The Doctor sniffed as he buried his head in the cushion. His shoulders twitched uncontrollably and he wouldn't stop sobbing, not even after getting comforted by the dark silhouette beside him which he had by now identified as Martha.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" she asked him in a soothing voice and squatted down beside him.

"I miss the stars. I really miss the stars" whispered the Doctor lifeless and let out a cry of pain.

"Doctor?" she repeated uneasy.

"Martha, help me" the Doctor gasped for air and struggled for control over his body, shifting nervously in his bed "Please, help me! I can't fight it."

"Doctor, it's only a fever. You've been lying here for three days now. That's no time." Martha caressed his cheeks and felt the Doctor snuggling against her hand.

"Three days?" he asked uncertainly.

Yet your struggle is eternal if you're not willing to give in...

The Doctor pressed a hand against his chest. It burnt. It burnt unbearable.

"Any narcotics?" he asked Martha and groaned. "I don't have any..." replied Martha hastily but the Doctor interrupted her "Did you GIVE me any narcotics, Martha?"

She shook her head.
"Then do so" he replied and let out a deep moan "I have some in the small cabinet in the library on the fourth... no, wait on the fifth floor. If you find the library you can't miss it." The blurred figure beside him nodded its assent and made a run for it.

"IF you can find the library" mumbled the Doctor quietly before resting his head on the pillow again. Well, actually 'resting' was too much. He couldn't find rest. He was in pain.

He felt like dying.

We all die. Sooner or later we all have to die.

Your time has come. But mine hasn't. I have time.

The future isn't sure about that. Let me change history, will you? Let a spirit from Gallifrey rise once more. And my time hadn't come, either.

But you died, Theta.
The Doctor pressed his hand against his forehead. He must have gone mad. He was talking to an inner voice he'd imagined and tried to convince it of leaving.

Theta had died long ago.

Theta is dead. He is no more. He has ceased to be.

I know, I know... he's run down the curtains and joined the choir invisible. This is an Time Lord. Are we done yet? I never thought my future selves could be so unhumorous...

I'm not your future self. I'm me! AND YOU'RE DEAD!

I'm still here. And with me all that's left of yesterday.

But Koschei's gone.

He died. We all have to die some day.

Koschei's gone, Theta. You're all alone.

But you're still with me. STILL with me. I can feel you. And you can feel me inside of you. If only I could find a way to claim your body for me...

The Doctor opened his eyes. He must have drifted off into his dreams again. He looked around. The room was empty. There was no one there.

You can still hear me. 'Doctor'. Mh. 'D-o-c-t-o-r'. Sounds strange. Why is it resonating in here? And by the way, did I come up with that name?

No. I came up with it. And you didn't because you're not me.

But I was you.

No you weren't!

Yes, I was.

No, you weren't and shut up inside of my head! Just stop replying as long as I'm trying to get to sleep.

Although I'm enjoying this little chat with you I have to admit that I'm getting tired of your contradiction. I'll put you back to sleep in a moment, I promise. Or back to your memories, to be more specific. Our memories.
The Doctor shifted uneasy and dug his nails into the mattress.

I don't WANT to remember it!

Do you know what happens next?
He could hear his inner voice chuckling.

The Doctor wouldn't reply. He asked a question instead.

What happens when you die in my memories?

There was silence from the inside. But Theta had found his voice again soon.

I've always been curious, so let's find out, shan't we? Oh, and by the way: would you be so kind as to stop drinking tea as long as I'm still alive in you? Tea's disgusting!

My body, my decision.

There was silence again. The Doctor hit his chest once or twice before screaming and struggling for air. Something inside of him was burning. And it felt as if small blades emerged from his lower abdomen, cutting through his connective tissue, his muscles and his intestines bit by bit.

You're disgusting 'Doctor'.

The Doctor opened his eyes again and felt tears running down his cheeks.

"Doctor!" the blurred silhouette rushed back to his bed.

The Doctor took a deep breath. He cried due to the endeavours from the past few days. And his thought-to-be-lost memories.

Cry for the child, 'Doctor. Cry for the lost child's sake.

The Doctor closed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hands.

Shut up!

"Doctor, I've found some pills. And some cross-scored tablet. Some oral capsules, some gel capsules... I've carried them in the small box from the cabinet and brought them all because I don't know which is which because I can't read Gallifreyan! And the goddamn screw caps won't budge, either, I can't get any of them open. Are they somehow locked for humans?"

"Those are child-proof locks Martha. Just squeeze before twisting" sighed the Doctor and let his head roll into the nape of his neck.

Cry for the lost child, 'Doctor'. Cry for its sake.

The Doctor shook his head.

I can't and I won't.

Don't you remember it? There was a rhyme. I guess there was even a melody to it. Can't you remember it? We used to sing it. But I guess the tune's lost for good. We sang it, 'Doctor'. You sang it when you were still me. Together with all the others you sang it.

Don't you remember the rhyme, 'Doctor'?

'For the sake of the child the father was lost.

For the sake of the father the battle was lost.

For the sake of the battle the future was lost.

For the sake of the future the offerings were lost.

For the sake of the offerings the virgin was lost.

For the sake of the mother the child was lost.'

Then you could start over again. Pretty terrible story when you come to think about it now. But that's just how children are. Children are so cruel.

No, the parents who make their children sing it, are cruel.

Your parents weren't cruel.

I know. But YOURS.

They're the same, aren't they?

Only in your bloody memory.

Go back to sleep already.

Something seemed to grab the Doctor from the inside and whirled his mind around, shaking it and twisting it inside out, making him wail quietly.

Do you think you can shake me off, Theta? You're still like a child.

And you're stubborn. Go to sleep already.

The Doctor's shoulders had been grabbed and someone wouldn't stop his senseless attempts to shake the tired Doctor out of his sleep.

"No, Doctor, stay with me! You can't go back to sleep, you wanted me to administer you narcotics, remember? But I can't tell them apart! I can't read your circular writing, it's too complicated! Please Doctor, quick, tell me which is which and I'll give them to you, please!"

The Doctor's eyes opened so quickly that it made the figure beside the bed jump. Greyish-blue flow marks covered most of his up till now hazel eyes. He sat up and starred Martha in the face narrow-eyed.

"Six of the red and white gel capsules and it will be over for him. Three for each heart. One for a wedding, two for a burial, three for the loss of a child."

The Doctor pressed his hands against his chest and screamed. He gasped for air and hit as his chest continuously before panting and shaking his head.

The Doctor breathed in deeply and faced Martha again. He smiled faintly.

"Sorry for the inconvenience caused. I'll have two of the small white ones instead. It's the blue bottle. Remember, Martha: Squeeze before twisting."

"Doctor?!"

He collapsed back onto the bed and lay there exanimate and calm.

The silhouette beside him patted his forehead and sighed.

"If only he'd stop calling me girl's names..." it mumbled and struggled to get the bottle open.

One for a wedding, two for a burial. Three for the loss of a friend.

A counting-out rhyme from my childhood.

There was a melody to it as well. And I remember my mother singing it for me nearly every night. Of course, that's the way it was in my memory.

I guess she's only sung it twice.

But that's memory for you.

And that's childhood for you. I was sounds asleep as soon as she'd start singing. I didn't mind the meaning back then. I was told the nursery rhyme like all the other children. Without understanding. Without known what we were singing about.

One for a wedding, two for a burial. Three for the loss of a friend.

Those lines were usually used at the end of the rhyme, for counting out. I guess there was even a children's game to this. And I definitely played it. But I can't remember it anymore.

The lines originated from some foreign superstition, advising you how many days you were allowed to grief after a world-shaking event.

Strange, when you come to think about it. One day grieving because of a wedding...

As a youth I thought it referred to the forced marriages in the old days.

I don't know what to think of it now.

Either way it it's definitely nothing I would let my children sing.

Or at least I hope so...


... and by the way: did anybody notice the Monty Python reference?