A present for my loyal reviewers who stick around with me even though my posting schedule is once in a million years.
Post PotW fic, multi-song intervals... I like this one. I've seen loads of post fics who bring back CE in some manner, so I did it. Again. Bear in mind this has nothing to do with my co-fic with EbonyBeach (she hasn't even had time to read this yet!).
It's pretty bad, but I'll post it anyway. It has good memories and ideas, and in light of tonights re-showing of PotW, I salute you Eccleston, and look forward to Tennant (even if it doesn't sound like that).
Plus this was a chance for me to try writing 10 fic.
Regenerations and Resurrection.
Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you dear.
The Doctor sighed as he shrugged off the old, overlarge leather jacket and eyed himself in the large TARDIS wardrobe mirror. He was short – he hated being short. He had spent the entirety of his fifth regeneration as a short, weedy blond, and it looked like he was set to being a short, weasely brunette. Well, the ears were an improvement, and a smaller nose… He stretched his lips into a grin, inspecting his teeth. He shuddered; it was going to be the fourth generation grin all over again. Moving his eyes away from the reflection, he pulled the black jumper over his head, caught unawares by the suddenly large amount of hair he seemed to have. He needed to dig out a comb again, it looked like.
Holding the wrong-size trousers around his waist for some decency, he glanced once again at the unfamiliar sight, ruffling his fingers through the long hair. And he had just got used to the buzz cut after having long hair… Closing his eyes, he stretched his mind out to the mind of the TARDIS, letting it read his thoughts. When he opened them again, he grinned slightly as he saw rows of clothes that hadn't been there a moment ago.
Stepping forwards, he ran a finger along the racks. Black trousers, brown trousers, green trousers, blue trousers, pin-stripes, checks, plain, velvet, heavy, thin… he mused to himself, letting his fingers run over the range of materials, before finally alighting on one pair. He lifted the coat hanger off and held the clothes up for inspection. Hmmm, beige. Nah.
Still lost in thought, he walked across to a selection of shirts and t-shirts, eyeing a pale blue collared shirt thoughtfully. Not quite so colourful, something a little plainer… Spotting a white shirt, he took it and pulled it on over his bare torso, buttoning all the way to the top. Choking, he unbuttoned the collar button, and glared at the TARDIS. So, a shirt. He needed a tie.
Turning, he spotted a tie rack, and looked over them.
"Too bright," he muttered, holding them up to himself and disregarding them. "Too stripy, too geography-teacher, too boring, too plain…" He stopped on a brown silk one with blue squares, frowning at his reflection in thought. The Doctor pulled it round his neck and tied it loosely, before moving on.
Jackets, more trousers, all seemed inappropriate somehow. He kept on walking, before stopping dead. Now that was more like it.
He lifted the suit off of its rack and slipped the jacket on, buttoning it up. Well, at least brown was his colour, and it matched the tie. Disregarding the loose black trousers, he pulled on the pinstriped garment and eyed himself in yet another mirror. Not bad, but he was missing something.
Now decent, he strolled back through the jackets and flicked through a few speculatively, grinning as he recognised a certain green velvet frock coat. Caught by the idea, he tapped his chin as he raced through the selection – too short, too long, too purple, too casual, before he hit perfection.
"Yes!" he cried as he ripped the suede from its hanger and threw it over his shoulders. Barefoot, he ran over to the floor-length mirror and posed. He cut quite a dashing figure, if he said so himself, the long trench coat twirling around his legs. After admiring his new outfit for a few moments, he realised he was still barefoot. Luckily for him, however, the TARDIS had seen fit to only provide him with one set of shoes. He rolled his eyes as he spotted the trainers, with a neatly paired pair of socks lying next to them.
Finally dressed, he looked around and spotted the discarded leather jacket. Suddenly dragged back down to TARDIS, he sighed, remembering Rose's expression. Of all the stupid, heartless, despicably mundane… He had just regenerated and all he could talk about was teeth and countries with dogs that didn't have noses. The way two tears had streaked down her face before she had run off to the privacy of her bedroom. The fear and pain and shock in her eyes.
Picking up the garment, he rummaged in the pockets, transferring the sonic screwdriver and psychic paper into his new clothes. Running a thumb over the familiar and yet unfamiliar feeling leather, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and stood up, throwing it over a stool as he strode out.
Rose curled up on her unmade bed, hugging herself tightly as she closed her eyes against the tears. He was gone. The Doctor, her doctor. The grinning, big-eared, leather-jacket wearing man was gone. But he wasn't. That other person, he had said he was still the same person. But not. Confused and upset, Rose sobbed into her pillow, half-expecting the Doctor, her Doctor, to walk in any minute and ask her what was wrong.
"You were fantastic, absolutely fantastic."
"Now where was I? Ah, Barcelona."
"Every cell in my body's dyin'."
"New teeth… that's weird."
His face, his new face, falling as he watched her; flashed in front of her mind. Looking slightly lost in the now overlarge clothes, his hair flopping over his face, his eyes, now brown, matching her gaze…
She choked and sobbed. She couldn't take this. It was just, so weird. Wrong. 'My Doctor', she'd said, and she'd meant it. That kiss, now she remembered, was burning her dry lips, and she could almost taste him. He was gone.
Her face wet, she sobbed wearily into her pillow, crying herself to sleep.
When she cries at night
And she doesn't think that I can hear her
She tries to hide all the fear she feels inside
So I pray this time
I can be the man that she deserves
'Cause I die a little each time
When she cries
When she awoke, Rose blinked blearily, wondering why she was still dressed. Then, as the weight of yesterday's memories hit her, she almost fell back, her heart becoming lead. Her eyes felt tired and grainy from her tears, and she felt drained despite her sleep. Pulling herself reluctantly off of her bed, she went into the bathroom, shedding the grimy clothes and stepped into the shower, feeling the spray of warming water soothe her skin and face.
Now the initial shock was over, a deep looming sadness came over her, and she just stood in the shower, leaning her forehead against the cold tiles, feeling the water trickling along her neck. She stood like that for a while, trying to stop herself imagining him. The ghost of a hand in hers, lips on hers, that grin lighting up his eyes, the scent of his jacket…
Tears in her eyes again, she washed automatically, rinsed and stepped out, wrapping a large fluffy towel around herself. Catching sight of her reflection in a mirror, she looked away before she could see the sadness in her eyes, not wanting to see it. Picking up another towel to dry her hair, she sat down on the edge of her bed, her eyes fixed on nothing, slowly running the dry cloth through her wet blonde hair.
A polite knock on the door dragged her back to her senses, and her eyes snapped up. Rearranging the towel nervously so as to cover as much of herself as possible, she replied.
"I'm decent." The door opened, and the slightly nervous-looking face of the Doctor popped through.
"I thought you might want some breakfast, if you were up." He said neutrally. She nodded.
"I'll be there in a minute."
"OK." He seemed to want to say something else, but changed his mind and left, closing the door with a quiet snap. Taking a steadying breath, Rose closed her eyes, before standing and throwing on some clean clothes.
As she walked through the corridors, she noticed the TARDIS had rearranged herself again, and instead of being near the kitchen, she was standing outside the wardrobe. Sighing at the organic machine, she entered, wondering what the old girl had in mind.
The Doctor automatically reached for a spatula from the rack, his fingers just grazing the high cutlery. Cursing, he stretched further, and just about grabbed it, flicking the bacon around the pan again. Stupid new body. He heard the door open behind him and resisted the instinct to tense, instead continuing to cook. After a few minutes, he turned off the hob and flipped the bacon onto two sandwiches, turning to pass one to his companion. Rose took it without a word, barely glancing at him, and picked at it disinterestedly.
Sitting down with his own plate, he wrenched his eyes off of Rose and tentatively tried a mouthful of the sandwich, rolling it over his tongue. Regeneration was a right bugger with food. He stopped chewing and tactfully swallowed, putting down the now unappetising item. His eyes roved again to the near yet distant woman next to him, and he sighed inwardly. Stuff food and clothes and memories; regeneration was a right bugger with relationships. Trying to think of something tactful but neutral to say, he bit his lip.
"Do you want to go home?" he winced as he said it. Well done Doctor, that was incredibly tactful. Rose looked up, finally looking him full in the face, and she shook her head slowly.
"No, I, I just need to get used to it." She said quietly. He nodded.
"You should eat more of that." He pointed at her full plate. Rose shrugged.
"I'm not hungry." He nodded again, mostly because he was at a loss as opposed to anything else.
"I think we'll stay in the vortex for a while." He said lightly. "I need to make a few repairs anyway." She nodded, thankfully not asking any questions. To be honest, he'd probably spend the next few days reacclimatising himself to the new him. His memory was always shaky for the first day or two, and the last thing he wanted was to get Rose in danger without being on top form.
Without realising it, he was watching her again. Her wet hair hung around her pale face, her eyes still slightly red and staring into space. Snapping himself out of it just as he was about to reach out and take her hand, he stood and threw the cold sandwich in the bin.
"I'd better get started." He said abruptly, and swept out, feeling Rose's gaze on his back.
On the way, he stopped outside the wardrobe, remembering the mess he had left earlier. The TARDIS could be pretty finicky about tidiness, so, with a sigh, he went off to tidy up.
But someone had already got there it seemed. The jacket that he had left over the back of a chair had gone, and, with a stab to the heart, he realised who must've taken it. Closing his eyes briefly, he turned and stalked out, fully intent on losing himself in realigning the time-space variants.
Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I'll be watching you
It had been three days. At night, the Doctor sat in his dark office, staring into space as Rose sobbed silently over the jacket. During the day, an uncomfortable tension had arisen between them. Rose had taken to preparing most meals, after realising the Doctor's regeneration had changed more than just his appearance. He was always polite, but mostly kept to the control room. Except when he was watching her, and he watched her a lot.
He told himself it was to check she was all right. That she was coping. After all, he had, for all intents and purposes, died, and it was right that she should grieve. But, during the early hours of the morning, when he saw her tearstained face, he felt his heart tear in a way it hadn't before - a mixture of guilt, self-recrimination and longing. Longing to be what she wanted, to be here Doctor once again.
But that was impossible, wasn't it. Regeneration was supposed to be a gift, a way of continuing to live despite the very real problem of death. Not like this, not a curse. And, like the best gifts, it couldn't be returned. Once regenerated, it was permanent.
He slammed the controls in his annoyance, narrowly missing an important section of circuitry. He would give anything to go back. To change it. But even he, a Time Lord couldn't do that. He couldn't cross his own timeline…
But could he do something else? A sudden thought struck him, a vivid memory flashing it's card exuberantly. A memory of a monster encased in human skin, a living wolf in sheep's clothing, staring into light and becoming an egg.
The Doctor turned sharply away from the controls, deep in thought. The Heart of the TARDIS had looked into pseudo-Margaret, and returned her to egg-form, to give her a second chance at life. Rose had looked into the Heart, and got her wish – to rescue him, and destroy the Daleks one last time. But he, what if he looked in?
Two hearts beating a double-time jig beneath his chest, he gave it serious thought. What could he lose? Another regeneration? Rose didn't look at him in this one. His life? He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to admit to himself even now, but a life without Rose was a life not worth living. What could he gain?
He stopped. First, he needed to prepare in case the worst happened. Running around the main column, he turned a few dials and threw himself underneath, sonic screwdriver practically jumping out of his pocket and into his hand. After fiddling furiously for a few minutes, something sparked and he grinned in triumph.
Pulling himself back upright, he pressed the sonic screwdriver into a specially-built section, and waited. After a few seconds, a hauntingly familiar figure appeared.
"This is Emergency Protocol One…" The Doctor stopped it there, satisfied the recording and links were fit. He took a deep breath and glanced at his reflection on a particularly shiny piece of metal, taking in the face, before looking away.
Next job – open the TARDIS. This could be tricky. After pulling a hefty tug on each of the panels to no avail, he stood and thought for a moment, then, barely daring to believe it, knelt down and looked under each panel, using the end of the sonic screwdriver as a torch.
Finally, he saw something that looked useful. Keeping one hand on it, he stood, narrowly hitting his head, and pulled. Slowly but surely, the panel rose, exposing the bright light within. And, without a backwards glance, he looked.
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away
The Doctor smiled resignedly, the bright light reflecting his eyes like miniature stars. A familiar electrifying feeling, energy running through his veins, but backwards. In reverse. Oddly, he felt slightly like he was being sucked out of a straw. Faint ethereal strains of music floated through the air, accompanying the overwhelming beauty of the light.
Her Doctor.
The thought echoed around his mind as if spoken by a hundred voices – questioning, stating, pleading, comforting.
Her Doctor.
He closed his eyes, but the feeling continued, wrapping itself like a blanket around him. Faintly, he heard the panel of the TARDIS shut itself, and as the force holding him upright receded, he fell to the floor, his hands splayed across the metal grid.
Everything faded for a moment, before returning to normal. The cold feel beneath him, the feel of his clothes, the sound of the TARDIS, the scent of the old metal, the sound of running feet…
Running feet?
Opening his eyes blearily, he spotted a familiar blonde figure kneeling over him, and, as his focus returned, he smiled weakly at her.
"Doctor!" Rose cried, her face pale. She lifted his head, and, using her as support, he pulled himself upright.
"I-I'm all right." He replied breathlessly.
"Was that, I mean, I saw…" Rose trailed off, her eyes wide with fear. He had no reply to give her, so he leant on the console for respite. With an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, he glanced down at the hand that was splayed across the console, seeing the flickering lights just underneath the skin. It was beginning, and by the look of it, faster than last time.
"Rose," he said seriously, turning to the shell-shocked blonde. "If-if this doesn't work, I'm sorry, OK? And don't blame yourself or anything. I reset Emergency Protocol One, it should take you home…"
"Doctor, no…" Rose half-whispered, reaching out to brush her fingers against his lapel. He grinned weakly as he covered the pain that was shooting through him.
"Yes, Rose. I'm sorry. I had to try." He shrugged, but the movement was abruptly cut short as he doubled over, panting for breath. Damn this was quick.
"You can't do this!" she yelled, stepping backwards, grasping a pillar for support.
"Bit – late – now." He panted, feeling hot and clammy. If this didn't work, if the last thing he did was argue with Rose…
"Damn you! You're so, so stupid!" And with that, she ran off. He could barely make out her form as he slid again to the floor, unable to support his own weight any longer. Any moment… He closed his eyes, and, with a flash of pain, arched his back off the floor. Golden light surrounded his face, he could, in this half-unreal state, feel his features contorting. Please let it work…
With that one thought in mind, the Doctor fell unconscious as he regenerated.
Unknown to him, the handle that had appeared underneath the panel folded itself up into the metal and disappeared.
As he awoke, the first thing that struck him was that, while getting shorter and thinner had its side effects, getting bigger was definitely not fun from the clothes department. Then his eyes sprang open, and he looked at himself wildly. Bigger, older hands… he reached up and haphazardly felt his face. Angular, big ears, short buzz cut hair…
"Yes!" he cried, revelling in the sound of his voice. The right voice – northern. He laughed, jumping up and spinning round despite the dizziness and weakness that left trace marks of a regeneration, and the tight clothes.
"Thank you, thank you so much." He said aloud to the machine, before dashing off to find a better-fitting jumper and pair of trousers.
Ten minutes later, in his old green jumper and black trousers, without even bothering to have found a pair of socks, he walked the corridor to Rose's bedroom. What was he going to say? 'Hi, I'm back'? 'Sorry about that, just had to fiddle with the TARDIS'?
He stopped outside her open door, still at a loss as what to say. Quickly falling back into bad habits, he leant against the doorway, he face creasing in sorrow as he saw her sobbing on her bed. Unwilling to trust his mouth, he padded, barefoot, across the room, sitting down carefully on the bed. Still she didn't move. After a moment, he reached over and touched her on the arm. Rose tensed, but didn't look up, didn't want to face him.
Still wordless, he lay back on the bed next to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, so that he was holding her to him from behind. They were so close that every sob and shake of her shoulders physically moved him, but he didn't try to stop her.
Eventually, she looked down at the strong arms that held her, slightly surprised to see they were real, and shocked to recognise them, and their green jumper. Pulling away from his loose grip, she turned, stopping in her tracks as she saw him, blue green eyes an apology and a greeting. As if in a dream, she reached forwards and traced his unmoving face.
"My Doctor." She whispered, before burrowing into his arms, new tears on her face.
"My Rose." He replied, pressing a kiss to her hair and promising himself he would never leave her again.
You belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea
Yeah, you belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea
Song credits:
Coldplay - Swallowed in the Sea
Him (and others)- I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight
Police - Every Breath You Take
Restless Heart- When She Cries
Snow Patrol - Run