The Truth About Jane

Now that I'm "dead", I've been hearing all sorts of rumors about myself. It's my fault really; I was always dropping innuendos and putting people on just to have a bit of fun. Never thought anybody would actually believe me. Sooo…here I am, back on Earth, mid February 2016 just to set the record straight…and also to spend some time with my family. No. I haven't told them about my "condition" yet. That's a truth I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell. Gonna' have to tell them something sooner or later though, and later would be telling by omission. God this sucks! Do you want to know the worst part about being dead? It's not actually being dead.

But hey, let's save my family problems for another time. Right now the most important truths I want to tell are the ones concerning Jane Austen. Especially, since I've never actually met the woman and I'd hate to impugn upon her historical reputation. Yeah, I realize I'm always dropping her name, but I honestly don't know her. Even though we have done all those crazy things I've alluded to. Ok, I know it sounds confusing, but if you'll bear with me…I'll explain everything.

It all began with the Doctor trying to cheer me up. I say, cheer me up. More likely it was him just trying to get me out of his hair. You see, it was just after we'd left Missy and the Daleks behind on Skaro. The Doctor was setting coordinates to god knows where, and I…I was trying not to throw up.

"Doctor, I don't feel quite right."

He stopped what he was doing and was upon me in three long strides, with his sonic screwdriver pointed at my face. I smacked it away before he "accidentally" poked me in the eye again.

"Sorry." He mumbled his usual apology as he scanned me. "Hmmm."

"What's Hmmm supposed mean?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Your body's just trying to excrete about a billion dead and dying Dalek nanites, that's all."

I freaked. "That's all!"

He pursed his lips and then gave me his patented 'I know better than you do face'. "It's nothing. They'll be out of your system in a few days."

Still freaking. "In a few days!"

"Don't worry. Your body will excrete them as a waste product. You're excreting them right now, every time you exhale." He stepped closer and rubbed his thumb across my forehead and then stuck it under my nose before rubbing it together with his index and middle finger. "There goes a few thousand and you can't even see them."

The thought of thousands of dead nanites being secreted out through my pores literally made my skin crawl. "Ok, that's just gross."

"Really?" He gave me a confused cock of his head. "You're 'grossed out' by thousands of microscopic dead machines littering your skin, but not by the nearly one trillion types of bacteria that have been living on and under your skin your entire life?"

There really wasn't much else for me to say. "I think I need a shower."

He rubbed his thumb across my forehead again, only this time he just stood there, contemplating it. "You know, it probably wouldn't hurt if you stayed in for a few days."

That comment had my attention. "If it's nothing, then why do I need to stay in?" I encroached into his personal space. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

He backed off, "No, no…" and turned away to fiddle with the still- as yet to be fixed- chameleon circuit. "…it just falls under my duty of care, that's all. You said you weren't feeling well so I thought I'd make you some soup and hang around to make sure you don't turn into a unicorn and start hallucinating rainbows," and then the toggle switch broke off in his hand, "...or something." He tried to hide it along with the truth he wasn't telling me in his pocket. I pursued him around the console, stopping next to him and the flight lever.

"Or something?"

He scoffed at me. "I told you; it's nothing."

So I poked him squarely in the chest. "Ow."

"Tell me." I poked him again. It always worked on him to keep up the pressure. "Now."

He wouldn't look me in the eye as he tried his famous: If I say it fast enough and they don't catch it, "I refuse to repeat myself"- tactic. He employed it whenever he desperately wanted to extract himself from any awkward situation.

"youmightbecomeaDalekdronewithaneyestalkstickingoutofyourforehead."

For someone always professing to be a very poor telepath, I'm sure he heard the phrase 'Oh shit.' loud and clear when it popped into my head because he certainly did his best to placate me. But first, I had to ask. "Why did you even go with the whole Unicorn analogy? It's a bit of a stretch."

"I was just trying to tell you the truth, while sparing you the truth, besides what girl doesn't love the mention of unicorns and or rainbows being dropped into the conversation."

And that was when 'you misogynistic idiot' popped into my head, and that was when I knew he'd lied about being a poor telepath. He was just being a selective telepath.

I didn't call him on it. No need to. I just put my hands on my hips and watched him unravel. "Maybe if I was seven and not twenty seven!"

He tried pleading his case while looking suitably embarrassed. Shuffling around on his big feet and rubbing at the back of his neck. This used to work on me. "Consider it from my perspective Clara! Twenty seven is a lot closer to seven than several thousands." It might have even worked again this time had he not just called me a child! He quickly realized his mistake.

"So what type of soup would you like? Cream of Mushroom? Chicken and Rice. Tomato soup and crackers, or how about soup and a sandwich?" He was slowly backing across the console room platform and towards the Tardis hallway as he spoke. "I make an awesome Monte Cristo, or how about a veggie wrap? Or maybe some of those silly little sandwiches you like so much, you know…the ones with the crusts cut off?" He couldn't remember. "Zucchini?" He squeaked out.

"Cucumber." I corrected.

"Right cucumber, cucumber sandwiches followed by…oops!" He nearly stumbled backwards down the stairs. He righted himself and made his way to the hallway. I followed. No choice. I still wanted that shower, but mostly, I really wanted to find out what else he was going to offer me.

Sorry for stopping here folks, but I came home to spend time with my family and I'm not gonna' to waste it. The sun is almost up and I think I hear Gran messing about in the kitchen, so I'll pick back up on the story later tonight once everyone's gone to bed. I know you're probably all thinking to yourselves, 'What the hell can this possibly have to do with Jane Austen?' But every story has a beginning, and if you really want to know the truth about this one, well then…this was how it began.