Chapter 5 – Fact

"No," Martin said. "And what is that?"

"Life support," replied Smith. "Just a little thing I rigged up."

"Smith? What sort of a doctor are you? This excision doesn't require even oxygen, let alone life support! Fool."

Smith smiled at the village GP. "Not for Donna. For… it. The uhm…"

"Parasite?" Donna squirmed with revulsion. "That makes me all gooseflesh. Just get it out!"

Martin nodded. "Yes. But Smith, you asked for isopropyl alcohol. Why?"

He held out his sonic screwdriver. "This told me that it preferred that over water, or even human blood. That's likely why it's been affecting Donna so severely. Wrong biochemistry."

Martin chose to ignore that comment. "Well whatever it is, it's coming out, before she loses her hand. Listen, don't you think it would be better if you two toddled off to hospital at Wadebridge or Truro? That might be for the best. I'm… uhm," he paused as a wave of nausea overcame him. "I might not be able to… finish it… correctly."

"Course you will, won't you Martin? That's why I looked you up," Smith scratched his neck, then went on. "But I do find it hard to understand what brought you here, to this Cornish village. A successful surgeon like you – all the way out here from London? Why is that, Martin?"

Martin scowled. "I have my reasons," he said. "And why in Heaven's name do you keep calling me by my first name? Have we met? For if we haven't, I'd prefer you to call me Doctor Ellingham!"

Smith pursed his lips. "Well, it was a longish time ago, you know. You might not remember."

Now Martin sneered at the little man. "I have an excellent memory! How dare you! You barge into my surgery, tell me fantastic tales and this hand," he jabbed at Donna's swollen extremity, "it must be some sort of special effect! Is this one of those idiotic TV reality shows?"

Smith stomped over to Ellingham, grabbed his rather thick arm with his small hand and pulled his ear down towards his mouth. "Now listen very carefully, Martin!" he whispered. "We have met and it was some time ago. I need you to treat Donna Noble and quickly. That thing in her hand is growing and if you don't act sharp, they'll be nothing you or I can do to save her, let alone her hand. What do I need to say to convince you I am who I am and this is no joke?"

Martin brushed the man off, crossed his arms and looked belligerently at the smaller man. "So far everything that you have said and done has convinced me that you are a deranged lunatic and require extensive counseling, therapy, and drug treatment!"

Smith sighed and looked at Martin Ellingham. Yes, he thought, he does require just the right bit of convincing. He stepped backwards a step or two and crooking his finger bade the GP to follow him down the hall into the kitchen.

"Taking me on a tour of my own cottage, Smith?" bellowed Martin.

"No, but what I have to say to you should be in private, as what I am about to say, is private, especially to you." Smith glared then his face softened. "I am breaking a number of personal and Time Lord Rules to tell you this, but I will, if that's what it takes to have you perform surgery on Donna. That woman is very sick, and she will get a lot sicker, as we stand here whispering at each other."

Martin knew the man was mad and was about to suffer a total psychotic break, but he was so irritating so he bored in. "Go ahead then, Doctor Smith," he said sarcastically, with any amount of professional demeanor totally gone.

Smith sighed. "All right. You asked for it. Facts." He stepped back a foot or so, lowered his eyes to the floor then glared up at Martin. "A long time ago…"

"Yeah, in a galaxy far, far away," added Martin, who rolled his eyes.

"Actually no, it was right here, on Earth; in London, about twenty five years ago. You were a last year medical student, top of your class. Hated, yet admired by each of the other students and your professors. All the registrars and consultants at the hospital were awed by your encyclopedic memory and, in spite of rather thick fingers and hands, that you were blessed with the golden touch in surgery. And just before you graduated…"

"Yeah. So what? Everything you've said you could have heard from anyone! Likely that tosser Adrian Pitts over in Wadebridge. What's that bastard been saying about me this time?" Martin balled his fists.

"No," said Smith forcefully. "Don't know him. But there you were, just days from graduating, the world at your feet and something almost happened to derail that glorious career yet to be born. Something that your oh-too cerebral brain could not have imagined." A pause. "You fell in love."

"What of it!" yelled Martin. "Big fat deal!"

"But there's more. The woman in question… was one Edith Montgomery. Oh she was cool and calculating, wasn't she, Martin? Those green eyes and orange hair; set your nerves on fire didn't they? That slim body too! And those little games she got you into. The handcuffs, the surgical tape…"

"Stop! Stop it!" Martin lurched away, holding his hands to his head. "How dare you! That is private! You must have been in America, found her, and dug up this bit of dirt. I won't hear it! Shut it!" he nearly screamed. "I haven't thought of, not heard from, Edith in years! That's over, long gone!"

"Martin. There's more. I need to convince you, who I am, or was…" he started rifling through his pockets, apparently looking for something. "Have them here somewhere. Well, there was a closet three doors down the hall from the autopsy room, and she was in there. There was something about a promise of champagne…"

"I don't drink!"

"I know," answered Smith. "Not anymore. You were all set to go into that closet, where you knew Edith was waiting with the champagne, and she had made arrangements. Special arrangements. And you were eager, weren't you? Oh so eager. All you had to do was to open that door… but something, or someone, stopped you."

Martin froze. "How do you know these things? He said he wouldn't talk! My God! Is this blackmail? That's it, right?"

"And who was that? Don't you remember, who that was, Mr. Ellingham?"

Martin screwed up his face as he remembered the past. "He was tall, had a large nose, and wore a long striped scarf with a dark coat and a battered hat. He was a consulting researcher, or so he said. And he was always offering…"

Smith smiled and pulled his hand from his pocket holding out a paper packet in his open palm. "Would you like a jelly baby?" he said grinned from ear to ear.

The village GP froze. "You can't know that! How can you know that?"

"This man, this doctor, offered you jelly babies and said 'Mr. Ellingham, I wouldn't…' "

" 'Go in there, if I were you. It would ruin your career,' " finished Martin and now his eyes were wide in both horror and wonder.

"Hello-o-o-o."

"Yes," replied Martin. "He said that as well! But how... can you know these things?"

"And then just seconds later, as you grudgingly ate a red and a yellow jelly baby that I gave you as I pulled you some distance down the corridor, the school custodian arrived and opened that very closet door to the screams of…"

"Edith!" gasped Martin. "Edith was found… and if I'd been in there…"

Smith smiled. "You'd both have been sacked. Instead she was the one reprimanded for being in the storage closet, topless and slathered with scented oil." Smith held up his thumb and middle finger a millimeter apart. "If I hadn't interrupted your little rendezvous by just a few seconds." He snapped his fingers. "Like that."

Martin ran a shaky hand over his brow and looked Smith up and down in amazement. "It is you! But how? You were taller, older, the nose? How? It makes no sense!" he finished in a strangled sound.

Smith smiled a toothy smile. "I told you. People change. I've changed. Now… I need you to prepare for surgery and attend to Donna Noble. Now you do believe me."

"Yes…. I do. God yes…" Martin gulped. "But there's no way, it could be you, I mean him!"

"The universe is large and vast Martin."

"There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," intoned Martin using the immortal words of Shakespeare's Hamlet.

Smith smiled his odd smile again. "Hamlet - Act, 1, Scene 5. Yes. I told Will that line would last through the ages. He didn't believe me. But I was right."

Martin was about to question Smith once more when a yell came from the consulting room.

"Doc! Help!"

"Time for surgery, old man," said Smith as he slapped Martin on the back.

"Oh, God!" said the GP of Portwenn as he rushed down the hall to his patient.

Author's notes:

John Smith is describing the incarnation of the Fourth Doctor – played by Tom Baker – a tall, square, smiling man with a large nose. His costume was as described. And he loved jelly babies, always offering them to total strangers.

No such encounter is recorded in the Annals of the Time Lord known as the Doctor, or Dr. Who. So don't go looking. :)

Dr. Who regenerates from time to time, when he has been injured irreparably, and his shape, size, face, and personality change. So far the Doctor has always been male before and after these events.