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Title: Finding A Way Home – A Bitter Blow Part 3
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katherine_b
Rating: G
Summary: There’s nothing to do but wait.
Part III
“Well, your eyesight is fine, as is your hearing.” The Doctor puts down the ophthalmoscope. “Normal nerve responses. Normal just about everything, really.”
“That just leaves my memory then, doesn’t it?” asks the other man in a voice of strained politeness.
The Doctor places his hand gently on those of the Time Lord, which are fidgeting nervously in his lap. “I will fix this,” he vows. “I promise.”
There is a lost look in the Time Lord’s eyes. “I don’t like,” he says slowly, freeing his hands as if uncomfortable at being held, “not... knowing. Anything.”
“You know some things,” contradicts the man in blue. “Basic functions. How to use everyday objects. I didn’t have to teach you to eat or drink.” He glances at the empty tea cup and the plate that once held the muffins. “I didn’t have to ask you what you do and don’t like.”
“That’s because you already seem to know,” comes the rather irritable reply. “How is that possible?”
“We’ve... spent a lot of time together,” he says at last, certain that the meta-crisis is the last thing he should mention now. “May I try something?”
“I’m hardly in a position to refuse, am I?” comes the grim retort.
“Please.” The Doctor keeps his tone quiet and non-threatening. “I’m only trying to help you.”
The irritation fades and the other man nods, his expression one of guilt. “Sorry,” he says rather sheepishly. “Do whatever you feel you need to.”
“Right.” He stands and presses a button that causes a small light in the ceiling to begin flashing a slow, regular rhythm.
Moving back to the bed, he points it out to the other man, who gazes at it with obvious interest and a total lack of recognition or understanding of what is being attempted.
“Just focus on that,” the Doctor tells him. “Keep your eyes fixed on it as long as you can. Deep breaths. Nice and slow.”
He keeps one eye on the Time Lord and the other on the machines that continue to monitor that man’s brain and cardiovascular system.
“That’s good,” he says encouragingly as he sees the heart-rate and respiration slow to relaxed levels. “Very good. How are you feeling?”
“Peaceful.” The Time Lord’s response is fractionally delayed, as if he has to prompt himself to speak, and his tone is calmer, almost drowsy. “Quiet.”
“That’s exactly how you should be feeling,” agrees the Doctor, his voice low and soothing. “When you feel you want to, just close your eyes for me and relax. Let yourself float. That’s right. Nice and easy.”
Almost at once, the other man’s eyelids slip shut. Moving away from the bed, the Doctor studies the various readings he is receiving on the monitors. The Time Lord’s basic functions are at a fully relaxed state, and the alpha waves in his brain have dropped in ferocity. There is some increase in delta wave activity, but much to the Doctor’s disappointment, the theta wave levels remain steady.
Hypnosis as a means of attempting to restore the lost memories is out then.
He can’t be surprised. After all, Time Lord males are taught to resist very basic, non-drug-related hypnosis induction processes during their time at the academy. He had hoped, though, that the retrograde amnesia might block the other man’s inability to resist. Clearly the Time Lord’s subconscious is still working to make this impossible.
With an alternative solution in mind, the Doctor waits for the other man's state to change from relaxation to sleep. Once the Time Lord has entered a deeper stage and is unlikely to be disturbed, the Doctor steps close to the head of the bed and rests his fingertips lightly on the other man's temples. Opening his thoughts, he flips through his memories - the Doctor's memories - waiting for the Time Lord's dormant mind to spark in some form of recognition at the long list of names and faces.
Nothing.
He next tries to link the memories he has in his own head with thoughts and ideas of the Time Lord’s mind, to bridge the gap in that way, but there are simply no anchors in the lost and random thoughts for him to connect to. He even feels the pressure of the other man’s thoughts acting against his, rejecting them due to their alienness.
Disappointment running deep within him, he lets his hands fall and steps away, cursing the human side of him that means he can’t help this man he loves like a brother in the way he wants to.
The Time Lord sleeps for a short time, and seems less moody and impatient when he wakes up. By that time, the Doctor has several other ideas to try.
He brings a photo album that contains pictures of people who have travelled with the Doctor in the past, but the man has no response to any of the images, even Susan and Sarah Jane and Rose.
The Time Lord is curious, demanding the names of all these people and something about each of their lives. Clearly his standard personality trait of interest in others has not been affected by the amnesia any more than it has been by numerous regenerations. The Doctor answers all his questions, watching for the least sign of recognition and familiarity, only to feel his disappointment increase when nothing changes.
The last picture he shows is one of Donna on the morning of her wedding to the Time Lord, glorious in her white dress. Fortunately she is alone in the picture, because the Doctor doesn’t want to have to try and explain why it looks as if he is the groom.
In the end, it doesn’t matter. Donna’s picture is no more successful at prompting recognition in her husband than anyone else had been.
“Why don’t I show you around?” the Doctor asks as he puts the pictures to one side. “Maybe that will help.”
“I’ll try anything,” the other man says willingly, although he looks distressed when the man in blue brings a wheelchair to the bedside. “Can’t I walk?”
“If you’d prefer it,” agrees the Doctor, not wanting to upset him. “You’ll have to tell me if you’re tired though.”
“Mmm.”
The Time Lord gives a distracted nod and it’s clear that he is unhappy at the thought of having to admit to weakness. Still, the Doctor is fairly certain he will know when the other man has had enough. He fetches a pair of slippers, knowing that the medical gown, which does up at the back and front, will be warm enough that the Time Lord won't need any additional clothing.
They make their way along the passage and up into the console room. As the space seems to grow around them, the eyes of the man in the medical robe widen.
“But that’s – beautiful!” he exclaims eagerly, and the Doctor’s spirits, which had leapt with the first words, come crashing down again.
“Yes,” he agrees almost sadly. “It is. But do you know what it is?”
The Time Lord thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “I probably should,” he agrees rather sadly. “But somehow the name – the understanding – just isn’t there. Ooh,” he adds rather gleefully, with the enthusiasm of a child who has been given a new toy, as they approach the console. “What do they all do?”
“Oh, lots of things,” replies the Doctor as well as he can for his disappointment. “We won’t go into it all now. Maybe you’ll remember yourself later. Let’s try one of the other rooms.”
“Is this place so big then?” asks the Time Lord, almost as innocently as countless companions have done before him.
“It can be,” the other man tells him. “It’s all a bit – well, relative.”
The two of them move through most of the major rooms in the TARDIS - the living room, kitchen, swimming pool, library, gardens, dining room, theatre room, on and on. Nothing seems to prompt any sort of recollections in the man who once knew it all.
They come to the workshop at last. On the bench is something that the Time Lord had been constructing before that long-ago conversation regarding the twins names, which has led, in various convoluted ways, to all this. Its maker leans over the half-finished object and gently prods it.
“Ooh,” he breathes. “Fascinating!”
The Doctor places it in his hands, seeing as the other man's long fingers investigate the item's more detailed areas.
“You were making that,” he offers quietly. “Does anything about it seem familiar?”
For a long moment, the Time Lord studies the object before slowly, almost fearfully, placing it back on the workbench. “No.” He shakes his head sadly. “No, it doesn't.”
He sighs, his shoulders slumping, all interest and enthusiasm gone. The Doctor is about to give him a stool to sit on when he changes his mind and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder instead.
“You need to rest,” he directs gently. “You've done enough for the moment. We need to give your mind a break. Pushing it too hard isn't going to help you remember any quicker.”
The Time Lord looks as if he is about to argue, but in the end his head sinks a little and he nods, looking suddenly exhausted. The Doctor guides him into the bedroom that the man usually shares with his wife, and despite his weariness, the Time Lord looks around with interest.
“Someone else sleeps here, with me?”
The Doctor looks around too, wondering what had prompted that question and seeing the answer in the way Donna's belongings are scattered around, as well as the scent of her perfumes and deodorants. However his hearts constrict at the sight of the photo on her bedside table: she and her husband taken during their reception. The Doctor suspects that the other man may have already noticed it from the way he is clearly eager to ask a question, and to forestall him, he leads the Time Lord over to the long mirror in the corner.
Two men, identical height, identical features, stare back at them, one clad in a blue suit, the other in a medical robe and slippers.
“This is why I know so much about you,” he explains as the other man's eyes widen in surprise.
“We're the same?”
“In some ways,” the Doctor concedes. “But not in every way. And that picture,” he nods towards the wedding photo, “that's you, not me.”
“Oh.” The Time Lord stares at the photo. “That's my wedding?”
“Yes.”
“My... wife?”
The Doctor nods silently, waiting, tense. Is this the prompt that will bring it all back? It would be so wonderfully fitting...
But no. The Time Lord's shoulders slump again, his disappointment clear, and his face looks suddenly and terribly old.
“I want to remember,” he pleads. “So much. But I can't.”
“I know.” The Doctor places a gentle hand on his arm, and the Time Lord turns to him, the desire for reassurance evident. “And we'll bring it back, I swear. You and me and Donna. Together.”
“How is she going to feel though,” the Time Lord asks almost desperately, “with a husband who no longer remembers her?”
Next Part
Author:
katherine_b Rating: G
Summary: There’s nothing to do but wait.
Part III
“Well, your eyesight is fine, as is your hearing.” The Doctor puts down the ophthalmoscope. “Normal nerve responses. Normal just about everything, really.”
“That just leaves my memory then, doesn’t it?” asks the other man in a voice of strained politeness.
The Doctor places his hand gently on those of the Time Lord, which are fidgeting nervously in his lap. “I will fix this,” he vows. “I promise.”
There is a lost look in the Time Lord’s eyes. “I don’t like,” he says slowly, freeing his hands as if uncomfortable at being held, “not... knowing. Anything.”
“You know some things,” contradicts the man in blue. “Basic functions. How to use everyday objects. I didn’t have to teach you to eat or drink.” He glances at the empty tea cup and the plate that once held the muffins. “I didn’t have to ask you what you do and don’t like.”
“That’s because you already seem to know,” comes the rather irritable reply. “How is that possible?”
“We’ve... spent a lot of time together,” he says at last, certain that the meta-crisis is the last thing he should mention now. “May I try something?”
“I’m hardly in a position to refuse, am I?” comes the grim retort.
“Please.” The Doctor keeps his tone quiet and non-threatening. “I’m only trying to help you.”
The irritation fades and the other man nods, his expression one of guilt. “Sorry,” he says rather sheepishly. “Do whatever you feel you need to.”
“Right.” He stands and presses a button that causes a small light in the ceiling to begin flashing a slow, regular rhythm.
Moving back to the bed, he points it out to the other man, who gazes at it with obvious interest and a total lack of recognition or understanding of what is being attempted.
“Just focus on that,” the Doctor tells him. “Keep your eyes fixed on it as long as you can. Deep breaths. Nice and slow.”
He keeps one eye on the Time Lord and the other on the machines that continue to monitor that man’s brain and cardiovascular system.
“That’s good,” he says encouragingly as he sees the heart-rate and respiration slow to relaxed levels. “Very good. How are you feeling?”
“Peaceful.” The Time Lord’s response is fractionally delayed, as if he has to prompt himself to speak, and his tone is calmer, almost drowsy. “Quiet.”
“That’s exactly how you should be feeling,” agrees the Doctor, his voice low and soothing. “When you feel you want to, just close your eyes for me and relax. Let yourself float. That’s right. Nice and easy.”
Almost at once, the other man’s eyelids slip shut. Moving away from the bed, the Doctor studies the various readings he is receiving on the monitors. The Time Lord’s basic functions are at a fully relaxed state, and the alpha waves in his brain have dropped in ferocity. There is some increase in delta wave activity, but much to the Doctor’s disappointment, the theta wave levels remain steady.
Hypnosis as a means of attempting to restore the lost memories is out then.
He can’t be surprised. After all, Time Lord males are taught to resist very basic, non-drug-related hypnosis induction processes during their time at the academy. He had hoped, though, that the retrograde amnesia might block the other man’s inability to resist. Clearly the Time Lord’s subconscious is still working to make this impossible.
With an alternative solution in mind, the Doctor waits for the other man's state to change from relaxation to sleep. Once the Time Lord has entered a deeper stage and is unlikely to be disturbed, the Doctor steps close to the head of the bed and rests his fingertips lightly on the other man's temples. Opening his thoughts, he flips through his memories - the Doctor's memories - waiting for the Time Lord's dormant mind to spark in some form of recognition at the long list of names and faces.
Nothing.
He next tries to link the memories he has in his own head with thoughts and ideas of the Time Lord’s mind, to bridge the gap in that way, but there are simply no anchors in the lost and random thoughts for him to connect to. He even feels the pressure of the other man’s thoughts acting against his, rejecting them due to their alienness.
Disappointment running deep within him, he lets his hands fall and steps away, cursing the human side of him that means he can’t help this man he loves like a brother in the way he wants to.
The Time Lord sleeps for a short time, and seems less moody and impatient when he wakes up. By that time, the Doctor has several other ideas to try.
He brings a photo album that contains pictures of people who have travelled with the Doctor in the past, but the man has no response to any of the images, even Susan and Sarah Jane and Rose.
The Time Lord is curious, demanding the names of all these people and something about each of their lives. Clearly his standard personality trait of interest in others has not been affected by the amnesia any more than it has been by numerous regenerations. The Doctor answers all his questions, watching for the least sign of recognition and familiarity, only to feel his disappointment increase when nothing changes.
The last picture he shows is one of Donna on the morning of her wedding to the Time Lord, glorious in her white dress. Fortunately she is alone in the picture, because the Doctor doesn’t want to have to try and explain why it looks as if he is the groom.
In the end, it doesn’t matter. Donna’s picture is no more successful at prompting recognition in her husband than anyone else had been.
“Why don’t I show you around?” the Doctor asks as he puts the pictures to one side. “Maybe that will help.”
“I’ll try anything,” the other man says willingly, although he looks distressed when the man in blue brings a wheelchair to the bedside. “Can’t I walk?”
“If you’d prefer it,” agrees the Doctor, not wanting to upset him. “You’ll have to tell me if you’re tired though.”
“Mmm.”
The Time Lord gives a distracted nod and it’s clear that he is unhappy at the thought of having to admit to weakness. Still, the Doctor is fairly certain he will know when the other man has had enough. He fetches a pair of slippers, knowing that the medical gown, which does up at the back and front, will be warm enough that the Time Lord won't need any additional clothing.
They make their way along the passage and up into the console room. As the space seems to grow around them, the eyes of the man in the medical robe widen.
“But that’s – beautiful!” he exclaims eagerly, and the Doctor’s spirits, which had leapt with the first words, come crashing down again.
“Yes,” he agrees almost sadly. “It is. But do you know what it is?”
The Time Lord thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “I probably should,” he agrees rather sadly. “But somehow the name – the understanding – just isn’t there. Ooh,” he adds rather gleefully, with the enthusiasm of a child who has been given a new toy, as they approach the console. “What do they all do?”
“Oh, lots of things,” replies the Doctor as well as he can for his disappointment. “We won’t go into it all now. Maybe you’ll remember yourself later. Let’s try one of the other rooms.”
“Is this place so big then?” asks the Time Lord, almost as innocently as countless companions have done before him.
“It can be,” the other man tells him. “It’s all a bit – well, relative.”
The two of them move through most of the major rooms in the TARDIS - the living room, kitchen, swimming pool, library, gardens, dining room, theatre room, on and on. Nothing seems to prompt any sort of recollections in the man who once knew it all.
They come to the workshop at last. On the bench is something that the Time Lord had been constructing before that long-ago conversation regarding the twins names, which has led, in various convoluted ways, to all this. Its maker leans over the half-finished object and gently prods it.
“Ooh,” he breathes. “Fascinating!”
The Doctor places it in his hands, seeing as the other man's long fingers investigate the item's more detailed areas.
“You were making that,” he offers quietly. “Does anything about it seem familiar?”
For a long moment, the Time Lord studies the object before slowly, almost fearfully, placing it back on the workbench. “No.” He shakes his head sadly. “No, it doesn't.”
He sighs, his shoulders slumping, all interest and enthusiasm gone. The Doctor is about to give him a stool to sit on when he changes his mind and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder instead.
“You need to rest,” he directs gently. “You've done enough for the moment. We need to give your mind a break. Pushing it too hard isn't going to help you remember any quicker.”
The Time Lord looks as if he is about to argue, but in the end his head sinks a little and he nods, looking suddenly exhausted. The Doctor guides him into the bedroom that the man usually shares with his wife, and despite his weariness, the Time Lord looks around with interest.
“Someone else sleeps here, with me?”
The Doctor looks around too, wondering what had prompted that question and seeing the answer in the way Donna's belongings are scattered around, as well as the scent of her perfumes and deodorants. However his hearts constrict at the sight of the photo on her bedside table: she and her husband taken during their reception. The Doctor suspects that the other man may have already noticed it from the way he is clearly eager to ask a question, and to forestall him, he leads the Time Lord over to the long mirror in the corner.
Two men, identical height, identical features, stare back at them, one clad in a blue suit, the other in a medical robe and slippers.
“This is why I know so much about you,” he explains as the other man's eyes widen in surprise.
“We're the same?”
“In some ways,” the Doctor concedes. “But not in every way. And that picture,” he nods towards the wedding photo, “that's you, not me.”
“Oh.” The Time Lord stares at the photo. “That's my wedding?”
“Yes.”
“My... wife?”
The Doctor nods silently, waiting, tense. Is this the prompt that will bring it all back? It would be so wonderfully fitting...
But no. The Time Lord's shoulders slump again, his disappointment clear, and his face looks suddenly and terribly old.
“I want to remember,” he pleads. “So much. But I can't.”
“I know.” The Doctor places a gentle hand on his arm, and the Time Lord turns to him, the desire for reassurance evident. “And we'll bring it back, I swear. You and me and Donna. Together.”
“How is she going to feel though,” the Time Lord asks almost desperately, “with a husband who no longer remembers her?”
Next Part
crappy