Well, what is there to say? One of my favorite Docs after one of my favorite regeneration stories, as well as my one of my favorite Dalek stories (equaled only to Evil of the Daleks). I don't own Doctor Who. If I did, everyone responisble for destroying most of Troughton's stuff would have been burned at the stake long ago.
I don't think this title has been used before. If it has, let me know immediately so I can change it.
The central column of the TARDIS bobbed up and down, filling the machine with the sound of a low grating. The sounds of the groaning engine mixed with the quiet humming of the walls in perfect harmony, creating a symphony that only the machine could produce. And one only the Doctor could enjoy.
He stood at the console, hands on the controls, with his eyes closed. He needed something to get his mind off the events of the past few hours. He had regenerated for the first time, tested the faith of Ben and Polly, and wiped out an entire army of Daleks. He smiled at the final thought; he liked that part.
He opened his eyes and looked at his hands. They were not the hands of an Adonis, true, but they were fresh and younger, lacking the wrinkles and veins of old age. He flexed his fingers, watching them move fluidly. All traces of joint arthritis, which was just barely beginning to show itself, had burned in the fires of renewal.
He lifted his hands to touch his face. It was younger, meatier, maybe handsomer. Maybe. He was not a good judge of other people's opinion of physical appearances.
He ran his fingers through his thick black hair. He frowned a little bit; he was used to the long blonde-brown hair of his youth. Even when it had long since turned white, he liked to keep it long. But, perhaps he would get used to it.
He then looked down on himself, stretching his arms out. His clothing was loose and baggy. His hands nearly vanished in his sleeves when his arms hung at his side. The coat itself nearly went down to his knees. His pants looked like they were two sizes too large, folds of cloth sitting on his black shoes where his ankles would have been.
He sighed and closed his eyes again, letting the sound of his marvelous machine fill his ears. The TARDIS' humming always calmed him, given the opportunity to listen. Many of his companions ignored it as just noise, and even he sometimes pushed it out. But he knew to always come back to the sound of the thing that had been his home for years.
What do you think? he thought to the TARDIS.
Nothing but the humming.
Oh go on, speak up. Give me your honest opinon.
A warm, soothing feeling suddenly filled his mind, and a smile crept on his face.
"Well if I'm good enough for you," he said aloud, "then I must be all right." He then left the room to find Ben and Polly.