Portraits On the Wall

Three days had passed since the travelers’ return to their native universe.  The shock of the alternate Romana’s death was still with them, but it had faded to the terror of a dream.  As usual, music filled the consol room, the piano chords giving way to a much more vibrant organ, the drums resounding nicely on the truly surround sound system, and after a brief interlude of classical guitar, Deora’s favorite verse:  

Try—try and not hear the voice
Telling you if you will not hear, will not see,
Will not choose which way to go—you still have made a choice

Deora sang along to the words, the Doctor giving her a quizzical look.  Deora stuck her tongue out at him childishly, which made him grin.  It had reminded him a little of his granddaughter, the way she was dancing to the music.  As the twenty-minute song came to its conclusion, Deora looked philosophical (for it was that sort of a song), and sat musing to herself on her bench.
Suddenly the doors swung open and the Doctor was sucked into the Vortex.  The force that had pulled the Doctor out had slammed Deora against the column of the Time Rotor.  The doors slammed shut.  Panicking, Deora cut the flight, materialized, and checked the scanner, finding herself in…nowhere?
Perhaps a little foolishly she decided to venture out of the TARDIS to look for the Doctor.  They were outside of Time and Space, so who knows where he could be.  Who knows where she could be, for that matter.
“Doctor?” she called, but no response came.  A whump noise came from behind her, and as she looked, the TARDIS vanished.  “No!”
Forlornly, she decided there was nothing to do but go on.  Perhaps the Doctor would know what was happening and how to fix it.  And so she stumbled onward.

Out of the blinding light, a man came.  He was older, white-haired, and very intriguing.
“Excuse me, sir,” ventured Deora, “Have you seen a man called the Doctor?”
“Oh, I should think so,” he said, evidently somewhat amused.
“Can you tell me which direction he went?”
“Oh, I see, I see, you’ve been separated from a friend of yours who calls himself the Doctor, and now you wish to reunite!  Hmm, quite amusing indeed!”  He chuckled.  This annoyed Deora, who didn’t find it amusing in the slightest.   Suddenly she realized that the instant she had spoken to the man, the terrain changed from blinding whiteness to the front room of a Victorian manor.
“I see, my child, you are confused by the location we find ourselves in.  I’ll get something from the other room to help me explain it—now where did I put that wretched writing tablet?”

The instant the man had left, the room turned to white again.  Another man with darker hair walked by, muttering.
“Oh, dear, dear, dear, whatever shall I do?”  The room abruptly switched to that of a haunted house.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve lost a friend of mine.  Can you help me find him?”
“I’ll do what I can, my dear—what was your name?”
“Deora.”
“That’s a nice name.  Now what was the name of the man you’ve lost?”
“The Doctor, I suppose.”
“Oh, well, that’s a bit tricky, you see.”  His face fell.  “You see, I am the Doctor.  Or will be.”
“Oh.  You must be a previous regeneration.”
“That’s right.  Now, I take it you’re looking for a future version of me, one that would recognize you at once, is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hm, that could be a bit tricky.  You see, this place is unlike anything I’ve ever been in, so I’m not sure what to do.  I know, I’ll go that way,” he gestured to the left, “and you go that way.”  He pointed to the right.  “Now, we’ll need to meet back here if we find him, and…hm….”
“Good luck, then, Doctor.”
“Oh, yes, I should hope so.”
He set off in his indicated direction, leaving Deora again in a white void.

“Will no one help me?” she shouted in frustration.  None of this was funny.  Had it happened on television, or in a story, it might be quite good entertainment, but not while you’re in the middle of it!
“Excuse me, young lady, but may I provide some assistance?”
“Not another one!”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m looking for the Doctor.”
“Oh, I see.  Yes, I think I know what you mean.  You’re looking for a different version of myself, right?”
“Yes.”
“Past or future?”
“Future,” she said with a sigh.
“Well,” he said, gesturing to his vehicle, “Shall we go and look for him?”
“The others just sort of left me behind.”
“Well, I won’t.  At least not by choice.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
The Doctor jumped aboard Bessie and turned the ignition.  “That’s odd, she won’t start.  I’ll just go round the back and—“
He vanished, too.

Deora sat down in complete frustration, fighting back tears.  She was trapped in a world outside of Space and Time where anything seemed possible except what she wanted to happen.  A bag was shoved in her face.
“You look like you could use a jelly baby,”
“Oh, stop it, all of you!”
“All of us?  There’s only one of me here.”
“No!  At least five of you are here!”
“Oh, I see.”  He munched a jelly baby.  “Different regenerations.”
“Yes!  I’m looking for your tenth self.  Tall, thin, infectious grin—“
“Some things never change, do they?”  He grinned.
She started crying, certain she’d never get out of this trap.
“There, there,” said the Doctor, and offered his scarf to wipe her tears on.  Deora chuckled weakly.  She took a jelly baby.  “That’s better, isn’t it?  Now tell me everything that’s happened, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Deora recounted the events of the past, ever since the song had ended and the Doctor had been sucked out into the void.
“Hmm, I see.  I’ll tell you what I think.  I think—“ and the comfort of the nice warm scarf was gone.

The cozy sitting room with lit fireplace was gone, only to be replaced by a wide open field.
Deora saw another figure off in the distance, and ran to his arms sobbing.
“Hello,” he said softly, putting his arms around her to comfort her.
“It, he, the Doctor, and all of him, and I’ll never get back!”
“Slow down for a minute.  Can you explain everything to me?  I’m trying to get out of here myself, and I’d like any help you can give.”  She didn’t release her hug.  “Oh.  I understand.  It’s going to be alright.”
She buried herself in his warm embrace, recognizing that this version of the Doctor was so similar to hers, and she didn’t want to let go of him…he might vanish into thin air…like all the others…tear-laden, she started laughing in spite of herself.  She had a mental flash of what the scene looked like to anyone who might have been passing by, and it was quite comical.
She sat down, feeling a bit better, and explained the situation to him.
“Well, it shouldn’t be too hard to pool our efforts, now should it?  I can see why he, or rather I, like you.  You’re strong.  Many other people might have gone mad in this situation, but you’re clinging on.  What is it, what’s wrong?” He noticed her facial expression.
“You—you’re fading!  Don’t leave me, Doctor!”
But her pleas were to no avail.  He had vanished.

Suddenly a small explosion came from somewhere behind Deora.
“Blasted machine!”
“Excuse me, sir.”
“Oh, what is it you want?”
“I need to find the Doctor.”  She figured this was futile, as the man she was addressing was the Doctor, with coat and hair to match his personality.
“Well, search no more, here I am.”
“Not you.”
“Oh?  Then which version of me are you looking for?”
“Your tenth.”
“Oh.  Well, let me explain this realm to you.  It’s a world of illusion, I think, where everything we think of somehow happens.  Quite interesting.  But you, my dear, you are trapped here by your mind.  I think you have to somehow release your version of me from a trap.  If you fail, you may be trapped here forever.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, it’s perfectly true.  As for how to release the trap, I’ve no idea, but, if my theory is correct, you’re the only one who can do it.  Now, I know from observation that you don’t want me to leave—I watched you and my previous self—but I’ve got to.  You’ve got to move on past me, and figure out this puzzle.  And besides that, I’ve got to fix that blasted dimensional stabilizer.”
Deora nodded, resolved, knowing that the Doctor was quite right.  Off she walked into the blinding white corridor.

And she walked on and on, until she came to the Seventh Doctor playing around with a saxophone.
“Excuse me, sir,” she asked, “Can you direct me toward the Future?”
“Ah, a thinker!”
“Well, at the moment, I’m just looking for a friend of mine who is somewhere in the Future.”
“Ah, well, I think he went that way.  Yes, that way.”
“Thank you!”
And off she ran.

Sitting in the chair was the Eighth Doctor, reading a book, humming gently.
“Sorry sir, just passing through, on the way to save the world or the universe or something.”
“Have fun, then,” he replied, distracted.

And the corridor ended.  A room with portraits, though it was too dark to tell who they were pictures of.  A voice came out of the darkness.
“It all seems so simple, standing here, looking at the pictures.  But it’s not.”
“Are—are you the Doctor?”
“Yes.”
He came into the light, his leather jacket like a shroud of darkness around him.  “And you’ve got a test before you.  Not an easy one, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“One of these portraits will set the timeline straight.  You have to choose which one.”
Deora saw the portraits.  The Doctor’s first nine regenerations.  Portraits upon the wall.
“I don’t understand.”
“Pick one of these pictures, and the Universe changes.  You pick the wrong one, the Time War was never fought and the Daleks rule unchecked.  Or perhaps the Sontaran invasion of Gallifrey would have succeeded.  Or, who knows, you pick the wrong one and Omega managed to break through but set off a matter-antimatter explosion that destroyed the Universe.  Only one of these portraits leads to the Universe you’ve known.  And I can’t help you choose.”
Deora stood solemnly.  The song from the beginning of this trial ran though her head, about not doing anything being a choice in and of itself.  But how would she know the right one?
“What do I do to choose?”
“Take the picture down off the wall.  It seems so simple, doesn’t it?”
“How will I know which one is right?  I can’t arbitrarily decide and just put it back if I don’t like it.”
“I know you’re a Time Lady.  You have the instinct.  Use it.  Listen to Time.”
Deora had never tried using those senses before, but nonetheless she decided to try it.  She closed her eyes, listened to Time itself, tuning all of her senses into that beautiful song, letting it wash over her like waves on the sand, allowing it to clear her mind…she walked over, the song filling her heart, and she took a portrait down…
The Fifth Doctor.  She didn’t have any clue why Time wanted her to choose that one, but she did choose it.

And suddenly they were back on the TARDIS, the Doctor looking a bit bewildered, but alright.  Deora grinned fantastically because of what she’d done.  And still the song of Time flowed through her.  In doing what she did, by tuning herself along the exact wavelength of Time, she’d done something that only a few Gallifreyans had ever done—become in harmony with Time, true harmony.
She hugged the confused Doctor, but it was the Doctor she knew, Time had been set straight, and she was so glad to have everything back to the way it was meant to be.