9: A Story Forgotten

<One>

He lay on the floor, too stunned to even think for a moment. Flashes of memories sped through his mind, like a broken tape on replay.

Me, no not me, but yes me. Glasses and fezzes and sonics and Bad Wolf...

The man groaned, rubbing at his eyes like someone woken from deep sleep, and the memories slowly ebbed away, like the tide drifting from the shore, the waves slowly leaving his mind. All at once, he was aware that the gravity wasn't quite right, and to his horror, several switches on the console in front of him were wildly snapping to and fro.

"No no no no, don't do that!" He cried, springing up, and startled himself upon hearing his new voice for the first time aloud. I sound so...British. He gave a wry chuckle at the sound of his own shocked internal voice, but had no time to enjoy it as a pained wheeze exploded from his beloved timeship as she hurled herself to hell knows where.

"Please, give me just a bit more!" The man begged, dashing around the console to stare at the screen. Bringing his hand up to rest on his chin, he was startled to find there was no rough beard there, only smooth skin. Forgoing the ongoing plight of the ship's crash course, he pulled a screen towards him and peered in. Good lord, did he get younger? Was it because he had been spending too much time with his future selves? He suddenly was knocked off his feet as the ship rocked, and it wasn't helping that the boots and overcoat he wore were several sizes too big for him.

Slipping madly, he hung on as the TARDIS began to spin, righting herself suddenly before it crashed onto what felt like solid ground. The man lost his grip on the console and crashed into the side wall, his head slumping weakly against the white wall as the lights dimmed all around him.

Several hours later...

He awoke with a jolt. Where was he? Oh, still in the TARDIS, good. Lights still out? Yes.

He heaved himself up, and discarded the heavy woolen jacket onto the ground, and kicked the dusty boots off after the coat. It was deathly quiet, and he swallowed quickly as he decided what to do next. The doors, outside. Where was he? Where had he landed? Stumbling through the dark, he nearly tripped — this body was several kilograms lighter and more muscular than his previous body — and fell against the doors of the TARDIS. Fumbling for the handle, he yanked back, and fell out the doors to land in an unceremonious heap.

"Well, can't say I expected that." He squinted up as a decidedly non-British voice stated, amused. "Are you hurt? Or am I just hallucinating that a '60s British police box appeared in the middle of the woods with a half dead guy in it?" He mumbled something, and felt hands grip under his arms so he could look up.

A face with wide set pale green eyes stared back at him, worry warring with amusement and shock in their depths. "Where...where am I?" The man asked, reaching out to touch the slightly warm exterior of the TARDIS with shaking fingertips. An eyebrow arched, and the face tilted slightly.

"Well, you aren't in Kansas anymore friend, or should I say England hmm?" He shook his head and groaned as the sore muscles in his neck protested. The woman sighed, and looked around.

"Well, I can't just leave you here, and what about your—" She yanked him back as the police box began to make a groaning noise, smoke pouring out of her door, and in a flash of light vanished with a whirring. The man slumped back, defeat written all over his face.

"She's gone, I can't bring her back now." His rescuer watched him worriedly, many different questions racing through her mind, before settling on the idea that first off, this man needed medical attention.

"Don't worry about, about her now. Let's focus on you okay?" She gave a reassuring smile, and heaved one of his arms over her shoulder so he could use her as leverage to stand up. He did so, wobbling a bit as he found his balance. "My cabin isn't too far off, let's get you there." He nodded, his hand gripping her shoulder as he began to walk.