AN: Sorry it took me a while to post, though I can't claim it'll be much different in the future. Between work, school and home, the only free time I have is on the weekends. Sad as that is, I will do my best to post about once a week.
Sorry for the possibly confusing nature of this story, but I felt the need to write my own version of the end of the Time War, and the Doctor's regeneration. This will be followed closely by a piece just following his regeneration into Nine.
Hope it's okay. –AutumnxAngel
Disclaimer: Look, if you recognize it, guess what: It's not mine.
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It had been days. Or the equivalent of days on a ship that wandered through time as well as space. Still he would not wake.
She pushed open the door to his bedroom, and went silently to his side. Her weight pressed a small depression into the mattress where she sat. The Bad Wolf looked at her Doctor's face, letting her hands brush carefully across his ashen skin.
She had cleaned him up three days ago, washing away the blood and the grime, doing everything she could to cleanse his skin of death. She had tended his wounds as best as she could, knowing full well that the worst one was beyond physical care.
His mind had not stopped screaming yet.
She had cleaned up the ship, moving things around, making some repairs, hiding away many of the memories that would be far too painful.
The console room was almost entirely new, though the air still tasted of fire and death. She hoped the fresh air of Merakai Nine, where she'd landed them, would chase away the remainder. She'd rearranged many of the rooms, hoping a new layout would help the Doctor start over, without some random door bringing back flashes of what he'd lost.
When there was no more she could do to busy herself, the Bad Wolf sat by his side and begged Time that it would spare the last remaining Gallifreyan long enough for him to know of the changes she had wrought.
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Fire raged behind his eyes. The Doctor shuddered in his sleep, whimpering vaguely in pain. He watched the last moments of his planet for the two hundred and fifty-third time.
The cities were burning. Fires raged across the land, changing the comfortable burnt orange he loved so much to the red and black of war. Dalek ships mingled with the smoke, adding to it with each new blast.
Another line of Time Lord ships materialized atop the nearest ridge, unleashing some sort of energy that rolled away from them in waves. Metal and flesh screamed as the energy reached the nearest advancing Daleks, Time warping them into nothing.
Overhead, another planet burned, flaring brightly in the dark. He could hear the screams in his head. They pressed on his ears from the inside out and he wished for death to end the pain. So many were dying.
Time was beginning to flex around the combatants: both sides were getting careless.
He pushed away from the primitive stone barrier that had been his meager protection and ran for the familiar shape of his TARDIS. Time's words drummed in his head with every beat of his hearts.
One last shot to end it. One more gamble: are you good at games of chance? The Universe is at stake.
Moaning in pain, he forced his ship to start the jump. Her central rotor screamed to life, knowing what he planned but unable to question his choice. They moved and he stopped everything.
Silence.
Do you really think you can win? If you fail there's no second chance. Do you like to dance with Death?
He stepped from the TARDIS into no-man's land. The nameless place between everything and nothing. Not quite Vortex, not quite Void. Not a part of the Universe at all; by all rules a place that doesn't exist.
They had always said it was a legend, Time's in-between. Obviously they had lied.
He stood on nothing and everything. Surrounded by Time-Fire: the impossible mingling of Vortex and Void. Eternal life and instant death.
Will you really break this rule? Can you live with the consequences? Who are you to choose?
He was begging for something, begging for nothing, anything that was not this impossible place he had broken into.
Oncoming Storm. Destroyer. Doctor. Will you work for Death or Life? Can you tell the difference? Is there one?
His mind was reeling. His Time-sense was gone. There was no time here. Everything was silence and it was screaming in his head.
A small glass ball was clutched in his hand. He didn't know where it had come from.
Time-Fire poured into the ball, burning his hand. He clenched his teeth and bit back his screams, letting this final weapon drink its fill.
He was back on Gallifrey, though there was no recollection of movement. The screams in his head were once more real and tangible, the making of the war raging around him. He looked behind him to see the TARDIS, fallen from impossible space, just as he was. He glanced down at the innocent looking glass in his hand.
Another planet burned in the sky and the death of more Time Lords seared his mind.
Drop the ball. Do you gamble often? How high are the steaks?
There was a flash as the nearest city was engulfed in flame. The concussion knocked him back against the TARDIS, though his gaze remained fixed on the object clutched in his hand.
So many screams and all it would take to make it go away was opening his hand. The Daleks would die. So would many of the Time Lords, but surely some would have found haven. Gallifrey would burn, but they could rebuild. The Universe had to live.
Yes.
He gambled.
Yes.
He danced with Death.
His fingers were numb, but somehow they managed to respond to his brain.
The small glass ball slid from his hand to the hard earth and shattered.
Everything stopped.
Time exploded.
Time-Fire spun out from where he stood, engulfing everything in its wake. Time was impartial, and it took everything it touched.
He watched as Gallifrey and everything around it burned, a terrible conflagration of all colors and none, with him standing at the center of it all, untouched, as the wave spun outward.
Tears streamed down his face. Of course he would be left for last: need to see what has been wrought.
It was fine. Soon the flames would reach their limit and sweep back in to the epicenter. He would be dead in an instant.
Time and Space shifted, splitting and melding and twisting.
No longer able to function, his mind shut down, and everything was black. The constant words of the Universe fell silent.
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The Bad Wolf growled as his mind repelled hers once more. There was too much chaos. He had slammed all his doors.
She sighed and waited for him to wake.
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Consciousness, he decided, was no better than nightmares.
His empty eyes opened to meet the very worried gaze of the Bad Wolf. He recognized her as the familiar consciousness he was used to from the Tardis, but something was very different. He pushed away the thought as not important at that moment.
"Why did you take me away?" His voice was scratchy from his screams during the battle and lack of speech since.
"The Universe needed you. It wouldn't be quite right without a Time Lord." Her voice was quiet and cautious, as though afraid speech would send him back to his haunted oblivion.
"Surely it will be fine with another." He glared at her sadly. Her mouth tightened and he understood the pain of having not only lost much, but of having lost almost all. Frantic, he reached out for the awareness that was other Time Lords, only to find nothing. He made a sound that was not quite a groan and not quite a whimper, closed his eyes, and wished for oblivion.
Feeling what his mind was doing, the Bad Wolf gripped his face between her palms. "No." Her voice was firm enough to make him pause, if only because it was all he had that remained familiar. "You have to stay with me."
His eyes didn't open, but he stopped trying to force himself into unconsciousness. "Please." He didn't care that he was begging. He wanted it all to go away.
"I can't." Her whisper was close to his ear, and he became aware of her body pressing tight to his in a desperate hug.
"It hurts." His voice was small, like that of a child, lonely and scared.
"I know." She breathed. "Just please hold on. For the Universe. For me." He was silent for a moment and she let him think.
"Make me regenerate." His voice was firm now.
"What!" She was shocked. He could feel her surprise and fright, the only other presence left in his head.
"It'll dull the pain. Memories get hazed over during regeneration. If you won't let me die, at least give me this." He was weary to his bones. Sleep clouded his vision.
She shifted uncomfortably where she was; needing to pace, but unable to leave his side. She chewed her bottom lip, worriedly mulling over the validity of his plea. She could make him regenerate, and it might help. Regeneration caused blurring or loss of some memory. It allowed a certain distancing. Still, she wanted to deny him.
"Please?" His eyes had drifted closed while she thought, but opened once more.
He was her Doctor. She could scarcely deny him the chance of some peace, little as it may be.
"I'm sorry." She whispered, leaning close to him, collecting power within her, steadying herself.
"Don't be." Her mouth pressed to his and she pulled the life from his veins, replacing it with death.
She pulled his life force from him until all the glow of the living had faded from his body. His cells died.
She breathed life back into him, pouring power through his mind and lungs and veins, anchoring his soul once more, forcing his cells to change. He resisted briefly, a lingering attempt at death, but she pushed at him with her mind and he gave before her will, allowing life to flood him once more, changing his mind and his body, a new home for his soul.
The Bad Wolf leaned back and looked down at a new face, a new body. The Ninth Doctor.
She moved back to the foot of the bed to wait and hope.
Exhausted by regeneration, the Doctor slept and did not dream.
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AN: Any thoughts? Let me know and I'll let you borrow the TARDIS cookie jar (which conveniently replaces any missing cookies). Otherwise, I'm gonna have to give it back to the Doctor.