprisingly, for the large white church that stood on the court. Rather, it had once been white, a long time ago. Now, the paint had peeled away and the stone beneath was all that showed. There had been a movement to repaint the church some years past, but people liked the look of the stone better. Gave it a more classic look. And so St. Francis-on-White-Church was gray.

It was also surrounded by more than sixty clumsily moving people. They pushed at the walls, the doors, the windows.

"What are they doing," asked Liz.

"Trying to figure out how doors work," said the Doctor. "They haven't had bodies for so long they've flat forgotten."

Christopher's ears picked up on muffled noises, as did, apparently, Rory's.

"There's people in there," Rory said.

"Where do people turn when things get odd and scary and dangerous," the Doctor asked. No answer was needed.

"If even one of them falls asleep," Amy said.

"The building is hardly airtight," Liz agreed.

"We need to do something," Rory said.

The Doctor looked at Christopher. Christopher looked back.

"You're the Doctor," said Christopher flatly. "I'm…something."

"We need to convey a message," said the Doctor. "We need to organize a meeting."

"A what," Amy said. "Doctor, you're not saying…"

"I'm saying exactly what you think, Mrs. Pond," he responded. "They may be acting violently, but in the end, this is a religious conversion. In the end, they have a peaceful goal. At least in their minds. I think, I think, they may be willing to talk."

"Not everyone wants to talk, Doctor," Rory said.

"Not everyone wants to fight, either," the Doctor said, and, before anyone could say otherwise, the Doctor dashed from their hiding place, yelling and waving his arms.

"Hey, hey you lot, over here!"

One by one, the shamblers turned to face him. They moved slowly, and several spoke in those broken, individual words.

"You. Must. Sleep."

"Yes, so I've heard," said the Doctor. "I just wanted to say hello. You've all heard my previous message then? Good. We're on the same page. You folks must have a leader, yeah? A bishop or cardinal or pope or some such?"

"The. Great. Leader. Speaks. Through. Us." Christopher noted that there were several police officers among the crowd. With guns. He hoped they didn't know how to use them.

"Yes, well, that's all very well and good," said the Doctor, "but I want to speak to him. Not right now, naturally. On neutral ground and all that. Later. I just want to know a bit more before I make the choice to convert and all that."

"You. Have. Fought," said one.

"You. Will. Not. Choose. Solace. Willingly," said another. They were getting close now.

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," said the Doctor, taking a step back. "But I like making informed decisions and all that. Old mind, young body. Hard to break the habits of both, you know."

"Easier. To. End. You," said one of them.

"Far. Easier," said a police officer.

"Less. Trouble."

"Less. Dissent."

"Ah," said the Doctor. "So, this isn't a peaceful conversion then?"

"Kill. A. Rebellion's. Leader."

"And. The. Rebellion. Falls. Too."

Christopher noted a police officer's hand going for the gun at his hip. They knew how to use them.

"Fair enough," said the Doctor. "I do have one thing to say first."

"What. Is. That?"

"RUN!" The Doctor turned to sprint off, but the police officer's hand was coming up.

"Doctor, NO!" Christopher dashed out as the trigger was pulled. The bullet flew through the air, as did Christopher. Had their paths not intersected, the bullet would have struck the Doctor in the back of the head. As it was, the bullet went through Christopher's chest.

As he hit the ground, the sleepers marching towards him. Christopher had the odd sense that it didn't hurt as bad as he would have expected. Oh, it burned and froze at the same time, but he felt no worse than a bad case of indigestion. I'm in shock, he said, once that wears off I'll be well and truly screwed.

He felt hands lifting him up and dragging him quickly off. Words that were far away.

"Why'd you do that," one voice.

"He's bleeding badly," said another.

"Bullet's stuck in the wound," a third, "but it missed his heart."

"Why in god's name did you do that," the first. "I would have survived. I would have regenerated. Worse things than dying for me. But for you, it's final."

"Not human anyways," Christopher mumbled.

"You think just because you're not human you can kill yourself," the Doctor's voice, maybe, "I've not been human for almost a millennia, and you don't see me jumping in front of bullets."

"Yes you do, Doctor," Amy?

"But I don't get hit. Are they following?"

"Yes, but they're slow. Thank god."

"In there," the Doctor said, and Christopher felt them swing a right. He heard a door close and blinds close.

"On the sofa," said Rory, "keep his head back so he can breath. Swellings already started."

"He's sweating a lot," Liz said worriedly.

"You would be too," said the Doctor.

"I need something to get the bullet out," Rory said. "Pliers. And something to sterilize them. Vodka and a lighter."

"You sound like you've done this before," Christopher mumbled distantly.

"He's a nurse," said Amy. "And he travels with the Doctor."

"And I lived for a long time once," Rory said. "I'll need clean linens. And a knife. And anything to disinfect the wound. More alcohol, or disinfectant if they have it. Thank god they have plastic on their furniture. Um…light too."

"Rory," the Doctor said.

"And, I should close the wound. Too wide to stitch. Going to have to wait. Stay awake, Chris. Don't pass out."

"Rory," Amy said.

"What?"

"Look," the three others said.

The area around Christopher's wound was glowing, streams of gold light pulling from it. Christopher couldn't feel it at first, but as soon as the bullet began being forced from the wound, he thrashed.

"Is he…" Amy started.

"Regenerating," the Doctor whispered. He dashed forward for a better look.

The bullet popped from the wound, which began closing. But the light wasn't stopping. It crept across Christopher's skin, reaching out like tentacles and touching more and more of him.

"Is he a…" Rory asked.

"No," said the Doctor. "No. One heart. But… Christopher! Can you hear me?"

Christopher screamed in response. He was fully aware now. And whatever was happening was painful, like he was being torn apart atom by atom.

"Listen to me, Christopher," the Doctor said. "You're regenerating. But you have a choice. You can stop it. You can stop yourself from changing. You can will it. You are healed now. Force the energy into me, understand. I can contain it. I'm made to. You aren't. If you want it to stop, put the light into me."

"It burns…" Christopher screamed.

"You're at least mostly not Time Lord, of course it burns. And it's slow. Do it now or you won't have a choice."

"I don't know how," Christopher grimaced. His skin was already beginning to turn.

"Yes you do, you knew how to start and you know how to end," said the Doctor. "Into me, now!"

Christopher rolled over and grabbed the Doctor's face. He screamed and the light pulled away. His skin went back to normal as the light streamed down his hands and onto the Doctor's face. For a brief moment, they screamed together. And then it was done. The burning light was gone. The Doctor stood up. There was a moment of silence.

"Doctor," Amy said, "Doctor, what just happened?"

"He was regenerating," said the Doctor. "I absorbed it. Or most of it. The next time I regenerate, though…it's going to be a show, I'll tell you."

"No," said Amy. "How was Christopher regenerating?"

"I don't know," said the Doctor. "But he's no Time Lord. Not even a Chameleon Arched one. I've been having the TARDIS scan for them since…long story…"

Christopher sat up. His skull burned, but the wound was gone. "I'm hungry," was the only thing he could muster.

"Your body still feels like it went through a full regeneration," said the Doctor. "It expends a lot of energy. You'll need to eat."

"Fish fingers and custard," Amy said.

"Ew," Christopher said.

"To each their own," said the Doctor. "But we have several big problems at the moment. First, how could you regenerate? Second, how do we stop the Solace? Third, how do we get out of this house, because they are at the door?"

There was a bang and they all knew he was right.