"Ex Memoria"

14. Guarding Memories

Chicago, Illinois – in the year 2021

They weren't in the park. He'd gone all around, seeking them out, but it was no use. No Amy or Rory, no Changs. The Doctor went back to the TARDIS, hoping they might have come upon it and gone inside as they waited for him to return.

Save for the normal ambient noises, the ship was empty. It really should not have surprised him anymore when words so simple as 'don't wander off' were completely ignored, but it did. This time however, there was an extra level of 'difficulty.' Knowing about the painting and what it could do to people, he was forced to wonder if something other than errant curiosity could have led them away.

He had to find them; he would find them, yes. But maybe he didn't have to look now.

The thing was, they might all have been better off if he remained away from everyone. For all the lives he'd led, centuries worth of memories, there was so much good, yes… but as good as the good was, when it came to the bad…

If no one could get saddled with those memories, then that would be best. Now he had some time to himself, to consider what he'd learned so far and what the next step should be. He had a fair idea on that, and he could almost pinpoint then moment when the phone would ring.

He went to the museum by foot. As parted as he was from his little group of wanderer, they would need a place to come back to, and when he came back, hopefully, they'd be there waiting for him.

Trinity Wells was sitting on a bench outside the museum when he arrived. She stood as he approached. He knew right away that she was on board.

"What is it that you need me to do?" she asked, and he could have hugged her. He almost did, then thought better.

"For now, the best we can do is to slow the spread of the infection. Get out a report, a gas leak at the museum, something so they won't go," he started to move past her, then doubled back. "Those who've already been, send them to a hospital. It's like a virus outbreak, I trust you know what to do."

With this, they parted. Trinity Wells was bound for the station, and the Doctor was off to find Gillian Moran Fiorentino.

He had an idea.

Going by the look on Chris' face when he arrived, the Doctor knew things had gotten worse in his absence. If it all worked as he saw it, he might be able to fix her, quickly and painlessly. She'd be alright, but him…

Walking into the room, the Doctor first thought she was asleep… then dead… then catatonic. For one brief instant, he was back on the ship bound for Midnight, staring into fixed blue eyes… But when he came into her line of sight, Gillian sprang to life.

"No… No!" she scrambled back, until the wall was at her back. The Doctor crouched in front of her, and still she squirmed.

"It's alright," he told her in a soothing voice. When he touched her hands, she breathed out, slow. "Good. Now… I'm going to take something from you, but I need you to concentrate. It won't hurt at all, and I'll let you have something nice to replace it, understand?"

She didn't reply, but she stopped struggling, so he took it as a yes.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, placing his hands on either side of her face. "I want you to think back, think about that painting, with the man and woman in the rain. You've seen it many times, I know, so I want you to think about a specific time. Think about the very first time you saw it, alright?"

There was still a chance it wouldn't work, but he was confident that it would. The first time she'd seen it, Gillian Moran Fiorentino had been infected, so somewhere inside that memory, that was where it lived, her infection; if he could take it from her, then she should be alright again.

But then it would have to go somewhere, and it would come to him. He would be twice hit, and he didn't know how this would play out with someone like him, but it couldn't be good.

It hit so hard that he and Gillian stumbled away from one another. While the Doctor remained as he was, on the ground, the woman panted, catching her breath, but at the same time she felt suddenly elated.

"I… I… My head…" she pressed her hands to it. It didn't hurt anymore. She could think; she hadn't done that in so long. She knew without a doubt that her thoughts, her memories, were her own, except maybe for one, of standing in the snow with a blond girl by her side, pointing to the skies.

By her side now, the Doctor had rolled on to his side, curled in a ball. He was holding his head, too, but while she had done it out of relief, for the Doctor it was anything but. Everything hurt, more than he would have ever thought it would.

It was as though the second infection had run into his head and turned on all the lights, all eleven, and they shouted in his head in complete disarray. If the infection could shuffle memories from one person to the next, with him it found eleven people, in one body… and it was raging through him, crossing memories from one to the other, from his fourth to his seventh, his second to his tenth…

"Who am I… who am I…" he roared breathlessly. "Doctor… Doctor… Who…" He laughed dazedly.

"Chris!" Gillian Moran Fiorentino shouted, opening the door and finding the startled young man.

"You're okay!"

"Yes, but he's not, hurry!"

They wouldn't leave him on his own. He had saved her, and Gillian Moran Fiorentino would gladly return the favor.

TO BE CONTINUED (TOMORROW)