(A/N) I'm now working on chapter three (Reality), which contains my fake science, sci-fi explanation as to what heck is going on. I don't know how long it will take.

"Wife?! I don't have a wife," practically spitting the word. "Nor do I know anyone by the name of River. So, I'll ask you again," belligerent, hands gesturing, "who are you and how did you get in here?"

She backs up slowly, looking him up and down carefully. "Sweetie, how old are you?"

"I am not your sweetie," hoping off the med bay cot, straightening his lapels, eyeing her in return, "and my age has nothing to do with your presence on my ship." Advancing on her.

"It does, if you haven't met me yet." It's her best explanation for this situation – damn, nonlinear relationship.

He stops, considering. It's not like it hasn't happened before, meeting people out of order. Crossing his arms, chest thrust forward. "Eleven hundred and sixty three." Adding with some snark, "How old are you?"

"That makes no sense," she says to herself, confused. To him, she adds, "That was what you said when we met this time. The med scanner must be broken. You're obviously not well." Worry coloring her voice.

"Your obviously not well," he mocks. "Is that really the best you can come up with?" Staring her down.

"Doctor," firm, but as nonthreatening as she can make it, "I am not a threat to you. I want to help you. Let me, please." The earnestness in her voice throws him. He mulls over the possibility, almost believing.

Then, a skinny ginger woman walks in like she owns the place, a lanky man trailing after her. The blonde isn't alone.

She has reinforcements.

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"Rose," he breathes out again.

"Doctor?" Irritation turning to concern, arms uncrossing. "Are you feelin' alright?" His continuing awe struck expression and lacking reply don't ease her worry. "I was sure you were ok." Still no response, prompting her to check the readout on the monitor beside her. "The med scan says you're fine." Turning back to face him, hand reaching out. He comes back to himself suddenly, scrambling off the cot to avoid her.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he demands from the other side of the bed, leaning back and away.

"Doctor?" Voice worried. She gets no reply as he continues to stare at her like she's, well, some kind of alien. "It's me, Rose." Speaking slowly, clearly. "You know me."

"Oh, I know that face, that voice." Shaking himself, agitated. "But I also know that Rose Tyler is gone." Jabbing the finger, voice sharpening. "So, I'll ask you again: who are you?"

"What are you goin' on a about? I haven't gone anywhere." Shaking her head and shrugging her arms outwards, confused. "I'm me."

"Don't lie to me!" Voice rising. "Show me who you really are!"

"Stop it!" Voice forceful and just as loud, pulling him up short. "If I'm not me," softer, "than who could I be?"

"Oh, you could be any number of things." Voice even, jaw set. "A mind probe, a robot, an induced dream, a telepathic or holographic projection, psychic pollen, a shape shifter, a computer program, or even a good old fashioned hallucination." Taking a breath, teeth grinding. "Though, perhaps I should be less concerned about what you are, and more about who might have sent you. Oh, I have so many enemies that would enjoy using her against me. The list is practically endless." Calm snapping suddenly, hollering, "Who sent you?!"

"Scan me, then!" shouting back. "If I'm not me, then I won't register as human."

The assertion is reasonable. He pauses, hand twitching, considering.

"Well, go on then."

Quick as a flash he has his sonic screwdriver in hand, scanning her head to toe. A glance at the read out – human.

"Well?" she demands, crossing her arms.

"Proves nothing." Petulant, as he tucks the sonic away. "If I'm being influenced, that scan could be made to say anything."

"You're the telepath," throwing her hands up, exasperated, "are you bein' influenced?"

He concentrates, assessing – nothing; no influence he can detect.

"Still doesn't mean anything. I can't detect non-psychic influences."

She's clearly stumped. Mouth slightly open, casting about for inspiration. Suddenly snapping her fingers at him. "Korralus!" Triumphant. "You got out of a trap set by the Great Intelligence there. 'Cause the system used to control you had-"

"-limitations," the Doctor finishes, brow furrowed.

"Exactly! So, test 'em."

He blinks. Edging around the room, and her, exiting the med bay and heading off down a corridor. He can hear her trailing after him and lengthens his stride, keeping some distance.

Turning into the library, he digs out an old, large, red leather, gold lettered volume from a closeted shelf. Flipping to a random page, he reads. Snapping the book shut, almost immediately.

"Not a dream, then," he mutters to himself; technical Old High Gallifreyan is much too difficult for the right brain alone to handle – even a Time Lord's.

He glances at her, standing in the doorway, looking at him uncertainly. He wants– but no. This can't be real. What is real though, are the consequence he will inflict on whoever is responsible for this.

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"Oh, Doctor, you're awake. Good. Was startin' to get borin' 'round here." The skinny Scott in the skirt has the audacity to look haughty.

"Oh?" Voice low, eyes dark. "So, sorry to have kept you waiting." Head tilted, jaw set, body still.

"Doctor?" She blinks, her attitude disappearing instantly. "What's wrong?" Head cocked.

"Amy," the blond cautions, eyes never leaving the Doctor even as she steps closer to the other woman, "he's not himself." The lanky man's straightens, alarmed by the hint of anxiety in her voice.

"Oh, I am very much myself." Slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out his sonic. "You three though," shaking a hand at them, "I have no idea." With a quick flick of the wrist, the screwdriver activates and several light beams from the floor and ceiling converge on the three intruders.

"Emergency Security Protocol Six." Pleased, as he tucks his sonic away. "You won't be getting out of that anytime soon."

The three are wearing matching expressions in varying degrees of astonishment. The one who calls herself River recovers first, quickly assessing the situation before returning her focus to the Doctor. The other one – the man – pokes at the solid wall of light surrounding them, puzzled.

"Doctor?" the one, Amy, demands, banging on the wall of the cell. The man moves closer to her, resting a hand on her lower back, eyes darting from person to person. River shakes her head, grabbing Amy when she makes to protest further.

"Just sit tight," the Doctor tells them. "I'll get back to you lot in a minute." Waving dismissively as he turns away to address the room, "I need a Voice Interface in here."

"Voice Interface enabled," his own voice and slightly see through likeness replies from a few feet away.

"Oh, not you." Pulling a face, and shaking his head. "Give me someone else." The image morphs into bored looking and busty redhead. "Ah, good. Super Temp, just who I need." Jubilant, one hand in the air. "First things, first." Clasping his hands, leaning forward. "I want a thorough scan of this lot." Gesturing over his shoulder at his three captives. "Anything and everything you can give me."

"Commencin' scan," the holographic interface informs him in a monotone, synthesized London accent.

"And, while you're at it, tell me where they've put Rose. I've no doubt they've trussed her up somewhere." Crossing his arms and shaking his head, slight smile on his face.

"Rose Tyler is not on board." His head snaps up.

"What was that?" Voice sharp.

"Rose Tyler is not on board."

"Well, where is she then?" demanding, hands swinging outwards.

"Unknown." The manufactured voice practically echoes in the room.

"You have to know something!" he argues. "Where did you last have track of her?" Eyes wide and alarmed.

"Bad Wolf Bay, Norway, 2010." The hologram follows the statement up with a long series of seemingly random numbers.

"But that's a parallel universe!" Incredulous, jerking forwards towards the projection.

"Correct."

He stops. Turning slowly to face the three trespassers. Eye's and voice hard. "What have you done?"

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Dropping the book and pivoting, the Doctor exits the library via a far door; the route he takes leading to the console room. He's already on the flight deck, flicking switches and pulling levers, sending the TARDIS through the Time Vortex, when he sees Rose reach the top of the staircase. She moves only far enough into the room to get a good grip on a railing.

A quick look at console view screen, tells him he's landed precisely where and when he wanted - the Cassenzi Galactic Sensory Museum, year four point three slash bacon slash fifteen. He scowls, realizing the TARDIS has landed without so much as bump, affirming for him that none of this is real. He puts a biometric lock on the flight controls anyway, not point in giving whatever, whoever, is trying to trick him the opportunity to run off with his ship. That's happened far too many times (more than he'd ever admit) in his long life already.

Barely glancing at her and without so much as word he walks out of the TARDIS, shutting the door behind him.

He is instantly bombarded.

Lights, sounds, scents, air currents, all oscillating at random intervals, assault him. The intensity of it all would be enough to reduce most species to tears, jumbling their senses, or even rendering them unconscious; not the Doctor though. He simply stands there, soaking up the sensory input, before grabbing a colourful bean from a tray and popping it into his mouth, adding taste to the experience. The many concentrated flavours of the genetically altered legume layering more levels of information onto what he is already receiving.

Nothing changes.

Every stream of sensation remains separate and distinct. No system could ever hope to cope with inputting this much information into his head. If this weren't real, there would have been an indication by now, a faltering in the programs sequence. He swallows. Turing, hands clenched, eyeing the TARDIS' doors.

There are only two possibilities left. Neither of which he likes. Either this is all an elaborate hallucination and he's finally lost his mind, or she's really here and the universe could collapse at any moment.

He's not entirely sure which to hope for.

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"Done?" Scottish voice shrill. "We haven't done anythin'!"

"Don't lie to me!" hollering, spittle flying. "Where's Rose!"

"BACK OFF." Speaking for the first time, the lanky man – despite the limited space – manages to position himself in front of Amy, facing the Doctor.

Eyes cold, the Doctor assesses the unknown male that's practically vibrating with nerves. The scornful look he develops, says exactly what he's thinking.

"We don't know any Rose." The blonde's calm words cut in.

"Don't know Rose Tyler?" The low, restrained words are such a contrast, that the three of them startle when the Doctor suddenly turns, yelling at the Voice Interface, "Give me ROSE!" The image morphing into a straight haired blonde with heavy eyes and a blue leather jacket.

"This is Rose." Emphasising with his arm, turning to them. "Everyone who knows me knows about Rose."

"Well, we don't!" The Scott shoving past the man. "Doctor, please, it's me, Amy." Both hands emphasising. "Your best friend."

"I don't know any Amy." Voice forceful and cutting, as Amy gasps in indignation. "Or a River, or a–," shaking his hand at the man, "-whatever your name is."

"Oh, of course," the man grumbles, crossing his arms, "you remember their names, but not mine."

"He only knows our names because we've told him." A stressed smile coming to River's lips. Amy rolls her eyes.

"Oh," he puffs, deflating.

"Feel better?" River's voice falsely light, as the Doctor's lip curls.

"Yes, actually." Head dipping to the side.

"Scan complete," the synthesized voice announces.

"Finally." Throwing up his arms, beyond exasperated, the Doctor moves to the terminal near the hologram.

"Doctor!" Amy demands, not finished with him.

"Oh, shut up." Not even bothering to look at her. "The data will tell me exactly who and what you are."

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He steps back into the TARDIS. She is standing on the control deck, overlooking the door, hand on the railing.

He avoids her eyes.

Climbing the stairs to the console he beings flicking switches, sending the ship back into the Time Vortex. The silence in the room stretches on. He holds himself still, as if by saying and doing nothing, neither of the remaining possibilities has to be true.

"I take it, since the interrogations stopped, that you've realized I'm me." Soft, a bit unsure.

"You could still be a hallucination." Quiet, strained, eyes averted.

"You'd rather I was figment of your imagination?" He shouldn't allow the hurt in her voice to affect him, but it does and he finds himself fighting back impulses he'd thought lost with regeneration.

"You can't be here." As explanation's go, it's a poor one, but he's barely holding on to his control as it is.

"Why not?" There are tears in her voice and he twitches. Hands gripping the console to keep himself in place, eyes screwed shut.

He can't see her, but he can hear her. A few shaky breaths and in more controlled voice, "You said I was gone, before. Where is it you think I should be?"

"Pete's Worlds." Succinct. Or, at least it should have been from his perspective.

"Where?" Bewildered.

"Parallel universe." Straightening up, keeping the console between them. "Pete Tyler, Vitex billionaire. You were never born there." Hands moving, setting up a scan to determine if the universe is about to collapse.

"Why would I be there?" Edging around the Time Rotor.

"Because-" He can't quite bring himself to say, I left you there.

He can practically feel her mind turning and he chances a glance at her. She silently watching him, folded in on herself, eyes rimmed red.

He flinches.

Suddenly, she right next to him, holding out her hand. He stares at it, warring emotions rooting him in place.

"You'll never know for sure, otherwise."

He swallows, hesitating for a moment, before taking her hand. He can feel her. More than that, he can feel her; his telepathic senses, awash in her.

She's real.

"Rose." Voice full of wonder, finally meeting her eyes.

"Hello," she whispers and he chuckles.

Is it wrong, that in that instant he doesn't care much if the universe is on the brink of collapse? That he feels it might just be worth it?

"Hello."

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Standing at the terminal, the Doctor scrolls through the accumulated data on his three trespassers. The information from the scan is very basic – human, genetic relations, twentieth century. No TARDIS keys; rather clearly indicates they're not traveling companions, that. There are traces of Vortex energy on them, but those are easily explained by the Vortex Manipulator on the blonde's wrist.

All in all, the information's not as enlightening as he would've preferred.

He pulls up the extra collected data (there's an awful lot of it) organized by name, hoping it will give him what he needs.

"Rory? What a rubbish name," he says to himself, though not very quietly.

"Oh, thanks," Rory responds, head bobbing, arms crossing as he joins in on Amy's sulking.

The Doctor opens the first file, the one on the redhead, scrolling through the information rapidly. He blinks. Scrolling back to the picture of little girl with freckles in a nighty and a red sweater. A little girl he recognizes. "Amelia?" Surprised, head jolting backwards.

"Yes!" Amy's eyes brighten, moving forward as far as she can, tapping on the wall of light. "That's me!"

"But, that's not right." Looking between her and the screen, trying to reconcile the woman with the child. "You were seven, that last time I saw you."

"You met me when I was seven," she confirms. "You wound up coming back for me twelve years later, when you said five minutes!" Attitude returning, arms crossing, eyes accusing.

"No, I didn't." Defensive, turning to face her fully. "Rose had me check how long it had been; I was barely five minutes late."

"No, you weren't." Head bobbing. "You were gone twelve years and I got blamed for the shed you destroyed." Jabbing a finger at him.

"I fixed that shed." Rubbing his chest as though he could feel that finger. "Rose made me. And we took you," pointing his own finger, "to Starship UK." Throwing up his hands. "You hated it!"

"You took me there when I was twenty-one and I loved it!"

Growling in frustration, hands grabbing his face. "This doesn't make any sense." Spinning around to pace the room, fists balled. Stopping as his eyes land on the holographic Voice Interface. "Unless..." Voice trailing off, hand going to his chin.

"Unless, what?" River's voice is hopeful; perhaps, he's finally come to his senses, or at least figured out he's lost his mind.

"I've never seen that outfit before." Contemplative, leaning forward, indicating the hologram.

"What?" the three of them blurt, practically in unison, suddenly very lost. Instantly the Doctor is back at the terminal, typing rapidly, watching intently as strings of numbers cross the screen.

"Oh," a sigh, eyes closing, head drooping, "of course. That explains it." Hand going for the sonic and directing it at the holding cell, dissolving it.

"He let us go." Rory, focus swinging between the Doctor and the women beside him, confused. "Why'd he let us go?"

"Because, I know what the problem is and it isn't you lot." Hand waving tiredly at them. "It's me." Turning to face them. "I'm in the wrong reality."

(To be continued…)