Hey there guys! This is my first Doctor Who fan fiction, so reviews would be lovely. Thanks!
The Doctor paced the console room. He was dying, he was sure of it. Regeneration was not that far off and it was time. The regeneration energy was making its way through his veins, making him feel all warm and fuzzy, but soon, the Doctor knew that it would set him on fire, reset every single one of his cells and start the new him. At least he had a chance to be a ginger this time.
The Doctor sat in the captain's chair and sighed. There was a Time Lord tradition where every regeneration, the current Doctor would tell the future regeneration one thought and the next Doctor would live by that thought through its life.
The former Doctor, the ninth Doctor, had an easy choice. He was so sure about his choice that he didn't even have to think twice about it. He gave one image with the phrase, 'Rose Tyler' and he was gone. The new Doctor, the current Doctor, took its place and took the thought into his new mind.
But now, the Doctor had a tough choice. He groaned and rubbed his hands through his hair, ignoring the bright light that was being given off in his fingertips. Think, think, think, he chanted silently to himself. Rose Tyler was gone, living happily with Metacrisis Doctor in a parellel universe, and now he couldn't say her name or the next Doctor would just grieve over the fact that he could never be with her again because she wouldn't be there to see the new Doctor.
Martha Jones was not a choice either. She was engaged now, and probably was expecting a baby soon. To live by the thought of Martha Jones would just put Martha and her not-sure-if-she-has-one baby in danger, and he couldn't risk that at all.
Donna Noble was definitely not a valid choice, or the new Doctor would be forced to give back her memories and she would die from the sudden onslaught of information. Better if the Doctor didn't live by that thought.
The Doctor silently cursed himself for giving the current him the thought 'Rose Tyler'. In hindsight, that was a really, really bad idea. In fact, he was almost going to forcibly regenerate to give himself another thought and to reset his whole process of thinking. But he had ruled that idea out instantly when he remembered the millions and millions of life forms that needed this regeneration.
A sharp stab of pain seared in his gut and he bent over in the chair, groaning as the heat of a thousand suns burned in his stomach. All he could sense besides the pain was the throbbing of blood in his ears and the quickened pace of his two hearts, beating out a samba. The pain pulsed for a few minutes before it subsided into a quiet throbbing, except for the pounding in his head.
The Doctor frowned. It had never been this bad before, or this painful. This was not looking good so far.
First things first, the Doctor said to himself. The thought. If he gave the wrong thought at the wrong time, it could spell d-i-s-a-s-t-e-r for the entire universe. Wait. The Doctor counted on his fingers. No, he had spelled disaster right.
He could give a completely random phrase and hope for the best. That seemed like the best option right now. He racked his enormous brain for inspiration, but came up with two phrases. 'Bananas are good' and 'Allons-y', and there was NO way that he was giving that catchphrase to someone else. The new Doctor would have to get his own catchphrase.
He looked around the spacious control room for some ideas but only saw three things that stood out. Martha Jones's cell phone, sitting on the control panel in its separate container, Donna Noble's planner, tossed onto the ledge above the entrance to the TARDIS, and Rose's Union Jack t-shirt which was hung over the TARDIS's railing. The last time she was on this ship, when the Doctor was delivering her to Bad Wolf Bay in the parellel universe with the Metacrisis Doctor, she had found the shirt in her old room and had been planning to take it with her.
A second wave of pain coursed through his body, engulfing the lower half of his form, causing the Doctor to completely lose feeling in his legs and abdomen, he clutched his stomach in a failed attempt to relieve the pain and felt the pain spread to his chest. The edges of his vision darkened and became blurry in response to the white-hot pain. The regeneration was starting.
But he wasn't ready!
He felt a tear slide down his cheek. He wasn't ready! He never would be ready! He wanted to say good-bye to so many more people! He wanted to find the real Rose, Metacrisis Doctor or not, and hug her, kiss her, say good-bye.
He didn't want to go! He had so much to do, so much to see, so much to say! What would the world be like without him? Sure, there'd still be a Doctor, but what if he was evil? He had seen that in Time Lords before, they were happy, kind, friendly, but then they regenerated and they were cruel, obnoxious, and mean.
He felt the regeneration energy pull into his hearts, the final warning before it was released onto his body. No severed hand this time, no one to be with him.
Oh god.
He frantically looked around. There was no one here! He would die alone, all alone, floating in the Time Vortex with no one to watch over him, hold his hand, witness his rebirth.
This was what his life had always been. Loneliness. Companions come by, give him a new meaning in life, but then they die, or they leave, or they forget. He was alone in the world, no more Time Lords, no more companions, no more Rose. He clutched his own hand in desperation, like it would relieve the heaviness on his hearts, but it didn't help. It didn't help at all.
He felt two more tears join the first down his cheeks and let his guard down. His tears broke free of the emotional dam holding them back and rolled down his cheeks two by two.
A final surge of power and peacefulness. He had exactly ten seconds before he regenerated into someone new.
"I don't want to go." He uttered into the silent atmosphere, wondering if anyone, anyone at all, could hear his small, pleading phrase. If anyone looked up at the stars and thought about him, thought about their adventures, thought about the love and friendship shared on this ship. He wished Rose could at least look up.
Golden light sprayed out of his limbs at a force that he had never seen before. Fire spewed up in random places, destroying the control panel with Martha's phone, the balcony with Donna's planner, and the railing with Rose's shirt and much more. He gave his one last thought, which was very fitting for the moment that all the traces of his companions were being obliterated, "Don't forget them."
He endured the agonizing pain until the last minute until there was more new Doctor than old Doctor. He was about to die, left to become a memory that everyone would eventually forget.
Then his brain gave him one last image, taking the place of the final thought that he was supposed to give, "Don't forget them."
What? What ? WHAT? WHAT THE HELL?
The New Doctor, the eleventh Doctor came out of the regeneration with one single thought.
His thought to live by was an image of the old Doctor wearing a fez.
Oh yeah.