Odd Ideas

Donna had been staring at him for a while now.

Not the usual Donna Noble stare, full of fire and impatience, but something sharper. Something that cut a little deeper now that she knew. Really knew.

Her memories had come flooding back like a storm breaking a dam, and the Doctor could see it all racing behind her eyes. Every adventure. Every danger. Every moment he had taken from her.

She folded her arms.

"Alright then," she said, voice steady but loaded. "Let's start with this. Who goes around erasing people's memories like that?"

The Doctor winced.

Donna didn't stop.

"And don't you dare give me that look. Who else have you done that to? How many people?"

The Doctor opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

For a second, he looked very old.

Then—

Donna blinked.

Something flickered at the edge of her mind.

A memory. No… not a memory. Something hazy. Like a dream half-forgotten.

Running.

She saw the Doctor—same coat, same mad hair—grabbing the arm of a bearded man in glasses.

"Run, George, run!"

Behind them, white-armoured figures poured through a corridor, blasters firing streaks of red light. The man—George—was shouting something about "this is brilliant!" while ducking behind a bulkhead.

The scene shattered—

Another flash.

A dark studio set. The Doctor standing beside a tall man in a suit—Glen Larson—both of them staring in horror as something reptilian, its eyes glowing red, tore through a group of screaming people.

"That's not in the script," Larson muttered weakly.

The creature turned.

The Doctor grabbed him. "Definitely not in the script!"

Another crack—

A quiet room.

A chessboard.

A distinguished man—Gene Roddenberry—sat frowning as a pale, pointy-eared alien calmly moved a piece.

"Checkmate," the alien said.

Roddenberry blinked. "That's… illogical."

The Doctor stood behind him, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, yes. That's sort of the point."

The world snapped back into place.

Donna staggered slightly.

"What… what was that?"

The Doctor exhaled slowly.

"Oh. Right. Yes. That."

Donna stared at him.

"Doctor…"

He scratched the back of his head, suddenly sheepish.

"I've travelled with a lot of people," he said carefully. "Humans, aliens, in-betweeners, sideways-thinkers… and sometimes… sometimes things get a bit complicated."

"A bit complicated?" Donna repeated.

"Well," he said, pacing now, hands waving as he talked, "time gets tangled, memories get… unstable, people see things they really shouldn't. Whole timelines can collapse just because someone remembers the wrong Tuesday."

Donna narrowed her eyes. "So you just wipe them?"

"Not just," he said quickly. "Only when I have to. Last resort. Absolute last resort."

She didn't look convinced.

He hesitated.

"Thing is…" he went on, quieter now, "I'm not always… brilliant at it."

Donna raised an eyebrow. "You? Not brilliant?"

"I know, shocker," he muttered. "But memories… they're slippery. You can take away the details, the sharp edges, but the feelings? The shapes of things? They stick. People remember them as dreams. Stories. Ideas that don't quite make sense."

Donna's expression shifted slightly.

"You're saying…"

"I'm saying," the Doctor interrupted, pointing at her, "that sometimes what people think they've imagined… they haven't."

A beat.

Donna's eyes widened.

"No."

The Doctor gave a small, guilty smile.

"Oh yes."

He rocked back on his heels.

"You should have seen the mess I got into with old Conan Doyle."

Donna blinked.

"The Sherlock Holmes bloke?"

"The very same," the Doctor said. "Lovely chap. Bit stubborn. Absolutely refused to believe he was making it all up after a certain point."

Donna leaned forward, interest winning over anger.

"What happened?"

The Doctor grimaced.

"Let's just say… there was a case. A real one. Foggy night, impossible footprints, something not entirely human…" He paused. "And afterwards, I might have… adjusted things."

"Might have," Donna repeated.

"Well, mostly successfully!" he said brightly. "Except he kept remembering bits. Faces in the fog. Voices. Details that shouldn't exist."

Donna folded her arms again, but this time there was a spark of amusement there.

"And that turned into Sherlock Holmes."

The Doctor pointed at her. "Exactly!"

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head.

"You are unbelievable."

"Yes," he said. "Frequently told."

Donna's smile faded slightly, though.

"But me?" she asked, quieter now. "You didn't just leave me with dreams, did you?"

The Doctor's expression softened.

"No," he said gently. "You were different."

A long pause hung between them.

Then Donna huffed, looking away.

"Yeah. I figured."

The Doctor shifted awkwardly, then tried for a grin.

"Although—" he added, "—on the bright side, at least I never left you thinking you'd invented laser battles with George Lucas."

Donna shot him a look.

"Oi. Give it time."

The Doctor blinked.

Donna smirked.

"Because I'm pretty sure I just remembered one."