(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is where I have to fight to avoid the cliche, so if you think I'm getting too campy or cliche let me know. This is also the beginning of the Doctor Who chapters... woohoo! This Doctor is the Eleventh.)
She was on fire.
Her skin felt like it was burning and blistering. Her mind was exhausted. She couldn't move, for every little breath sent pain shooting up through her body like missiles and she was afraid of what actual movement would do.
The fact that she was laying on sand did nothing to help, even though water would wash over her every few seconds. Must be saltwater, she faintly recognized before letting the darkness take over once more.
When she woke up again, for some reason she felt significantly better, and she was no longer on sand. Every movement still hurt, however. She inwardly cursed her delicate skin. She attempted to move her eyelids, but apparently she was too tired to. She attempted to mutter some nasty curse words, but she couldn't part her teeth - she was stuck in a grimace of pain.
What have I gotten myself into . . .
"Ah, you're waking up!"
That voice sounds familiar . . .
"Now, I know you probably can't speak right now, but if there's one thing similar with all the girls I've met it's that they like to prove me wrong. What's your name?"
After much effort, she managed to unclench her teeth and answer, "Twyla," afterwards giving a gasp and a whimper.
"Hello, Twyla, I'm the Doctor!"
Shock completely replaced the pain. No. It couldn't be that Doctor. She just took a nasty fall or fell into a fire or something and was now in the hospital. It couldn't be the Doctor that she'd grown to love.
"Doctor who?" she asked as a test, quietly but just loud enough to hear.
She could almost hear his eyes roll. "In your condition and you still ask the question. Oh well. I'm the Doctor. The. Doctor. Just the Doctor."
"What . . . happened to me?"
"I'm not completely sure. You're showing signs of dimension hopping, like a full-body burn and mental exhaustion, but that's not possible unless you've got a TARDIS or you're one of a certain type of alien that died out long ago. You're not possible."
"Really? Because I seem to be here anyway."
"I know, and it doesn't make sense." she heard the Doctor sigh and sit next to her. She was able to work out that she was on a bed.
"So are you . . . the Doctor? The one with a TARDIS? Is this some kind of cruel, sick joke?"
"Afraid not, Twyla. And yes, I'm the Doctor with a TARDIS. How old are you, anyway?"
"Well, it depends. What time is it?"
"Any time at all, but by your time it'd be about noon on Saturday, July 22nd."
"Then I'm fourteen."
"Fourteen?!" he muttered, a bit quietly, before speaking again. "Well, I got a message about a teenage girl called Robertson that I'm supposed to take along. Is your surname Robertson?"
"Then would you like to come with me, Twyla Robertson?"
"Hell to the yes!!!"
"All right then. We'll start to travel when you've recovered a little." she felt him pat her knee, and she hissed in pain. "Sorry. Forgot."
Against her better judgement, she fell asleep once again....