The 10th Professor's Adventures: Episode 2 - Fighter's Blood

The 10^th Professor's Adventures: Episode 2 – Fighter's Blood

Written By: MichaelWhovian

Part 1 – Old Friend

    The roar of the crowd was almost like nectar. Beautiful nectar, and the ones in the locker room were the bees, collecting it all and running off of it like a secondary source of adrenaline. With slamming locker doors, pained moans, blood, sweat, tears, and all sorts of other moods and emotions in the air, this was the life that Cynthia Renfield fled to. She was once a boxer, a multi arts fighter, that was destined to die by a cheating opponent 7 years ago for her, until she met this man. This man with sprawling ginger hair and a smoking jacket and dreams of the multiverse. A pained man, a man who still felt like he was running away from his problems and had taken her along for the ride by sheer chance and happenstance. That's how she met warrior women from faraway deserts, Amazons from a world where myth and legend were as real as fact and history, a goddess who twisted and fed off of love, and so much more. Until one day. One day, it ended, when she grew tired of the traveling and the man who just wanted to run away.

    As she opened her locker, digging through her clothes and belongings to try and get herself cleaned up, she could hear the boos and cheers echo from behind the wall. A medic rushed through the locker room, holding a bag full of supplies and hurried out the door as fast as he could as she listened to the sounds. While Pro Wrestling wasn't her next choice of career, not a lot of people in fighting circles would try and go after a woman who disappeared off the face of the earth for over a year without showing a bit of age to them. Hooked on the adrenaline rush, perhaps, then, to make her choose this path so that she could still feel alive. Who knows, she thought to herself, before spotting something in her locker. Slowly, she pulled out a picture from her locker, a picture of her, the man, and another, a blue alien with two tendrils on her head, a palish white shirt, a belt, striped scarf like fabrics....

    “I wonder how you're doing, Blue...” She smiled at the picture, slowly returning it to it's hanging spot. 'Out there, seeing the spots, maybe he did help you find your way home....” She quickly took another look around, before taking her clothes and a towel, and sighs, hearing the last words he said before he departed.

    “One Day, Cynthia Renfield. When I am a different man. One day, We shall meet again. I promise.”

    Meanwhile, somewhere far away, the TARDIS was close to complete and total loss of control. As the Professor, still not finished changing and his body still cooking, worked his way to the console room, the familiar 6 sided classic console erupted and exploded in a rain of parts, sparks, and wooden splinters. Using the door for cover, the Professor pushed himself against it, as the splinters catch against the door and dig themselves inside. He then quickly hurried into the room, covering his face as sparks flew everywhere, the entire top of the console gone from the base. No controls. No way of stopping the TARDIS, wherever it was choosing to land. He eyed around at the walls as the old computer banks he found erupted from the side, wires, fire, and metal all raining to the floor. He dived behind a fallen bookshelf, using it for cover.

    “EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS!” The Professor screamed over the carnage. “ENACT EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS!” All he could hear was whirling, as the cloister bell drowned out the other noises on the ship, the lights now darkened to a deep crimson red. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, MALFUNCTION?!”

    The TARDIS began to shake, almost like an earthquake, as roundels fired themselves from the remaining wall. Hitting the ground, the roundels smashed into glass and firing like jagged projectiles into the bookcase and the walls, the remains of the computer banks and the ceiling. The old console room was completely and utterly destroyed as he tried to hang on to the bookshelf, the crashing protocol beginning to activate.

    “Once more into the great unknown then!” The last thing the Professor remembered from the journey, was the loud crash, and all of the lights going out, all at once, leaving nothing but a calm, lonely, silence, and darkness blacker than a black hole.

    Cynthia looked herself over in the mirror. The past 7 years weren't as bad as one would think, aging and staying together the best she could. Her Hair dyed a lighter shade of brown, still in a ponytail. Wearing now a black leather jacket, with a faded white shirt with purple outlines, more faded than the white. Her training pants replaced with darkened blue jeans, with a chain hanging out of the pocket, and girl boots at the heel, black with steel tips. She then looked to her jaw, checking over it. A faded purple bruise, covered by makeup, sits right below her lip and above her chin, even trying to stretch her jaw to look at it, she could feel how tender the area was.

    “Lucky Shot...” She growled to herself, taking a bag of her belongings and headed out of the locker room. Back then, 7 years ago, she would have laughed off a simple bruise like that, worn it like pride. Certainly helped when you have a spear to your face and needed to fight to show your strength. Back home, however, people expected you to lick your wounds, cover them up, and walk on like nothing happened. It didn't help that 7 years ago, she had just turned 21, faced certain death, and broke what the Professor eventually told her was a fixed point in time. Now, she was facing full on adulthood, but the need for the adrenaline rush was still there, like an addiction. However, in the pursuit of that she has been bloodied, beaten, and broken more than a few bones.

    What Cynthia did not notice, as she headed out of the large gym/arena type building, was the fact that she was being watched. Another woman, still in attire, watches her as she walked out the back doors, before pulling another girl up to her with a snarl on her lips and anger on her face.

    “Look at Miss Arrogant, she thinks she can just walk in here...” The woman looked to her lackey, a woman with black hair and brown eyes, wearing some sort of simple black hoodie, pants, and black boots to hide in the dark.

    “She, I heard she-” Her lackey is cut off by another tug on her hoodie, the woman in attire's eyes narrowed with rage almost pouring from them.

    “I don't care. It's time she was taken down a notch, and you and me are going to do it. Now get your mask and hoodie on and follow her.” The woman hissed into her lackey's ear. “When you come back, I want a picture. It's time the washed-up fighter got shown the way out the door.”

    The Professor, with all of his strength, heaved a bookcase over the glowing, shining light of the TARDIS console base. Even though that much, he could feel the raw time energy, burning like standing under a hot sun in the desert. With little energy left, he slid off of the bookcase, hearing the walls around him groan and strain from the spinning and shaking. He watched as panels from the ceiling blew off their nails and bolts, wires falling out of the ceiling and causing new sparks to go flying.

    “She, She's pulling herself...” The Professor spoke to himself, his voice starting to get raspy again, his energy fading again. “No, No, I can't...Not now, I have to keep working-”

    At that moment, he could hear a part of the wall just erupt into splinters and sparks, sending them flying out into the room. While he was protected behind the TARDIS base and the bookshelf, it was painful to hear his TARDIS go through such an explosive crash landing. Not since the war had the console room taken so much damage, destroying itself to the point of being unrecognizable of what it used to be.

    As he lost consciousness now for the fourth time, all his hope now was on his old friend. Hopefully, she knew where to go. Hopefully she was going for help?

    Rain. It always rained in the big cities. As Cynthia sat under a covered window, watching the rain come down, waiting for her taxi to home, she just had this feeling. Thunder rocked through the sky as the rain began to pick up, thickening with every second that passes by. Cynthia began to watch around her surroundings, barely able to see anything, before giving a big sigh. However, just before she went to just start rocking home, she is grabbed from behind.

    “Miss Midnight has a message for you.” She heard the person say, before throwing her against the wall. Cheap shot, taking from behind. Anything's legal in the area of the gym and arena, that's how the brand's been. Quickly, she put her hands up as she felt a kick hit into her gut, doubling her over. That noisy, giggly laugh, scratched on Cynthia's ears. As she felt another kick about to come, Cynthia kicked her assailant in the thigh, hard, before going for a punch to her jaw.

    Get her down and run, that was the smarter plan, not when her opponent obviously has the sight advantage here, Cynthia thought to herself.

    Sadly, she couldn't even turn to run, before her foot was pulled out from under her and she hit the ground. That irritating laugh echoed in her ears again, as she could hear her assailant going for something, she could hear the metal clanging against the wall. Apparently she had pissed off someone here, getting the backyard treatment like this.

    That's when the sound came. At first she thought it was her memory, or a sound from behind her. The loud gong, of the TARDIS locking on to land, it always sounded like a mix of a large gong, or a church bell ding. Then like a car's engine, she could hear it begin to land somewhere, muddled in with the footsteps of her assailant running for the hills, possibly spooked by the sound in such harsh weather. Cynthia quickly stood up, soaked from the rain, as she began to eye for the machine, as the sound became more distorted, more echoed, like something was the matter with it.

    As she quickly turned the alleyway, both to find the source of the sound and to escape her attacker, she found it. Sitting in the alleyway, a mere 20 or so feet away, under the glow of an old street light, was the familiar sight of the Professor's TARDIS, a Victorian Wardrobe with a beautiful carved top and four legs to keep her off the ground. She eyed it in almost shock, slowly feeling her forehead for blood, thinking she was hit by the object, and that this was a dream. When her hand came back clean, she slowly shook, before walking over to the old box. It was just as she remembered, sitting there in the light, and yet, it didn't seem real.

    After merely a minute, which felt like forever, Cynthia slowly knocked on the door. No Response. She slightly raised her eyebrow. That was weird, even for the TARDIS. Usually if the Professor was in, he would answer, if he was out, she would hear the TARDIS sound off....The Professor said she was talking but it always just sounded like noises with emotion behind them. She knocked again. No Response. Something didn't feel right. Had she missed him? Was this not the TARDIS? As she went to knock for the third time, the door slid open, and this man peered out. Black Hair, with the endings all curled up, his eyes a Bluish-purple and slightly mad, disheveled clothing on him, and this look of pain all over his face. He looked at her, squinting his eyes, then widening them, before collapsing out the doors, the doors slamming shut, pushing his feet out. What shocked Cynthia even more, was a few moments later, the TARDIS making noises back at her in response.

Part 2: The Reunion

    Regeneration Sickness is quite a fickle thing. Usually it lasts a day, or an hour, sometimes it can last a week, to even a month. As the Professor could remember, there was one time a Lord President had to take an extended leave of absence over an illness, which led to his regeneration and a 6 month Coma like recovery. Sometimes however you get lucky. As the Professor drifted in the void, that's what he was hoping for, his mind working to get itself together, it felt like a dream or retreat, as he could hear his muffled selves begin to echo in his mind again.

    “Oh Great....” The Professor thought to himself. “I can go crazy in my head while I am in some sort of coma. Perfect.”

    “Insanity of the Mind is one of the things that helps us think, Wouldn't you agree?”

    The Professor, startled, eyed around the dark surroundings of his mind, before a simple area lit up before him, two chairs, a small rug, a side table, a lamp, and two sodas, one on each side of the table. Slowly, he approached the odd bits of furniture, before something formed in one of the chairs, an older gentleman, with shorter hair, a worn green jacket, cricket jacket, and black and white blocked suspenders. His Previous incarnation.

    “You're a sight for sore eyes.” The Professor spoke to him, sitting in the other free chair.

    “I should be saying that to you.”

    “How are you here?”

    The Previous Incarnation rolled his eyes. “How am I in my own head? Quite a question that answers itself, don't you think?”

    “You know what I mean.”

    “You mean why I haven't joined the other voices to talk to you yet. Quite Simple really. We're not done yet, and you know it. You need something to give you a kick start.”

    “A Kick Start?”

    “Yes, a Kick Start. I was an old man, if you recall. All those ideas I had for changing how we deal with problems, that was for a much younger man. It's why I was hoping I was much younger, and you come like a miracle for us.”

    “A Miracle? We've mostly been young, you're the outlier.”

    “But Now look at us.” Slowly, the Previous incarnation took the soda from the table, taking a drink. “Fresh and young. But this regeneration sickness won't do, won't do at all. You have to wake up, and wake up like a jolt.”

    “Which you plan to be, which is why you wanted to talk to me.”

    “There we go, you see? You're starting to use that brain between your ears. Yes, I would rather not sleep for a prolonged period, It would rather be in poor taste, especially being with old friends, hm?”

    “Old friends.....” The Professor looked to his previous incarnation, who has this small smile on his face. “You know, we need to do this more often with ourselves. Sometimes it helps.”

    “We're always here for a call. Better than actually visiting ourselves in our time-streams and breaking the first law of time, hmm?” The Previous incarnation slowly raised his hand, a smile forming across his face. “Once more unto the breach, and good luck. From all of us.” The last thing The Professor heard was the snap of his fingers.

    Air filled the Professor's lungs like soup, as he gasped, rising up a bit from where he laid on a couch, coughing like he had fallen into the depths of the sea. As he tried to get a look at his surroundings, he began to realize he must have been out for a while. While the rain continued to hit outside, it had slowed, nowhere near the power it had when he opened the door, losing consciousness just as the light touched his face. A Single lamp shone in the small living room, built like something you would see in old movies, a couch, a rug, table, small kitchenette in the corner, an old beat up TV with hangars for antenna, but what made the room more unique was around the front door, and the two doors that led to other rooms in this small apartment. The door frames glowed, shone with tech like circuitry, with a small panel next to the doorknob on each of them. It would seem that while the apartment seemed old, even it could not hide the near future advancements.

    Soon, he began to hear the noise of water coming from one of the rooms, like someone was turning off a shower, and a slight whistling to themselves, the dripping of the water hitting what sounded like a tub actually gave him something to focus on, as his brain tried to catch up on what happened. The last thing he remembered, was the light, and now he is here, somewhere, with obviously a host of some kind. “But who?” he thought.

    About a minute or so later, wrapped up in a robe and a towel, Cynthia stepped out from her old bathroom. Her eyes quickly look to the man, who has quickly covered his eyes and gone like he has gone blind, giving a chuckle to herself as she pulls over a simple metal chair. “I needed to make sure. Warm showers, and they haven't fixed the Weather Maker yet, so the rain's about as cold as a blizzard at night, but at least the sound's nice.”

    The Professor quickly sat up, his hand over his eyes. “Cynthia Renfield. I can't believe it, It has been centuries for me, about....oh, almost Half a dozen incarnations since your departure?”

    “Seven years for me. Teach, what are you doing here, out of the blue like this?”

    “Would you believe me if I told you it was completely by accident?”

    Cynthia sad in the metal chair facing him, raising an eyebrow, her long hair still somewhat wet and glowing a bit in the low light. “You? Accident? Professor, half the time the TARDIS crash lands because you can't decide on where you wanted to go.”

    “Well, Yes, but this time it is the truth. I came here completely on accident....Or at least, I didn't know we were coming here....Regeneration sickness protocol, the TARDIS couldn't handle the pressure somehow and the whole of the console ripped itself apart. So, for a bit, I am stuck here......Sorry about that.”

    “Regeneration......Incarnations.....Is that why your face is different?”

    “Hm? Oh! Oh yes, of course, you haven't heard of it before, yes...” The Professor smiles, turning his head side to side for her. “How do I look?”

    “Like a High School Science Teacher during Halloween.”

    The Professor rolled his eyes, before smiling a bit. “I forgot how blunt you were. So, Seven years then? How was it?”

    “How was my life, back here as it was?” Cynthia smiled a bit, standing up from the chair, holding out her hand. “I have to get changed, but come with me.”

    The Professor took her hand, as she walked him into the bedroom of the apartment, She helping him as he stumbled a bit, not used to the walking with new feet. She turned the light on, as she headed into the closet, closing the door enough for privacy, but wide enough to continue the conversation. The room, besides the old steel bedframe and bed, and some other odds and ends, were filled with old posters and photos of events. The posters were of fights she was in, advertised and made, all in pristine condition, while handing up on a wall, were photos from everything from her and old boyfriends, friends she made, fights and achievements, The Professor looked around at basically what felt like a scrap book.

    He smiled a bit, as he looked at a couple she took on the TARDIS when they traveled, when it was just her, him, and Aurora, the scared girl flung from one universe into a strange new one. “Life changes a person, it seems. Mementos?”

    “Memories.” Her voice echoed from the closet. “You always did take pictures sometimes, it made sense to do so, especially when you want to remember.”

    His eyes looked to the posters, and he almost gave a small sigh. “I thought I told you not to get back into this, Cynthia, after the last time?”

    “I did. Well, I tried to follow it. Then the life started calling me back, but I wanted more. Went from thing to thing, trying to solve an inch, Professor. I couldn't just sit around and be bored and alone.”

    “So you chose to go back into fighting?”

    “Fighting, Sports for a year or so, Tried being a bodyguard which never worked out here....Now I'm wrestling. Professor, I am trying to be careful, especially after those words you told me, but I got bored of waiting, of being still, and tried to get on my feet again.”

    The Professor opened his mouth, wanting to push the issue further, but he just sighed again, walking back over to the pictures, seeing the life she's lived since he left her back home seven years ago. “I see you've had love?”

    He heard her chuckle. “Not any luck with it. No one could keep up.”

    “As Brash and as Blunt as always, but I can tell in your voice, a wiseness that wasn't there. You've changed a lot, from that girl who ran onto the TARDIS after nearly losing her life doing this type of work.”

    “I'll take that as a compliment.” The closet door opened, and the Professor looked over. Cynthia was not wearing a purple tee, with some sort of baseball type A on it, with a little rocket connected to the swirl of the A. Her leather jacket with silver zippers, black pants following the same, with a blue skirt like tied off at the side and hanging down on one side to her knee, but instead of the black boots, Brown ones, but with the same steel tips. Her hair done up in a ponytail, and those familiar eyes. She smiled to him, stepping out and walking up to him. “You know, I will say this. New Face or not, I have missed you, Professor. Honestly.”

    “It's always a pleasure to see old friends. Always.” The Professor smiled at her, as she hefts a bag over her shoulder. “Where are you going at this time of night?”

    “This time of....Professor, it's 9 in the morning! You slept all night!”

    His ears perked, The Professor runs to the window, peering out onto the skyline of an old city, brick buildings mixed with futuristic spire like constructions reaching to the sky. He notices the very subtle hit of sunlight, glistening on one of the tallest spires, as the rain continues to pelt down, like a never-ending bubble surrounding it. He hears Cynthia chuckle, then head out.

    “Professor, if you're coming along, you don't want to get lost, do you?”

    “I....I'll follow behind you....” His eyes transfixed on the surroundings, then he listens for the door to close to the bedroom, before walking back to the wall of photographs. The dead center, sat one in particular. A Victory, the crowd going wild, Cynthia's arm raised, but the Professor looks to her face on the photograph. The bored, cold, expressionless face. He sighed a bit, pinching the bridge of his nose a bit. “Oh, Cynthia, What's happened to you....?”

    The gym was absolutely filthy. While it was kept to standard cleaning, so that it wouldn't seem like a sort of bar past the midnight hour, the old doors, the broken tech, the cracks in brick, the torn up furniture...It was a place meant to be for fighting, dangerous and ruthless in this place. As the Professor slowly eyed around the entrance, staring at an old bench with springs shooting out of the cushions, and the metal rusted to the point of chipping. “Bit of an old town relic, don't you think?” The Professor remarked.

    “It's a bit rough around the edges. But It's been helping.”

    “Helping you towards the same problem...”

    Cynthia looked at him, annoyed, her eyes slightly narrowed. “Professor...”

    The Professor raised his hands up. “Sorry, Sorry, I know, I know. I am a guest here, this is your life.”

    “Exactly. Now, stay in here, I need to do some things, it won't take long. And Professor, no aliens, no Invasions, nothing, Do you understand?”

    The Professor sighed, nodding, watching as Cynthia headed down the left side of the corridor, before slowly sitting down on the old bench. His eyes scanned around the old gym, seeing the decay and destruction of the building, almost putting his head in his hands. Cynthia Renfield, this bright woman with so much in her life, now caught here doing bloody fights because she's on a downward spiral. She may not admit it to herself yet, but he has seen it. He has seen what happens when someone is so driven by anger and hatred that they feed themselves into a frenzy, and they think it's justified just to seek more. He slowly looks down to his hands, slowly closing them as they shake, before he heard a door slam shut. A normal sound in a gym, emotions running high, and if fights were being done inside, it would make more sense, but something didn't feel right with it. He looked to a spring out of the bench, taking it with him as he slowly rolled it out, eyeing down the corridor. All the doors were shut tight, all closed, old posters and announcements and all sorts of posters hung from the walls, blowing in the air circulated by old fans on the ceiling, circling more by friction and force rather than power.

    Once the spring was out of the bench, about the length of his hand, he quickly pocketed it, before following Cynthia's path down the left side of the corridor. He could hear it sometimes in his head, what she must be going through, the drive to push one self, to keep going, to do more. It's why when he was a much younger man he broke fixed points like they were going out of style, just a few, but still he did it. Saving people, without any care for the rules of time or anything else, because people were more important, when he became the Ginger haired man in the green smoking attire. He kept running, he did what he wanted, he was more and more reckless. That's how he died, got in way over his head and regenerated in his TARDIS barely able to move from the pain. “Oh, Cynthia....” The Professor spoke to himself. “Why did you have to-” He heard something, stopping cold in the corridor.

    He turned to this faded wooden door, the paint chipping from the engravings and the corners. Repairs have obviously been done on the door, where multiple times over newer and newer wood planks were stapled, bolted, or nailed in to keep the door upright. He slowly walked to the door, picking up a glass from the floor, shaking whatever residue or grime he could from it, placing it on the door, and slowly listened inside.

    As Cynthia was thrown again into a stacked row of chairs, all she could focus on was the pain. An ambush, so soon, probably meant to be like last night's fun, until the Professor's untimely arrival spoiled their fun. As she tried to regain herself, kicking hard in the direction she was thrown from, all she could hear was this laugh.

    “You think you could come in here and act the way you do without getting noticed?” The voice sounded young. A lot younger for her. “You think no one wouldn't get angry at you, for just walking in here and running your mouth?!” She is thrown, hard, into this storage container, cracking the wood slightly as she falls from it to the floor. “At least I'm the one who had enough smarts to take the chance. Now We'll see how you feel.”

    The Professor quickly lowered the glass, ready to kick the door down, before stopping himself just as his foot touched the door. He doesn't know how many could be inside watching this, he could be busting into the OK Corral with nothing to back it up. He had to be smart about this, he promised himself.....as he slowly pulled out the spring from his pocket, he looked to the door-frame, specifically around where the lock and door handle was. Some of the wood was stripped away, enough to where he could see the stopper and the locking door mechanism, the plug in perfect view.

    The Professor eyed the spring, and slowly, with one end, began to stick the spring into the mechanism to try and pull back the plug and the lock. One chance. If it made any noise he could alert the others on the other side of the door. Slowly, he began to roll it centimeter by centimeter out of the door-frame. His breathing slowed, almost to a crawl, as he moved the stopper further and further back, until eventually it was inside the door. The Professor took the door handle, now twisted enough to keep the stopper inside, and dug the spring enough into the hole so it wouldn't slip back. After a minute or two of working up his nerves, he entered the room, as quiet as a ghost.

    The Storage Room was a bit small, about the size of a large bedroom. All around the room, things were stacked up and out, from metal chairs to wooden crates, to large cabinets where the more dangerous things were locked away, like bats, nails, barbed wire, things that deserved to be locked away until use. Slowly, the Professor turned the lock on the other side of the doorknob, slipping in as silently as he can, shutting the door on the spring, before hiding in shadow. Standing over Cynthia, was this woman, long black hair, young, wearing all black, like a jumpsuit, covering herself from her neck down. Next to the cabinet, trying to get in, was another young woman, her a couple years younger, with a pinkish hue to her hair, also in a ponytail, pulling on the door as she tries to yank on the metal door.

    “What's taking so long.....” He heard the older one say.

    “The Lock's fresh, someone replaced it!”

    “Then snap it again!” He watched her deliver a kick to Cynthia's back. Cynthia had a cut, right on her forehead, he could see now, something small, but even that small made his blood began to boil. It was happening again. Her fate was happening again, but this time it was in flux. In shadow, the Professor had to act fast. He eyed around, searching for something, anything, before finding a broken piece of wood, from the crate Cynthia crashed into, big enough to make some noise. Quickly sliding it over, he looked up at the girl at the cabinet with it...before eyeing back at the chair stacks. With one hard swing, he hit one, making a loud clang noise. The girls turn to him, as he throw the wood right at the younger one to make her stumble.

    At that moment, Cynthia turned, kicking the young girl with black hair square in the gut,, before swinging it up into her jaw. It sent her flying back into the cabinet, as the two girls hit each other, falling down to the floor, the older girl headbutting the younger when they connected, knocking each other out.

    “She always had a damn glass jaw...” Cynthia said, a snarl slightly formed on her face.

    “What was that, then, about not making trouble for yourself?”

    She looked at him, smiling a bit, about to say something, when the pain caught up to her. Her eyes clouded up, her gaze drifted, and she fell back to the floor. The Professor quickly rushed over to her, checking on her. She seemed alright, but the bruises and the cut on her forehead were clear indicators of what happened. For a moment, he looked at her, silent, like the gears in his head were turning around and around. Did he? Should he take her away again? She needed help, help to make herself more rounded, something he hoped he had done the last time they had traveled together, but as she said, things didn't work out. He eyed the door, checked on her attackers, before slowly picking her up in both arms and carrying her out, closing the door and removing the spring, re-locking the door on his end.

    “That should give them some time to cool off...” He thought to himself, looking at his companion. He took off, holding the bleeding but alive Cynthia through the back doors, quickly using the rain to wipe down her forehead, checking her pulse, thinking she suffered something. Again, it was normal. Did he overreact again? Surely not, as he looked to her, laying her against the wall on the outside, pacing a bit in the rain.

    “Was it something I did? Did I not....I told her, didn't I? I told her not to....” He paced, before hearing a thrum behind the corner, and a voice come to his mind.

    “Telling her not to do something, after feeding her love and drive as her youth is like feeding a stray cat sweets and expecting it not to follow you home.”

    The Professor sighed. “I didn't feed it...Did I?”

    “Did not feed it? May I recall the years after your heart snapped to ribbons, You were a black hair ball of energy, that almost need constant supervision so you wouldn't get yourself into trouble, and finding that Edwardian Stewardess was a way for you to go further out, but you were such a ball of emotions she left soon after. Shall I also remind you of the ginger haired man with the smoking jacket, who tried to claim that he was the first incarnation for a while, before that lie quickly fell apart and you fell back into fighting and indulging your emotions, taking on a fighter and a young alien girl. You gave the fighter new and exciting fights and dropped her back home, and look at her now, fighting extreme fights to get the same thrill. It took convincing the alien girl to come back when you long since regained your senses, and she finally put you on the right path.”

    The Professor stopped silent, looking away from where he heard the thrum, holding his head.

    “ Fate gave you one second chance to fix what happened with that nice girl, and now it's given you another. I suggest you take it, and bring her inside, before she catches a damn cold from all this rain.”

    The Professor quickly ran over to Cynthia, picking her up in his arms, looking at her for a moment, before looking towards the alleyway. “You always know what to say to keep me going, old friend.”

    “I say what needs to be said, because I'm the one who's seen yourself. Now come on!” He heard a loud annoyed thrum coming from the alleyway, as he hurried for the wardrobe.

    The TARDIS looked almost new. Her old Victorian shell shone in the low light of the morning, the rain hitting against her surface which had this polished looked that made her look centuries younger than she was. He couldn't help but smile, seeing her all shined up and new. Slowly, he took his hand on one of the handles, and opened the door. The TARDIS console room was a complete overhaul. Following the War design with corals, the room was circular and stood on three levels. The first floor was made out like a study, on one half, divided into sections was a sitting area, with pictures of him and his companions behind the chairs, to make it feel homely, fitting inside the roundels and the wooden wall. The second was an entire desk, for tinkering, working, writing, with sliding drawers and covered holes, giving it an almost all purposed look. In the third pocket on the left side, was a cabinet, a rather large cabinet, where a cassette player sat, with two large cases full of cassette tapes all set out for him by genre.

    The right side was more uniform, wall sized computers and connections, buttons and old reels for the far left and right side, while the middle pocket had the old fault locator, built into the wall and ticking away with constant reports. Finally, on the far end, was a simple one roundel door, with the old L shaped handle leading into the TARDIS corridors, and the small room beyond the console room.

    The Professor smiled a bit, eyeing up at the ceiling, where wires hung from the ceiling, lit up with star lights and pinpoint lights, to give the TARDIS more than just the natural light of the roundels, as he walked over and laid Cynthia in his big red chair, before walking up to the center of the room. The center console was that of the coral design, but with the white colored time rotor, stretching all the way into the ceiling, but the sides of the console were more full than that of the average design, more bells, levers, switches, pulleys, everything covering the faces and the dividers of the console, as the smile on the Professor's face grew bigger.

    “Not a fan of corals....But you made it feel like home.”

    The TARDIS thrummed in response, as he eyed the screen, before hearing Cynthia moan a bit from the chair. Quickly, he ran over to her, sitting down and quickly changing his expression to more of a calm man, as her eyes slightly opened, a slight smile on her face.

    “You redecorated....”

    “Surely one doesn't like the same thing for too long. How do you feel?”

    “Like I was hit by a train.....”

    The two chuckled a bit, before the Professor looked at her, his hands connected. “We could go again, you know. See the universes, help people, but I want you to know that I am a very different man than I was nearly two thousand years ago. When one gets to be nearly five thousand, he starts to think, and act more with his mind than he does with his fists. However, I do know that violence, fighting, is sometimes necessary to survive. When one must fight, fight to protect, never to maim or kill.” He leaned in a bit, looking at her. “Let me show you the multiverse, and this time, do it properly.”

    She looked at him, then to the TARDIS console, before laying back. “We need to get some of my things, first...”

    The two chuckled again, the Professor smiled. “Welcome back aboard.”