Eye Of The Beholder

By Tom Kelly

Set directly after _Seeing I_ by Kate Orman and Jonathan Blum

He still couldn't sleep. Not soundly, anyway.

It was ridiculous, really, he thought as he slipped off the nightshirt and climbed back into his clothes. Quickly sliding on his black shoes and brown velvet frock coat, he strode out of his bedroom and headed towards the console room. I was sleeping five to six hours a day in a prison on Ha'olam, he thought distractedly. But now that I'm back in my own TARDIS and my own bed, it's all I can do to shut my eyes.

Momentarily, his thoughts turned outwards to check the TARDIS as he stepped onto the raised dais where the console stood. Running his long, thin fingers over the warm polished wood and cool burnished brass, he realized how much he had missed the old girl. He had, after all, been away for more than three years. But now he was back.

Great, lot of good that does me, he thought as he finished checking the readings, then made his way thoughtfully to his comfy Victorian reading chair. Well, at least the nightmares and the sleepwalking are allowing me to catch up on my reading, he thought ruefully as he sat down and picked up a book from the arm of the chair.

Truth be told, it was rather disconcerting to find oneself in a completely different part of the TARDIS with no clue as to how or why. And he had managed more than once to wake himself with his terrified shouting. He fervently hoped that he had not disturbed Sam in her own distant bedroom.

As he reflected he distractedly pushed a shaky hand through his long, tousled brown hair and drew a ragged breath. So, he decided after a moment, that means I stay awake no matter how tired I become. Well, at least for now, he amended. Perhaps eventually his sleep might become less troubled.

It was when he had reread the same paragraph for the sixth time that he realized there was no sense in trying to read either, so he gently set the book on the table near his chair. Bending forward, he reached his long arm under the chair. After a moment, his fingers found what they were searching for, and he sat back abruptly, a large sketch pad in his hand. Then he reached towards the table and retrieved a pencil from just in front of the Tiffany lamp.

Slowly, cautiously, he flipped back the cover page and began drawing rather hesitant lines. Then he erased what he had drawn, and started again. Then scowled at the sheet of paper, erased his work, and started once more. The more he tried drawing, the darker and more frustrated his face appeared, until he flung both sketchpad and pencil across the room in anger.

Had they taken everything? Had they left him with nothing at all? His pale blue eyes were wide with fear and fury as he remembered what they had done to him. They had taken his freedom, his clothes, and nearly his left eye. They had stripped him of his privacy, his rights, and much of his confidence. Every so often he still flinched away from Sam, as though he was afraid of being struck. Burying his face in his hands, he realized that they had taken his abilities, his liberty, and quite possibly his sanity. Was he truly mad?

The worst part of the ordeal had been the inability to fight against anything. The implant had made his body as much of a prison as the complex itself, and had reduced him to a tempestuous child scrawling broad, unidentifiable pictures in crayon -- crayons which he then hurled across the room in anger, much as he had done now. Should he just surrender and let the waves of madness swamp him, drag him under silently?

"No!" The ferocity of his answer surprised him almost as much as the bleary-eyed Sam, who had just trudged in, wondering what all the noise was.

"No what? What's wrong?" Sam pushed her blonde fringe back from her eyes and peered concernedly. "Are you all right? You look terrible."

"Don't worry about me Sam. You look exhausted. You should be asleep," he tutted, standing up slowly and walking towards her.

"It's going to take more than a good night's sleep for either of us, Doctor. We need a real rest, with time to relax and reflect -- we need a break," Sam stated flatly.

Ice-blue eyes met her slightly darker ones, and for a moment, she thought he would argue with her. But then he told her in a gentle, resigned voice, "You're right, Sam. We do need a holiday, both of us. Where would you like to go?"

"I don't know ... somewhere warm and sunny, but not like Ha'olam," she answered, shrugging. She'd spend more than three years in a desert climate. She didn't want to go on holiday to one. "Somewhere with trees and growing things, with lots of people, and lots of things to see and do ..."

"My thoughts exactly," he replied, a dangerous gleam shining through determined eyes.

"Uh-oh, you have an idea, don't you?", Sam asked, shuffling backwards in her fuzzy pink slippers and pulling her robe closer around her oversized sleep shirt.

"Yes, exactly," he smiled as he spun around, practically diving towards the console, frantically resetting the coordinates, then dematerializing with a grand series of flourishes. I'll show them, he decided defiantly as the TARDIS sped towards its destination. He'd only been free of them for a handful of days, but that taste of liberty was enough to help him decide. He'd not only regain what he had lost, he'd do his best to better it. And he knew exactly how he'd do it.

"So where are we going?" Sam asked while doing her best to wipe the sleep from her eyes.

"Florence might be rather interesting at this time of year, I think," he smiled, making it sound like a suggestion. Sam knew that he'd already decided on it, thought, since he'd set the coordinates.

"Italy?"

The Doctor nodded slowly, carefully observing her reactions. Perhaps he'd misinterpreted Sam's holiday wishes.

"I've never been to Italy before. I'm sure it will be fascinating, Doctor, although the traffic will probably be something else, or so I've heard," she told him pointedly.

"I don't think traffic will be as terrible as you think, and the air will probably be cleaner than you expect," he replied, a mysterious, lopsided smile on his face.

"Why's that? Are we going in the off-season or something?" Sam's interest was obviously piqued. Perhaps this would be more interesting that she thought it might be.

"Something," he agreed slowly, a catlike grin creasing his Cupid's bow lips.

Infuriated by his apparent smugness, Sam stepped closer to the console and read the destination indicator. It three tries before it sank in. Yes, it was Florence, Italy, but in 1507! "1507?" she asked, mystified.

"Yes. I thought you might like a look at Renaissance Italy, although it isn't Italy yet, and won't be for some time. Besides, I'd like to visit an old friend or two..." his voice trailed off uncertainly. "It is all right, isn't it?"

"Of course it is, Doctor. It sounds like a wonderful idea. Just what we needed, I think," she comforted, patting his hand. Though he seemed markedly better than when she'd rescued him from OBFSC, he still had moments of insecurity, and it worried her. She had seen him recover form physical wounds that would have permanently disabled, possibly killed, anyone else. But these wounds were mental, emotional. He might never recover from them. Sam hoped and prayed that she was wrong on that score, and patted his hand once more.

"Why don't you go get changed?" the Doctor suggested, his gratitude for her kindness shining plainly in his eyes. "I'm certain the TARDIS can help you find a suitable Florentine gown, or doublet if you like ..." His voice trailed off in thought, and Sam knew she wouldn't get any more out of him, at least for the moment.

Doing as she was told, she headed for the wardrobe, and chose a flowing gown and headdress at the TARDIS' behest. When she showed the Doctor her outfit, complete with extra hair, he looked pleased, but also confused. However, he didn't elaborate on his confusion; rather, he just led Sam out the door into extremely strong sunlight.

The Doctor strolled along contentedly, enjoying the relatively fresh air, and the warm Mediterranean sun. Breathing in the aroma of orange blossoms, he sighed contentedly. It was good to be free, and able to enjoy that freedom. Now, he had something to push against, to fight against, a glimmering of a cause. And if Leonardo could lend him a hand.

However, the Doctor did not have the chance to test those barriers until much later. It was in the waning hours of the afternoon, after he and Sam had shopped and dined, before he had an opportunity to visit Leonardo. Sam, finally succumbing to lack of sleep from her untimely awakening, fell asleep in the garden.

She was seated on a stone bench, curled up against the Doctor's side, when he noticed her peaceful slumber.

Gently picking her up, he carried her back to the TARDIS and carefully tucked her into her bed. Then he left a short note and quickly exited the time machine, his purpose evident in his stride. After a few wrong turns, he came upon Leonardo's home, and knocked hesitantly on the door. Would the great Leonardo have time for him? Would he even recognize the Time Lord? After all, he had changed yet again.

He needn't have worried. After a few brief seconds of nonrecognition, the artist clapped a bony hand on his shoulder and welcomed him back once again.

"Leonardo, do you remember when you were trying to teach me how to draw?" Tugging nervously at his lip and rubbing his chin, the Doctor awaited the reply.

"Yes. Yes, I do," the old man chuckled, smoothing his own long white beard. "You had some talent, but you were far too impatient. You thought that because you could draw those little caricatures, you should be able to draw everything else, training or no training."

"I was rather a pain in the backside then," the Doctor admitted sheepishly. "But I've grown out of that now, hopefully. I have come to ask a large favor of you ..."

"You would like me to try again?" Leonardo asked bemusedly. The Doctor nodded slowly, afraid to say anything just then. Leonardo looked this new incarnation up and down, carefully studying him. The slight frame, the long legs, the long, flowing golden-brown locks (with just a touch of red, he noticed), and the Mediterranean summer sky-blue eyes caught the artist's attention. Examining the nervous Time Lord further, he discovered a fine, strong facial bone structure, and long, fine fingers like those of an artisan. Even his clothes had changed again, Leonardo mused. The velvet and brocade suited this new him, especially in the long flowing lines of the dark brown coat. But there was something else about this incarnation that made him different. What was it?

With a start, Leonardo realized exactly what it was. This one had an air of humility. Yes, there was some of that arrogance that seemed to follow him from life to life, but it was tempered by a distinct aura of vulnerability that touched Leonardo's heart, as well as his artistic sensibilities. Something had definitely changed him, more than physically. With an exaggerated sigh, the artist relented.

"I suppose I can take on another student, since my usual apprentice is presently on holiday, or so it seems. But only on two conditions."

"Which are?"

"First of all, you will LISTEN to my instructions this time," Leonardo began, pointing his skeletal index finger, fully expecting vociferous protests.

Instead, he received a relatively meek nod from the Doctor, and a reply of "To the best of my ability ..."

There was still a hint of defiance in his eyes, but Leonardo would have disappointed in him otherwise.

"And the second?"

"That you sit for me for a painting, or at least a sketch," the artist answered, trying to gauge the Doctor's reaction.

"Me? You want me to sit for you?" The Time Lord's tone was bashfully incredulous. He mulled it over for a moment or two, then answered, "If you like ... It doesn't SEEM to contravene any Laws of Time ..."

"That's settled, then? Good, the first thing you'll need to do is ..." Leonardo was interrupted by a commotion outside. "What is all that noise?"

"Let me go, right now! I'm warning you...", threatened a young woman's voice. A moment later, they heard, "Well, I warned you," followed by a few surprised grunts, then silence.

The Doctor hurried to the door anxiously, but when he opened it his face relaxed. Sam stood before him, slightly disheveled but triumphant, while her would-be molester was just picking himself up from the dusty ground. Ushering her in, the Time Lord asked her if she was all right, to which she replied yes. Relieved, he introduced her.

"Leo, this is my friend Samantha. Sam, this is Leonardo."

Leonardo nodded politely, and Sam, remembering when she was, attempted a curtsey. Then she turned to the Doctor and said, "Thanks for putting me to bed. It was very thoughtful of you to leave a note, but it would have been easier to find you if you'd been more specific than 'Leo's House.' As it was, I had to describe you in order to find you ... and that young man outside was just a bit TOO helpful," she growled.

"Perhaps if you dressed as an apprentice, a young man, rather than a young lady, you would have more liberty as to where you went and what you did," the elderly artist suggested gently.

"That sounds like a good idea...but isn't it rather unheard of in this time?" Sam asked as she removed the "spare hair."

"Usually, but I have dealt with this situation before," Leonardo replied, his eyes fixed on the Doctor. "In fact, there should be something in the other room."

Sam went through the door he indicated, and reappeared about ten minutes later properly attired in an undertunic, doublet, and hose. "They fit a bit loosely, but that will be to your advantage, I think."

Sam, quite satisfied with the clothes, noted that the Doctor had been in the middle of something when she interrupted. Trying to be helpful, and curious to see more of Florence, she thanked Leonardo and excused herself, telling the Doctor she would meet him back at the TARDIS.

And so was set the pattern for the days ahead. The Doctor and Sam would spend time together in the mornings, and then she would explore while he made his way to Leonardo's.

Leonardo, dismayed at how much the Doctor's skill had deteriorated, started at the beginning, with lines and shapes. With patience and diligent practice, the Doctor worked his way through still life, shading, and the importance of light and dark. He learned detail and texture, proportion and perspective, and tried all the different media, although he seemed to work best in pencil, ink, chalk or charcoal.

He drew buildings, sunsets, animals, and furniture. He even (somewhat grudgingly) learned to draw the underlying musculature of people, although he complained that he knew that well enough already, unfortunately.

It was on his thirty-fifth day of freedom (he supposed that one day, probably when his days of liberty outnumbered those of his captivity, he'd stop counting them. But for now ... After Leonardo had concluded that day's lesson and told him to go and practice, that he knew he had succeeded. It was a fine, sunny day, warm enough to be comfortable, but not too warm. Leaving his frock coat, waistcoat, and cravat inside (he had learned early on in his lessons to remove them before drawing or sketching) he grabbed his drawing tools and headed outside.

Nestling himself in a quiet corner, he glanced about, looking for something or someone to draw. He tried sketching a horse from the back view, but somehow it didn't look quite right. Probably the angle, he mused. Then a young lady walked into view and seated herself on a bench. She was tatting lace, but from time to time she would look up, to watch the birds, smell the blossoms, warm her face. She was there an hour or more, which gave him plenty of time to render what he considered a passable drawing. The young woman left after a bit, but he continued to work on the piece from memory, ignoring the reddish tinge his cheekbones had acquired, finishing some time later. Then he took it inside to Leonardo.

Sam, having realized some time ago who the Doctor's friend Leonardo really was, yet taking it in stride, was presently sitting for the artist and trading "Doctor anecdotes."

It was into the middle of this that the Time Lord hesitantly wandered in and proffered his sketchbook to Leonardo.

Hmm? What's this?, Leonardo wondered for a moment, then properly switched from artist to art teacher/critic. "Hmm ..." He considered the drawing from every angle as the Doctor grew more and more anxious. "The perspective looks good ... the proportions are correct ... good detail to the hair and face ... you could be a bit more definite with the light and shadow, but that might destroy the softness of the piece ..." The Time Lord looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled. Leonardo was paying him a compliment! The Doctor's surprise turned to shock when the artist told him, "Yes, that's right. Now, I'd like to see more like it."

"You would? Really? Truly?" The Time Lord's voice cracked with disbelief.

"He said it was all right! Did you hear that, Sam?" Reaching down, he gathered his companion into his arms, then swung her around. "Yes! Yes yes yes!" Then he set her down carefully, hugged her, then dashed past her. The last thing they heard him say before the door closed behind him was, "I did it!" This, of course, prompted uncontrollable laughter from both of them, which eventually settled down into those smiles usually reserved for proud parents.

A few days later, the Doctor arrived early for his lesson. Well, either he was early, or Leonardo was very late. The rain, which had been a light drizzle before, became a downpour. The Time Lord waited for it to let up a bit, but the storm continued unabated.

He started pacing about, coat tails flapping behind him. If he didn't think about the deluge outside, perhaps he wouldn't feel so very trapped. To take his mind off of it, he started flipping through Leonardo's sketchbook, easily reading the mirror-writing. Then, on a whim, he grabbed a sketchpad and began to draw a self portrait using the mirror that hung on the wall.

Some time later, a rather bedraggled Leonardo made his way to his student's side. But the Doctor, immersed, did not see him. Leonardo gladly observed his newest pupil's technique, and marveled at his vast improvement.

Finally, the Time Lord finished and set the sketchpad down with a grateful sigh. It was when he was trying to ease some of the kinks out of his strained muscles that he noticed Leonardo, and apologized profusely.

"No, don't apologize, my boy. Here, let me see what you have done."

After examining it carefully, Leonardo came to a decision. "It is very good, Doctor,very good indeed -- and that is why I believe it is time for you to go."

"Go? Why? Have I displeased you in some way? What have I done wrong?" the Doctor asked, his shoulders hunched and his eyes wide with hurt confusion.

"You've done nothing wrong Doctor. In fact, you've done so well that I am INSISTING that you leave." The Time Lord was confused until he explained, "Now you need to learn from others, and try things on your own ... mind you, I'll expect you to come back and sit for me. That, and we'll need to work a bit more on your painting technique." A wicked gleam was shining in the old man's eyes as he said, "And if you are difficult again, I may send you to Michelangelo to study sculpture."

The Doctor, well aware of the younger artist's legendary temper, flinched reflexively, then realized it was a joke. "Oh no, Leo, anything but that," he wailed, trying to keep a straight face. He failed miserably.

Leonardo laughed as he handed the Time Lord a heavy cloak. "This should keep you dry until you reach your craft, my friend."

"Thank you, Leo, for everything. You don't know how very much you have helped me." The sincere appreciation in his friend's eyes touched the old man's heart, and he hugged the Time Lord tightly as he bade him farewell. The Doctor returned his hug, thanked him again, then gathered up his supplies, slipped on the cloak, and headed for the TARDIS with light hearts.

As he approached his time ship, he drew the key from his pocket and prepared to unlock the door. To his surprise, it swung open before him. Cautiously, he stepped through to find Sam near the console.

"Is everything all right? You're back early." Her concern was evident on her face, and he found himself smiling to reassure her.

"Everything is fine, Sam. I'm just ... finished visiting now ..."

"So we're moving on again?", Sam asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, very soon, and this time you may choose where we take our next holiday," he promised.

"What's the matter? Do you need a holiday from this one?" Sam teased lightly.

"Between you and Leo, I think so," he answered as he secured the TARDIS doors, that dangerous twinkle back in his sunny blue eyes.

"Hmph! I'll just go to my room now, and decide where we'll go next. So there!" She stuck out her tongue, gave him a wink, then turned on her heel, her blonde fringe twirling with her.

As she disappeared into her room, the Doctor flopped into his comfy reading chair, then reached beneath him to remove something. Getting a good look at it, he realized that it was the teddy bear he'd picked up for Sam on Ha'olam, and adopted as his own. Setting it beside him, he retrieved his sketchpad and pencil and began to draw, with much better results than last time. He managed to sketch out a face with vague features before the strain of the past month or so caught up with him.

Sam returned with a galactic atlas, ready to tell the Doctor where to go. But when she strode up to his chair she found him fast asleep, a pencil and sketchpad in his hands. By standing behind his chair, she could see that the drawing, although not very far along, was of her, and was quite good. She managed to keep herself from patting him on the head, and moved to the front of his chair instead. After a moment, she fetched a blanket from her room and covered him, propping his feat up on the footstool. Then she removed the drawing supplies from his hands, replacing them with the bear, and tucking the blanket around him.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered, hoping that his sleep would not be interrupted by the nightmares that had plagued him previously. Then she patted his hand and returned to her room so he could continue sleeping peacefully.