Gently laying the Doctor down, the little Doctor touched his chest with her open palms, feeling for even the slightest beat from either heart. Her mind was racing as fast as her own hearts were. What had Rassilon said? Being a clone, the Doctor wouldn't regenerate. The little Doctor looked round warily.
Tenderly picking him up, she drew the Doctor close to her. Shutting her eyes she implored. "Rassilon! Rassilon! You said we could stay together!" Scowling she screamed. "Indian Giver!"
The little Doctor began to sob, rocking the Doctor in her arms. "Doctor ... Doctor ... Doctor."
Still sitting on the floor, still holding tight to the motionless, limp companion, the little Doctor continued her sobbing. Oh, it hurt, how it hurt, it had been oh so much fun, no matter how brief, and now ...
Suddenly she realized ... the two had been trans matted to Rassilon's Great Hall.
The little Doctor braced herself for what she knew was coming up.
She wasn't disappointed, nor did she have long to wait.
The familiar voice boomed out. "This is The Game of Rassilon!"
The little Doctor jumped up, hap-hazardly dropping the Doctor, as she scrambled round him, to stand before Rassilon's projection.
"Lord Rassilon, save him, you must!" she pleaded. "You are our only hope!"
"If I could ... why should I?" the projection implored, blinking widely. "You have already proclaimed I am an Indian Giver, what ever in the Cosmos that is."
The little Doctor hung her head in shame. "Forgive me Lord Rassilon, there was no reason to be rude; nor to insult a race of man." Looking up into the wise and ancient eyes she continued. "You said we could stay together."
"True, Renegade. I did not however, specify as to how long."
"Please, Lord Rassilon," she begged, her hurt paramount. "Please restore him. If you wait too long, even you ..."
"You are assuming I can do such a thing, Renegade. Suppose ... suppose, just for the sake of argument, I could. Why should I expend such a storehouse of energy?"
The little Doctor remained silent for a long while.
"Because ... because ..." she stammered, swallowing the huge lump in her throat. "Because, I love him, Lord Rassilon," she said, quite amazed by her own confession.
Rassilon's projection was not affected. Yet secretly Rassilon grinned inwardly, pondering to himself ...so, this is how it came to be? ...
Dismissing her admission, the seventh persona continued. "Please, Lord Rassilon, allow his continued existence, and, and you can take me in exchange. If an exchange is required. Does he not have much to offer the Universe? Can you name another more compassionate being in any of God's Creation? Give him this chance. His fondness for all sapient life, Lord Rassilon. Allow him to continue his caring ...directive, interference. It will only be to their good, and to your glory."
"Agreed," the hologram said simply.
The little Doctor beamed, well pleased with herself, and her argument.
"But the consequences to you personally, should I comply with your request, Renegade."
The little Doctor's confident grin quickly faded, her gaze shifting to the marble floor beneath her. "Of no consequence, Lord Rassilon," she said, her voice no more than a whisper.
"No, Time Lady, you are of very great consequence!" the projection insisted. "One day, you will better understand these words to you. However ... I will give your argument consideration."
"Thank you, Lord Rassilon," she said softly.
Looking round at the Great Hall, the little Doctor wondered how on earth had she gotten herself, so quickly, into all of this? When ... her eyes fell on the sprawled form of the Doctor.
In all her confusion, one thing was crystal clear, she had to save him. There had to be a way. Rassilon's powers were almost ...
"I have decided, Renegade," Rassilon's voice cut through the silence round her.
The little Doctor looked up at the huge transparency full of hope.
"Return to your TARDIS, you have completed your mission."
"No Lord Rassilon!" she screamed.
"You dare to question me, Renegade?" the projection demanded, the entire hologram quivering wrathfully.
The very Dark Tower itself surrounding the little Doctor shook as if enraged.
"Before me you are a parasite ... a ...!" Rassilon's projection bellowed.
"Yes, Lord Rassilon," she interrupted him, biting a quivering lip. "But even a miserable parasite can serve her Lord with gladness, for all eternity." Tears began to well in her soft, hazel eyes, turning them to a shimmery velvet.
Rassilon's hologram raised a brow, intrigued by the proposal. "You wish to serve me for all eternity? Are you sure about this? Consider well."
The little Doctor was, if not logical, at least, steadfast. "Yes."
The electronic image looked past her, to the prostrate body of the Doctor, and scowled. The gaze returned to the little Doctor. "Then answer my truly, Renegade; how is that worthy of such an exchange as the one you offer?"
Smiling through glistening tears, the little Doctor had no difficulty in answering. "At one point, that Doctor had absolute power over the Key to Time, but because its wholeness cost the life of one sapient being, he disbursed it, without a second thought." Pointing to herself she continued. "I do not know if this Doctor would have done the same thing. After all, Princess Astra was a willing participant ... And the Power of the Cube ... I am not all that certain that even you would not have succumbed to its temptation, Lord Rassilon."
The projection glared ominously. "Tread lightly, Time Lord."
"Oh, no disrespect intended, Sir, just what I believe is fact."
The projection nodded.
Suddenly a thought popped into her head. "What about your De matt gun?"
"What about it, Renegade?"
"His mind holds that secret too, but has he insisted galaxies bow down to him in terror stricken obeisance?"
The little Doctor used the ensuing silence of the projection to elucidate further. "And what of Enlightenment? Did not the White Guardian himself ..." she began.
"Sufficient Time Lady," the image interrupted. "I was being factious. You have quite adequately established your point."
"Point? ... Point? ..." she questioned, argumentatively. "But I haven't even gotten to the part about Singularity, when he was still Fancy Pants, and I still little Scarecrow."
"No need, Renegade," the projection said firmly. "Enough. I think you are giving me a headache." Still, Rassilon, slayer of the great vampires, was puzzled. "But your present persona, to serve me with gladness eternal, for the continuance of his singular regeneration?"
"Just think, Lord Rassilon, what the Doctor could accomplish in even five hundred years additional." One again she hung her head. "Besides ..." the little Doctor began uncomfortably. "My love for him is ... is ..." she stammered.
"Continue, Renegade, you have had tongue enough so far."
"I don't know," she whined, shaking her head. "Honestly, Lord Rassilon, I don't even know if this love of self ... even if he is a clone ... is," she paused. "Correct."
The projection narrowed its penetrating eyes, and chuckled. "The correctness of a given situation, Prydonian, has never stopped you before."
The little Doctor shrugged, with a lopsided grin. "Never had a situation quite like this before, Lord Rassilon." Like quicksilver she was serious. "But I do know, he does not share the feelings, I feel, inside."
The image arched a brow. "I could arrange that, Doctor. Love potions are the simplest."
The little Doctor smiled coyly. "Not even a temptation, Lord Rassilon."
"Good for you, Renegade. Then ... I have decided. All shall be as you have requested." For the first time, the projection's expression reflected a pair of very heavy hearts. "Prepare for what is to come, Doctor."
The little Doctor looked up to the projection overjoyed.
Bending down to the motionless Doctor she lightly stroked his cheek. "We did it my precious, Pi: we did it!" she assured. "I knew Rassilon could snatch you from the jaws of Death. I knew he could. Without even breaking into a sweat about it."
Gently stroking his face, her tiny fingertips moved to lightly caress his nose. Her hand then moved to his long, white scarf. Taking in into her hand, she spoke to him in hushed tones. "You'll never know how much I love you my precious clone, and maybe that is all for the best, and somehow that seems rather inconsequential anyway. What is important is what you do with this life, I've freely given to you. That, that is the thing that matters most."
Bending over him, she lightly kissed his cheek.
Straightening back up, she smiled at him, then, with just the briefest of hesitation, lightly kissed the tip of his nose. "Goodbye Curly Teeth."
Sitting back on her heels, her hand moved once more to his face. Lovingly she glided her fingertips across his nose, caressing it for the last time. Smiling she shook her jumble of curly locks. "And I will miss this nose, most of all, though I do not fathom why."
Her voice grew even more intimate, as she moved her face to where it almost touched his. "Waffle ... waffle ... waffle ... waffle ... waffle," she chortled.
Looking up at Rassilon's projection, the little Doctor slowly stood. Tears she didn't even attempt to hid, silently streamed down her face.
"You wish to change your mind, Renegade? Even now, it is not too late."
"No, Lord Rassilon," she answered firmly. "This course of action is far ... far too important." Gruffly she wiped the unwanted moisture from her cheeks.
Her eyes returned to the still motionless Doctor.
The projection soon became concerned with her sudden, self imposed silence. "Renegade?"
"And what am I to do with all these feelings?"
The projection cocked his head. "Which feelings, Renegade?"
"For instance, my constant need of wishing to be solely Ensconced by the Doctor."
The hologram smiled tenderly in remembrance. "Ah, yes, the ancient custom of Concealing and Protecting an adult female. 'Hiding and Holding the Jewel?' ech, Renegade? A custom older even than Rassilon."
"Where are these almost overwhelming emotions coming from, Lord Rassilon?" the little Doctor asked, trying desperately to understand. "I haven't eaten anything made of chocolate since I regenerated ... honest!"
The projection chuckled two hearts worth. "Not from jams or sweets, Renegade, but rather from the mind, and hearts, and imaginings of the very normal, aggressively Estrus driven female of Gallifrey."
"Aggressive ... I should think so!" She smiled coyly. "My mind keeps replaying the same thoughts, over and over again; waking or sleeping, sleeping or waking. Caress the Doctor's crimson wattles ... caress the Doctor's enticing twin navels ... caress ... It's so disconcerting!" she griped, throwing her hands across her head, whirling round.
The projection smiled at what he had wrought. "Indeed, Theta Sigma! But you females, be your high ranking Time Ladies, or gentle, displaced Shebogans, have always been so."
The little Doctor's tongue slowly ran across the top row of her glistening teeth. "When I'm not deviously devising ways of firing the poor ol' Doc up; I'm daydreaming about how I will be ever so good at caring for him during the difficult and sometimes violent Evening-times of his Cool-down."
The projection slowly nodded. ('Extremely normal') his nod confirmed.
The little Doctor's hands shot to her hips, suddenly blushing. "Why am I discussing all of this with you, Lord Rassilon?"
"Most likely because there is no one else you can discuss it with, Renegadette."
The little Doctor shook her head winsomely. "I really don't believe any of this, anyway. Any day now, I'm just going to wake up."
She sighed deeply.
Taking the blue and white recorder from her coat pocket, she turned and very seriously, placed it in the corresponding pocket of the Doctor's coat. "Guess I won't be needing this any longer. Annoying Rassilon with my flute music wouldn't be half as much fun as it was annoying you. And, maybe, who knows, just maybe, it will bring me to mind ... every little once in awhile, anyWHO."
Looking up at Rassilon's projection the little Doctor swallowed hard. "I am ready, Lord Rassilon, but the moment has been prepared for."
"So you said, one time before, Renegade," Rassilon's hologram soberly said, nodding.
Standing she agreed, with just the slightest trace of a nod.
Squaring her shoulders, the little Doctor walked towards Rassilon's dais without further hesitation, or delay.
A blue beam of light shot from Rassilon's hologram engulfing the little Doctor, and she screamed.
As the luminiferous ether shimmered round her, then slowly began to fade, the little Doctor disappeared with it.
Meanwhile, in a portion of the true eighth persona's Time Stream ...
The Doctor sighed deeply, wiping the sweat from his forehead, with the back of his nightshirt sleeve. Getting out of bed, he headed towards the adjoining bathroom. Perhaps a steaming shower would clear his head. "After all," he muttered, "a rolling stone ... knows he's boss!" The Doctor grimaced. Even he didn't care too much for that one ... or maybe it was just too early in the morning ... even for him for a fractured phrase.
"What is wrong with you, Doctor?" Sharon griped, stuffing her hands into her Spandex trouser pockets. "Seems of late, you've been real down in the dumps. Can you tell me why? Something happen to you on the Eye of Orion, I don't know about?"
"No," the Doctor gruffly retorted. "After that affair with the Star Beast, I really needed that rest on the Eye."
"For three whole nights, and the two connecting days!" she blustered, still hardly believing. How could anyone sleep that long?
The Doctor's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Sharon," he began his apology. "But you know what they say: absence makes the nose grow longer."
Sharon cringed against the mis-phraze phrase so early in the morning. But one good thing had come out of the Doctor's very protracted forty winks. She had stumbled onto the TARDIS'es huge Library while the Doctor slumbered on and on in the Console Room's gurney type bed (an already made up bed, complete with pillow and teddy bear, that had silently slid out of a wall in the Console Room just in time for the Doctor to collapse onto); and she had more than caught up on her reading.
The Doctor sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging.
His sigh brought Sharon back to the present.
"My dreams are getting more insistent."
"Are they the same ones?"
"No," the Doctor shook his head. "Yes," he quickly ammended. "That is ... they all seem to have a common thread."
"Which is?"
"That I am not the seventh persona at all ... but the eight."
The Doctor began to twiddle the fingers of his right hand. "Six ... six personae before me," he insisted. "Simple matter of my identity." He began to slowly rattle off names, mumbling half to himself. "Number One ... Scarecrow ... Fancy Pants ...Teeth & Curls ... Cricket ... Joseph ... Bit ... Norm."
"That's eight, Doctor," Sharon corrected, shaking her shoulder length, corn rowed locks.
The Doctor looked up at the taller than he, black, companion puzzled. "What?"
"I counted eight names," Sharon said softly.
"You did?" the Doctor said disbelieving. "Talk about your Freudian slips!" he pondered.
Sharon nodded. "Then why not go thorough the list again, Doctor, just to double check?" she suggested, scuffing one of her high top running shoes across the deck.
"All right," the Doctor said smiling. He took in an exaggerated breath, exhaling it very slowly. "Number One, ruminating on his thumb, was my first persona," he explained.
Sharon nodded.
"Scarecrow was two and often wore blue. Fancy Pants was three and very frilly."
"And this Doctor is very silly!"
"Teeth & Curls made me four, and never a boar. Alive at five was the Cricketer. Six was Joseph, with his Technicolor coat. With me Norm, the normal one, making me seven and at last heaven."
"What happened to Bit?"
"Bit WHO?"
"The one you tagged between six and you?"
"Bit ... Bit ...?" the Doctor queried self. "Maybe he is the one my dreams keep insisting existed." The Doctor snorted. "What a ridiculous nickname, ah, middle name."
Sharon chuckled, thinking to herself: what about Norm? Quite presumptuous, of the ol' Doc. He's the only 'normal' one among his other selves?
"Why not tell me more about your most recent dream, Doctor," Sharon offered. "As lunch seems a bit of a bust now."
"I seem to remember," he sighed deeply, pushing back his mostly full plate. "Rassilon telling me to forget ... forget ... forget the seventh persona ... I was the seventh persona ... And Rassilon telling me he separated the true and actual seventh persona from me for his holy purpose, and I must accept this anomaly for the present."
"Do go on, Doctor," Sharon encouraged.
The Doctor sighed. "I didn't know Rassilon had a holy purpose. I thought he just liked to play at War Games."
"Can you remember anything else?"
"I seem to recall that persona number six, Joseph, was killed by a DALEKS, but somehow he didn't regenerate into me."
"Then WHO did he regenerate into?"
"I don't know," the Doctor said, shaking his head sadly. "But you know what they say Sharon ... he Who is lost ... hesitates."
Sharon reacted as if she was in pain. "Can we get back to what you remember of the dreams?"
The Doctor smiled and nodded. "Sure, why not?"
But then was just as quickly ... serious. "I remember being crushed by a Sontaran, when I tried to save Sarah Jane Smith. And it was then that I finally regenerated into me."
The Doctor began to shake visibly, as if trying to throw off a very painful experience. "But it wasn't Sarah Jane Smith, it was Sarah Jane somebody else."
"I see," Sharon said nodding, not truly seeing, nor understanding. She gently placed her hand on his arm. "But they were dreams, Doctor. Dreams can't hurt you."
The Doctor shook his head soundly. "No, Sharon, you don't understand. The regeneration trauma is so very severe, so full of agonizing detail: even a Technicolor dream can't ever come close to duplicating it. After you wake up, you can always tell the dream from the reality. "A" was a real experience ... "B" was the recollected or created experience. Simple. At least," the Doctor said, beginning to grumble, "I use to be able to tell the difference."
Finishing her lunch Sharon stood.
The Doctor's lips formed a lopsided grin. "Standing or sitting, you're taller than I."
The svelte Earth female shrugged. "It's not the size of the dog in the fight that counts, but rather the fight in the dog," she quoted.
The Doctor nodded, standing. "You know, Sharon, I really should have a slight scar on my right side from the wound that killed me in that sixth persona, if I were the seventh, but I don't."
"But that's because the sixth persona's death, at the hand of a Dalek was a dream, Doctor. You told me yourself, your sixth persona was killed by the Rani."
The Doctor sighed deeply, putting on his tan coat. "I use to think that, Sharon. Now ... I just don't know." He shook his head. "The Rani used a very powerful drug on me. Know telling what kind of weird side effects it might have had on me. No way to know what it did to my memory, either short, long or extended."
"Well, why don't we hunt down this Rani person, and threaten her with havoc if she doesn't come clean with the truth?" Sharon asked grimacing menacingly, slipping into her leather jacket.
The Doctor scowled. "Threaten her, threaten him, threaten them; that is always your solution, isn't it Sharon? Just like Ace!"
Sharon shrugged noncommittally, changing the subject. "You said yourself, you have no scar."
"No cicatrix on my side, from where the DALEK wound should be, had that attack been real. But my wattles ... now they are another pair of boots." The Doctor turned his head to the side in puzzlement. "Why are they so deeply veined?"
"Double darned if I know, Doc," Sharon teased. "You've never let me see your wattles with or without scars."
"Well, Madame," the Doctor snorted. "There is much I have not shown you. A great deal of Time Lord is private."
Sharon shrugged. "Seen one ... seen 'em all, big deal. Besides, what could be so private about the organs of respiratory bi-pass if they are located in one's under arms?"
"Trust me," the Doctor grinned ominously. Suddenly his face darkened. "Now that I put it all together ... when the Rani made the TARDIS crash ... and caused my regeneration ... the one I consciously remember ... my wattles weren't injured, they were already healed over with scar tissue."
The Doctor thought a long while in silence before continuing.
"Sharon," he began, his voice rising excitedly. "No way could I have been injured seriously enough to cause a regeneration, when the TARDIS was forced down by the Rani! Mel ... Mel was in the Console Room right next to me." His twin hearts began to pound. "That's it! She would have been killed too!" The Doctor began to pout. "Had she been in another room ..." he shrugged, shaking his head. "She couldn't have come through a crash like that unscathed, not that close to me; you humans are so much more fragile, you know."
Sharon nodded.
The Doctor looked at his present traveling companion, his face lit from within. He chuckled. "So .. at least part of my memory has to be faulty, Sharon. From the time of the forced crash until sometime round now." He gave his forehead a sound thump with the palm of his right hand. "That's what the dreams have been trying to tell me all along."
"Your memory has been slimed!" Sharon said, grinning toothily.
The Doctor nodded, beginning to tap his lips with his index fingers. "Or to put it another way, Sharon; someone has walked over my grave."
"You 'reckon' it was this Bit 'feller'?" she suggested, with a chuckle.
The Doctor nodded. "Could be we might be onto to something, old girl."
"We could?" she riddled. "How lucky for our side." She paused a moment, looking round at the large room, her eyes stopping to gaze out over the olympic sized pool before her. "Up to talking about some of the other dreams, Doctor?"
The Doctor chuckled, running his fingers through his cropped, dark hair. "OK, but let me warn you first, they only get curiouser," he began, reflecting.
"And curiouser?" Sharon teased.
The Doctor nodded, and the two began to walk towards the Bathroom's exit, and from there into the TARDIS'es ever arching, roundelled corridor.
"I remember giving birth, to a beautiful little darkhaired girl." (as told in: Doctor Who and The Star Child) "That theme has played itself over and over again, with very little modification." The Doctor chortled loudly at the apparent absurdity. "The way I recall it, Teeth & Curls was there too. And ... and Scarecrow and ... and Fancy Pants too. And later on ... Number One, and, and a fellow by the name of Charlie ... Tail-end Charlie!"
"So much for your First Law of Time."
"Ain't it the truth!" the Doctor said, agreeing.
"And odd too," Sharon added. "Three Time Lords assisting at a birth."
The Doctor shrugged. "The normal number, two physicians and the father."
The Doctor gestured towards the TARDIS'es Library door.
Then, as the two entered, he began to shake his head. "But in this particular instance," he modified, "just one Time Lord ... me!"
Sharon sighed, plopping into an overstuffed chair. Drawing up her knee, she gazed into the nearby fireplace. "So which persona was your mate ... mate?"
The Doctor gave her one of his, ('don't provoke me') looks.
"Perhaps, not so silly a dream, after all," Sharon decided. "Humans sometimes dream about being the opposite sex. I suppose Gallifreyans could too. Say what, Doc?" she scoffed.
"True ... but consistently?" the Doctor said, sighing.
"What do you mean, Doctor?"
"Other than my attire, everything else points to a female self ... which is totally impossible!"
"Attire?" Sharon questioned.
"A fondness for English tweed suits, waistcoats, wing tip shoes, and great coats. Does that sound even vaguely feminine to you?"
"I don't know. What do female Gallifreyans wear?"
The Doctor smiled. "They wear lots of soft, flowing things. Long gowns, long robes, wide sleeves, satin slippers."
"Oh," Sharon said at a whisper.
"And a fondness for recorders, and perfume," the Doctor said, half in a dream.
"Time Ladies?"
"No ... I mean, yes ... but in this case, no. Me."
"Huh?"
"My perchance for flutterwing perfume, and a specific blue and white tasseled recorder, about this long," the Doctor demonstrated, as he replied, in a voice that seemed to be very, very far away. A voice perhaps, even from a different Space and Time.
"Doctor, what is it?" Sharon asked with a bit of concern in her voice. "What are you remembering now?"
"This room ... these gowns ... always at a ready. These white gowns. The gowns of Gallifreyan Servitors.
Sharon shrugged, ambling over to the row of semi sheer, sleeveless dresses. Taking hold of the closest one, she held it up against her. "Not much to them if you ask me," she commented at the garment. "Not big on color either, just this scarlet and an orange band on its two hems."
The Doctor smiled winsomely, shaking his head. "But quite sufficient for their purpose. That one is Prydonian."
Sharon smiled. "Ah, a Prydonian gown with a wholly purpose then," she teased, sticking her hand through an arm opening.
The Doctor chuckled.
"Ah, Doc, wouldn't this gown show off my wattles ... that is, if I had 'em?"
The Doctor nodded, shrugging, chewing on a fingernail. "I have been told that is the point of it all."
Sharon began to softly chuckle.
"Sarah and Tegan felt somewhat awkward too, the first time they donned them. Guess all you Earth females react pretty much the same when 'exposed' to some of our quaint little customs."
"Doctor, according to your Companion Way, Sarah and Tegan didn't travel with you at the same time, not even with the same persona; and they were human, not Time Lady Servitors."
The Doctor winced. "I know," he said softly, stroking his cheek. "Maddening isn't it? Half a memory is proving to be not necessarily better than none."
Sharon silently nodded her agreement.
"Or to put it another way, Gary Larson: 'If a tree fell on a mime in the forest, would anyone care?' huh?" the Doctor quoted.
Sharon shook her head, with a trace smile. How on earth would she know?"
"This is Tegan and Turlough's suite," the Doctor began. "No," he corrected himself almost immediately. "This is Tegan and Sarah's room. No ... no ... no... that isn't right either," he said, without taking a breath. Then he began again. "First, it was Tegan and Nyssa's. Then it was Tegan and Turlough's. But they weren't married then."
Sharon grinned.
"But they are now," the Doctor quickly ammended.
"Tegan and Nyssa?" Sharon asked, arching a brow. "Or Tegan and Turlough?"
The Doctor smiled, then screamed in frustration. His animate eyes slowly traversed the suite once more. "But there was a wedding connected to this room. I'm positive about that! A wedding," he thought back. "On the Eye!" [as told in: Doctor Who AND THE EYE OF ORION]
"The planet Eye of Orion, Doctor?" There was that planet again!
The Doctor nodded. When next he spoke, it was at a reverent whisper. "I was one of a number of privileged witnesses to a unique wedding there. Gosh ... so much joy ... so much hope ... and, and a bride so ... so very special."
"Well," Sharon said with a shrug. "That would seem to be the bare essentials, both a bride and a groom."
"And one more thing, my Sharon," the Doctor said with total assurance.
"Yes?"
"A love that kept her from wanting ... needing ... for well over four hundred years."
Sharon snorted. "Ah, come on, Doc," she balked. "Four years ... sure ... love can last that long. Even Forty-four years perhaps, if one is truly lucky. But four hundred? That's a bit much to expect even from a Time Lord!"
But the Doctor wasn't listening. He was, if Sharon would forgive, just too busy ... finally remembering. "The words of a song - 'That I will hold you, inside, forever. And you will know me. And I'll be yours. And you'll be mine,' - or something like that."
"That's sweet, Doctor. Who wrote it?"
Your own earth's Neil Diamond. It is from a song called: Songs of Love. I remember when Teeth & Curls sang it, I cried."
"That bad, huh?" Sharon chided.
The Doctor scowled.
The companion decided it was probably wiser to change the subject. "What else are you remembering about the Eye, Doctor?"
The Doctor thought a long while before answering.
"The fourth persona." He rubbed his forehead animatedly. "Always this smiling Cheshire cat ... everywhere. Above me ... beneath me ... round me ... beside me ... outside me ... inside ..."
"I get the point Doctor," she interrupted. "You recall anything else? Perhaps something that won't turn out to be highly questionable, if not down right x-rated?"
The Doctor chuckled. "Yes," he said, nodding. "Multicolored toe socks ... pierced earrings ... and lace ridden, sky blue teddies."
"On the larger than life fourth persona?" Sharon shrieked in disbelief.
"No, Sharon, that would be ridiculous, not to mention absurd! The garments in question were on me."
Slowly the Doctor lifted his head in wonderment, at the words he had just spoken.
"Secondary control room ... the Edwardian Console Room ... never go in there," the Doctor said with a snort, in the direction of the porcelain door handle Sharon's hand was resting on."
"Well, I want to see it," she insisted, pushing the dark wooden door inward, quickly popping in."
The Doctor's face soured. "Nothing but a lot of old dusty, piddily, antique stuff!" he hollered at the ajar door. "A hold over, mainly from my first and fourth persona!" The Doctor shrugged noncommittally. "And for an even briefer time, home to the second and third persona," he said half to himself.
Rapping his knuckles against the door jam, the Doctor hollered into the room. "Hey, you in there, as persona number four, I finally abandoned it." He briefly pouted. "Must be centuries ago by now. Never could get the TARDIS to work right from in there!"
The Doctor continued to wait for the companion to resurface in the corridor.
"Ah, Doc, you can't always get the TARDIS to work from the primary Console Room," Sharon's disembodied voice rang out, crystal clear, from the secondary control center.
The Doctor had to agree. He slowly pushed the door open till it stopped. Curiously, he stuck his face in.
It was met by Sharon's wide eyed stare. "Doctor, I think you better come all the way in here."
"Why?" the Doctor asked petulantly. "I know what it looks like."
Sharon just continued to glare at him. "Because, I think this room will answer some, if not all, of your questions."
"Which questions?" the Doctor said with a snort.
"The ones that ask: Who am I?"
The Doctor breathed in deeply, squaring his shoulders. "Well, in that case."
Entering the dimly lit room the Doctor proclaimed: "Let there be tachyon images!"
The two were instantly surrounded by bright, house lights.
The Doctor cringed. "How did I do that?"
"You're asking me? It's your TARDIS!" Sharon bawled.
"Must have ... voice activated the lights ... sometime before," he posed, tapping his lips with his fingertips.
"Over here, Doc," Sharon said, twirling a four colored umbrella in her hands.
"Hey! Where did you get that bumbershoot?"
"Over there," she said, pointing with the apparel in question. "Hanging from that antique hall stand."
"Give it back," the Doctor snorted, stomping over to her.
Sharon smiled and complied.
The Doctor sniffed the umbrella. "Unmistakable. Flutterwing perfume."
Sharon took a sniff. "Smells just like the Servitor gowns. Does that mean this too belongs to a Time Lady?"
"Without a doubt."
The Doctor snorted, eyeing its black, question mark handle. "A copycat Time Lady I should like to quickly point out!"
Sharon smiled, turning. She began to stare at three stained glass, roundel, paintings set into the dark, mahogany walls. "Do you know who these people are, Doctor?"
"Of course I do," the Doctor snorted. "Falla, Rassilon and Omega, the three Gallifreyans most responsible for turning our race into Time Lords."
"No real help there," Sharon said at a sigh.
They moved in a body to the next wall. "How about these three then, Doctor?"
"As simple as one, two, three. My first three personae. Triad number one. The original me, the celestial hobo, me, and the fancy dresser, me."
"Still not much help," Sharon said, moving to the next wall.
Studying the three glass paintings, briefly, the Doctor said, tapping each one in turn with the borrowed umbrella: "The second triad; personae four, five and six."
"Very good, Doctor; but now to wall I most wanted you to see."
The Doctor agreed, taking the time to scoop up a blue tasseled recorder laying atop the wooden console, as he sauntered past it.
The two gazed at the three glass, portraiture before them in silence.
The Doctor's brow furrowed, as he began to absently play the flute, concentrating intently at the trio of paintings.
Lowering the recorder from his lips, he pointed it towards the paintings. "K9 on starboard, the TARDIS on port."
"And the little lady in the middle?"
The Doctor lightly touched the stained glass painting with the flute. "I don't know. I... I only wish I did." He put the recorder to his lips a second time. "Phooey! This thing even tastes like flutterwing perfume!"
Sharon chuckled. "Are you sure you don't know why is she is hanging in your TARDIS?"
'She only does it to annoy, because she knows it teases'.
"Lewis Carroll?"
"Correct, Sharon!" the Doctor snapped proudly. Turning back towards the painting his eyes softened. "You look so tiny, so out of place, among all these rogues."
"I'll buy that," Sharon agreed.
"Well ... one can not fault you for the company you keep, little curly headed one," the Doctor said, sighing. "Goodnight, itty, bitty, princess."
The Doctor gallantly bowed, and lightly tipped his Panama hat to the painting.
"Doctor!" Sharom realized. "Bitty! You just called her Bitty! A longer form of Bit, perhaps?"
The Doctor grinned mischievously. "The Doctor of Teeth & Curls, The Clone, annoyed me for well over four hundred years, by calling me that. Do you think for a moment I could ever forget it?"
"Doctor," she said softly, "I think you did, but I also think you are at last truly remembering."
The Doctor looked back at the painting of the little Doctor, blinking several times.
Approaching closer, he reached out to lightly caress the slender, smiling face a second time.
Swallowing, the Doctor slowly turned to face Sharon. Squaring his shoulders, he nosily cleared his throat.
"Yes, Sharon. She too is the Doctor, my nexus-point, to make a point. The real and true, seventh persona of ... we. Which means," he said, arching a brow, "that I am the true, and 'real McCoy' eight persona of ... us. Or, if you prefer ... the NORMal one (as she first tagged me) of eight."
Sharon blinked in wonderment.
The Doctor looked round at the mahogany walled Console Room, sighing deeply. "We're intruders here, Sherry," he whispered, at long last. "As much as I might wish it was this particular me, she had chosen as her travelling companion, she doesn't belong to me ... except ... in memory."
Sharon nodded. "What ever you say ... Doctor."
The Doctor hung the little Doctor's umbrella on the oak console's brass and wood railing. And gently sat her recorder back on top of the console.
Slowly re-approaching the roundelled painting of the fourth persona the Doctor swallowed hard. "It was a Sontaran, who crushed the life from me, ah, her, Sharon. The pain was ..." The Doctor shook his head to break the flood of regenerative memory. "She was trying to protect Sarah Jane," he grinned, "Sullivan."
The Doctor once more grinned, fingering his red question marked, green trimmed, gold coloured golf sweater. He really did have his memory back now, and fully intact. (With no help from Rassilon and his attemps!) he blustered to himself.
And yet ... it had been Rassilon who had taken the eighth persona's memory from him temporarily, for a very sound reason. To give this Doctor time ... the time to learn to be himself, before remembering the unique herself. It was all part of The Wisdom of Rassilon.
Suddenly the features of the Doctor's face softened. "The fourth persona was there, Sharon: at the time of her ending and my beginning." (as told in: Doctor Who AND THE TRAP OF THE SONTARAN) "And as always, tenderly ministering, even though it was the most difficult thing he ever ..."
The Doctor made a swipe across the fourth persona's nose, the turned towards Sharon.
"Full circle," he whispered to me, ah, her. And how very right he was. She was the mysterious Watcher, who appeared with a little help from the White Guardian, at the time of my fourth change." (as told in: Doctor Who AND THE WATCHER) "And he was the loving, devoted watcher at the seventh change, her time of change ... my seventh time of change ... my time of becoming."
Sharon looked at the Doctor confused. Somewhere in all those interchanges she was hopelessly lost. But at least, she reflected, the ol' Doc seemed to know where and, at long last, more importantly, who he was.
The Doctor smiled, tugging at his red braces, still eyeing the glass painting of the fourth persona. "Forget you, old thing?" He shook his head soundly. "...Just a temporary lapse, old chap ... old bean. " He turned to Sharon. "The beloved Clone, 'we' called him."
Sharon smiled.
"Hey! I just remembered.! It was me, who installed those last three inserts into the wall."
"You did?" Sharon asked, her eyes widening. "Do tell."
The Doctor nodded. "Teeth & Curls seemed quite happy about it, at the time. He felt she deserved a wall of her own too." The Doctor sighed. "It seems there was very little during that time that was any where near pleasant for him. But it truly was necessary for Rassilon to keep The Clone in mourning, at least for a time, Sharon. Long enough for Rassilon to be sure the little Doctor was going to survive her Splintering."
"Splintering? What do you mean, Doctor?"
Turning once again to face the portraiture of the little Doctor, the eight persona began to smile coyly, as if he were about to explode with the secrets buried inside him.
"She, Bit, the REAL and TRUE seventh persona, and her husband, Pi, the REAL and TRUE fourth persona, are quite alive, Sharon," the Doctor said very matter of factly. "And happily living with K9 Mark IV, and Rassilon, in The Dead Zone." (as told in: Doctor Who AND THE WILL OF RASSILON)
Sharon's face soured. "That hardly sounds like fun. The Dead Zone." Then it occurred to her. "Wait a minute, that's impossible, Doc. If you exist in the here and now ..." she stammered.
"Oh, and I do, Sharon, I do!" the Doctor insisted.
"And the clone of the fourth persona, really isn't a clone at all but ..." Sharon looked at the Doctor totally confused. This was really becoming all too much.
"Anyway," she began again. "... They can't exist in the same here and now ... together ... with or without you! You said, one Doctor at a time! Except of course, for very short emergency situations. Correct?"
"Ah, yes, usually that is true, Sharon. But never ... never underestimate Rassilon when he is in a Gaming Mood! ... ah, Mode?" the Doctor stated with a broad, enigmatic smile, tapping the little Doctor's flute against his lips.
Sharon sighed deeply. She wasn't about to try and argue with that.
"Well, Doc, as you apparently do remember everything about this female self, could you explain it all to me again, but in a little more detail this time? Especially this Estrus thing in your females; and the need for Servitors and Fosters?"
"Sure, Sharon," the Doctor obliged, gently placing the little Doctor's tasseled recorder back on top of the oak console. "After all: 'The fireman always brings mice', does he not?" he misquoted, lightly caressing the blue and white flute, as if to say, ('Goodbye, Bit. See you round, someTime.'). "You do have the odd four hundred years to spare, don't you, Sharon, ol' girl?"
"Yeah, sure, Doc. But could you Reader's Digest it all for me anyway? But, from the beginning, of course."
"How about," the Doctor suggested, his eyes falling onto his own cross barred trousers. "From a time shortly before the unique metamorphosis then?"
"Sounds good to me," Sharon said, nodding with a smile. "Do tell on, Doc."
Nodding, the Doctor clicked his wing tip, corespondents shoes together in a very British, very military manner. "Not only was she the only female of my thirteen assorted selves," he began with a chuckle. "She was the only one of us ... we ... to even get close to getting along with the Valeyard!" (as told in: Doctor Who AND THE PENAL PLANET) The Doctor shrugged. Guess it was because she was so left-armed. A real China-man bowler!"
The Doctor gestured towards The Way Out.
As they left the Edwardian Console Room, Sharon took note of the fact, that as they exited, the room's lights slowly dimmed, and she was certain she heard a duo of soft chuckling. Moments later in the TARDIS'es brightly lit corridor ...
"Anyway, Sharon, it all started when still in my sixth persona, and after first dropping Mel off on Earth; Kamilion, my cyborg travelling companion, K9 my second best friend, and Munchkin a very dear elf and I decided to visit the planet of PA-10 in the ..." the Doctor began, as they slowly disappeared round the ever bending arc of the TARDIS'es cream colored, roundelled corridor.