There is a sensation as if the entire universe shifted to one side. With it comes a sound as if reality slit open.

Above and behind this is another noise: a sort of groaning wheeze; it is a sound one might imitate, perhaps, by scraping a key along some piano wire. It echoes over and over.

The Doctor picks himself up off the glass floor of the Tardis. He groans and brushes off his clothing, then straightens his bowtie. "That was a bit more than a 'jump to the left,' now wasn't it?" He glances around the control room to assess the damage and sees it:

A blue box stands there. Silent. Accusing. It is a police call box from the 1960s, and the Doctor sighs. "Didn't we already go through this?" he asks no-one. "All right, then," he says, "pop on out and tell me which lever to press…"

The doors swing open and a man peers out. It is not him.

Or rather, it is him, but a him that no longer is.

The Doctor gapes at himself.

The spiky haired man in the glasses squints at the Doctor. "Who are you?" he demands.

The Doctor gapes back. "You!"

"No, I'm me." He comes out of the box and glares. Then he stops and looks around and says, "Wait, what?"

"What are you doing here?" demands the Doctor with the bow tie.

The one in the pinstripe suit says, "You're me?"

"No," bow tie says, "you're me!"

"Is that your Tardis inside my Tardis?"



"Stop that!" Eleven glares.

"Do I have long hair? I look like a girl!" Ten glares back.

"Oh, for… what happened?" Eleven straightens his bow tie, which attracts Ten's attention.

"I wear a bow tie?"

"What? Bow ties are cool. I'm cool."

"Bow ties," says Ten, "will never be cool."

"One day," Eleven says, "when you have developed some maturity, you will beg to differ." He makes an affronted face.

They hear a door open inside Ten's Tardis, and man pushes out past Ten. He wears a leather jacket and a glare; it goes with the close-cropped hair. "Oy," he says, "what's going on here?"

"My God," chorus the other two, "my nose and ears really were huge!"

"Hey, watch the personal remarks!" he demands, and points at each. "Who are you two, anyway? And why is there a woman in my Tardis?"

"What?" says Eleven.

"What?" says Ten.

"I think we need to get to the bottom of this," Eleven says. "Can we agree on some useful nomenclature?"

Nine, Ten, and Eleven stare at the woman. Short, compact, pugnacious, red hair… she glares back at them. "No, seriously," she says, "there's three blokes here. They look like complete mad men. Especially the one in the bow tie."

"Hey!" Eleven objected. "That's not very nice, Compassion!"

"What? Do I know you?" She crosses her arms defensively.

"Is that long-haired fop in there?" asks Nine. "To think I ever dressed like that!"

Compassion sighs, then, and rubs her face. "No," she says to someone else, "I think they're you. This might explain why I have a Tardis inside me…" She looks back at the three of him. "Understand," she says, "I am only letting you in here so you can figure out what's going on."

Moments later, Eight, Nine, Ten, and Eleven stare at the blue box.

"This looks like mine," Eight says, "my old one."

"I can't believe you got it destroyed," Nine says. "You had to regrow it! Will have to. You know what I mean."

"Now," Eleven says, "let's not get too personal. Sometimes, Tardises get damaged. They might, just hypothetically, get hijacked, or shot, or, or…" He quells in the faces of the others' stares. "…Things…" he mumbles.

"Let's just check it out," says Ten. He opens the door and they—he?—are—is?—immediately confronted by a short, portly man wearing a suit and a boater. He has a brolly in one hand.

As the others crowd through the door, he says, "Now, just hold on a moment, what's going on here?"

"Yes, I'd like to know that, too!" The curly-haired man sticks his head out the open door of the Tardis and glares.

"Oh, God," Seven mutters. "The ass."

"Like you've got a place to talk," says Eight, "manipulative bastard."

"My boy," Seven says, as he draws himself up, "I will have you know that the things I did were wholly…"

"Not like you have any place to talk, either," Ten tells Eight, "using the Moment…"

"We know that was necessary!" Nine shouts.

"Can we just put aside the arguments over personal choices," Eleven says with a raised voice, "and get to the bottom of this? Geronimo!"

"Allons-y!" Ten shouts. They lead the rush into the Tardis.

"Who are all of you?" demands the man in the cricket outfit. He focuses on Ten. "You! Oh, God, another time crash?"

"Worse than before, I think," Ten admits. He gestures. "These are me. Us. You. Whatever!"

"This is irregular." The beak-nosed, dark-haired one exits the Tardis, trailing a long scarf. "Would anyone like a jelly baby?" He offers a bag.

There is a chorus of "oh, thank you" and "don't mind if I do," while Eleven explains things.

Following this is a chorus of "mmm" and "not as good as I recall" and some surreptitious spitting.

"Listen," Six says, "I'm sure my less good looking, less intelligent self here has delicious treats, but there's no time for this."

"I really was an ass," Eleven mutters to Seven.

"Oh, God, yes," Eight agrees.

"I say, I get to be quite a jerk, don't I?" asks Four.

"Shut up, scarf boy," snaps Six.

"You know," Nine says as they enter the Tardis, "if this goes on this way, then we should encounter…"

"The dandy," they chorus.

The hawk-eyed man turns from the Tardis he is examining, and glares at them. "What's all this then?"

There is an explosion of explanations, until they get things ironed out. "And so we need to see what's in there," Eleven says, as he points at the Tardis.

"Think that should be obvious," Three says. He pushes the door open and they troop inside.

"You know," Ten says, when they stand before the man with the recorder, "I never realized quite how much I looked like Moe Howard, from the Three Stooges."

"You're one to talk," Nine says, "what are those glasses for? To make you look smarter?"

Ten glares. "No! They're to make me… look… at things… easy…" He trails off.

"That was just embarrassing," Eleven says, and adjusts his bow tie.

"A bow tie," Nine says, "I was cool once." He gestures to his leather jacket.

"I look like a street punk," Eight says.

"Shut it, fop," Nine tells him.

"Gentlemen!" Two gives a trill of his recorder. "If we could…"

"Play that thing one more time," Six says, "and I will shove it up your time-space vortex."

"Oh, I say!" Two says.

The doors of the Tardis open and a man walks into the Tardis. He looks around at all the men gathered there. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. There is something distinguished about the high forehead and the air of gravity. "Now, what might be happening here?" he asks, voice pleasant.

They break into conflicting shouts again and he makes gestures to calm them down. "Now, now, one at a time. I know some of you… but let us figure out what is going on, shall we?"

"I always rather liked me like that," Ten tells Eleven.

"A bit naïve," Eleven says, "but I feel I had a grandfatherly air that put people at ease."

When all the explanations are given, and those who have crossed before sort things out, Eleven says, "But what happened?" He gestures around at all of them, and says, "How am I all here?" Then his brow wrinkles. "And why did I ever keep the control room of the Tardis so small?"

"I have a more important question," Ten says.

"What's that?" Nine asks.

"Who likes banana daiquiris?" He produces a hyper-blender from a coat pocket.

Which is when the party happens.

"So," the Doctor says, "that's all of it. What do you think it means, Sigmund?"

Sigmund Freud nods, and says, "I see, I see," in his Austrian accent. "Vell, it is most obvious, my friend."

The Doctor sits up and straightens his suspenders and bow tie. "Obvious?"

"You are most anxious, my friend," Freud declares.

"What do you mean?"

"Vy, you are beside yourselfs with vorry."