Finding Romana

Memories he had thought he’d lost flooded back to him.

He could see her, plain and beautiful in the bright sunlight, bouncing on her heels to keep up with his pace, her blonde hair playing about her shoulders. She had a hand on the top of her hat to keep it from flying off in the wind created by the cars on her left, and  from her brisk jog down the sidewalk. Her other hand reached out to grab his as he began to run, his long legs covering three times more ground than before—

Cool wind whipped at their faces, the bright sunlight glinted off the cars and metal fences that became blurred to colorful streaks on every side as they gained momentum—he’d looked back to see her face lit with pleasure, her bright eyes sparkling with delight; they shared a quick glance and something, unseen, but certainly felt, cascaded down her arm, and jumped onto his, flowing pleasantly up, finally depositing itself warmly in his chest—


The memory faded into a dull background as he looked upon her now. Carefully, he linked his fingers between hers, hoping to feel that same intensity he’d encountered before…but nothing happened. Her face, now, was torn—scars, old and new, disfigured her features and ran down her neck to disappear behind her ragged shirt. Her breaths did not come easy—he couldn’t bare to watch her feeble attempts to fill up her lungs…it hurt him too much.

“Please.”

He whispered this in her ear after carefully pushing back the strings of blonde hair hanging limply over it. Her eyes flickered at him, but she only stared without recognition. He squeezed her fingers carefully, resting his forehead on her wet one. He closed his eyes, and tried to regenerate feelings of that excitement, and perhaps even love, that he had once felt when he was with her all those centuries ago.

“Please—please try to remember me.”

He pushed harder, delving deep into himself, searching for anything that might help, and he emptied them from his mind, letting them dissipate slowly, to allow time for them to leave his mind and go into hers. Yet as they disappeared, he felt as if they weren’t going anywhere. Her mind was not picking them up—in exasperation, he let everything go, emptying everything to leave a hollow space, open for any trace of activity from her.

He found nothing.

His forehead was sticking to hers. He let himself part from her mind, and sat back on his heels, blinking back something that was irritating his eyes and causing his nose to sting. He looked at his hand clutching hers, feeling how limp her fingers were against his. Slowly he raised them, still linked together, and his well trained Gallifreyen eyes traced a faint mark on the back of her hand—the great seal of Rassilon...forever etched there to show she had once held the rank of President of Gallifrey. He held up his right hand and could see a trace of his own great seal of Rassilon, only slightly darker than the colour of his skin…he had been President once too. But it had been so long ago.


A whisper escaped her lips. He crouched closer, holding her hand against his chest, and urged her to continue. Her eyes searched for his eyes, then blearily looked back at him, her cracked lips painfully forming a sentence.

“Have we met…before?”

He steeled himself before her to keep from letting his emotions get the better of him. He gave her an encouraging smile, his chin trembling.

“Yes, we have. You traveled with me for a time—do you remember that? Do you remember traveling with me?”

Her eyes were blank. Her bottom lip disappeared inside her mouth, and her thin eyebrows furrowed.

“I—I d-don’t know…”

“Do you remember a blue box? A big blue box called the TARDIS? Or a robot dog—K-9?” He looked hopefully at her, even though he knew, somewhere deep inside, that she wouldn’t remember.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and violently shook her head, muscles in her body tensing and shivering. She pulled her hand from his grip and slammed it onto the floor in agony.

“I can’t remember! I don’t know—I feel I ought to—but I don’t! Stop, please! Just stop!”

She writhed against the chains binding her against the wall, they rubbed against her ankles and wrists, tearing away the thin layer of skin that had only had a small chance to re-grow, and blood dripped onto the floor. He grabbed her shoulders tightly, and she suddenly screamed, and something flickered in her eyes, causing his hearts to jump with hope, but then the bulb went out, and she went limp, her chin bumping against her chest.

His breath left him, and he pressed a hand against the fabric of her shirt, first on her left side, and then on her right. Nothing but his own frantic heartbeat pulsing through his fingers was felt. Her sweat had turned cold on her body, the blood leaked from her wounds, coming slower, and slower, until the pool on the floor was undisturbed.

Her face was chalk. With trembling fingers he held her chin, and looked into her open eyes. The warm chocolate colour had become dull and grayish, reflecting the cell walls—he heard something off in the distance, presumably gunfire, or an explosion, but he couldn’t move—he was frozen with disbelief.

He felt numb as he silently opened the bloody cuffs around her ankles and wrists with his sonic screwdriver. His fingers could not move with agility anymore; he fumbled with his pocket as he tried to put back his screwdriver. The sting came to his eyes and nose again, but he didn’t try to stop them.

She didn’t remember him.

Her mind…was lost.

Someone had taken it—something. And she was left with…nothing.

He gently picked her up from the floor, cradling her in his arms, keeping her head from lolling sickeningly. With caution he carried her out of the cell through the door he’d opened a few minutes ago.

He’d found her here. But she had never found him.

He found the TARDIS, nestled in the corner of a grey room—they all were grey. He was afraid to lay her down, he felt the compulsive need to keep her against his beating hearts. Perhaps she’ll feel them, perhaps then…

He pushed the TARDIS door open after using the key with his teeth to unlock it. He stepped into the console room, dimly lit by a pulsing green light in the center of the console. His steps echoed in the silence, as did his mind—feelings pitching and rolling in the emptiness.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Not for her—she apparently had only been in her second regeneration. She was still the petite blonde Princess Astra model…he laid her on the couch next to the console, then gripped the controls with unnecessary force. Blood pounded in his ears…

He barely noticed someone sprinting into the TARDIS. He didn’t hear her slam the door closed and didn’t see her chest heaving as she rested her back against the doors. The woman then ran up to him, completely beaten of breath.

“I just got out, Doctor! They’re everywhere—we need to get out, quick!”

She noticed the figure on the couch.

“Who is that?”

She walked up to her, and placed a hand on her forehead.

“Doctor—who is she?”

He turned slowly towards her, and looked sadly into her eyes. The woman’s eyes widened, and her hand crept up to her mouth. She looked from the female to him, and back again.

“Oh my god, Doctor…is it her? The one you were looking for?”

The man called the Doctor silently nodded, feeling the sting again. The woman glanced at his wet face, then wrapped her arms around him in a comforting manner. He put his face into her hair, pulling her body closer to his, choking on his words.

“She never found me, Donna. She never did. I found her—but she couldn’t remember me…I tried to help, I tried to get her to remember, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t—and then she—”

The woman called Donna let him go, looking up at him. Her hand reached out to touch his, but he recoiled as the last memory he had shot through his body. He relaxed and let her slide them between his fingers.

“Isn’t she a Time Lord, Doctor? So, she’ll regenerate?”

He sucked at his teeth, trying not to look at the woman on the couch, lying there pitifully—broken, dead. He gave Donna a small shake of his head.

“I don’t think she will. She’s been robbed of her mind—she must have even forgotten she was a Time Lady.”

“What? She forgot who she was?”

“I don’t know,” he said somewhat harshly, and Donna stepped back, letting him go. He stared up at the console, then began pressing a few buttons irritably. Donna gripped the railing as the TARDIS spun into the vortex.

“Where are we going, Doctor?”

“She needs to be buried. I’m taking her where she always loved to be,” he said softly. He stepped away from the console, and went up to his deceased friend, and took a hand into his. A splash of warmness tingled in his hand, and he nearly dropped her hand in surprise.

She couldn’t be. He was imagining things.
He gripped her warm hand tightly, and stared at her features in awe. Her eyelids began to flicker, and a breath escaped her lips, and her lungs filled up with air. A brilliant light began to distort her figure, and he hastily stepped back, barely breathing.

The woman’s back arched and the bright yellow light whipped about her body—her muscles tensed and relaxed, and he saw her wounds disappearing, her chest rising more easily, cold sweat clearing off her face…

And then it was over. The woman sat up in one fluent motion, her blond hair dancing—blonde. She hadn’t changed her figure…it was still the same, but her scars were missing from her beautiful face—and her chocolate eyes opened. She was slightly out of breath, as she gazed at her surroundings. Her head turned slowly, and she looked upon him for a moment. He thought he saw that flicker behind her eyes again…

“D—do—” she began, playing with the syllables in her mouth. She furrowed her brow, as if trying to remember to word. “Doctor?”

He ran to her side, and tentatively touched her arm. She stared at him, recognition beginning to dawn on her features. He gave her a smile, that turned into a grin.

“Yes. Yes! It’s me, it’s the Doctor! You remember!”

Confusion crossed her face.

“What do you mean, I remembered? I’ve always known who you were.”

His hearts jumped rope in his chest, as he recognized her personality as her own splendid self—pure to the last particle. She held out her arms and pulled him into a hug, and he wrapped his own arms around her too. Together they sat, rocking back and forth peacefully and happily.

The TARDIS continued to sail in the vortex, and a woman calmly watched her friend holding the other woman against his chest, leaning against a metal bar near the console. She remembered the Doctor talk about this woman. Ever since the Time War, he said, he’d been looking for her—if secretly. A small smile twitched on her lips. So he’s not the last Time Lord in the universe after all.


“Romana. You have found me, Romana.”