Doctor Who: The Day of the Doctor

PLEASE STORE THIS BOOK IN THE CLOSED POSITION TO STOP THE WEEPING ANGELS CLIMBING OUT.

So what are we to make of that? Perhaps the hottest topic in Doctor scholarship (or, more likely, perhaps not) is this: did the Doctor marry Elizabeth I? What was the nature of the ceremony he so briefly alludes to? Was he his own best man? Did he also give away the bride? Obviously by now you’ve read the Doctor’s Best Man speech in Chapter Nine—yes, you did, I’m sorry, settle down—and while it is extremely funny, extraordinarily moving and even revealing in quite unexpected ways (Susan!), it’s possible, I suppose, that it’s a fake. So what concrete evidence do we have for history’s least likely union?

There is considerable doubt about how much time the three Doctors and Clara Oswald spent in Elizabethan England, before setting off on their mission to the future. You might suppose they were in a hurry, but since their transport was a time machine, time itself was not an issue. So did the Doctors linger and, more importantly, did the Doctor dally?

Many have pointed out that something must have happened, because the Doctor is clearly being evasive when it comes to the ‘ceremony’ and the exact circumstances of his departure. One cannot avoid a subject unless there is a subject to avoid. There is also the issue that Elizabeth addresses him as ‘husband’ in her letter of instruction.

For many, it is beyond doubt that the Doctor is lying, but consider: this doesn’t necessarily mean that the marriage ever happened—only that the Doctor believed it did.

Consider also Elizabeth: a woman of immense accomplishment and intelligence, used to manipulating the many egos competing for her attention. Is it possible that she could have faked a secret wedding ceremony, just to tether the Doctor to her service?

We may never know for sure, of course, but I have my suspicions, and once I shared them with an old friend. Miss Clara Oswald often pops round for tea these days. I know her of old, though I like to pretend I can’t remember why, and she is happy to play along with that. I asked her once if the Doctor, a Time Lord of renowned intelligence and insight, could really have been so easily bamboozled, even by Elizabeth.

‘Yeah, I know what you mean, but trust me on this,’ Clara said, ‘she was a phenomenal kisser.’

Our next chapter, Dearest Petronella, is in the form of letter. The circumstances of its composition will be clear in the reading.

Chapter 6 Dearest Petronella

Dearest Petronella,

Hello you. Or Hello me. It’s Petronella here. By the time you read this, I think, you’ll be about to abandon your human form—but I wonder if you would mind waiting just a little? Could you read this letter, while you’re still me? There’s something I want to explain.

We have so many memories in common, don’t we? All my life in your head. How embarrassing! But let’s not dwell, you know all the stuff I’m talking about. Your face will be red enough when you’re back to Zygon. Oops, shape-shifter humour, right? But just between us girls.

If you are a girl, really? Are you a girl? Are Zygons girls and boys like we are, or just all the same? I think all the same would be so much better. Think of the bathroom-space we could save. Honestly, what the human race could have achieved if we didn’t have to double up on plumbing!

Anyway—drifting, drifting. You know me. Well, gosh, you really do know me, don’t you? No one’s ever known me like you do. Which is sort of the point of this letter.

As I write, you’re still unconscious. It’s funny, looking at you, because one thing you never see in the flesh is what you look like asleep. There’s no drool, which is a relief, but you’re snoring a bit. I keep apologising on our behalf, which is a bit weird, but I had no idea I was so loud!

You-know-who says the effect might take longer to wear off for you lot, because you’re shape-shifters, and a bit more complicated. Also, your memory of what happened might not fully restore, because … well, you’ve got twice as many memories as any of us. All mine on top of all yours.

So in case you’ve forgotten what went on in the last few hours, and what we said to each other, here it all is. From my point of view. Which, for now, is your point of view too.

RECAP. (I love those, don’t you? Well, I KNOW you do.)

So we’d just found Atkins dead (very hard to forgive, sorry to mention) and Kate had gone striding into the room, because she always does that—you know, I think I want to be Kate the most—and McGillop had taken hold of my elbow, to be protective. Unfortunately, he couldn’t move his legs, because of all the terror, so I had to sort of pull him forwards, while he kept protecting my elbow.

END OF RECAP.

As we made our way through the door, I could hear Kate talking.

‘I am not armed. Neither are the two people now entering the Archive. It is against our code of conduct, and our inclination, to initiate any harm against an off-world visitor, and if you doubt my word on that, please consult the memories you have downloaded from my head.’

We could see them now. Kate was standing in the middle of the room, opposite an exact duplicate of herself. That was freaky enough, but behind her was another McGillop, and next to him there was … well, you. Or me. Or you/me. You turned and saw me, and you gave me a weird kind of look, but I couldn’t tell what it meant. Then I realised something. No one ever learns to read their own face, do they?

The real Kate looked over her shoulder. ‘Petronella, I want you to lock the door please. No one must come in.’

She was calling me Petronella! That wasn’t a good sign! She’d left the key in the door, so that was easy enough, but my hands were shaking so badly it took me ages. McGillop tried to steady my hand, but he wasn’t any better, and we just rattled away together like a drinks trolley during turbulence. Behind us, I could hear the other Kate replying.

‘Having downloaded your memories, I’m also aware of the resident population’s general attitude to visitors. You have enough difficulty with your own species, let alone ours.’

‘If I may point out: you are invading.’

‘My Zygon duplicates are already taking command of UNIT. The invasion is nearly over.’

‘With the weaponry in this room, you would be unstoppable.’

‘I agree.’

‘So I regret to inform you that you are about to be stopped. You don’t mind if I sit down?’ There was a meeting table, right in the middle of the room, and Kate just pulled out a chair and sat down. She smiled at her double, and waved her into the seat opposite.

Copy Kate didn’t move for a moment. ‘You are not armed. We are Zygons—we were born armed. This room is ours, therefore so is your planet.’

Kate just shrugged. ‘Technically, the planet is yours, yes. I hope you enjoy your reign, as you’re going to be dead in a little over five minutes. Please, do have a seat.’

Copy Kate was frowning now, and I knew that look; somehow control was slipping from her hands. After a moment, she pulled out a chair and sat opposite Kate. Then the other McGillop moved into position at her shoulder, and then you came and stood at her other shoulder. It was like a movie poster about a family business or the mafia (or cross TV presenters).

McGillop and I looked at each other. Oh well, we thought, and we went and stood in exactly the same positions behind the real Kate. It was all very scary, but it was kind of ridiculous too. Movie posters facing each other.

I glanced at you, wondering how you were feeling, and you were already looking at me, and it was so funny, because at the exact same moment we both made the big wheezy noise. We reached for our inhalers, but of course only I had one. I hope I didn’t look too smug, but I think I probably did.

Kate was speaking again. ‘If you search the memories you’ve taken from me, you will realise there are protocols protecting this place. The weaponry in this room cannot be allowed into your hands, or we will lose control of our own planet. Osgood?’

This was my bit, though I wasn’t looking forward to it. ‘In the event of alien incursion, the contents of this room are deemed so dangerous it will self-destruct in—’ My mouth just gummed up! I couldn’t say it!

Kate had her phone out, and she clicked something. On the wall, big red numbers lit up. I looked at them, but I was so scared, I couldn’t make sense of them. They just sort of jumbled about in front of me, like my eyes were jumping up and down.

‘Five minutes,’ Kate said.

Copy Kate had her phone out too, and was looking at it. We were all about to die, and suddenly all I could think was, how could she have a phone? Did Zygons copy phones too? Was that a phone made of Zygon? Active hologram shell, I thought. Good theory, I thought, impatient with myself, but never mind that now.

‘This is some of the most sophisticated powerful equipment in in the seven galaxies,’ Copy Kate was saying. ‘Your explosives would barely scratch it—oh!’

‘Exactly,’ said Kate. ‘I see you’ve just remembered that there’s a nuclear warhead twenty feet beneath us. Are you sitting comfortably?’

‘You would destroy all of London?’

‘To save the world? Yes, I would.’

‘You’re bluffing.’

‘Do you think so? Somewhere in your memory is a man called Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart.’ I couldn’t see her face from where I was standing, but I knew she was doing that smile. ‘I’m his daughter.’

Copy Kate narrowed her eyes, like it was the annual performance evaluation, and leaned back in her chair a bit. She was drumming her fingers on the table now. Then she smiled. ‘So am I,’ she said.

This is mad, I thought. This is ridiculous, and pointless.

‘Then I fear we have an impasse,’ said Kate.

‘Not for long,’ said Copy Kate.

This will destroy everyone, I thought. They will murder millions. Us too!

What? What did I mean, us too? Why was I thinking that? Except, hang on, I wasn’t thinking that! Those thoughts were just popping into my head. But where from?

Of course, that’s when I looked across the table and saw you. And you were staring at me through your funny big spectacles. How can you have spectacles, I wondered. Were the spectacles made of Zygon?

I told you—active hologram shell.

Oh, that was you?

Of course it was me.

We’re still linked then? Psychically?

I reopened the connection, yes.

You can do that?

Not normally. This is different.

Why?

Because I was able to figure it out. Your brain is amazing, Petronella. I’ve never been anywhere so huge.

Seriously? You like it?

I love it. How do you cope, though? All these thoughts! It’s like chasing a herd of ponies.

I love ponies.

I’m aware. Shall we return to the end of the world?

Oh, okay, yes, sorry.

Copy Kate was speaking. ‘The order can be cancelled, of course. One word from you would stop the detonation.’

I glanced to the counter on wall, and so did you. Oh God! We had three minutes.

‘Quite so.’

‘Keyed to your voice print.’

‘And mine alone.’

‘Not any more,’ said Copy Kate. ‘Cancel the detonation,’ she shouted.

‘Countermanded!’

‘Cancel the detonation!’

‘Countermanded!’

Copy Kate stared at herself. She was shaking her head. ‘We only have to agree to live.’

‘Agreed. All you have to do is surrender all your troops to mine.’

‘Never!’

‘Then we can only agree to die.’

They were both on their feet now, staring at each other. Kate was the most stubborn person in the world; she never backed down from anything. That stubbornness had saved so many people, so many times, but now she was face to face with herself. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, I thought; then realised that was from you.

You were looking at me again. Do you think he’s got a plan, you asked.

Who?

Who do you think?

The Doctor can’t even get in here.

You shook your head. Tell the Doctor there’s a wall he can’t climb—

—and he’ll meet you on the other side, yes, I know. But how could he do it?

Look over my shoulder, you said.

When I looked all I could see was a painting propped against the wall. No, hang on, not just any painting. It was the Gallifrey Falls painting from the National Gallery. The one we’d shown to the Doctor just a short time ago.

But what’s that doing here, I asked. It can’t be moved, except on the specific orders of Kate Lethbridge-Stewart.

Or the Doctor, you reminded me.

But when could the Doctor have done that? I asked.

You glanced at the Copy McGillop, and I noticed he was staring at me too. We’ve copied your colleague, McGillop, you explained, so we’ve got all his memories as well. We’re going to send you a memory graft of something that happened a few hours ago.

Copy McGillop was staring and staring at me now, and I was about to ask what a memory graft was when—

I was back in the National Gallery, when we’d shown the painting to the Doctor and Clara for the first time. It was all exactly the same, except I was standing in a slightly different place, and my mouth tasted a bit funny. I was feeling a tiny bit hungover (hang on, I don’t drink) but I was still looking forward to seeing Angus and Ferdinand that evening—except I didn’t know who Angus and Ferdinand were. And then I realised! I was McGillop. I was standing inside his memory. This was a memory graft, and I was him. And oh my! Everything was so different! Even colours and smells and the feel of my feet on the floor—nothing anywhere was the same. When I looked at the Doctor, he wasn’t called the Doctor any more, he was called Git-In-Bow-Tie. When I looked at Clara Oswald she was suddenly Bossy-Munchkin. When Kate started talking she was Cheer-Up-Dear. Then I was having a big sad thought, and thinking (in an Irish accent), ‘Oh she can’t take her eyes off him, can she?’ I didn’t understand that at first—who couldn’t take their eyes off who?—and then I found I was looking at myself, and, yes, I was staring at the Doctor. And goodness me, all of a sudden I was called Princess.

Princess? Why was McGillop calling me Princess? I had a quick look round his memory—gross!!—and there was simply tons of me in there, and I was always called Princess! Didn’t he know I was against all constitutional monarchy (except Prince Harry)? Mind you, I had to admit, he wasn’t saying it in a mean way. He was saying it in a nice way. Actually, a very nice way. I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I’d have blushed if I’d had my own face. Did this mean he liked me? At the exact moment I asked myself that question, I realised I was looking at my bottom.

No, no, no, I thought! Oh, McGillop, cut that out. It was going on and on, and frankly it was embarrassing.

Git-In-Bow-Tie had just finished the Queen’s letter. ‘What’s happened?’ There was quick glance over to the Doctor as he spoke, then whoosh, back to my bottom.

‘Easier to show you.’ A quick glance at Cheer-Up-Dear, then whoosh, bottom! Oh, control yourself, McGillop! Was this what had been going on all these years? Was he objectifying me every time I turned my back (which seemed to be a requirement, in fact)?

Thankfully, my phone rang—no, I mean McGillop’s phone rang. A familiar voice said, ‘Take a look at the number on your phone, and confirm who you’re talking to.’

The phone screen said that the Doctor himself was on the line. But how was that possible? I—no, McGillop—glanced at Git-In-Bow-Tie who was walking right past him, following Cheer-Up-Dear out of the room. Now Princess followed right behind him. Whoosh, bottom! Oh, McGillop! What did he think I kept back there?

‘But that’s not possible, sir,’ McGillop was saying. ‘He’s right here.’

‘Yeah, I know I am, I remember,’ replied the Doctor on the phone. ‘I’m a time traveller, figure it out. I am currently in flight, in the TARDIS, and I need you to get the Gallifrey Falls painting sent straight to the Black Archive. Priority Buffalo One. And tell absolutely no one this has happened.’

‘Understood, sir.’

‘Not even me. Do you still understand?’

‘Why am I doing this, sir?’

‘Because the future of Planet Earth depends on it,’ said the Doctor and the line went dead. McGillop look down the corridor, where he could still see us walking away, and whoosh—

I was back in the Black Archive. I looked at the counter. I’d been gone for less than a second (well, not really gone, but you know what I mean).

‘All you have to do is leave this planet,’ the real Kate was saying.

‘Fine, we’ll go. But we’re taking all this equipment,’ said Copy Kate.

‘So you can burn us up from space?’

‘No, to stop you shooting us down as we leave.’

‘We won’t.’

‘You’ve done it before. Why should we trust you?’

‘You invaded us. Why should we trust you?’

‘We have a problem, then.’

‘A mutual problem.’

‘But not for much longer.’

‘For exactly a hundred and nineteen seconds, I fear.’

‘I fear also,’ said Copy Kate, with the saddest smile.

I looked at you. So it was the Doctor who moved the painting here, I said.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

By definition, you said. If the Doctor has found the ability to place himself inside the painting—

Do you remember that you never finished that thought? There was the most tremendous sound of shattering glass and the front of the painting exploded into the room. The air was suddenly filled with a strange, screaming, zooming noise, which made you scared just to hear, followed by a low drumming thunder, so deep you could feel it in your tummy, and then a spinning blue tunnel blasted like the beam of a searchlight through the picture frame, swirling and howling as it filled the room. I shaded my eyes and looked down the tunnel. I could see, silhouetted against the kaleidoscope of tumbling blue shapes, three men striding out of the painting, towards us.

I have the most stupid feeling that there might have been a tear in my eye, which you probably think is silly (or maybe you don’t, of course, being me). But, you see, I knew what it meant. It’s hard to describe, but I knew, even then, that everything was going to be absolutely fine—like it was suddenly Christmas Day, and Santa Claus was landing on the roof. I also knew I wasn’t UNIT’s number one tactical asset any more.

We were no longer in the absence of the Doctor!

Do you remember any of it, Petronella? I think it will start getting tricky now, because of what the Doctor did to us all. But I hope you can remember those three men climbing out of the painting and just striding into the room. I knew, straight away, they were all the Doctor. I’ve studied him all my life, but that wasn’t the reason: you could just see it somehow. The Doctor and the Doctor and the Doctor!

There was the one we met today, all goofy and adorable, with his bow tie and swirly hands. And there was the one with the tight (!!) suit and the Converse. My mum saw a photo of him once, and told me that she would (which was a bit gross, wasn’t it?). And there was another one I’d never seen in any pictures. The mysterious extra Doctor! It was like finding a secret Top Trumps card that no one else knew about! He was very different from the other two. Sort of older and more crumpled. When he looked at you it was like he was grand and frail at the same time. It was still him, though, there just wasn’t any doubt. He wore a bandolier round his chest, which I thought would be difficult to replicate, so I’d probably be hitting the antique shops.

‘Hello,’ they all said.

‘I’m the Doctor.’

Honestly, I could hear my tattoos cheering (apologies for those, by the way).

‘Sorry about the mess,’ said the old one.

‘And the showing off,’ said a voice. I looked round to see Bossy Munchkin Clara Oswald climbing out of the picture too.

‘Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, what in the name of sanity are you doing?’ said Doctor Bow tie. (He said it to the wrong one, but I suppose when there’s three of you in the room, you stop worrying about that sort of thing!)

‘There’s a protocol for when this place is breached—’ began real Kate.

‘I know all about your idiot protocol,’ said Doctor Converse. ‘I just never thought anyone would be idiot enough to activate it.’

‘The countdown can only be halted at my personal command, there’s nothing you can do.’

The Doctors all looked to the numbers on the wall. We had a bit over a minute. I’d read every file there ever was on this man—I knew he’d keep going to the last second, just for dramatic effect.

‘I’ll tell what we can do about it,’ said Doctor Converse. ‘We can make you both agree to halt it.’

‘Not even for three of you,’ said Kate.

‘You are about to murder millions of people,’ snapped Doctor Old.

‘To save billions more,’ said Kate. ‘How many times have you made that calculation?’

‘If you’d never had this stupid, dangerous collection in the first place—’

‘Irrelevant!’ shouted Kate. ‘I repeat: how many times have you made that calculation?’

The Doctors all looked at each other, and there was something awful in their faces.

‘This is not a decision you will ever be able to live with,’ said Doctor Converse. (When he said that, I noticed Doctor Old glancing at him, and there was a look in his eyes that was so big and so sad, I almost went and hugged him.)

‘Well then,’ Kate replied, ‘lucky thing I won’t have to. Doctor, how many times?’

The Doctors looked at each other. I knew the answer they were going to give. Never! That’s what they didn’t want to tell her. Maybe because they didn’t want to seem superior, or as though they were judging her, but if being the Doctor counted for anything, I knew that—

‘Once,’ said the Doctor.

The floor swayed at my feet. What did he say?

‘Once,’ he repeated. It was the Bow Tie one talking. I wanted him to stop, because what he was saying could not be—could never ever be—true. ‘Once, long ago, I did exactly what you’re about to do now, and told myself it was okay.’ Stop talking, I wanted to scream, shut up, shut up, shut up. ‘It turned me into the man I am today. And I’m not even sure who that is any more.’

‘You tell yourself it was justified. All the time, every minute, you tell yourself that.’ It was Doctor Converse now. He was all blurry, and my eyes were stinging. ‘But it’s a lie. What I did that day was wrong. Just wrong.’

I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. A few feet behind Doctor Converse, I could see Doctor Old. He had put a hand out to support himself on the wall, and his face was turned away. He looked weak suddenly, and I wondered if he was crying too. As I watched, he sort of crumpled into a chair, and held his head in his hand. Remember I said you could sort of tell he was the Doctor? Well, it was strange, because suddenly that wasn’t true any more.

‘So, anyway, here’s the point,’ said Doctor Bow Tie. ‘Because I got it wrong, I’m going to make you get it right.’ Suddenly he was all lively again, like nothing he’d just said mattered. ‘How long have we got, Doctor?’

‘Oh, about forty seconds, Doctor,’ said Doctor Converse. ‘Shall we get started straight away, or have a cuppa first?’

‘Nah, let’s get it done now, Doctor, we can spin it out to fill up the time.’

I looked at the clock. They didn’t have forty seconds, they had about thirty. Were they lying on purpose to make it more dramatic?

‘Assets, Doctor?’ said Bow Tie.

‘Well, incomparable genius, screwdrivers of varying sizes, and of course, the light fittings.’

‘Ah, yes, the amnesia light fittings. We can work with that, can’t we, Doctor?’

‘I should say so, Doctor!’

Oh, try hard and remember this bit, Petronella. In exact unison, like they’d been practising, they pulled out two chairs at the end of the table, sat themselves down, banged their feet, one at a time, on the table top, and then leaned back and beamed at us all. The clock on the wall kept flicking the time away, and they were deliberately wasting it, just to show off. It was so ‘Doctor’ I almost forgot about what they’d just told us.

Across the table, the two Kates were staring at each other, as if they each expected the other to do something about this, but neither had a clue what.

‘Now then!’ said Doctor Bow Tie. ‘Let us tell you what’s about to happen.’

Kate stepped forward, like she wanted to protest, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

‘Any second now, you’re going to stop that countdown, both of you, together!’ said Doctor Converse.

Copy Kate stepped forward too, but nothing came out her mouth either.

‘And then you’re going to negotiate the most perfect treaty of all time.’

‘Safeguards all round, completely fair on both sides.’

‘And the key to the perfect negotiation …’

‘… is not knowing what side you’re on.’

They slammed back their chairs, and then they both leapt up onto the table. They spun their screwdrivers in their hands, then aimed them at the light fittings.

The Kates looked at each other, bewilderment in their faces.

‘For the next few hours …’

‘… until we decide to let you out of here …’

‘… no one in this room will be able to remember …’

‘… if they’re human …’

‘… or if they’re Zygon.’

Both screwdrivers buzzed, and both Doctors laughed.

It was such a funny thing, because nothing really seemed to happen. The lights just got brighter for a moment, everything went a bit milky, and suddenly there we all were, just standing like we had before. For a moment, I wondered if something had gone wrong. But when I looked at you, I realised I couldn’t remember which of us was which. (It’s an odd feeling, writing this—remembering not remembering.) One of us was a Zygon and one of us was a human—but I didn’t know who was who, and I could tell, by the look in your eyes, you didn’t know either. Then we both looked to the timer on the wall, just as it clicked to zero.

‘Cancel the detonation!’ shouted two Kates at once.

The next few hours were as strange as you can imagine. You must have bits and pieces of it in your head, I would think. The two Doctors prowled around like prison warders, as all six of us sat at that table, and oh, how we negotiated. The Doctor was right, of course: if you’re given the job of dividing something in half, but aren’t told which half you’re going to end up with, you make an extra special effort to get it right. He knew we were only cruel because we were selfish and afraid—so he used our fear and selfishness to force us to be kind.

Now and then I’d see one of the Doctors pause by a shelf, and pocket something, or zap it with a screwdriver, or pull out a power pack. I wondered if the Black Archive would ever be quite such a problem again.

The other Doctor, the old man, just stayed where he’d crumpled into his seat, his head still in his hand. He glanced at me once, and I swear his eyes were wet. Which one was he? Where did he come in the numbering?

We had a chat, you and I, during one of the breaks, and I suppose that’s really what I want to talk about. I was saying that if I was a Zygon with an active hologram shell, did that mean my shoes were holograms, and if so, how did I clean them, and what if I picked up the wrong pair at the bowling alley. You laughed, and the laugh turned into the dreaded wheeze. I reached for my inhaler, and passed it to you. And we both froze, of course. Because that meant I was the human one, and you were the Zygon, and the secret was out. I wondered if everything was going to fall apart in that moment. But you just smiled, pressed your finger to your lips, and took my inhaler. It was rather fun to save the world together, over something so small and silly.

‘You look a bit sad,’ I said, a few minutes later. ‘At least I think that’s my sad face. Is that my sad face?’

‘I like being you,’ you said, with one of my shrugs, when I’m trying to say I’m basically fine but I’m really not. ‘I suppose I’m going to have to stop now.’

And that’s when I realised something very important. Oh, Petronella! We are not the same!

You just stirred and mumbled there. I don’t think you’ll be asleep much longer, so I’d better hurry up and get this written. Once we’d hammered out a sort of treaty—ten hours, it took—the Doctors zapped the lights again, to restore our memories. This time, it knocked us all out, and I’m afraid (no offence) the humans all got better quicker than the Zygons. So here I am, writing by your bedside.

I learned a lot today, Petronella. The Doctor has always been my hero, but it’s silly and wrong to expect him to be a hero every day, because that’s not the truth about him. Just as I know I can never be with McGillop, because he thinks I’m a princess and that’s not the truth about me either. I’ve never understood why people want to be loved like that, because you’re bound to be a disappointment in the end. But if we’re not heroes, or princesses, I suppose we can do a bit better with what we’ve got, can’t we?

I said we’re not the same. Here’s why. All my life, every day, I’ve wished I was someone else. I’ve wanted to be Kate, or Sarah Jane Smith, or Amy Pond, or anyone really. But you’re a shape-shifter, you’ve been lots of other people—and you want to be me. I think that makes you a much better Petronella Osgood than I am.

I think I’d like to be a better version. If the Doctor can’t always be a hero, we’re going to need a few more, right?

Dearest Petronella, if you like being me, why not just carry on? Stay. Please stay, be my friend and teach me, if you can, how to be you.

All my love,

Petronella Osgood (well, one of them)