The Pale Cage

Chapter 1

Pale eyes opened to a glass cage.

A deep gasp for air

Coughing strangling

Numb limbs refused to work

laid like rubber in a bath

Reflection of the icy prison

The face that looked back was pale

White, slick with sweat

A mop of dark brown hair

A long chin

A cough

A splutter

Two embryonic hearts thumped wildly

Light gleamed in his eyes

He was alive

Another gasp for air

He knew who he was

What he was

But not where he was.

Beyond the looking glass that held him captive

Peering eyes, ever watching

crowded around

Revelation of the Deadening

Put on a pyre

No escape from the never sleeping eyes

He willed his limbs to move. He closed his eyes and focused. Slowly sensation reached his fingertips, he sat up. Muscle and tissue, cartilage and bone formed and grew, organs, nerves and veins fitted into place. The milky water drained from his bath. The other one was right, his molecular structure managed to survive the pulsation of the sonic screwdriver. The Flesh Time Lord closed his eyes as he searched for a proper name for himself. He was the Doctor, not the real Doctor but he and his progenitor had once swapped identities and for a good few hours...he was the Doctor. He was trusted as the Doctor and he was her Doctor, Amy's Doctor.

The Flesh held all of the Doctor's 909 years of memory. When the Doctor pretended to be the Flesh he took on the name John Smith. The flesh shook his head, he didn't want to be John Smith. He wanted to be the Doctor, but not the Doctor. The Doctor had his blue box, the Flesh had his face and memories. The Flesh thought of the regeneration before his progenitor a meta-crisis was born from him and Donna and then abandoned in a parallel universe. The Flesh was nothing like the Meta-crisis, The Meta-crisis was half human half time lord. The Flesh, if he could ever stabilize, would be a direct clone from the current Doctor. There was the chance that he could even regenerate...Well, if he wasn't the last regeneration he could.

The Flesh opened his eyes and looked out at the scientists watching him, monitoring his every move. He willed that psychic abilities would kick in. But even without scanning their minds he knew two things for sure. 1. They were human, and 2. They were not friendly. The Flesh sighed heavily, he was going to become a test subject. He really needed to find a name for himself.

The Flesh cleared his throat so that he could test his vocal cords. “Heh” It sounded low and rusted, he tried again, “Hehl, Hell-” His volume rose, a couple of humans out of the crowd looked nervous. He stared back at them. A flash of silver caught his attention, a young woman with long brown hair that was braided and put into a bun. She wore thin glasses and had silver eyes. Their was another with those same eyes, a man, he had short brown hair but his features matched the girl's. The Flesh looked between the two and realized they must be siblings, or twins or perhaps, clones?

The Flesh took another deep breath and tried to speak once more, “Hel-lo” He rasped out. He smiled, proud of himself. He leaned back and rested, exhaustion swept through his flesh. He really needed to find a proper name. He quite liked the Doctor's identity...But he was Flesh, a clone and he was going to be a test subject until he stabilized and could escape. He wanted his own name. He wanted to be separate from the Doctor. He was considering Fletcher, it was close to the Flesh, he wrinkled his nose, he didn't really like the name at all. He thought about Amy.

Amy had been prejudiced to the flesh. But he had shown her that he was just like the Doctor and that he cared about her just as much as the Doctor did. Pond, could he take on her name without feeling guilty? Emil Pond, how was that for stealing names? Pond thought. Hmmm did that sound right? Because Amy did accept him in the end for what he was. She had told him he was twice the man she had thought. And they both knew what he was, just a copy, a copy with feelings who deserved love and to be happy. The Doctor didn't abandon him like he did with the Meta-crisis. Pond, the Flesh Pond sacrificed his life for the lives of his friends. And it was Amelia Pond who made him who he wanted to be.

Emil Pond...No. He didn't want to steal her name. He wanted to be himself. Certainty though, that girl, he could take on her heritage perhaps? He was flesh, a copy and someday he would stabilize and become a Time Lord once more. He thought like the Doctor, acted like the Doctor, he was the Doctor. But Doctor did not define him, it was Amelia. Flesh Amelia. He remembered, the real reason why the Doctor severed his ties with Amelia, took on the identity of Flesh, traded titles. He went for the Roman instead. Because those people did not matter. The flesh and the humans, they didn't matter to Doctor. He knew Amy was Flesh before they had even arrived to the factory. So he left flesh with flesh to save the human, Rory. Because he was on a mission to save Amelia, where ever she had been taken.

But, the Amy he knew, even though she was flesh, her heart and her soul...they were in his hands and he hoped, the Flesh Hoped, he had done the right thing...Because he knew the Doctor had.

No, the Flesh would not take Amy's name. He was new like a new regeneration, and he would have his own life and he would choose how to live it. He would be reborn. He smiled. He knew the perfect name...and it just happened to be Scottish. Raeburn. He would be Raeburn.

He would never forget Amelia Pond. The first few hours of his life, when he was separated from the Doctor's memories, when he became different to the Doctor and his own memories were created, they were spent with Amelia. The Doctor severed his trust with Amelia and put it in a copy's hands. It was something special and something the new Raeburn would never ever forget.

An applause and cheers jolted Raeburn into the reminder that he was still trapped. He carefully sat up and took a look at his audience, their eyes never left his naked body. Raeburn looked down to see pink skin trying to over power the white flesh. The other gangers became more stable when they focused on becoming their own beings. Raeburn remembered trying to assimilate all of the Doctor's past regenerations, it was painful and terribly difficult for him to stabilize. He hoped he wouldn't have to go through that again...He looked at the scientists who were looking at screens and analyzing his condition. Though that pain might be a walk in the park compared to their testings.

Raeburn sat back up and worked himself to a scrunched position on his feet. He put his hands on the glass. “Suh-So” he worked hard to make his lips form the right way, “Wha-Weh-ehn, Cahn Aii-” he coughed and cleared his throat once more. “So When Can I Come Out?” He pushed at his already sore jaw.

An older man with graying hair answered him, “Not for a couple more hours. We've lowered the temperature and gravity field in your cubical with added purified oxygen. If you leave there you'll return back to the liquid flesh.”

He had thought so. “What about Cleaves, did her molecular structure survive too?”

“Who?” The man asked.

“Cleaves, she was the head boss lady at the factory.”

The older man looked over to the others, they all shook their heads. So he turned back to Raeburn, “No, we found no remnants of hers. It has been 200 years since the melt down at that factory. Four years ago we found a clump of nerves trying to reform, we found Time Lord DNA there and we've been cultivating it...”

“You mean me, you've been cultivating me.” Raeburn said.

The man nodded, “We've woken you ten times before and let you outside of the cubical too soon each time, returning you back to liquid.”

“So this is the eleventh attempt....Well isn't that just dandy?”