**NOTE: For this story, I will basically be ignoring everything in the show after Thirteen's first season (Season 11). This is mostly for my own sanity. There are eventually going to be *multiple* doctors in here, which is always fun, but also...kind of complicated.
Chapter 13: Stranger in a Strange Land
The beaches of Isla Vitala were famous for many things in the 31st Century. Celebrity scandals, the best cocktail bars in the outer Milky Way, sunny skies year-round, and some of the softest sand in the universe. Isla Vitala, and really the 31st Century in general, were…also not her intended destination, but the thirteenth incarnation of the Doctor was alright with that. She just wanted to take her friends to a planet with nice beaches, sun, and slightly less trouble brewing than their usual adventures. All in all, that plan seemed to have worked out fairly well.
The Doctor reclined in her beach chair with a contented sigh and wiggled her toes in the soft, white sand beneath her feet. Gazing out at the turquoise ocean before her, she smiled as she watched tourists and locals alike enjoy their own day at the beach. Being who she was, she didn't often choose to experience this side of the universe. She wasn't really cut out for it, craving adventure and the thrill of mystery and danger far more. But just for one day, it was nice to just sit on a beach by a warm ocean, surrounded by regular people from across the galaxy living their regular lives.
Yaz and Ryan were splashing each other in the shallows nearby, and the Doctor laughed as she watched them let loose. Then she adjusted her blue swimsuit top for what felt like the hundredth time, and grumbled when it still didn't feel as comfortable as she wanted it to be. (Someday soon, she was going to write some strongly worded letters to swimwear companies outlining several changes they should consider making.)
Graham was off getting some cold drinks from the concession area nearby. He'd been gone for awhile, but the Doctor wasn't particularly worried yet. Hundreds of species visited Isla Vitala's resorts every year, including humans. He'd be fine as long as he didn't wander into the jungle. As for her, the Doctor was beginning to wonder exactly what people did to entertain themselves at the beach all day. It had been a few hours since she and the Fam arrived, and she had already gone swimming, looked for shells with Yaz, read half of Graham's book, and constructed three intricate sandcastles. She had seen some groups playing games nearby, but now it was almost midday and most strenuous activities had been put on pause in favor of cooling off in the water.
The Doctor fidgeted restlessly in her chair. The novelty of a relaxing day at the beach was already starting to wear off, but one look at Ryan and Yaz having fun in the water and she knew they wouldn't want to leave the beach just yet. Besides, Graham still hadn't come back from the concession stand.
Unfortunately, knowing all of that did nothing to stave off her growing sense of boredom. Barely ten seconds passed before the need to do something became overwhelming, and the Doctor snatched up her coat from where it was folded on the towel beside her chair, rummaging through the pockets for potential sources of entertainment.
Several discarded items into her search, her fingers finally brushed over the dials of the timey-wimey detector. "Aha!" Triumphantly pulling out the device, she tossed her coat aside and held the detector up in the sunlight, turning it over in her hands to inspect it from all angles. It was still a bit dusty, and the screen had a few scratches on it, but it was still very much the device she had constructed centuries ago, after the first timey-wimey detector met an untimely end.
"Haven't seen you in ages," the Doctor muttered, wiping dust off the screen and experimentally turning the dials a few times. Would the detector even work anymore? It was centuries old, so old she couldn't remember the last time she had used it.
She found the power switch and turned it on. For a few moments, the screen simply flickered on and off as the device struggled back to life after centuries of lying dormant. One scan from the sonic screwdriver and a hard software reset later, the screen finally stabilized and brightened to show a small graph with oscillating lines moving across it. One of the lines jumped slightly, and the device let out a very faint yet recognizable beep.
"Yes, that's it!" the Doctor cheered. She earned a few odd looks from nearby sunbathers, but she didn't care. Her timey-wimey detector worked! Now she had entertainment for at least the next twenty min—
Hold on.
She did a double-take at the screen.
The lines were oscillating a lot faster than she would have expected, given where she was. Isla Vitala was a large, densely populated planet known for many things, but one thing it was not known for was temporal anomalies.
The device beeped again and the Doctor tensed, remembering that she had designed it to beep more the closer it got to a temporal anomaly. A space-time Geiger counter, so to speak. She glanced suspiciously up and down the beach. Was the detector faulty after spending centuries gathering dust? It was possible.
She got to her feet, focusing on her time sense as she surveyed the beach, sea, and jungle as far as she could see. Timelines flitted through her mind by the hundreds, moving, shifting, and rippling through spacetime as lives went on and people made choices that affected their futures in large and small ways. Some timelines were tragically brief, while others went on for hundreds of years, but most of them felt normal, or normal enough. There were a few timelines that shifted between possibilities more than usual, but that shifting wasn't significant enough to scream "TEMPORAL ANOMALY RIGHT HERE".
Jack Harkness, for example, would be fairly easy to sense nearby. His timeline was an endless, spiraling tangle of moments crisscrossing space and time all over the place, with a blip here and there for every time he died and time looped back around the fixed point of his existence to bring him back to life. Weeping Angels…well, they were a bit different, and often difficult to track down by time sense alone, but that was what the timey-wimey detector was for: Locating temporal anomalies, no matter what caused them.
The detector beeped again, and the Doctor looked down. The lines were oscillating more erratically than ever, and she knew that wasn't a good sign. At least, not if the detector was accurate. If it was, she was almost certainly about to have a problem on her hands. An exciting problem, but still a problem, and a big one at that, since the lines on the detector were still fluctuating wildly with no sign of stopping.
As if the universe had heard her thoughts, the detector's metal casing began to grow warm in the Doctor's hands. She turned it over, puzzled by the sudden burst of heat, and the beeping grew even louder and faster. A stronger burst of heat suddenly seared her fingertips and she dropped the device on the sand with a yelp.
The second it hit the ground, the beeping sound slowed.
The Doctor shoved her burned fingers into her mouth with a wince, wrinkling her nose at the taste of dried sunscreen and salt as she knelt down to inspect the detector. Ignoring the curious looks of the family lounging on beach chairs a few feet away, she reached for the device with her free hand.
It began to beep faster.
She moved her hand back, and the beeping slowed.
The Doctor frowned and moved her hand closer. The beeping sped up.
She repeated the action with the other hand, and got the same results.
Could it be…No…
It was impossible. The detector couldn't possibly be telling her that SHE was the temporal anomaly it was detecting. That was ridiculous. It had to be malfunctioning.
She snatched the device up and turned to go back to her beach chair. Just as she was about to sit down, she spotted Graham making his way back from the concession area with a tray of drinks in his hands. A sunburned, red-haired woman was trudging through the sand beside him.
A painfully familiar red-haired woman.
The timey-wimey detector slipped out of the Doctor's hands and hit the sand with one final beep, then died with a loud crackle. She glanced down, mouth agape, and saw a wisp of smoke rising from the power switch.
She looked up again, hoping that she was just imagining things, but no, that was definitely Donna Noble walking toward her with a tired scowl on her face. Her red hair was a tangled mess, her clothes were ragged and covered in streaks of dirt—and she was staring straight at the Doctor.
The Time Lord instantly averted her gaze, memories of Daleks and Davros and a severed hand glowing with regeneration energy flitting through her mind.
Oh no.
This could NOT be happening!
It was impossible. Really, truly impossible! Donna Noble should not be on Isla Vitala in the 31st Century for any reason. She should be on Earth, living out a normal human life in linear time with her husband and kids, and absolutely no memories of the Doctor or traveling in the TARDIS.
"Doctor! Sorry it took so long, but I found someone I think you should meet!" Graham called out when he and Donna were close enough.
The Time Lord flinched, both hearts plummeting in her chest. Well, she thought, there goes any semblance of a plan. Now I have to do something. Donna could die if she remembers me. What do I do? What can I do? I can't trigger her memories!
"What did you just say?" Donna asked. (Oh god, it had been so long since the Doctor had heard that voice. It sounded rougher than usual, maybe from dehydration, but it was still ultimately the same voice that haunted her memories.)
"Donna, this is my friend, the one I told you might be able to help," Graham said, setting the tray of drinks on his chair.
"But what did you just say? You called—"
The Doctor opened her mouth to speak before Graham could, but it was too late. "The Doctor. That's her," he replied.
"Doctor what?"
"Pardon?"
"Sorry, it's just—What is that? That metal thing that's smoking?"
The Doctor finally looked up.
Donna was eyeing the timey-wimey detector suspiciously. Then she raised her head and caught the Doctor's eye before she could look away. "What is that?" she repeated.
"It's…" The Doctor tried to make up an answer, to say anything except the truth, but the words died in her throat. All she could think about was that the Donna Noble standing before her was not the age she was supposed to be in her linear timeline. It was 2018 in her present, yet she was the same age she had been the last time the two of them had traveled together, in 2009. In fact, Donna was actually a few months younger than that. "Oh," the Time Lord whispered faintly. She looked down at the timey-wimey detector, still smoking at her feet.
Timelines.
The detector had been designed the register temporal anomalies through the effects they had on the movement of time and timelines around them. And if Donna was here on Isla Vitala, at the same age she had been a few months before Davros threatened the multiverse with a new Dalek Empire and a reality bomb, before she had become the Doctor Donna and the Doctor had had to telepathically block all her memories of their adventures together to keep her human brain functions intact...then that was a problem. A great, big, hugely catastrophic, timey-wimey problem.
Because the Doctor had not come to this planet with Donna at any point in their travels. Yet Donna was here—and it was definitely the same Donna the Doctor's past self had traveled with, not a parallel version or anything else.
So much for a nice, relaxing day at the beach.
Donna suddenly stormed toward her. "Look," she said, pointing to the detector, "I don't know who you are, but Graham said you might be able to help me get home, and I really hope you can do that. I just want to know where you got that thing first. It looks a lot like something a friend of mine made. I'm looking for him, so if you know anything about where he is, I need to know. Please."
The Doctor could feel timelines shifting wildly around her now, thousands upon thousands of possibilities bursting into existence where they never should have been possible. She should have kept her mouth shut then, should have said anything other than what she did, but what slipped out at that moment was a quiet, pained, "It's mine."
Donna scoffed. "Oh, really? Because my friend built something exactly like that. I know what it is, and I know what it's called, which is probably more than you can say! Where did you—"
"Timey-wimey detector."
Her former companion broke off, anger slowly turning to confusion.
Finally, Graham spoke up. "Sorry, do you two know each other?" he asked, looking between them with growing concern.
"No," Donna said, though there was a hint of doubt in her voice.
The Doctor pressed her lips together, unsure what to say or how to say it. It was too late to go back now. Timelines were already in flux all around them, nothing felt right, and she had no idea how or why any of it was happening yet. All she knew was that Donna was looking for her "friend", who was almost certainly the Doctor's past self. She would have to start there.
"I'm afraid so," she answered. "Hello, Donna Noble."
And with that, the entire universe shifted course.
He came to consciousness slowly, cracking open his eyes and blinking to adjust to the bright light shining above him.
For a few moments, his mind was blissfully quiet. All he felt was a faint tingling under his skin, like anticipatory energy was gathering in his veins. He turned his head to one side, then the other, surveying his surroundings with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. Everything was slightly blurry, but he could make out some things. The bed he was lying on was comfortably soft, and the white sheet pulled up to his chest felt cool and crisp. The air smelled faintly of medical-grade alcohol, but not enough to be unpleasant.
He inhaled deeply, and a brief memory of burning pain flitted through his mind. Then it vanished and he exhaled, reveling in the utter absence of pain he now felt.
"Agent 17?" a voice asked.
The light above him dimmed, and was soon blocked out by two blurry silhouettes.
He blinked, then squinted, and the figures leaning over him gradually came into focus. Two bipedal beings with violet skin covered in faint, iridescent whorls stood on either side of him, studying him intently. They both wore dark grey military uniforms with a green armband around the left upper sleeve.
One of the beings had a white stripe around the middle of their band. "Agent 17?" they asked again.
Was that him? Agent 17? It sounded familiar.
It must be him.
"Yes," he rasped. He was startled by the sound of his voice. It almost sounded foreign to his ears, though he was certain he must have heard his own voice before.
The being who had spoken—a female Nerevhalian, some part of Agent 17's brain supplied—nodded encouragingly. "Good," she said. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"
He tried to recall anything beyond the burning pain, but nothing new came to mind. "I don't know. I…remember pain," he said finally.
"What kind of pain? Where did you feel it?"
"My chest, I think? It felt like I was burning, and I remember that it was dark…but that's all."
"And how do you currently feel, physically?"
"Good? No pain."
The female Nerevhalian nodded again. "Do you know where you are?"
Agent 17 glanced around the room again, taking in the sterile white walls, white lights on the ceiling, bedside table, and pale grey curtains drawn over the window across the room. A small hologram was flickering over the surface of the bedside table, a two-dimensional, triangular symbol that 17 instantly recognized. It sparked a memory of a colossal pyramid overlooking a churning ocean, and the answer came tumbling out of his mouth. "Headquarters," he said confidently. "The PYRAMID."
"Good. Now, what is today's date?"
"July 3, 2016." That answer came easier than the rest, springing to the forefront of his mind with surprisingly little effort.
The other being—Nerevhalian, male—pulled a small touchscreen tablet and stylus out of a pocket of his uniform and wrote something down. "Time sense is intact. Treatment should correct the slight atrial flutter in the left heart. All other vitals are steady and within normal ranges," he said. He handed the tablet to his counterpart, who studied the screen solemnly, then met 17's curious gaze again.
"What is the guiding principle of the Charter?" she asked.
"The guiding principle?" He knew she was asking for something important, but it took a few moments for him to fully understand. Then something fell into place in his mind, a memory resurfaced, and her question suddenly made all the sense in the world. "Order Perfects Creation," he whispered. The Charter. He was a Charter Agent. He had a purpose! Order Perfects Creation. Now he was finally starting to remember who he was!
"That is correct. You seem to be recovering well, faster than expected given your injuries."
"What?" Agent 17 frowned and tried to look down at himself, but the male Nerevhalian stopped him with a light hand to his shoulder.
"Don't move too much yet. You are still healing," he warned.
17 lay back down with huff, once again disheartened by the gaping holes in his memory. "What injuries do I have, or did I have? I don't remember."
The female Nerevhalian answered—and now 17 could vaguely recall that the green band with the white stripe around her left arm meant she was a Charter medical officer of some kind. "First and foremost, you are suffering from memory loss following a near-fatal psychic and physical attack. Given your current state and rate of recovery, there is a strong likelihood that your memory will recover in time. However, you may not be able to recall some past events immediately, or ever. This is not unexpected given the severity of the attack, although I understand this might be frustrating to hear right now."
"But what attack? What attacked me?"
A new voice spoke up. "Captain, if I may?"
Agent 17 jerked his head up and looked over his shoulder, quickly pinpointing the owner of the voice. There, across the room beside a door he hadn't been able to see while lying down, stood a blond-haired man in a black suit and tie holding a briefcase in one hand. He didn't appear to be Nerevhalian, but that was all 17 could tell.
"You may proceed," the female Nerevhalian said. To 17, she added, "This is Agent 35. He is familiar with the details of the attack, and can answer further questions you may have about it."
17's eyebrows rose, and he regarded the approaching agent with more openness than before. "Hello," he greeted.
Agent 35 gave him a stiff nod in return. "Agent 17. Glad to see you're awake," he said.
"I'm glad I'm awake too, I think."
The male Nerevhalian slipped out of the room with a murmur that he would be back in a few minutes with a treatment for atrial flutter.
35 set the briefcase on the bedside table and opened it. He examined the contents for a moment, then took a small black box out and shut the lid again. "You were attacked at the edge of fog space by one of the Anomaly's creatures," he began. "I wasn't there, but I was informed of the details afterward. The team that was sent to rescue you arrived too late to contain the creature, and found you drifting half dead at the edge of fog space. That was two weeks ago."
17 stared at him in disbelief, not understanding every word he said but understanding enough. "I was out for two weeks?"
"And no wonder. I heard the process of extracting the psychic residue from your mind was excruciating."
"I…don't remember any of that."
Agent 35 made a quiet sound of acknowledgement and opened one end of the box, pulling a thin, square device attached to a black wrist strap out of it. 17 watched with growing curiosity as he set the box aside and tapped on the device's screen a few times. It lit up with a white symbol, the same one that was projected over the bedside table.
"What is that?" 17 asked, unable to contain himself when no explanation was forthcoming.
"It's your new watch. Your old one was destroyed during the attack." 35 glanced at the medical officer, then held out a hand to 17. "Here, let's get it calibrated."
Belatedly, 17 realized what he wanted and raised his left arm. He was about to protest that he could put the watch on himself, but the other agent had already slipped the black strap around his wrist and secured it. The watch vibrated four times, then the white symbol on the screen changed to a white circle and a message that read, "Calibrating: 10%."
"It'll take a few moments," 35 said.
"Alright." 17 watched the number go up to 20 percent, then dropped his hand back to his side. The watch was remarkably light on his wrist. He still noticed it, but it wasn't heavy or bothersome. He would easily get used to wearing it again.
He looked over at 35, and saw that he was wearing the same kind of watch. "So, how do we know each other?" he asked. He wished he didn't have to ask, but it was really starting to bug him that he didn't know. Everything around him felt familiar, even the watch, but 35's explanations still didn't help him fully understand his place within it all.
Agent 35 gave a small shake of his head. "We don't know each other, not officially. I've heard about some of the cases you've solved, but we haven't worked together before. That's part of the other reason I'm here."
"What's the other reason?"
"You were scheduled to receive a new assignment the day you were attacked, and unfortunately, that assignment can't afford to wait much longer."
The watch on 17's wrist suddenly vibrated once and he raised his hand in time to see the white circle flash green. Then a new message filled the screen. "Welcome, Charter Agent #17," he read aloud.
"It's done," 35 muttered. He opened the briefcase again, and this time took out a thin, rectangular device. He slid his fingers along one side of it until they caught on something, then he pressed down and the device came to life, unfolding into a touchscreen tablet in his hands. The screen blinked on and calibrated in a matter of seconds.
17 gingerly sat up, and was glad when the only twinge of pain he felt was from a tense muscle on the right side of his neck. 35 handed him the tablet and tapped once in the middle of the screen. A dark blue login page appeared, with the date and time in bright white font along the top, spaces to enter a username and password in the middle, and a notification about an unread message.
"Do you remember this?" 35 asked.
17 reluctantly shook his head. "Nope. I wish I did."
"Okay, this is the Multiverse Surveillance Portal. All Charter communications are sent through this, and it's also how we submit reports, and access data and records. You can sign into it from any Charter device. Your watch is calibrated now, so it should automatically grant you access, but you can also sign in the old way if you have to, by typing in your login info. I can get that for you later if you have trouble signing in."
"Right. Thanks."
"And that notification is your new assignment letter from Officer 8. Because of your skill set and track record of solving, well, seemingly impossible cases, you've been assigned as my partner in the Selig Investigation. You'll start as soon as you're cleared for duty."
"Oh." 17 wasn't exactly sure what sort of skills he possessed, or which ones 35 was referring to, but he wasn't about to ask. At least, not yet. Surely as an accomplished Charter Agent, he could figure himself out on his own.
"Agent 17 will remain here under observation for two more days at minimum, per standard protocol," the Nerevhalian medical officer interjected.
The agent in question stifled the urge to cringe at that, and quickly distracted himself from the prospect of lying in bed for another two days by tapping on the notification on his tablet. After a few seconds, a new window popped up with a message from Head Security Officer 8.
Officer 8 sounded familiar to 17, but he couldn't recall anything specific about them, only a nebulous sense of familiarity with the term "Security Officer". In any case, a glance at the letterhead told him that whoever Officer 8 was, they were one of his superiors.
35 cleared his throat. "I would read that as soon as possible, and when you can, try to familiarize yourself with past reports from the Selig Case. You have a lot to catch up on."
"Got it." 17 was less than thrilled to hear that last part. At least learning about his new assignment would make lying in bed for two days more exciting.
The other agent paused, then touched the lid of the briefcase. "This is your travel case, by the way. I had it brought here instead of your quarters. Figured it might have some things in it that might help your memory."
"Thank you," 17 said, and he meant it. He barely knew who he was or exactly what he did as a Charter Agent, but he knew it was important work, and he was glad to know he would be doing it with someone like Agent 35. The man was a bit hard to read, but he seemed like a nice enough person to work with. 17 looked forward to it.
35 left after that, and 17 thought he would have time to read about his new assignment then, but the medical officers had other ideas. First, he had to be treated for his atrial flutter (it was a pill, and he absolutely hated how it tasted). Then he had to get scanned, tested, poked, and prodded by all sorts of specialists, endure a very strange sonic shower that left him feeling no cleaner than before, and change out of his hospital gown into a set of pajamas that felt horribly rough and scratchy. By then, it was dinner time, and 17 tried a few spoonfuls of grey porridge that tasted like seafood before deciding that the taste really wasn't for him. He was given a bowl of something cool and sweet to try next. He liked that much better, and readily ate every bite.
Only then, after his meal was cleared away and the doctors finally left him to rest for the night, did Agent 17 finally have a chance to read about his all-important new assignment. He felt mentally worn out after all the testing he'd just gone through, but physically he still felt restless, and itched with the need to know more about himself and his upcoming assignment.
He sat up in bed and grabbed his tablet from the bedside table, tapping on the screen until turned on and quickly navigating back to the message from Head Security Officer 8. His eyes widened as he read it.
To: Agent 17
From: Head Security Officer 8
Subject: New Assignment
17,
Effective immediately, you are assigned to the Selig House (Case #706-JP64.5-38) as a special investigator. You will be Agent 35's partner for the duration of your investigation. The house had to be removed from its original location on Earth in Mendocino, California and stored it in a quarantine facility in Santa Fe, New Mexico for safekeeping. It was too dangerous to be left alone, for reasons you will soon see for yourself.
The house was the site of a disaster, a complete breakdown of the structures that keep the Multiverse orderly and safe. The family who lived there were Children of the Anomaly. On March 17, 2016 at 7:06 p.m. they twisted the laws of Time and Space and tore a hole through their universe. A classic meltdown. Portals leading to new and unlicensed dimensions appeared throughout the home in an instant. These pocket dimensions cling to the house like parasites and for the time being we are unable to sever them from proper reality.
You are to keep this home safe. Prevent it from collapsing further into chaos and disorder. The rest of the team assigned to this case has already searched the house for information about the missing family, and will brief you on what they have found. Kindly review their intel prior to leaving the Pyramid. Agent 35 will inform you of your specific tasks within the investigation.
"Order Perfects Creation."
That is all.
So, this was what he had been trained for by the Charter. To solve truly baffling mysteries involving temporal anomalies, like the one inside an impossible-sounding house on Earth.
(Earth also sounded familiar to him. 17 knew it referred to a planet he had been to before, but try as he might, he could not remember when he had been there. He only vaguely recalled going to Earth on some previous assignments, but nothing about what he had done there.)
As for the rest of his assignment letter, he didn't know exactly how he was going to solve the mystery of the Selig house, but he liked the idea of solving mysteries and untangling temporal anomalies. It sounded exciting, and given what Agent 35 had told him earlier, he was likely very good at it.
He could do this, some way, somehow. He had a track record of solving impossible cases, after all. That had to count for something.