Summary: Rose awakenes with no memory, no recolection of who or where she is. With the Doctor missing and his life at stake, only her repressed memories can save him. The problem is, will she remember in time? And if she does what will it do to an already fragile mind?

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who nor the Police song, Windmills of my mind

In The Windmills Of Her Mind

Chapter One

Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, never ending or beginning, on an ever-spinning reel

The walls of the hospital room were blue tiles; they had smiling faces and flowers painted onto them, trying to cheer up the dreariness of the room, trying to pretend that death didn't lurk around the corner. The drawings were there as lies, lies to feed patients, lies to tell to children, to adults, to parents and to lovers, lies to give hope, lies to give chances, lies to stop the tears, but lies is all they were. Each smiling face staring from the wall has seen the death that lurks in this room, each forced smile upon the wall has witnessed death; deaths of the old and the young, the deaths of the careless and the carefree, the deaths of the innocent and the guilty, deaths of the gifted and the damned – yet they remained for one purpose only – to lie. The faces had seen the bodies leaving this room, they'd seen each time as a body was pronounced dead, they'd seen the Doctors shake their heads and heave a sigh, they'd seen the lies they crafted shatter, they'd seen it all.

With everything they'd seen, they thought they knew it all – but they were wrong, today was different. There was no family, no friends, no lovers, no children and no carers, just a girl – a girl who lay totally alone on the clinical white sheets that slowly turned crimson with blood. There was no one to lie to – no one to comfort, for the girl could see through the lies – they never lied to the patients for they knew the truth, they knew the death that lurked in this room, they knew it better than anyone else. Their forced smiles longed to disappear as her unconscious body was wheeled through the wards and into the room, she was met with silence as team of Doctors shook their heads, some wept, some covered their eyes, none of them could bare to look at the maimed and tortured body that they before them. None of them could even begin to imagine the pain that this poor girl must have been through, and the faces could tell, by the look in their eyes, that some of the Doctors wondered if this girl really was better off dead.

They looked down at her battered and bruised body and vowed between them to save her, they vowed to fight until there was nothing left, until everything had been done, until everything had been tried at least twice, they needed this girl to live, because if she didn't, what would be left? There would be no hope, there would be no justice, there would be no smiles and no pats on the back, all there would be is guilt, and so they began to fight for her. They began to fight a losing battle for the girl who was clinging to life by a thread, they began to fight as though she was their daughter, their mother, their sister, their friend, their lover – they began to fight as though their lives depended on it.

The faces watched as the blood left her body faster than it was being replaced, they watched as she was given more blood than any other patient had, they watched as she was opened up, stitched up, searched through and closed again. They watched as her heart rate lowered as though she couldn't bear to fight, they watched as the blood that stained her blonde hair began to turn brown, they watched as her ripped jeans were thrown away, and they watched as her last piece of hope began to fade away. Soon they were watching as her heart stopped, as the machines screamed, as the Doctors shouted, they watched as they pulled out a defibrillator, as they placed the metal plates to her chest, as they shouted 'stand clear', as the shocked her…and as she didn't respond. Once…twice…thrice…she didn't respond, her body failed her as they pumped oxygen into her, they couldn't lose her – not now, not after they'd fought for her, after they'd prayed for her…forth time lucky. Finally her heart beat again, this time more slowly, this time more carefully, this time more warily, almost as though it was afraid of living, afraid of what may come. Yet the Doctors began to fight for her, to fight for the one they refused to lose, the faces smiled despite the death in the room, despite the blood that splattered them and fell down their china faces like tears.

Seven hours, two hundred stitches, two resuscitations, and fifty pints of blood later, they wheeled her out of the room. The tiles watched as she left, their faces still smiling as they watched a miracle, as they watched life being given to the most desperate case, as they finally understood hope. The Doctors shook their heads as they washed the blood off their clothes, as they felt a faint tremor running through them as they thought of the poor girl not living, as they remembered why they became Doctors.

The girl was taken to intensive care, there she would lie for four days, without moving, without speaking, and without waking, there she would be regularly monitored, there she would have a Priest come and prey for her, and there she would have no other visitors other than the nurse who had become quite attached. In her room, the atmosphere of death had been covered up by pink tiles that had smiling rose's looking down over the bed, these smiles never faded, and they never lied, these were the faces that represented hope, that represented care, that represented life – these were faces that would spend day after day smiling at a patient willing them to return to the world – these were the faces that really mattered. These faces watched the fragile body of the blonde girl who lay in the bed, her features were lost beneath red bruises and swollen cuts, stitches marked her skin and bandages covered burns, her blonde hair was brushed every day, the blood having been carefully washed out of it. Tubes monitored and fed her, the tubes lived for her as she clung to life each day, the faces watched the nameless blonde girl – no one knew what had happened, nor did they know where she came from. She was the nameless, faceless child of the darkness to them – she was their sign of hope. But to someone else, to someone else who was as lost as she was; that nameless girl was Rose Tyler.

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