The Time of Change

The Room of Candles and a Much Younger Doctor

I kiss the Doctor and go to change into another dress. This one has a cute polo-type collar; I throw my leather jacket over top it just out of habit. When I'm all set, I walk to the front doors, and he walks up behind me. "Ready for whatever's out there?" I ask him. He looks at me with amusement, then smiles, taking my hand in his and entwining our fingers. Together we push the left-side door open.

We step out into a dimly-lit hallway that stretches for what seems like forever. The floor is shiny black granite, the walls a rough-looking, eggshell-colored rock. The TARDIS's vivid deep blue is a rather aesthetically-pleasing eyesore. The doors swing shut behind us, and I stare around, confused.

"Interesting choice," the Doctor quips.

I shoot him a smirk. "Not my doing," I reply. "You know the TARDIS goes where she wants to go. I have no idea where we've ended up."

No more than two seconds after I speak, two forms sprint across the hall, out of one branch and into another. My eyes wide, I incline my head their way, and my husband follows as I start off toward them. When we reach the corridor they've gone through, they're about halfway down it and turn again. I pick up my pace, though I'm tiring much faster now because of the extra weight. Even that considered, the Doctor and I catch up to them in good time.

The two figures are an older man and a young woman, and they stop in front of three stone cylinders, doors carved into their curved outsides. My mind is pricked at the familiarity of the objects. The man has wispy white hair and wears a proper black suit; his cane clacks against the floor coldly. His accomplice looks to be in her teenage years, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with black locks in a pixie cut.

My mind is triply pricked, but now I can place names with everything I see.

The Doctor yanks me into a room off the side of the hallway. The door closes as I tumble in, and we're plunged into darkness except for flickering candles placed all around the foot of the walls. On all four sides, flames dance, casting elongated shadows on the ceiling. I blink to speed up my eyes' adjusting process so I can see in the dark room. There is something carved into each of the candles' bodies, but they're too backlit for me to read them.

"Did you plan this?" the Doctor asks me somewhat breathlessly.

I hold up my hands in surrender. "Why would I?" I reply. "I told you. The TARDIS does what she wants!"

He doesn't respond, just runs a hand through his hair absentmindedly. A moment later, he says, "You know that's—"

"I know."

"And she's—"

"I know that too."

After a slight pause, he mumbles, "We shouldn't be allowed to be here. I shouldn't be able to see myself."

Biting my lip, I shrug slightly. "Seems that's been happening a lot lately."

"But you do know we can't talk to them or let them see us at all."

"Maybe you can't."

The Doctor sighs. "Neither can you," he tells me with a firm air.

"But he's going to meet me anyway," I say defensively.

"Or he already has! I saw you exactly twice in that cycle: once when you saved me and once when you died for me."

"What if this is that first one?"

"And what if it isn't? Annalise, we can't risk a third appearance." The Doctor flaps his hands around as he speaks, coming dangerously close to a couple candles' flames. Trying to get his point across, he puts both hands on my arms, staring into my eyes. "Listen to me," he pleads. "If this regeneration cycle becomes corrupt, everything will change because he's the first. Everything will be different, including you."

I nod, thoughts racing because everything about this feels far too familiar to be coincidence. He hugs me gently and breathes, "I just don't want to lose you." Again I nod against him, wrapping my arms around him and peering over his shoulder at the candles. They make lovely lighting, but why are they here? What are they for? I notice with slight surprise that it's not abnormally warm in this room despite the hundreds and hundreds of flickering flames. My brain buzzes as my eyes skim across tiny symbols with wax melting slowly around them.

All at once I realize they are names, and my attention is caught like a razor-sharp hook.

"Doctor," I whisper, and he looks at me, moving back. My gaze is trained on a single candle resting against the left wall, which is closest to us. It's near the end of the line of candles sitting at the foot of it. I bend down to examine it more carefully, letting my fingertips trail over the thin, spindly letters carved into the wax.

Hunter House

I don't recognize the name entirely. It rings loud, clear, shrill little bells inside my head, but I can't put a face with it, though I know there is one. I know I know this name, but why? Whose is it? How do I know it? I can almost hear a voice calling to me through my memories, like it's waiting for me to hear it, to remember, just as the Doctors' voices did not so long ago. I don't recognize the voice, either, but I do. It's maddeningly simple to figure out, yet every step I take nearer to it, the owner of the name takes two steps away. It feels perpetually stuck on the tip of my tongue. The Doctor is crouched beside me, staring at the candles anxiously. I turn my head to ask him if he recognizes this name, but I realize he isn't looking at the same one as I am. His eyes are on the unlit candle directly to the left of the one I noticed. It is second-to-last in line.

Teacher

"That's what the TARDIS keeps calling me," I whisper.

The Doctor looks at me out of the corner of his eye, thoughtful and worried. "We need to leave," he breathes back, and even in the low light, I see the fear in his eyes. He stands abruptly but not before I see a small plaque standing nearby. It's written in the Doctor's language, but I can read it.

I almost have a heart attack as he pulls me through the door and back into the hallway, whose dim light now seems blinding in comparison. I shut my eyes tightly despite him still pulling me. A few steps away, he stops. "'Lost,'" I repeat. He shakes his head at me, uncomprehending. "That sign in there said, 'Lost,' in Circular Gallifreyan. What d'you think it means?"

"Circu..." He trails away, looking at me with wide eyes.

I shift on my feet uncomfortably. "The TARDIS has a language translator, love. It's not that big of a deal."

He blinks, and a few seconds of stunned silence encapsulate us. "Not for that," he replies, voice oddly hoarse. I notice him shuffle backward half a step. "Never for that."

My heart skips several beats, but before I can do more than stare blankly, I hear a gruff male voice say something in a stern way. I peek around the corner to see the First Doctor arguing with his "granddaughter" Susan and pushing her into the TARDIS on the far left. He steps onto its threshold, looking around for anyone who may see him.

Goosebumps rise on my skin.

I remember.

I look at my husband. "Does this dress look familiar?" I ask him. He only has time to open his mouth before I place my glasses into his hand and start toward his past self purposefully.