A/N: Standard disclaimer applies; I only own my DVD collection and my imagination, but not the characters or original universes. Many thanks to the brilliant minds who came up with such wonderful stories and characters to play with. No profit, or compensation of any kind, will ever be earned from this story, with the exception of whatever reviews you wish to leave. This is complete and stands alone, completely separate from all my other works.
Spoilers: Doctor Who up through 7x13 "The Name of the Doctor" and the identity of the Twelfth Doctor. Includes some minor, scattered Classic Who spoilers (and one line that seems to contradict a piece of Classic canon but I feel the possibility of reappearance is supported by 6x04 "The Doctor's Wife").
Pairings: Whouffle (Twelffle?) and Doctor/TARDIS. Nothing more than in the show, though, in either case.
Warnings: If you're a fan of the Classic era costuming department, you may be slightly irked. Maybe a hint of (the potential for) angst but far less than has actually manifested on the show itself. Oh, and my preliminary opinion of 12's casting is reflected in this piece, which might be a sore spot for some.
Rating: If you watch the show, you're fine. Nothing unsuitable for kids.
Summary: Clara is suddenly faced with an unexpected dilemma when she recognizes the Doctor's freshly-regenerated face.
Clara stood off to the side, patiently watching the Doctor regenerate. There was, after all, no cause for alarm, for she knew he had done
this ten times before. All this meant was that apparently she would get to meet his twelfth self, in addition to his first eleven, and the best thing she could do to help him through it was stay calm and out of the way. After the regeneration was finished, she could help him assess and acclimatize to his new body.
Speaking of which, it looked like he was almost through it now. Time to go meet the twelfth doctor. She began to move closer to him as the light of his regeneration energy began to fade.
As his new face resolved itself, she could not help but let out a gasp. This was a face she had seen before - at Trenzalore, but not among the parade of alternate Doctors.
No, this was a face one of his past selves had encountered before. In Pompeii. On Volcano Day.
"Doctor-" she started, but stopped, unsure how to proceed.
"My dear Clara, how do I look?" He asked, either not noticing or intentionally ignoring her sudden surprise.
Oh, this wasn't good. He wanted, needed, deserved an answer and she wasn't sure where to begin. What could she say? What shouldn't she say? Was the earlier incident even relevant in any way?
Actually, that was a good question. Did he actually cross his own timeline and not remember it or was the other man just an ordinary human of the era with no connection to the man who stood before her save a shared adventure in the murky hazes of a long distant past? Either option could have come about in any number of ways. Certainly the Doctor had encountered a fair number of people, particularly in his last few incarnations, that bore striking resemblances to other people in his life. But most of those were generally cases of family members, however distant, and that certainly wasn't the case here. But Caecilius had not given any indication of knowing either the Doctor or Donna Noble, and had thought the TARDIS was modern art. Was it all an act? Maybe, the Doctor certainly lied on a regular enough basis for reasons far more trivial than this, but it would be a lie with a massive gamble. Sometimes he failed to recognize himself when he encountered a different incarnation, but other times he knew himself instantly and on sight. Maybe he lied remembering he wouldn't recognize himself or maybe he had used the chameleon arch again for some reason. But maybe it wasn't the Doctor at all. In fact, Romana had demonstrated that a regenerating Time Lord could choose to mimic the form of another being that they had found aesthetically pleasing, and the Doctor's sixth incarnation bore a striking resemblance to the then-current form of a Time Lord encountered by his fifth incarnation. Maybe that had something to do with what was going on here, be it conscious or not on his part. Was there any way to find out without saying something she shouldn't? Still, she better say something quickly or the Doctor would begin to suspect something was amiss, and that would not do at all.
"Hate to say it, but you still aren't ginger," she said, only partially answering the question but tossing him something he'd want to know soon and would probably keep him occupied for a while. She didn't know why he'd developed an obsession with that hair color after the Time War.
"What?! No! This is a travesty! A travesty, I say!" he fretted, and began to frantically run his hands through his hair - as if doing so enough might change that fact. Good lord, he was getting downright desperate to be ginger, though she had no idea why.
"Bit... distinguished, actually," she pretended to consider, then concluded brightly, hiding her inner conflict. River would have a much easier time handling this; she always seemed to know what she could tell the Doctor of his future and what she must conceal.
This seemed to pacify the Doctor, though, at least momentarily. "Really? You think so? Do you like it?"
Poor boy, he looked like a puppy begging for approval. And the fact was, it wasn't a bad form for him. He'd certainly had far worse over the centuries. As long as she could keep him from relapsing into another horrible wardrobe choice, like that blasted trippy technicolor coat, or random decorative vegetables, this should work out well for him.
"Of course I like it! You're still you, after all. You forget, I understand regeneration better than almost any other companion you've had. A little thing like that isn't gonna change anything, not anything that truly matters, anyway."
She still had the issue of his appearance to deal with, but she seemed to have neatly deflected him for the time being. She decided that it was probably best not to draw his attention to the issue if she could avoid it. It was almost assuredly either unimportant and a painful reminder of the friend he'd lost or it was spoilers about his future that sure, he knew part of already, but shouldn't learn any more until the time was right. He'd find out exactly what he looked like sooner or later anyway, some mirror would tell him inside of a day or two, possibly within the hour up in the TARDIS wardrobe. He'd either remember Pompeii or not, make the connection or not on his own at that point. He had this entire lifetime to head back to Pompeii if he was destined to do so, it certainly didn't need to be done immediately. For the moment, though, there were more pressing concerns.
The Doctor began a coughing fit and stumbled back towards the console. Though he had covered his mouth, she didn't miss the glow of excess regeneration energy escaping in that cough. The main event clearly over, she rushed to his side and grabbed him in support. She said to the console, "Help me guide him to the Zero Room."
Taking a steadying breath, she guided him out of the console room, trusting that the telepathic ship would guide her where she needed to be. After all, that's what the TARDIS had always done for him, and for now, they were united in that goal. And they would work together to achieve that end. Just like they had in 1974.
The Doctor needed help, and they would provide it, these two women who had been there for him from the start. Echoes of the past or visions of the future could wait.