ELEVEN
The Doctor opened his eyes slowly, letting them focus and realising he was lying face down on the grating of the TARDIS floor.
He groaned and put his hands under him, lifting himself up off the floor. He sat up but then fell backwards, suddenly feeling very weak. He felt the wall at his back and relaxed against it, trying to get his breath back, feeling winded.
He looked around the TARDIS, the control room, dragging in huge breaths as if he'd just resurfaced from a hundred-foot dive.
The power hummed, the lights bled calm, warm orange into the cavernous room, and he heard the familiar strumming vibrations in a constant riff of contentment.
He jumped, looking down at his hands quickly, finding them both present and correct. He slapped them against his chest, his ribs, his hair, feeling his sudden size and letting it all sink in.
"I did it," he said to himself, surprised. "I did it!"
He got to his feet unsteadily, leaning his palm against the wall to steady himself. He gasped in air and looked around.
"Just as I remember it," he breathed, wobbling to the centre console and leaning on it, looking at the monitor.
Countdown – four minutes and twenty seconds past.
He shook his head, not sure what had just happened but fully prepared to work it out later with the help of a long hot bath.
He leaned away from the console slowly and put his hands on it gratefully, sliding them down the flat surface between the many levers and buttons.
He smiled, relieved, remembering the moments, the times, the years spent over its surface, the more recent ones reassuring him he was most definitely himself again.
His smile faded as images of trees, of cotton sheets, of matrons, fellow orphans and school trips came abruptly to mind. The past five years served as a child popped back up in his memory, demanding to be dealt with, screaming through his mind's eye at a thousand miles an hour.
He stood, transfixed by what he couldn't see for an indefinite time, battling to stop the flow of real-time memories and bring himself back to the present.
It'll always be there. It'll always be the second time I grew up.
And then there was him.
He looked over at the opposite side of the room gingerly, knowing it was where the other him had died.
He walked over slowly, crouching and putting his hand to the grating. It vibrated slightly with the power that was humming through the entire ship. But now it felt slightly different.
He got up quickly, backing away and pulling his chin straight, sniffing abruptly. He shivered, letting his hands fall into his pockets as he backed away one more.
He was quiet a long time as a plethora of thoughts, plans, ideas, scars and wounds skipped cruelly past his eyes. The TARDIS hummed, the lights perhaps a little brighter than before, waiting for him to catch up with himself.
He stepped back one abruptly, taking a deep breath and tearing his eyes away from the spot where he had died. He felt his hand come out of his pocket and he had snatched up the phone. His thumb had wedged it open and pressed buttons before he looked down and realised he was doing it.
He swallowed and raised it to his ear quickly.
"Hi. Who's that?" said a male voice on the other end. He opened his mouth, thought about it, and then sighed.
"No-one important," he said quietly, closing the phone and putting it in his pocket slowly.
He took a deep breath, letting it all out and turning to the console. He looked around slowly, thought about a cup of tea, then shivered again slightly.
He unbuttoned his jacket slowly, pulling his tie loose and sniffing to himself, letting his mind go blank and hoping it would stay that way for a few more minutes.
He felt the phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out, not even looking at the display. He snapped it open and held it to his ear automatically.
"Oi mister!" said a familiar voice, and he grinned in relief, in amusement, in the knowledge that Martha Jones was happy to hear from him.
"Oi yourself," he said suavely.
"Sorry about that – Tish's bloke answered my phone but said the other person hung up. When I looked it just said 'unidentifiable number'," she giggled. "Thought it must have been you. What are you up to, then?"
"Oh, er…" he began bravely, "Just, kind of… Stuff," he managed lightly. There was a long silence.
"What's happened?" she asked gently. "You alright?"
"Yeah, 'course!" he blustered, but his eyes were drawn back to the creepy corner of the grating and he shivered. He closed his eyes quickly, turning his back to it. "Just bored."
"Well you don't sound it. Tell you what, get down here and you can amuse Mum with your Stan Laurel impersonation. She's been asking after you."
"Really?" he asked weakly. There was another long silence as he bit the inside of his lip.
"Mate," she said quietly.
Long silence.
"Yeah," he said easily. "Yeah, alright. When are you?" he asked quietly.
"17th August, 2007," she said. "It's Friday night."
"I know, I'm… I've just got to… There's something I have to do first. Then I'll find you. I'll jump it, I won't be late."
"Well don't get stuck in some interstellar war, mister, I'll tell Mum you're on your way," she chuckled. "I'll leave my phone on, yeah? That way you can probably trace me or whatever it is your powerful blue box does," she said, and he heard the grin in her voice.
"Yeah. Good thinking," he said, smiling slightly. "Yeah. Oh – Martha," he said quickly.
"What?"
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet, you haven't met Tish's bloke," she chuckled.
-------------------------------------------------
The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS doors, walking across the grass and round the front of the large building, his hands in his pockets.
He skipped up the stone steps, through the large glass doors at the entrance, and walked up to the large reception desk.
"Hello," he said cheerfully. The girl behind the desk looked up.
"Good afternoon, sir," she said politely. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm looking for a resident," he said happily. "Helena Stafford. I was told she's being homed soon, just thought I'd stop by and say hello before she goes."
"Oh. Well… has she met you before?" she asked, uncertain. "Have you applied for adoption for Miss Stafford?"
"Oh no, not at all," he said quickly. "I'm just a family – er no, friend-friend," he corrected.
"Right," she said, remarkably unconvinced. "Well in the interests of safety, you'll have to meet her in the social room, Mr…?"
"Smith," he said happily. "Fine. Shall I go along and wait, then?"
"Yes please," she said. "I'll call for her. She'll be along. Do you know the way?"
"Yep. Thanks," he said, rapping his knuckles on the top of the counter before walking off, finding the social room without help.
He walked in and looked around, smiling fondly at the mess of books, paints and toys scattered around the room. He walked over to the windows, hands in his pockets, looking out and noticing the roof of the TARDIS poking out beneath the trees.
It was a good ten minutes, and then he heard the door open again. He looked over.
And there she was. His best friend of three years. They'd climbed trees together, cheated at hopscotch and marbles together, and helped each other soak horse chestnuts in vinegar to win conkers tournaments.
He couldn't help grinning.
She looked at him and gasped. She wandered closer, the nurse with her folding her arms and keeping a close eye on her and the strange man who appeared strikingly familiar in some way.
Helena Stafford approached warily, her eyes darting up and down him, then finally searching out his eyes.
"David!" she squealed, running over. She banged into him and he laughed, getting on one knee to hug her.
"I'm not David," he said kindly, but she squeezed him.
"But you must be!" she protested. "You disappeared and came back like this!"
She just squeezed him for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually she pulled him away, studying his face.
"It is you, int it?" she whispered. "You look all old, but… it's still your face. It's still you," she dared. "Isn't it?"
He looked at her, a hundred thousand shades of longing for old times, for the familiarity, for the feeling of belonging, for their old friendship, shooting through him.
"David?" she dared, "Dave?" Her voice was unstable. "We don't keep secrets, you and me."
He let his eyes dart past her and check the number of people staring at them.
"Don't tell anyone, they'll think you're mad," he whispered conspiratorially, and she grinned suddenly, her eyes filling with water. "You alright, Lena?"
"I thought something bad had happened to you," she admitted, the tears sliding down her cheeks in silence. He tutted, lifting his hand and wiping them away gently.
"As if," he countered. "I'm just sorry for leaving you behind."
"You're leaving again?" she asked, sniffing.
"Well I can't stay here any more," he said apologetically. "I'm too old."
"You were always too old," she smiled knowingly, and he grinned.
"Helena Stafford," he said warmly, "you are the best."
He paused, not knowing what to say or how to say it, and she hugged him again, squeezing as hard as she could.
"Promise me you won't forget me when I'm off to Stafford," she managed against fresh tears, her little nose tickling his ear.
"How could I forget you," he said frankly, "when you pushed me out of that oak tree in Alexandra Park?"
She laughed suddenly, and he squeezed her.
"Are you leaving right now?" she asked timidly.
"Not just yet," he said. "I can stay for a while, if you'd like."
"Don't be daft, you have to explain how this happened to you yet," she said shortly. "And what happened to the man, the alien you met. And then I want you to stay forever."
"I can explain everything. But I can't stay," he said sadly. She bit her lip in anguish. "However," he said grandly, "I can take you out for the day. What do you say, just you and me?" he asked, pulling her away to look at her. "Just like old times."
"Where to?" she asked, wiping her face.
"Where do you want to go?" he asked charmingly. "And I can take you absolutely anywhere, Lena."
She thought for a long moment, then looked at his large brown eyes, watching her exactly the same way they always had.
"I think," she said slowly, smiling at the way his face waited for her response so avidly, "I'd like to go to Blackpool."
"Your wish, Helena Stafford, is my command," he said warmly. "Only… let's not take the train though, eh?"
THE END
