Cinnamon. Cloves. And something else, something elusive that she couldn't quite identify. It smelled familiar, like Christmas Eve, or breakfast at her grandfather's house. It tickled her nose as she inhaled deeply and sighed. Someone was calling her from somewhere far away. "Lyssa…. Alyssandra…"
The Doctor continued to pass the small, glass vial under her nose, encouraged when he saw her eyelids flutter, "Come on now," he gently urged, "Come on. Open your eyes for me."
"Cinnamon sugar," she murmured, her eyes finally opened completely; their shining green color made all the more brilliant against her pale skin.
The Doctor smiled down at her, "There you are, welcome back."
"Hello," she smiled back then frowned when she recognized the starkness of the Medbay. "What am I doing here?"
The Doctor slipped on his black-framed glasses and peered at the read-out screen to the side of the bed, "You fainted."
"No I didn't! I've never fainted in my life."
"You did, collapsed in the Control Room, quiet gracefully actually," he paused to look up and flashed her a grin, "Well done. Although, it was rather sudden, barely gave me time to catch you."
Lyssa felt a blush creep into her cheeks at the thought of lying unconscious in the Doctor's arms. "I thought I smelled cinnamon earlier, or was that a dream?"
"Time Lord's version of smelling salts. Much more pleasant the ones used on Earth," he replied, holding up a small vial of cobalt blue glass, "You weren't coming around on your own so I… encouraged you."
"I see. Well, thank you Doctor," she said struggling to sit up. Her vison swam and the room tilted dangerously although she tried to ignore it. "I'm just going to…"
The Doctor's hands were on her shoulders forcing her to recline, "Nope, don't even think about it."
"But Doctor," she protested.
The Doctor put a finger to her lips, "Hush. You're staying right here until I can figure out what's wrong with you," his dark, brown eyes warmed with sympathy, "I know how strong you are, but you need to rest. Let me take care of you."
Lyssa held his gaze and nodded mutely. He gave a reassuring smile and ran his hand over her cheek in a gentle caress before turning back to the read-out screen.
"There is no virus or infection in your system. Blood count is normal. Your vitals are perfect for a human woman of your age. I don't show so much as a cavity!" The Doctor sat back; a speculative frown creased his handsome features. "You, Alyssandra Barrett, are in peak physical condition. Aside from a mild temperature, can find nothing amiss. Certainly, nothing that would cause you to drop like a stone."
Lyssa rubbed absently at her temple, wishing desperately that she was in her own bed. The bright lights combined with the white walls were causing her head to throb. "Its just a headache, Doctor. Can't you just give me some pain killers and send me to bed?"
"What kind of a doctor would I be if I allowed you to toddle off on your own after you collapsed at my feet?"
"The kind that respects the wishes of his patients?" she ventured hopefully. "I'm beginning to feel like one of your weirdo science experiments."
"My science experiments are not weird." He countered, refusing to let her bait him into a side conversation. "Are you prone to headaches?"
"I used to get migraines as a kid," she admitted tiredly. "They were horrible, but I grew out of it. I haven't had any for years."
The Doctor studied her for a moment, looking as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. "There is another test I'd like to try, with your permission."
At her nod, the Doctor got up and sat down directly on the side of the bed. The look of intensity in his eyes had her hesitating. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to look inside your mind directly."
"What? Really?"
"A Time Lord quirk," he replied as he positioned his long fingers along her temple and cheekbones. He looked deeply into her eyes, "Now, if there is anything you don't want me to see, just imagine a door. I won't look anywhere you don't want me to."
The coolness of his touch was incredibly soothing and even though the pain her curiosity was piqued. "What do I need to do?"
"Just relax," he replied, his voice smooth in its suggestive quality. "Close your eyes and relax."
The sensation of the Time Lord consciousness touching her own, caused Lyssa to gasp aloud. It was an assault to every one of her senses. The immeasurable scale of it, not just of sight and sound. There was the briefest flash of what she had to assume was time itself. The magnitude of it took her breath away, the size of it all! Being only human, she couldn't perceive it in the same way the Doctor did. It was vast and complex and infinitely beautiful.
The Doctor felt her pull away the moment he made contact and he paused to give her a moment to become accustomed to his mind in hers. Direct telepathy was difficult for humans, overwhelming in many ways. He did his best to be gentle in what he knew was an intrusion.
"Relax. Just breathe and relax. Good, very good. That's it," he encouraged and felt the walls of her mind ease.
Images came through from her life, some of them recent. Trips they had taken, adventures they had. The triple sunset of Telnori Five. The first time she saw the TARDIS, the utter wonder of that first trip. Faces he knew, Jack Harkness grinned and winked at him. The rest of the Torchwood crew made an appearance, her beloved dog too. He saw himself, lifting her off her feet and spinning in a circle with laughter.
The faintest whiff of honeysuckle and jasmine blooming in summer came on a breeze. The taste of bitter chocolate and tea flavored with vanilla. He caught a few bars of a song that Lyssa tended to hum when she was deep in thought. There was a very prominent figure of a huge man with white hair and beard. He was a mixture of absolute adoration and love tinged by the shadow of grief. A door appeared then, and he moved on to the task at hand.
The pain was growing in its intensity. The Doctor could feel it, building pressure and tightness. It was white hot and angry. It radiated down her neck and made him dizzy. Even his own stomach responded unpleasantly.
"Ah Lyssa. Not feeling well at all, are you?" He sent soothing calm and coolness through the inflamed neural pathways. It acted as a balm and quieted the nerves transmitting to the pain receptors in her brain. She relaxed into his touch then and he could distantly hear her release a sigh.
When he was satisfied that the last of the pain had been delt with, the Doctor eased himself from her mind. Lyssa slumped forward into the Doctor's arms. With the headache gone, fatigue took hold and she slipped into a deep sleep. He gently laid her back on the pillow and pulled the blanket up, covering her to her chin.
"Sleep," He murmured as he tucked her in and brushed stray strands of hair back from her face. He may have infused a slight suggestion as he left her mind. It was best, really. They had been traveling non-stop for weeks now. It was possible that the migraine had been brought on by simple exhaustion. Especially if Lyssa had been prone to them as a child. Fragile. Humans were so fragile. They required care and looking after, but in the Doctor's estimation they were very much worth the effort.
Lyssa was running through a swirling, gray mist. Running from what, she didn't know, but her instincts told her to keep moving. She ran faster and faster, legs pumping, heart thudding against her ribs. It was cold too; her breath came out in white puffs as she sprinted into the unknown. She couldn't see where she was going, had no idea where she was but any place would be preferable to where she had been. And there was no power in the universe that could make her go back. Onward. Upward. Forward, must go forward. Never stop, never look back.
Voices, someone was speaking. Lyssa skidded to a stop and strained her ears. Just there, off to her right, muffled voices. She followed the sound. As she drew closer to its source, the mist began to clear and she recognized the winding corridors of the TARDIS spread out before her. The hallways walls seemed impossibly tall and twisted like a funhouse mirror. The floor tilted beneath her feet as if she were in the belly of a ship. Everything seemed distorted in some way.
Listening carefully, she continued down the hall, leaning on the walls to keep her balance. The voices growing ever louder as she approached the Control Room. She stopped just short of the threshold. She could hear clearly now, two voices, a man and a woman, neither of which she recognized.
"Is that supposed to be Heathrow?" demanded the woman
"Slight miscalculation," was his reply.
"I swear a broken clock keeps better time than you, Doctor. At least it's right twice a day!"
The Doctor! If anyone could help her sort this out, the Doctor could! Lyssa rushed forward into the room. She was not greeted by the familiar sight of her Doctor with bed head and a pin-stripe suit. She found instead a fair-haired man in a cricket uniform arguing with a woman dressed head to toe in purple. They bickered back and forth, taking no notice of her. The woman had called him Doctor. Even the control room itself was wrong! Walls were stark white with a modular circle pattern. The console looked as if it belonged to the first Apple computer, not a sophisticated time travel machine.
What the hell was going on? What did this all mean? And why couldn't they see her?
More people filed past her, again paying no attention to her, or each other for that matter. Men and women of all sorts, like ghosts. They walked through walls and through each other. All talking at once and none of them making any sense.
She caught snippets of conversation; names of people she'd never met, places she'd never been. But through it all one thing was a constant, the Doctor. He was everywhere. Lyssa wasn't just seeing history; she was seeing his history. They must have been his friends, she realized. They had traveled with him, once upon a time.
All of those companions, friends and more that had come into his life, been whisked away to the stars and beyond in his magic box. They were all there, right in front of her. The Doctor was there as well; very different, yet somehow always the same. It was comforting in some odd way. No matter the form, the Doctor would be there, carry on just as he always had. The one constant in her wobbly world.
The Doctor didn't realize he had fallen asleep himself until Lyssa's moans woke him. Alarms sounded from the equipment monitoring her bio-signs. That low-grade fever had risen significantly over the past few hours and her pulse was racing even in her sleep. The blankets were all thrown off and her clothes were damp with sweat.
He was across the Med Bay in an instant, locating the fever reducing hypo marked for humans. Returning to her side, he rolled up Lyssa's sleeve and injected the medicine into her arm. Finding a bowl of cold water and a washcloth on the table beside the bed, he sent a quick mental thank you to his beautiful ship. Obviously, she was worried about their human too.
Lyssa muttered incoherently in her sleep as the Doctor bathed her flushed face. A glance at the monitors told him the medicine was fast working, and for that he was grateful. Still not sure as to the cause for her condition, at least he was able to keep the symptoms in check.
She turned her head to the side and murmured, "Braveheart…"
The Doctor chuckled, rinsing the washcloth, and applying it to her forehead. "Dreaming of that famous Scot? Bet you're giving him a run for his money."
"Braveheart…. Tegan."
The Doctor froze, "Tegan," he repeated the name of his former companion and deep foreboding settled in his hearts.
"How the hell did you find out about Tegan?" he wondered aloud. It's not as if he ever talked about her, or any of the others for that matter. The Doctor was a time traveler, but that didn't mean that he ever looked back. Not really. Forward was the way he moved through life; it was the only way he could.
"Doctor!" she cried out; tears trickled down from her closed eyes. Her brow furrowed in response to whatever fever induced dream haunted her. "Doctor, please no!"
He tapped Lyssa's damp cheek, hoping to rouse her gently, "I'm here, I'm here. Come on now, Lyssa. Wake up."
"Lost…" she moaned; her bottom lip quivered. "I'm so lost."
"Lyssa," he grasped her by the shoulders and forced a bit of sternness into his voice. "Lyssa, its time to wake up. Lyssa!"
At last she broke free of the nightmare and came to the real world. Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright on the bed. She looked straight into the eyes of the man at her side. It was him, the wrong Doctor from her dream. The stranger with shining blonde hair and blue eyes.
Oh god! I'm still lost! Where is he? Where is my Doctor? Lyssa's thoughts closed in on her and she backed up against the headboard in a panic. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will her Doctor back into existence.
The Doctor immediately stilled his movements and held up his hands in what he hoped translated as non-threatening. She was obviously hallucinating, seeing something to fear instead of someone she trusted. He tried again, much slower this time. "Alyssandra. It's alright, you're safe. No one is going to hurt you. Will you look at me?"
She shook her head and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs.
"It will be alright, I promise." The Doctor dropped his voice to a soothing tone, "It's just me, the Doctor. I'm here to help you, if you'll let me. Lyssa, I need you to look at me. Please?"
It took a bit of coaxing, but his patience was rewarded when soft gray-green eyes peeked out at him over her knees. He smiled gently.
Her eyes widened in near disbelief. "Doctor?"
His smiled widened to a grin, "Hello."
"Oh my god," she launched herself into his arms, holding on for dear life.
The Doctor could feel her frame shaking and he tightened his embrace. After 900 years, he certainly knew how terrifying nightmares could be. He had lived through enough of them. He knew how hard it was to separate them from reality. "Hey, hey, hey. It's okay, I've got you. You are right here with me. You are perfectly safe."
It took some time, but when she managed to stop shaking, Lyssa pulled back and studied the Doctor's face again. The familiar dusting of freckles, warm brown eyes, and messy hair to match. This was the face she knew and trusted. This was the Doctor, the real Doctor.
He passed her a glass of water and she sipped it slowly, never letting her eyes leave him for fear that he might disappear again.
The Doctor was grateful for the recognition he saw in the wary eyes studying him, but the fear lurking there had him worried. He took the glass back when she finished and replaced it with his hands instead.
"Your fever spiked while you were sleeping. Its back down now, but those dreams can be intense." He traced circles on the back of her hands with his thumbs. A slow, soothing motion. It was an old trick he had used many lifetimes ago when his children needed comfort after a bad dream. "They can seem so real, especially when you're ill."
He could feel her relax and her heartrate return to normal. "Don't even know what I saw. It didn't make any sense, so jumbled. All these people… strangers. I could see them, but they couldn't see me. Like they were ghosts, or maybe I was the ghost."
"Do you remember Tegan?"
"She wore a purple suit," Lyssa murmured as the image came to her mind. "Braveheart."
The Doctor nodded, "Braveheart."
"She was real, wasn't she? And you were there… you but not you." She locked eyes with him, "You were blonde."
"A folly of my youth."
"This wasn't a dream, was it? They're memories."
"I'm not sure," the Doctor said, troubled by the admission. He immediately thought back to the scans he performed on her nearly two years ago. The heightened activity in her brain had certainly pointed to psychic tendency. Although, she had shown no sign of that outwardly until now. This wasn't exactly what the Time Lord had expected to happen when she tapped into it. But then, this sort of ability in humans was rare and therefore impossible to predict.
"Doctor?" she asked, uncertainty in her voice.
He smiled brightly at her, tucking away his theories for the moment. It was useless to speculate until he had more information and his companion certainly wouldn't benefit from his musings.
"Not to worry, Lyssa! We'll sort it, I promise. But for the moment, let's sort you. How are you feeling now? Headache still bothering you?"
"Um, only a little."
"Hmm, well that fever is mostly gone now but your glucose levels are low. Are you hungry?"
Lyssa's stomach actually growled loudly in response. She had to laugh then, "I guess I am."
"An excellent sign!" The Doctor declared, bounding to his feet. He gathered the discarded blankets up and settled them over her lap. "Anything you like, I am at your service! Although, you know the extent of my culinary skill so choose wisely."
"Peanut butter and jelly?"
"You're letting me off easy," he teased. "Comfort food?"
"Childhood staple," she confirmed with a small smile.
"Ah. Tea?"
"Chocolate milk."
The Doctor shook his head in obvious exasperation, "Americans."
Lyssa watched the Doctor disappear through the doorway and her smile faded. There was plenty he wasn't telling her; she was sure of it. They had built a solid trust over the years, but he still kept things from her. Usually for one of two reasons. One, if it was a private matter or two, if he felt her safety was at risk. It was impossible for her to tell at this point which category this fell into.