Chapter 30

Inside the seventh Doctor's TARDIS, he and the other nine Doctor's were already busy getting back to work. Donna and Sarah Jane were hovering over Amy, who had once again lost consciousness. She was pale and sweating, and her breathing had become rapid and shallow.

"Doctor's." Donna said seriously as she gently stroked Amy's hair. "I'd say if you lot plan on saving Amy, you'd better hop to it. Or you're gonna' end up losing her."

"Only when you think you'll lose, will all be lost." The third Doctor replied kindly, giving her a reassuring smile as he worked on wiring up a piece of the console. "And we haven't lost her yet, Donna. So let's all keep thinking positive, alright?"

Shaking her head, Donna muttered, "Oh, spare me!" under her breath.

She turned back to looking after Amy, deep concern reflecting in her eyes. Inside her head, Donna silently swore at the third Doctor. God, she hated being patronized! Especially by some super-clever male alien. What got to her, was that she hadn't stopped believing that Amy would be cured, somehow. Donna was merely worried that the Doctor's had gotten too distracted. She knew from her experiences with her Doctor, that even a Time Lord needed a bit of nagging, sometimes.

"Amy is going downhill rather quickly." Sarah Jane sighed, feeling almost helpless as she used the second Doctor's stethoscope to check on the sick girl's breathing. She turned to face the Doctor's, pleading, "I think she's dying. Please. Can't you do something?"

"Working on it, ladies!" The tenth Doctor responded curtly, as he dashed into the TARDIS interior. "Nag, nag, nag." He grumbled crossly.

A few moments later he ran back into the control room, his trainers skidding on the floor as he came to a halt beside the console. His hands clutched a heap of small components to his chest. Dumping the objects on top of one of the control panels, he whirled around as the noise of a TARDIS re-materialization began to fill the room.

"Everybody back!" Yelled the forth Doctor.

"It's another TARDIS!" Jack said incredulously.

"Yeah. We sort of noticed that, Jack." The ninth Doctor told him dryly.

"You humans do have a genius for always stating the obvious." The sixth Doctor commented.

"Speak for yourself, alien boy." Donna retorted.

"But...which Doctor could it be?" The eighth Doctor asked with a concerned frown.

"As long as isn't a witch doctor, who cares?" The sixth Doctor answered. "Help is on the way. That's all that really matters, isn't it?

"Hmmm—Yes. That might be a problem though, if it's one of us in here." The seventh Doctor pondered. "Bad enough that we're all together in one place. But two of the same us? I shudder to think what that would do to the space-time continuum."

"Oh my! I hope whichever one of us he is, he has a working humanoid proximiter alarm on his TARDIS." Said the second Doctor worriedly.

"There's a thought. Maybe we should all stand a bit further back?" The third Doctor suggested.

"The HP alarm on my TARDIS hasn't worked in ages." The tenth Doctor admitted.

"I say! Isn't that dangerous?" The first Doctor asked, looking askance at the tenth. "You might injure somebody important."

"Meh," the tenth Doctor shrugged, "I prefer the fly by the seat of my pants approach. More fun that way."

His face grew puzzled as he noticed Captain Jack staring at his bottom. His head swiveled awkwardly, trying to see what was wrong. "What? What is it? Did I rip my trousers again?"

"Er—just checking the seat of your pants, Doctor." Jack said, giving the tenth Doctor a cheeky look and winking at him. "Very nice! Like two perfectly ripe..."

"Arrgh! Not now, Jack!" The tenth Doctor hissed through gritted teeth, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

"Later, then?" he asked suggestively.

"Jack! I'm trying to work." The tenth Doctor warned, as a component he was fitting together slipped from his fingers. "Stop it."

As he stooped to the floor to retreive the dropped part, the tenth Doctor made certain his bottom was facing away from Jack, this time.

"Would you two like a room of your own?" The forth Doctor asked the tenth Doctor, grinning. All he got in return was a sour look. He raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe a marriage counsellor?"

As he straightened, the tenth Doctor mumbled, "Be careful that incoming TARDIS doesn't land on your foot." Slipping on his glasses he concentrated on his work, in order to stem the flow of that particular course of conversation.

"You know, I'd have to admit that it would be more than a little embarrassing, being crushed to death by your own TARDIS." The seventh Doctor nodded, as he watched the new TARDIS slowly materialize inside the control room.

"Whichever one of you it is, I hope he can help." Sarah told them.

"Donna, Sarah, watch out for Amy!" The tenth Doctor instructed, realizing suddenly that there might be a danger to the three of them, as they couldn't easily move the sick girl. "Make sure you've got enough clearance."

"Keep alert, everyone!" The ninth Doctor told them, as a stiff breeze suddenly blew at their hair and clothing.

The noise increased as the new TARDIS began slowly to appear in phases. It was landing on the other side of the control room.

"We've got incoming!" Jack yelled.

"You like saying that, don't you?" The ninth Doctor lightly teased him.

"Now stop this nonsense, all of you! We should be working on saving that young lady. This isn't a fairground side show! Rassilon knows we've all seen a TARDIS re-materialize before." The first Doctor scolded his other selves, waving his silver-tipped black walking stick in the air.

"At least help has arrived." The tenth Doctor said, glancing up from his work expectantly, as the other TARDIS took up space in one corner of the control room. "And if it's my future self, I'd love to see what sort of suit I've got. I look splendid in a suit, if I do say so mysel..."

The tenth Doctor never finished his sentence, as out the door popped the eleventh Doctor in his singed bunny suit, with Rory following behind, still in his Centurian kit. Slipping off his glasses, the tenth Doctor squinted at the eleventh in consternation. In fact, everyone in the room wore virtually the same expression.

"Oh." He said, raising both eyebrows. "Riiiight. Let me guess. Couldn't find a decent tailor?"

"You should talk!" The eleventh Doctor flinging back a reposte, "What about that time you mooned Rush Limbaugh in your jim-jam's?"

"Nice legs, Centurion." Jack said, giving a wolf whistle. "My place or yours, tonight?"

"Look. I can explain..." Rory began, his face colouring with embarasment. Then he sighed and shook his head in defeat. "No. Actually, I can't." He turned to the Doctor beside him. "You can explain."

"Me?" The eleventh Doctor protested, "Why me?"

"Your bunny suit. Your TARDIS. Your rules." Rory said succinctly.

"Well, you see, it all had to do with an anomoly in the vortex manipulator..." The eleventh Doctor began.

"Ah, I understand now. You had to resort to abstract technology. That's always amusing." The seventh Doctor realized.

"Yes!" The eleventh Doctor acknowledged, rubbing his hands together, his eyes twinkling in merriment. He paused, reflecting, "Though it's odd that my companions never seem to feel that way."

The forth Doctor beamed "So you used The Fancy Dress Solution! One of my favourites!"

"Yeah, that's fun. Last time I wore a giant con...erm—never mind." The tenth Doctor said, tugging on his ear. "Let's just say it's a good thing I landed in France."

"Fun for you, maybe." Donna snorted. She looked at Sarah Jane. "He had me dress as a carrot. Because I was ginger."

"And you really are never going to forgive me for that, are you?" The tenth Doctor said under his breath.

"You think that's bad? I had to be a bottle of HP sauce." Sarah Jane told her.

"Oh my God! Amy!"

Remembering why he was there, Rory, searching for Amy, spied her lying on the beach chair. He ran over to her, kneeling by her side. He didn't need any medical equipment to know his wife was in a bad way. Rory sprang upright. His face stormy, he pointed an accusing finger at the Doctors.

"What are you all doing? Why aren't you helping her?" He shouted, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Relax, Rory." The eleventh Doctor said gently, putting a hand on his arm. "We'll make this right, trust me."

Brushing the Doctor's hand away, Rory suddenly drew his sword. He pointed at the eleventh Doctor's throat.

"Yes. You will make this right, Doctor." He snarled, "Or else."

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