Disclaimer: Still don't own anything but this idea.

Author's Note: This whole story has taken longer to do than I thought it would when I started it in December of 2009. Initially the plan was for one chapter, maybe two, and then be done. Ha, ha! The joke was on me, I suppose. Thank you to all who have stuck with it, or joined up recently, and commented – you've all helped me keep going with it rather than letting it languish indefinitely. Special thanks go out to Doggy123 for not believing I would ever finish this story and to the anonymous reviewer who found this story to be more than a laugh – you both helped to bring this story to completion (even though it took a ding-dang loooong time). And a very special thank you to Andi, Liz, Holly, and Barb for their encouragement and help in bringing this story to its end point at last.

NOTE: To aid with continuity, I recommend re-reading Chapter 3 in particular as edits have been made to aid with continuity if you last ready it at the original posting date. :)

Chapter Four

One minute the Doctor had been assuring his travelling companion – a fiery ginger in both hair colour and personality by the name of Donna Noble – that the United Kingdom as a whole (and London in particular) indeed did not have a giant "kick me" sign on its collective backside serving as a beacon for invading alien races everywhere. The next he was being smacked upside the head while being called a "stupid, stupid prawn" and spilling his tea.

"Hey now," he sputtered as Donna settled back in her seat in the TARDIS' neatly appointed kitchen, her arms folded across her chest. "That," he pointed at the puddle beside his saucer, "that is a waste of a perfectly fine cup of tea." He pulled a paper napkin from the silver dispenser on the table laid out for afternoon tea and mopped up the still-warm liquid. Once done, he chucked the napkin in the bin to his right and leaned back in his own seat across from Donna.

"I'm sorry," Donna said, refilling the Doctor's tea cup. "About the tea, that is." She smiled with a decidedly sarcastic air at the him, holding up her hand as he drew in a breath to resume speaking. "No," she said, "stop." The Doctor's mouth clamped shut seemingly of its own accord. "Explain to me, Doctor," she continued, "how you could tell a man you could heal his leg but you wouldn't because of the supposedly great future ahead of him, and then leave him without even a proper goodbye or an explanation of what had happened? Sometimes I think you have so much stuffed into your brain all common sense and courtesy long ago shoved off." She let out a little huff of air as she took the last chocolate biscuit, dunking it in her own cup of tea.

Yes, in order to assuage Donna's concerns about England not being "the go to place" for alien invasions, the Doctor had told her about his meeting with a brilliant doctor from the United States with whom he had briefly crossed paths during Earth's 2009 Christmas season. And rather than be pleased at the fact a Christmas alien invasion (as peaceable as it had been) happened somewhere other than her backyard, Donna had latched onto his mention of leaving the man who had helped him on a lift, skipping right over his immediate return (relatively speaking) to the almost-doctor Martha Jones who had saved his life. He really shouldn't have mentioned the bit about House's leg to Donna. Or to House, for that matter. Sometimes he was a thick thickety-thick thick face. And other times it was the fault of the people who needed to be shown he wasn't simply full of hot air and nonsense. Because, really, it was all rather tiring having to find the right balance between not getting too full of himself while letting the skeptics know he wasn't just some bloke in a nice suit with a mouth full of clever riddles.

Which is why it was a good thing he had Donna. No romantic entanglements on either end, just a friend, a hand to hold, and someone to show the wonders of the galaxy who didn't expect him to be anything more than he was (and who also let him know when he was less than he could be). And right now, he was seeing where he had been, if not a stupid prawn, at the very least lacking in foresight which was something considering he was a Time Lord.

"Right then," he muttered as he pushed back from the table. Once standing, he downed his remaining tea in one gulp before asking Donna if she fancied a trip to the United States, circa 2009. He pretended not to notice her self-satisfied smirk as she said she would join him in the primary console room once she had tidied up.

He was, most definitely, never going to hear the end of this.

~wh~

House immediatey stepped right out of the police box. "What the hell?" he muttered, leaning first to his right to peer around the one side of the box before repeating the action to his left. He didn't need to walk around the back. He needed to get back inside. To Mayfield. Because what was inside that box, what had just happened in the hospital and then here outside was indeed some kind of waking drea – Wait! Maybe he was still inside Mayfield and this was an elaborate hallucination. He was still detoxing and had dreamt this all up in a bid to escape that too-familiar hellscape.

One of the doors to the police box swung open and Smith stuck his head out. "Not a dream, nor an hallucination," he said. Before House could form any sort of a retort, Smith was joined by a decidedly annoyed red-haired woman (late 30s, fair-skinned, long hair, blue-gray eyes, possible mommy issues) who yanked House inside before Smith shut the door, thrust a nondescript cane in Housen's hands, and ran up a metal ramp to the big circular . . . thing in the middle of the room, throwing a few switches before a grinding whine filled the air. The room – ship? Spacecraft? Looney bin? – shuddered as if in response to the noise before it settled and the room fell silent save for the various hums and thrums House supposed were common for where he found himself. Wherever "this" was supposed to be, he thought as he took in his surroundings:

A soft brassy glow filled room courtesy of a hundred or more port hole-like lights evenly aligned from ceiling to floor, covering the gently curved walls. What appeared to be coral struts lent regular support around the room with an exit to who-knows where at the opposite end of the main doors. What had to be the ship's control console served as the room's focal point: A clear cylindrical tube anchored it at its center, lit tubes emitting a soft fluorescent green glow as they moved up and down in a quasi-regular rhythm. Various knobs and dials and pieces littered the console which was divided into seven sections. House thought he spied a computer monitor with a sticky note on one corner, but he was loathe to leave his current spot – that would be with his back glued to the door – to find out for certain. He hoped he was affecting a convincing air of nonchalance, even as he knew he held the cane in front of him a white-knuckled grip, thankful for its steadiness. More than his thigh needed it ...

"Go on – tell him," the woman was whispering rather fiercely to Smith before giving him a shove back down the ramp. An errant thought of how this woman could out-boss his own boss (the British accent didn't hurt) flit through House's mind as he straightened himself up to face Smith properly.

"I'm sorry," Smith said. "I, well – you see, it's like this . . ." He rubbed the nape of his neck, sneaking a quick peek over his shoulder at the woman. Apparently the threat level was still high as Smith swallowed and leaned in slightly towards House. House wished he could have taken a step back. But he no longer could say for certain what he would find on the other side of the door.

"Look, I'll just say it," Smith began. "I'm a Time Lord, from the planet Gallifrey, in the constellation of Kasterborous, and I'm nine hundred and –"

And suddenly House was hearing a different voice reeling off the same statistics – but with a few hundred years knocked off the age – standing on a street corner in a wind-swept Egyptian Marine base in what always felt like the middle of nowhere. That man's eyes had not held that haunted look Smith probably never fully shook, but his grin had been every bit a toothy, his dark hair curly and wild in the breeze as an impossibly long scarf fluttered lightly in the dusty air. And that grinding whine . . .

House gave his head a shake as the memory clicked firmly into place. Smith – correction, the Doctor – had stopped rambling. How had he not remembered this before now?

"Are you alright?" the Doctor asked, his tone conveying genuine concern. "Donna," he tossed over his shoulder, "does he look alright?" He frowned, adding, "Maybe I overlapped my return time with my original departure time and—"

"Alright as I mean it, or as you mean it?" interjected the Doctor's travelling companion, coming to stand just to the left of the Time Lord.

"Yeah," House replied, feeling his posture relax. "I'm fine. It's just you've just changed a bit since I last saw you, Doctor. And you were travelling with Sarah Jane."

"Yes, well – wait. What?" The Doctor took a step back, tugging at his hair with both hands as he did so. House could almost hear the gears turning and sliding into place in the other man's mind.

"Gregory!" the Doctor exclaimed, a delighted smile instantly at home on his face. "Donna," he managed to keep an eye on House and Donna simultaneously, "this is Gregory House – Sarah and I – well, me from six faces back – met him in Egypt. Brilliant boy!" The Doctor turned his attention fully back to House, giving him a quick clap on the shoulder. "Did you ever find that mummy?"

House shook his head, feeling a long-forgotten excitement bubble up as he recalled being that kid who, for a short while, had a co-conspirator and a break from the tedium of a childhood filled with nondescript Marine bases. "No, but the information about stannous chloride came in handy a while back." He filled the Doctor in on a case involving the young wife poisoning her husband with gold dust. The Doctor and Donna made the appropriate clucks of disapproval as they ushered him away from the door and up the ramp.

"As you've no doubt realized, I'm Donna – Donna Noble – and I travel with the Doctor," said the Doctor's companion as she settled in one of the trio of seats across from what was, indeed, a computer monitor with several sticky notes on its frame. She motioned for House to join her as she added, "Space Boy here is lousy at introductions." She cast a rueful – but decidedly fond – look in the Doctor's direction as House settled into his seat. The Doctor responded with a brief smile before turning his attention to the console, pulling and pushing at various knobs and levers while Donna gave what had to be a condensed version of her adventures with the mad alien time traveller.

The whining grind filled the air once again, but this time the TARDIS's movement was much smoother. Once things had settled, Donna looked from House to the Doctor, then back to House. "I'll give you some privacy. Pleasure to meet you," she said before turning once again to the Doctor. "A right proper doctor, Doctor," she added with a wink before making her way through the doorway opposite to the main entrance.

The Doctor waited until the door snicked shut before he spoke, making his way over to the small trio of seats where House still sat. "I'm right rubbish at explanations and good-byes, particularly explanations about good-byes and the lack thereof." Some internal voice seemed to be chiding the Doctor for the beginning of a ramble, for he closed his eyes briefly before resuming. "Yes, well – I'm afraid I can't offer you more information – not yet," he said, again looking at some middle point over House's shoulder. "It's not time ..." the Doctor added almost absently, "and, I think, not this face's business ... But!" The Doctor lept up and made his way to the main doors. "I can do this – oh, yes!"

The doors were flung open, and House saw he was back in the examination room where he had been with John Smith aka the Doctor. "I can't go ruining your Christmas. It's the best time of year, Christmas. Even for the sometimes Grinch-like among us." He seemed to be talking to him self as much as to House.

House nodded his head, trying to stifle the disappointment pressing against the back of his throat. Now that he knew – remembered! – he found he wasn't ready for it to end yet. He didn't - "I won't forget again, though, will I?" he asked, hoping his gruff tone sufficiently blanketed his fear.

"You won't – I promise," the Doctor stated. "And I will be back," he added, a gravitas of voice and face implying the solidity of the words he spoke. Words he had spoken with another face and another voice to a boy named Gregory.

The man named House nodded his head again, gaze downcast as he stepped into the exam room while the Doctor remained in the doorway of his ship. This was how things had to be for now, however long that "now" was to be. House wasn't stupid. And a small part of him would possibly admit to more than a glass of Scotch he was glad to have, at the very least, such a fantastical childhood memory be his once again.

As he shuffled through the file he had started what felt like an age ago, House paused as the Doctor and his TARDIS had yet to leave. "I'm not screwing up my own timelines or some crap like that now, am I?" Because, so help him, he really didn't want to visit the loony bin again any time soon.

"No," the Doctor replied from the doorway of the TARDIS. "The Bobs are gone and everyone's busy finding a way to declare it all some elaborate hoax or prank. You lot are quite good at that sort of thing." The Doctor tugged at his left ear, adding "I really do not want to ruin your Christmas, Gregory. Done that for enough people. And I truly do need to get Donna home for her Christmas – her granddad's been ill, and ... I will be back."

"Yeah, well, ... thanks," House said – what more was there to say in a moment like this? – before the Doctor stepped back with a half-wave, half-salute, closing the door before the TARDIS (amazingly) silently faded from view.

And House remembered it all – each face and each moment with the alien man in the blue box.

He was still smiling when Cuddy checked in on him 15 minutes later.