THE ELEVEN DOCTORS

Chapter 9

Rory wasn't moving. That's because he'd accidentally fallen into one of the holes in the bottom of the control room floor. Except for the single light from the Doctor's torch, the TARDIS was pitch black. Nothing was working. The ship seemed to almost have died. Rory tried to be the voice of reason, as the Doctor seemed to be freaking out slightly. Not that it was surprising. Rory suspected losing the TARDIS to the Doctor, was probably like how he felt losing Amy.

Mentally checking himself over Rory concluded that, other than having a slightly bruised bottom, he seemed to be fine. However, the Doctor warned him that if he moved even a fraction, he might short out the omega stabilizer. Which seemed would be a very bad thing, as the Doctor then mentioned that he hoped Rory's life insurance policy was up to date.

Trying to calm down after the loss of his ship, the Doctor concentrated on helping Rory. He was presently crouched down over the hole. Shining the torch on some wiring protruding from the side, that Rory had torn loose in his fall. He gingerly touched one of the wires. Which wasn't easy, as there was only room enough between Rory and the edge of the hole for two of the Doctor's fingers. Added to this difficulty was the further complication that if one of those wires touched Rory, it would instantly kill him.

"OK, Rory. Let's get you sorted. First things first." The Doctor told him. "One thing at a time. That's the way things have to work at the moment. Not that I want to make a habit of it, mind you. It's much more fun trying to do ten different things at once. Multi-tasking was originated by the Time Lords, you know. Well, maybe not. But it should have been..."

"Providing that I don't die Doctor, what happens next? How can we get Amy back if the TARDIS isn't working?" Rory asked.

"Relax, Rory! One thing at a time. Life support is next on the list. Then, I can try to get at least some of the power back online. And then, Rory my lad, perhaps I begin to work out how to help Amy. So to recap," the Doctor said, unnecessarily Rory thought, "Fix the omega stabilizer, save your life, save both our lives by turning the life support back on, re-boot the TARDIS, find Amy. I hope you were paying attention, Rory. I'd hate to repeat myself. Really boring, having to do that."

"Fixing the omega stabilizer is more important than saving my life?" Rory asked.

"Oh, alright. You first. It's always about you, isn't it?" The Doctor said. "Rory, Rory, Rory..."

No sooner had the Doctor spoken, then sparks flew up from the wire in his fingers. Rory gasped as the Doctor was flung onto his back. The torch went out.

In the sudden claustrophobic darkness Rory cried out, "Doctor! Are you alright!"

But there was no answer. He couldn't even hear the Doctor breathing.

Amy was abruptly sleepy. She couldn't seem to keep her eyes open. The cheerful little Doctor was bent over her with a reassuring smile. Amy rather liked that this Doctor had chosen to be Scottish. Why couldn't her Doctor do that? This wasn't the Doctor she knew and...well, he wasn't him, was he? Still, she was in a TARDIS, if not her TARDIS. And somehow, this version of the Doctor made her feel as if everything would be alright. He was very good at doing that.

The Doctor—the seventh Doctor, Amy corrected herself, gently helped her to stand.

"I brought you a beach chair from the cupboard. Thought it might be better than the floor." He told her kindly. "You need to stay awake, Amy. You're experiencing a form of time shock. If you fall asleep, I might not be able to wake you again. And it may take some time for all my other selves to get here. So I've devised some things to help you keep alert." He said as Amy settled down comfortably in the chair.

Which turned out not to be all that comfortable. Lying on the hard floor had felt better, she thought.

"Ah, yes." He said with a twinkle in his eyes, noting her sudden discomfort, "I can't think of anything more ill-fitting than that old beach chair. That's phase one."

"What's phase two?" Amy asked, suddenly wary. "And you'd better not say slapping my face with a cold, slimy dead fish."

"Oh." The Doctor's face fell. "Alright. We'll skip that one, then. His face brightened. "Do you like polka music?"

"Not as such, no." Amy shook her head.

"Good!" The Doctor beamed. "I haven't played the accordion lately. I could use the practice."

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