Regeneration, a doctor who fanfic

One.

I am the first. I am the original. And I am about to die.

It's that simple. Quite depressing, is it not?

I had know for quite a while that I was going to die. It's a simple fact of nature.

But, I had always hoped that it would be on Gallifrey with Susan, Koschei, Innocent and my dear mother at my side.

Not in my rickety old TARDIS with two humans.

But, beggars cannot be choosers.

I wonder if it will hurt, after all it is my first regeneration. No experience in the field at all.

However, my clownish succesor had no obvious mental defects, so I believe it will be alright.

Ha, I'm treating him like he's a separate person. If Koschei were here he would call me mad.

So, I think this is goodbye.

But, I shall be back. I will always be back. For as long as the Doctor exists in this universe, I shall forever be alive.

Two.

The Second. The Best. The one who got it right. The Doctor.

I have seen countless worlds and have saved just as many. I saved those Time Lords faces for years. And what do I get?

Death.

It's not fair.

I was doing what they should have done. Cleaning up the mess of the disturbances of time. The Monk, The War cheif, The Rani and Koschei on one of his tantrums.

I daresay he's batshit insane. Oh, Pardon me for such language.

I restored time on earth and I got exile.

I stop the War Chief and I got death.

They cannot do this, It is not-

Wait, what are you doing?

Stay back! You can't do this!

You here me? YOU CAN'T DO-

Three. The Dandy as I'm known to him.

I have always had a fear of spiders. Throughout the years and regenerations, that one fact is constant.

I also have always known that spiders would be my downfall.

Radiation poisining is a rather slow and painful way to die. It corrodes the body, leaving a dry husk in the case of non-regenerative corporeal creatures.

For me, it just changed my face.

Ten years. That's how long it's been since I contracted it. Oh, the chaps at UNIT will think I've been gone for only a few minutes. I even wore the clothes I had that day. But, It has been ten years and what a ten years it has been.

I do not fear death in any way. I only fear what my succesor would do. Unlike those before, I do not have luxury of knowing my future self.

But, I shall step foward in dignity and embrace the coming darkness.

But the only thing that I will miss is-

"A tear, Sarah Jane. Don't cry. For wherever there's life, there's..."

...hope.

I am number Four and I have no hope.

I have never died so suddenly before. All the other times it was long and dragged out.

It's a rather ...unsettling experience.

And unexpected.

After all, being murdered by your best friend is not something that happens every day.

Hopefully.

The Watcher is helping me through this. An incandascent (Is that a word? Probably not.) being created by my will to survive. He will help me go through this one, trying to stop any defects along the way.

He is my saviour.

I hope the next one has the same luxury.

And I hope he likes Jelly Babies.

I'm fine. No, fine. I mean Five.

Oh, God I've forgotten my own number.

Spectrox Toexamia is a bitch, plain and simple. It is agonizingly painful and it makes hallucinations. Want proof? Look at the dancing hamburger in front of me.

My life is draining away rapidly and it has never felt so painful. This is worse than the execution, the radiation, the fall.

This place is death.

I can see all that died around me. All of them.

Katarina. Sara. Jamie. Zoe. The alternate Liz. Koschei's mind. They all laughing at me, telling me to die.

There's one more too. Theres-

"-Adric?"

Six is my name and horrible deaths are my game.

And by horrible I mean completely and utterly anti-climatic.

Want to know how I died? I hit my head on the TARDIS console!

How idiotic is that?

It's a complete and utter cop-out!

You know what. I'm out of here, you can learn about my death on Wikipedia. Good-bye.

I don't know who I am.

I know only one word of who I could be. Seven.

A number. Not much is it.

I was shot, I remember that.

I remember being on a hospital bed.

I remember dying.

I remember a person.

Koschei.

Is he who I am?

Death. Death. Death.

I am Eight and I am death.

You want more?

Deal with it, because I am not telling you.

Nine.

That is the required emotional maturity for what I am doing now.

I the Ocoming Storm have sacrificed myself for a girl.

A human, nonetheless.

Sure, she is a nice one. And beautiful. And caring.

But, I have know dozens like that.

Yet I have never sacrificed myself for one before.

It's rather disconcerting.

But, I don't care right now. I'm dieing.

...I hope the next one treats her better.

Because she is fantastic. And you know what?

"So was I."

I am Ten and I don't wanna go.

Out of everyone that constitutes the Doctor so far, I am the youngest. Only six years under my belt. Thats not enough time. I still have a lot to live for.

I still haven't seen Trenzalore. I haven't been to Iraq. I haven't drunk a pan galactic gargle blaster.

I'm too young to die.

I know, I know it's not really death.

But, the personality that is me, the Doctor, John Smith, The hunted, whatever, is dead.

And I don't want to go.

But, I have to.

So I'll say only one thing. One thing that hopefully that will be passed on.

Like Fantastic to Nine.

And Allons-y to Me.

Geronimo.

Hi I'm Eleven.

You want to know how I died?

Well, It's a long story.

You see...

The End

For Now