Disclaimer A: Doctor Who and all its beautiful characters belong to the BBC.
Disclaimer B: The author has absolutely nothing against the bow tie. Bow ties are cool.
The TARDIS is parked near Clara's house; she had promised to leave the Doctor be. He didn't want her to see this. The swirling yellow light grows dimmer and soon halts completely. It's finished. There is no sound aside from the constant whirring of the console and the Doctor's heavy breaths. The body he's spent the last two hundred years in is gone. His clothes are tight-fitting.
The Doctor holds out his hand, flexing his fingers. He still has ten fingers, at least. He'll worry about toes later, though wiggling them around in the now too-big shoes seems to prove they're alright, too. He reaches up and feels his face, sighing in relief almost immediately. Thank goodness for eyebrows. His hand moves up to his hair. He tries pulling at it to see, but it's too short this time. He plucks a few strands and sets them out in his other hand to examine them.
Still not ginger, never ginger, he thinks. He blows the hairs out of his palm and lets his hand drop to the floor in slight disappointment.
Frowning, he feels the rest of his face to be sure his nose and ears are intact. Both smaller in size, he already feels less frustrated about the state of his hair.
"Chin!" he exclaims, scrambling to touch it. "Way to go, Doctor, back to normal again."
He begins to stand and remembers the clothes he's wearing aren't fitting well anymore at all. He hears a rip from underneath the jacket. Upon leaning forward to get onto his new feet, he realizes the top button of the shirt is choking him and he stumbles forward, startled by it. He catches his weight on the railing by the stairs, using one hand to steady himself and the other to reach up and unbutton what almost just killed him again.
That's when he finds it.
"Oh, dear," he winces at the memory of all the people (and not-people) who have seen him in the last couple hundred years. "So much for 'Predator', right? Incredibly intimidating, I was, wearing a bow tie." With that, he works it off as quickly as possible and tosses it onto the floor, kicking it off the edge of the console to the ground floor for good measure.
"Goodbye, old friend. Can't say I'll be missing you."
Speaking of friends, the Doctor now pats the jacket to find his Sonic, "Where in this tweed nightmare are you? Ah! Wrong side. Left-handed now, too, I suppose. Might as well get this over with-"
He charges up to the console and pulls out the mirror to further examine himself.
"A-ha! I knew it! I really am getting more handsome by the day," he turns his head and rubs his smooth cheek, admittedly staying longer than he should to admire his new reflection. "But this," his eyes moving down to his clothing, "needs to be remedied a bit."
He gets a feel for walking and begins picking up his pace, making his way out of the control room to the space in which he keeps his wardrobe. He closes his eyes tightly as he opens the doors and peeks out of the corner of an eye. More bow ties, of course. Tweed. Lots of tweed. Shirts with slight patterns. Slacks that don't match. "What was I thinking? No wonder Amy always said I dressed like an idiot. Ghastly."
He fumbles through the hangers and finds nothing to his liking. He pulls out a purple coat, "What?" And then an assortment of red and blue bow ties, "What!?"
And then, wide-eyed, as he tries shoving things back in to get them out of sight, a bright red fez falls off the top shelf. "...What."
"Doctor? Doctor, are you alright?"
"What?" he calls. Clara, he's almost forgotten. "I mean, I'm in here! In this...sea of scruffy fabrics."
Clara inches through the door, and he senses she's still apprehensive of what she might see. He'd told her he would be a completely different person, but how could anyone react to that normally?
"Is it- Are you-" she starts. "Your clothes don't fit anymore."
"Yes, it's me. And I'm fine. My knees are all wobbly but I'll get that worked out soon enough."
She half-smiles and looks at him for a longer-than-average time, trying to take in his new appearance. She shakes her head after a minute and looks down, bringing her arm up with her palm open. "I...found this on the floor off the stairs out there."
He snatches the strip of cloth out of her hand, "This silly thing. No matter what I've ever, ever said to you, remember this right now: bow ties are not cool."
She chuckles and shakes her head. "I'm sorry to hear that. It was starting to grow on me a little, I guess. I'll just...leave you to it, then."
"Hold on," the Doctor says, looking down at the red fabric. His eyes meet hers for a moment. He holds it up to the light, "We'll find me a new suit," pulls it around the back of his neck, "but until then," begins tying it up again, looser this time, "we'll just say it's necessary to this one, eh?"
Clara's smile lit up. "Deal. But, Doctor?"
"Yes?"
"Lose the fez."
"Deal."
((This was an anonymous request because of a text post I made on Tumblr. I never meant for it to be so long, but I had too much fun writing it and decided it belonged here. Based on reviews I'll more-than-likely add more. I haven't written in a very long time (7, 8 years?) so I appreciate your feedback!))