The TARDIS' Story
Tegan
Tegan sat on the stone bench and took in the blue sky, listening to the sound of the artificial breeze rustling the ivy.
She was in the Cloisters. She hadn't been here in a long time- not since she first met the Doctor. It seemed so long ago now. Then she was confused and afraid; now she felt only peace.
Tegan had woken up on the bench, swathed in ivy, her body completely healed. She remembered everything from Rapa Nui, of course, but her body held no trace.
The Doctor found her staring up at the TARDIS sky. It was a bit of a blur now, but she remembered that he seemed relieved to see her- she was to tired to moan, let alone try to kill him.
There was always tomorrow, as Aunt Vanessa used to say.
She had muttered to him about everything that had happened, about being stranded, about the island, the pain and the birth.
The Doctor, although contrite, commented that she ought to be flattered. He explained that when the TARDIS encountered Torus, the ship fled to a place of safety to recover, forcing the chameleon circuit to activate- not just taking Tegan with her but taking refuge inside Tegan, until the TARDIS recovered enough to re-form. Upon emerging from Tegan's womb, the TARDIS attempted to blend in with its environment- and aided by the subconscious expectations of the natives- morphed into one of the great Moai statutes of Easter Island before departing to answer the Doctor's signal.
The Doctor left for the console room- to find Nyssa and the brat, leaving Tegan alone with the- with her child?
Her whole life she had spend recklessly storming from one situation to another, blind and desperate, leaving nothing behind but death and destruction- no friends, no direction, no accomplishments…
She was alone for hours, but at some point Tegan realized that she helped nurture a ship of Time.
She found herself gently weeping as her fingers caressed a trembling, beautiful leaf of ivy.
The Doctor
The Doctor's hands twittered and fluttered as they hovered over the diverse array.
The fingers dived down, the paused, considering. Hovering.
Choosing one was always the toughest part.
He was alone now. He had found Nyssa and Turlough together on one of the medical frigates- the ship, along with all the surviving vessels from the Torus system were limping back to the home sectors, the orbital stations and the Ripwell abandoned.
He was worried about his companions: Nyssa seemed withdrawn and distant, unwilling to speak of her experiences. Turlough seemed fine, if edgy, but the Doctor tried not to think about Turlough too much. The Doctor had cleansed the telepathic circuits, but you never knew who was listening.
Tegan- well, Tegan seemed flushed with health and energy. Once she woke up.
He knew he'd have to have a much longer talk with her about what happened but he wasn't eager to tackle the subject again. Not yet.
He surveyed the selection one last time before plucking one particular slender object out of the bag. Smiling with satisfaction, he closed the refrigerator door and gave it a little pat as he pinned it to his lapel.
The stalk of celery was perky and leafy, firm and unyielding. It was perfect.
The Doctor swept out of the TARDIS kitchen, the muttered words "Come along, Miss Smith," drifting over his shoulder.
Nyssa
Nyssa was asleep, dreaming of:
Running down corridors.
Getting shot at.
Being threatened.
Misunderstood. Their intentions always misunderstood.
Why?
Watching people die.
Why?
Father.
Why?
Adric.
Why?
Hendrickson.
Why?
Leaving them behind.
Never ends. Never ends.
Doesn't make a difference, not really.
She had nowhere left to go.
Always more people to save. More people who threaten. More misunderstanding. More death. Then we leave. Again. Recursion. Full circle.
Isn't this where it all started?
Make it stop.
Please...
Ashe was there, looking at her.
They were standing in the Grounds, hidden from the brilliant stars above by the thick green fronds of the shifting foliage. Mystinia; Nyssa identified the species with a glance. It was native to Traken. Of course.
It made her sad because she knew now that this was a dream.
And Ashe would be gone when she woke up.
For now though, Ashe was still here, staring at her through the mist that hung in the thick rainforest haze of the Grounds. Nyssa reached out for Ashe, but didn't dare touch. She didn't want this to end... not yet.
The hair was the same, a swirl of brown and gold framing the round face, the firm tight lips and the watery gray eyes. Ashe hadn't aged a day.
Ashe and Nyssa were Promised when Nyssa was just six. They had stood side by side as their parents had signed their contracts and taken their genetic samples for confirmation when, twenty years later, both families would share access to their collective libraries. There was no need of land, armies or wealth in the Traken Empire; information was accessible to everyone. But artifacts from beyond the Empire, from outside the galaxy were rare. Families often hoarded certain alien texts, even if they couldn't read them. Translating them was half the fun. And Nyssa was a daughter of Tremas, favorite of the Keeper who maintained their biospheres and who had frequent dealings with outer system aliens. This made Nyssa the catch of catches on quiet Traken.
Nyssa didn't remember the ceremony, of course, or crying when the sampler had pricked her ear. But her mother had told her about it, and so Nyssa had formed her own images of it in her head, watching her six year old face go beat red and pelt out a really good shriek, while Ashe looked on, slightly embarrassed, knowing who's turn it was next.
Ashe was wearing that tiny frown, the same puzzled frown that was worn on an adult face fifteen years later.
Memories cheat. Emotions never lie.
Nyssa was crying now as she remembered the End could you cry in dreams, she thought? but dreams are no place for rational thoughts and Nyssa's mouth shouted a silent scream as the world around her, as if evoked by her thought of the End triggered its, the plants around her fading in color, downshifting from brilliant green to sickly, pale, translucent gray as the universe dissolved around her and Ashe, the white smears swallowing the glistening walnut hair, erasing the soft white skin.
Once again her world was being erased from the universe; again she had to watch it happen from the outside as she had before with Adric so long ago. Then she had watched in disbelief and with a growing sense of nauseous horror, helpless.
Nyssa, composed and proper while she watched the Big Bad Man decimate her existence and laughing all the while.
This time, though, she screamed.
Screamed as she watched Ashe's gray eyes fade from reality as her world was erased.
She had done nothing to stop it. She hadn't been able to do anything. But she was a different person now: older, changed.
It was time for her to make some changes, before she faded away and joined Ashe forever.
Time to move on. To make a difference.
Turlough
Turlough wandered through the corridors glad to get away from the others. Neither the Doctor nor Nyssa seemed to wish to discuss his failed attempt to ditch them in the Torus system, which was fine with him.
But he had nowhere to go, nor had he found anything resembling a weapon on the medical frigate. He boarded the TARDIS to complete his mission empty handed- except for the Crystal.
All Turlough really wanted was to lie down. He wanted to sleep for days.
But he had no room. The bedroom the Doctor had given him before was gone- jettisoned by Tegan, which Turlough didn't really understand, but it made a certain sort of sense.
He kept walking, the Crystal warm and comforting in his pocket.
The TARDIS
As Turlough wandered down the many roundeled corridors, the walls of the TARDIS around him darkened with menace.
She wasn't going to give in so easily next time without a fight.
End note: Thanks to the folks at Fanfiction for encouraging me to complete this, especially Patrice- it was part of a NA proposal that go rejected long ago, and looking back, I see why. The first two parts are the same, but I wrote everything else this weekend- it feels good to have it done at last, even as a chunky, disjointed piece. Hope it all made sense. Thanks to Jim Mortimore for teaching me how to torture companions and kill on a galactic scale. Perhaps someday there will be the New New Adventures of DW- here's hoping. Until then, there's and ; and although I won't be writing Who for a while, but I'll damn sure be reading!
Peace and all that
dave
ps. Please send comments/thoughts. I'm not entirely sure this thing is comprehensible…