There was no way of telling how long he'd been out for, but it was clear when Charlie woke up that it had been a long time. His thoughts were a little fuzzy, but he immediately sat up, and checked the Doctor's condition. Thankfully, he seemed to be breathing.
Charlie pulled the headset off, and let it swing from the ceiling for a moment – before it was reeled back in by the TARDIS.
"Doctor?" Charlie muttered.
The Doctor's eyes snapped open, and he glared at Charlie for a second, scrutinising him.
"Ah, well done!" he called brightly, sitting bolt upright, and clapping Charlie heartily on the shoulder.
Charlie shrugged. "What did I do?"
The Doctor frowned. "No idea. But it seems to have worked."
He leapt to his feet, and began to pace around the console, patting various parts of his anatomy.
"Yep. All still there. Legs, liver, hearts…" the Doctor frowned, peering intently at Charlie, examining each of his eyes carefully. "Reminds me of a restaurant I visited once. Didn't stay long."
Charlie took a step back as the Doctor rushed past him, and flew up the stairs, plucking a mirror from a coffee table.
The Doctor glared at his own reflection, a mixture of horror and astonishment slapped across his features.
"Ah," he breathed.
"What?" asked Charlie, quickly rushing up the stairs to join him.
"It's my face…" the Doctor muttered, somewhat disappointed.
Charlie managed a smile, astounded by the Doctor's grasp of household objects.
"Yes…"
"No, look," the Doctor exclaimed, thrusting the mirror at him.
Charlie looked down at his own reflection for a moment. His eyes were tired, and frustrated. He tore himself away, unable to meet his own gaze.
The Doctor was gawking at him earnestly.
"What am I looking at?" Charlie shrugged.
The Doctor frowned, glaring down at the mirror, and back at him again. His eyebrows shot up in revelation.
"Oh no, sorry, I forgot - they don't work like that."
The Doctor snatched the mirror back from Charlie, and returned it.
"I don't…" Charlie muttered, watching the Doctor carefully straighten the table. Which, he realised, was a pointless gesture, as the contents of the table were always the first to hit the floor whenever the TARDIS ran into a spot of turbulence.
"I don't understand what you're trying to say."
"Look!" the Doctor roared, pointing at his eyebrows. "It's my face."
Charlie regarded the Doctor's features with some awkwardness. He wasn't wrong.
He could appreciate that the Doctor had almost died; perhaps the shock had finally sent him over the edge?
"It's still the same. I didn't change!"
"What were you expecting?"
"Regeneration!"
Charlie shook his head. He had absolutely no idea what the Doctor was talking about.
"I died," the Doctor stated. "When I die, I regenerate – all the cells are renewed, and my entire body changes." He gesticulated wildly, and Charlie took a defensive step back, to avoid the Doctor's windmilling arms.
"Which means…" the Doctor muttered, pausing to stare intently into space.
"What? What does it mean?" Charlie asked, struggling to keep up.
"I didn't die…"
"Right."
"Or…" the Doctor continued, drawing out his conclusions so slowly, it was almost painful trying to follow it.
"Or what?" Charlie encouraged.
The Doctor frowned, something on the TARDIS control panels catching his attention.
"Are we in flight?" the Doctor asked, glaring at the pulsing time rotor.
"I think so," Charlie answered quickly. "Or what? What else does it mean?
"How is that possible?" the Doctor pondered, dashing back down the stairs, and bending over the TARDIS console, examining the levers closely.
"I don't know!" Charlie retorted.
"Did you set the controls?" the Doctor span around, interrogating him.
Charlie shook his head. "I can't fly the TARDIS. I think… I think the TARDIS set them itself."
"The TARDIS?"
Charlie nodded.
"Ah…" the Doctor breathed in realisation. "The TARDIS took off by itself. Of course."
The Doctor nodded, satisfied with his explanation.
Charlie realised too late that the Doctor was merely being sarcastic. The Doctor grabbed him by his hoodie, and peered at him with a disapproving stare.
"That's impossible," he growled.
Charlie looked down at the Doctor's fingers, curled tightly around the fabric of his top.
"That's what I saw."
The Doctor nodded slowly, and inhaled sharply through his nose.
"There's something strange about you. Something I've missed," the Doctor mused.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Are you still pregnant?"
Charlie peered at the Doctor for a moment, unsure if he had heard correctly.
"I'm sorry; did you just ask if I was pregnant?"
"Yes, don't you remember? The Arachnid Queen made you her… um. How should I say… consort?" the Doctor reminded him, discreetly pulling the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket.
Charlie's stomach lurched as he recalled the encounter.
"Oh, yeah, I forgot, because you…"
"Because I died."
The Doctor finished scanning him with the screwdriver, and examined the readings.
"Congratulations," the Doctor grinned.
"What?!" Charlie responded in alarm.
"Don't worry – you're clean. Your immune system destroyed the spiderlings before they hatched."
"Thank goodness for that," Charlie breathed, perching on the TARDIS console to steady himself.
"So the real question is: how am I still alive?"
"I have no idea," Charlie replied, after a moment of thought.
"No, wait, no it isn't," the Doctor growled, his hands gesticulating in frustration, until finally, an index finger was pointed directly at Charlie's nose.
"How did we get out?"
Charlie peered down at the Doctor's finger. "Out?"
"Of the Arachnid lair? What happened to the Arachnid Queen? Because," the Doctor turned on his heel, and paced around the TARDIS console, "I calculated our chances of survival at less than five percent. There was no way we could have stopped the Queen unless some… miracle happened."
The Doctor stopped abruptly, having come full circle, and glared at Charlie.
"So what did happen?"
Charlie shook his head. "I don't know. All I can remember is… the Arachnid Queen was destroyed. You defeated her… somehow. I think. I…" Charlie shrugged uselessly, "I don't remember."
He really couldn't think what had happened. It was all a blur. Everything had been eclipsed by the Doctor collapsing, and he couldn't for the life of him remember how the Arachnid Queen had been defeated.
"Okay," the Doctor nodded. "Fine. Now, the next question is: how am I still alive?"
"Uh…"
"Because clearly, I didn't die," the Doctor stated, pointing down at his living, breathing figure. "Or…"
"Or?"
"I'm still dying," the Doctor finished, gazing vacantly over Charlie's shoulder.
Charlie's stomach churned. He recalled the TARDIS' words – save the Doctor. But what did that mean? What could he do?
"It's impossible…" the Doctor muttered, examining the backs of his hands, "my hearts have stopped. But I still have a pulse…"
He reached out, his fingers gently probing Charlie's jugular vein.
Charlie threw him a confused stare. What was the Doctor doing?
"It's your pulse."
"Yeah…?" Charlie was very conscious of his twitching facial muscles.
"We're sharing a pulse," the Doctor explained, his eyes narrowing, "Has the TARDIS done this? Leeching your life force to keep us both alive?"
"I… guess so?"
"She must know that's incredibly dangerous. We have… hours before your heart burns out. It can't possibly sustain both of our lives."
"Wait…" Charlie shook his head, trying to take it all in. So they were both dying, now?
"Yes, we're both dying, but… Oh!" the Doctor breathed, his eyes widening.
"What?"
"Conjecture!" the Doctor expostulated, thrusting an index finger in the air. He stalked over to the blackboard, where he began scribbling notes in white chalk.
"So, there's this theory," the Doctor explained, at a whirlwind speed, "that after you die, you have seven minutes of brain activity left. And in those seven minutes, you experience a dream world, where you live your entire life over again."
"So you think…?" Charlie began.
"You can never be sure if you're still alive," the Doctor continued, "or in those seven minutes, replaying your life…"
"Wait, what?" Charlie spluttered.
They had just escaped a traumatic ordeal, and it was still too soon, in his opinion, to be posing philosophical conundrums. Why was the Doctor still testing him with all these questions, when there was a very strong possibility that he was dead, or dying?
"The obvious conclusion is that my life's about to flash before my eyes," the Doctor broke off his intense glare with a shrug, "Still, that gives us loads of time to think what to do next. And I mean loads of time…"
"Hold on." Charlie squeezed his forehead, as he reached the unthinkable conclusion. "We're inside your mind?"
"We're dreaming," the Doctor stated, waving his finger at the space around him. "We're in a dream world. Constructed by the TARDIS, taking place in my head… and you're along for the ride, too."
The Doctor fixed him with another glare.
"But you've been dreaming for a long time, Charlie."
"I'm sorry?" Charlie responded, taken aback. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The Doctor was already at the TARDIS doors. Outside, was nothing – a wall of sheer darkness.
Charlie shook his head, and rushed over to the Doctor's side.
"Why are there no stars?" Charlie asked.
"Because we're not in space," the Doctor answered quietly.
"Then where are we?"
"Nowhere."
"But I can see things moving."
Even though everything was black, Charlie could make out shapes swirling in the void. The reflection from the light of the TARDIS the only indication of their dancing forms.
"They're thoughts," the Doctor stated. "Thoughts inside my head."
"Thoughts?" echoed Charlie.
"Thoughts; dark and despairing…" the Doctor muttered, his tone grave. "A place inside the mind without light, and so without hope."
As Charlie stared into the darkness, he felt a stirring in his gut. The feelings of despair that the Doctor described, hollowing him. And he felt afraid.
But the worse part was, the longer he stared, the more it felt like something was staring right back.
The Doctor shook his head. "This is terrifyingly dark. I had no idea…"
He slammed the TARDIS doors shut, and leaned back against them for a moment, his restless eyes betraying his disquiet.
"We need to get out."
He raced back to the console, his eyebrows knotted, and began to set the controls.
"Where?" Charlie asked.
"Anywhere!"
The engines heaved, like the TARDIS was sick.
The control room shook, and Charlie staggered, almost losing his balance. He tripped over, and slammed into the railings. He grabbed onto it, the metal pressing against his chest, constricting his breathing, as the TARDIS tried to rattle his bones from his body.
He glanced over at the Doctor, furiously grappling with the controls. But the console was going wild. Levers were flipping of their own accord, and there was a dial spinning so fast, Charlie thought it might start smoking. The Doctor tried to grab hold of it, but it burned his fingers, and he pulled away, clenching his fist.
Finally, the noise subsided, and the TARDIS landed with a resounding thump. The doors swung open.
Charlie let go of the railing, and stood up, looking over to the Doctor. He was about to speak; question what had happened. But there was something about the Doctor's expression that made him uneasy, so he remained silent.
The Doctor pulled the TARDIS scanner to him, and glared at it. The display showed nothing: bursts of meaningless, snowy static.
His eyes flicked towards Charlie in confusion, then to the open doorway.
The Doctor ventured towards it, seemingly unsure of himself; taking deliberate, precise steps.
Charlie joined him, and peered outside, wondering where they had landed.
Beyond the TARDIS doors, there seemed to be a dingy copse of trees. There was a powerful odour of metal, and sweat.
"Where are we?" asked Charlie, turning to the Doctor.
The Doctor wasn't listening. There was a horrified expression across his face. His mouth was moving silently, as if trying to sound out a word.
"Doctor?" Charlie pressed him, tapping the Doctor's arm lightly. He was worried.
What had the Doctor seen amongst the trees? What had caused such dread to consume him?
He looked out again, but he couldn't see anything. No animals. No people. No life at all. It was still.
"No…" the Doctor whispered, his voice quivering in alarm. "We can't be here. We can't!"
Author's Notes
The original premise for this adventure was a kind of inverse of Into the Dalek.
The Doctor and Charlie are venturing – perhaps literally, perhaps metaphorically – inside the Doctor's mind.
As such, this might get a little weird as the Doctor gets lost in his thoughts, his memories… and his nightmares.
