1. The Doctor Dying

No, no, no, the Time Lord thought despairingly. It was never supposed to end like this.

"Amelia Pond!" came a raspy voice. It took a moment for the Doctor to realize the voice was his own. He closed his eyes. That voice sounded like death.

"Doctor, I'm here," his longtime companion croaked. She lay across his thighs, her head resting on the cold metal floor.

"I never—never—wanted this, Pond," he muttered. He looked down at his hand. He was still clutching the twisted remains of a sonic screwdriver. Its green lamp hung lifeless in its silver casing. Coughing and spluttering, he let the useless device roll off his fingertips.

Amy opened one eye and looked at the Doctor. For one so close to death, her gaze was piercing. "Doctor," she said. "I know." Then, after a pause: "Rory knew." She shut her eye again.

Rory! Why did she do it? Why? He had no strength left for the murderous rage that had boiled in his blood not so long ago. All he had left was a desperate plea.

He breathed heavily. A thin wisp of bright orange vapor escaped his lips.

"It's starting, for me," he said, tears collecting on his eyelids.

"Good, Doctor," Amy whispered. "You live."

"Rory didn't get to live!" the Time Lord said angrily. "You don't get to live, Amelia Pond!" His voice relaxed, but his insides were still knotted. "And when you go, the TARDIS goes too."

"What?" Amy opened both of her eyes in alarm. "What did you say?"

But the Doctor's eyes were closing. He sighed, letting loose another wisp of regeneration energy.

"The light is fading, Amelia…"

"No, it's not, Doctor! The TARDIS is fine, you'll be fine. Just one quick body change, Doctor, and it'll be the boy and his box off to see the universe! Isn't that right?" Amy's voice was going in and out.

"No, Pond," the Doctor said weakly. "The TARDIS consciousness… crack in your wall… something borrowed, something blue…"

"What, Doctor? What are you talking about?" She wrenched her arms out from under her body.

"I thought I could never tell you… I thought I'd never have to." His hands were starting to glow. "Amelia, nobody can just bring back a TARDIS from beyond the fabric of time and space—"

He convulsed. Ripples of yellow-orange flame danced across his body. Amy pushed herself off of the Doctor's legs, and closed her eyes.

"It's going to be now," the Doctor cried. "No! This isn't meant for me!"

"Goodbye, Doctor," Amy said softly. "I… I'm glad I met you. I'm glad I met Rory, and I'm glad I met you."

"Oh, no, no, no, you're relaxing, you can't give up!" The fire engulfing the Time Lord turned an angry red. "Amelia Pond! I cannot let you die!"

He cast his thoughts back years and years. What could he do? What could he possibly do, at this moment of all moments?

Nine centuries of memories yielded nothing. The tears started streaming from his eyes as he watched Amy Pond let go. He looked away in anger and shame at his left hand, the hand that was still intact. "Is this it, Pond?" he mumbled. "Is this it, sexy?" Then, even softer:

"What is the point of me, then?"

He couldn't bear looking at anything but his hand.

x x x

A few seconds later, an idea struck him. His hand! He had directed his own regeneration energy into his hand, just a few years ago. Of course, that hand had been a Time Lord hand… but Amy Pond was no ordinary human, either. A bleak ray of hope shone through for the Doctor. What have I got to lose? he thought, extending his hand with considerable effort. Amy was not gone yet.

He managed to touch the top of her head. The fluttering red flames almost matched the color of her fiery red hair.

The Doctor focused all of his power of thought on sending the life-giving energy from his own body into Amy's. Come on, he willed.

After a few heart-wrenching seconds, Amy's battered form began to glow. Yellow fire engulfed her, streaming out of her hands and feet. Last of all, her face exploded in a bright golden flow.

The Doctor jerked his hand away from Amy's head. Could she be regenerating? He realized he had no idea what a Time Lord's regeneration energy might do to a non-Time Lord. Fear shattered his guarded hope as he watched, helpless.

His own body tore his attention away from his companion. His hands were starting to glow again.

Seems I can't let myself die either. But this time there were no dazzling golden flames gathering on his skin. This time, the flames were a dark, dark purple. They seemed to be struggling, as if they were liable to go out at any moment.

He had no idea what was happening. The purple licks were gathering on the tips of his fingers, and spreading inward. As they multiplied, they slowly grew larger, until the tips of the flames turned blue and extended a few inches above his skin. When the energy reached his face, it started to warm. Dark oranges and reds began surfacing in the sea of purple and blue.

Suddenly, his limbs flung themselves outward, and the familiar yellow regeneration energy exploded outward. The full cycle had begun.

x x x

Amy Pond came to lying face up on a soft mattress. She opened her eyes slowly, letting in the seemingly blinding light coming from above her. When she had fully opened her eyes, she blinked.

"Where am I?" she mouthed, but no sound escaped her lungs. She coughed, and tried again. Still nothing.

"Oh, best not to speak now, Amelia Pond," came a strange voice. "You'll get your speech back soon enough."

Panicked, Amy tried to sit up. She was met with an excruciating pain in her abdomen, and fell back.

"You're well on your way to recovery, Amelia," said the voice. "I hope you like the bed. I called it up from the archive, I—" The voice cut off. It was definitely a female voice, and it seemed very anxious to Amy. She heard the voice muttering, but couldn't make out what it was saying.

"Oh, I do worry about him," the voice whispered. "Isn't that odd?"

What? Amy thought.

"As I was saying, dear, I called that bed up from my archive. I think the Doctor designed it for a pair of Pooshers we had on board in about three hundred years. Had? No, will have. Tenses are difficult, aren't they? Notoriously picky sleepers, Pooshers. They started designing their own bed without so much as a glance at the one the Doctor made them."

Amy was properly confused. Could she have jumped three centuries into the future? If so, how? The last thing she remembered was being sprawled on the floor of the TARDIS, ready to die.

"Yes, you ought to be confused, I suppose. I don't think we've had a formal introduction. Well. I am, have always been, and always will be up-and-downy stuff in a big blue box."

Amy looked even more befuddled.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Amelia, the Doctor called me that once. He also called me… Sexy." The woman's voice waited expectantly, before starting again.

"No? Hmm, what's that other name he uses, the one he uses with the others… that name, that impersonal name. Of course. Time and Relative Dimension in Space."

The TARDIS woman?

"Yes, that's it! I'm a woman, but also the TARDIS."

"How did you get… out?" Amy whispered faintly.

"Oh, good, your voice is starting to return, Amelia. And how did I leave the TARDIS matrix?" The voice paused. It seemed to be trying to decide how to phrase something. "I believe—I believe the Doctor wished really hard."

The Doctor! Amy had briefly forgotten about him. "Where is he?" she croaked.

In response, her mattress rotated about a hundred degrees to the left, and the pillow was inflated so she could see beyond the foot of the bed. An intense ball of yellow flame met her gaze.

"He's still regenerating?" Amy asked.

"The cycle is taking several minutes longer than usual," the voice replied. "The energy was very weak this time."

"Can you help him?"

"He is beyond any help right now."

"But… will he make it… TARDIS?"

"Oh, I expect he will," the woman said quietly. "I would feel so terribly if I stole him only to let him die."

The ball of flame surrounding the Doctor turned a dazzling white. Amy had to avert her eyes.

"The cycle is finishing. Goodbye, and well met, Amelia Pond."

x x x

The Doctor awoke with a start, as if from a nightmare, and coughed vehemently.

Still got lungs, it seems. Internal physiology seems to be similar. But where is Amelia?

Why don't I ask?

"Amelia Pond!" came a surprisingly clear voice.

"Who's that?" It was Amy's voice, unmistakably.

"Are you all right, Pond?" the voice inquired. Whose voice is that? the Doctor wondered. Is that my voice?

"Are you the TARDIS too?" Amy said shakily. She seemed to be alive and well, if not completely whole. The Doctor breathed a deep sigh of relief, letting out a lick of orange fire.

"Of course I'm not the TARDIS," that clear, alto voice said. "The TARDIS is up-and-downy stuff in the big blue box."

The Doctor's toes wiggled. Still got toes, still got feet, still got legs. Fists clenched. Fingers and arms. After a moment's consideration: Still got brain.

"Oh my God," Amy said. "Oh, God."

"What?" murmured the Doctor, standing up for the first time. "Oh, balance has changed completely, that'll take some getting used to."

"Oh my God, you're wearing a fez!" Amy shouted, wheezing.

The Doctor felt around for the hat. Sure enough, it had stayed on, despite everything.

"And what should concern you about my fez, Pond? Fezzes are… are…" The Doctor's throat clenched. My neck!

"You're wearing a bow tie, oh, God," Amy said nervously. "And that stupid tweed jacket, and suspenders…"

"I'm a girl!"

x x x

"Well of course you're a bloody girl!" roared Amy.

"I'm—I'm a girl!" the Doctor said, stupefied.

"Is this new information for you?" said Amy angrily. "Why are you dressed like the Doctor?"

"What? Pond, I am the Doctor. I'm—"

"No, you're not. You can't be. I've traveled with him, I've been through hell with him, and there is no way you can be him. No way. No way…" Amy collapsed onto her pillow, her voice petering out into nothing.

The Doctor's expression shifted from stupefaction to concern as she started walking toward Amy's voice. "Great Eye of Gallifrey," she swore as she fell down after a single step. She took off the large black boots before standing up again. Balance. Everything is new for my balance.

She started moving toward the bed. But by the time she arrived, Amy had either fainted or was very good at pretending. The Doctor sighed, letting out a tiny burst of energy.

Turning away from the bed, she eyed the TARDIS console. The desktop theme remained the same, but remarkably cleaner. In fact, the who control room was positively sparkling.

"Well, how about that, sexy?" she said, laying a hand on the nearest wall. "Seems like we're both good as new." She strode over to the console. "I think I'll be needing another screwdriver. Except, I'm a bit tired of the blues and greens and reds… how about something a tad exotic, then?"

She flipped a few switches. "Let's see what you've got for me, eh?"

Out of the TARDIS console came the tail end of a thin metallic structure. As she bent over to retrieve it, strands of jet-black hair tumbled into her line of sight. She pulled out the screwdriver.

"Ah, TARDIS made, that's quality, that is," muttered the Time Lady, inspecting the device. "Hold on a minute." She grabbed a fistful of her hair and eyed it disbelievingly. "Still not ginger?"

The Doctor grunted exasperatedly and turned her attention back to the screwdriver. The silvery, sleek gadget was about a foot long, with a leather-bound handle on one end and a small pointed lamp on the other. Grasping it firmly, she aimed the tip at the sleeping Amy.

"Geronimo," she said, activating the screwdriver. The pointy end shot forward like an arrow and began to buzz quietly. The light glowed a nefarious shade of violet, one that smacked at once of chaotic maroon and warm purple. Am I up to no good now? she wondered briefly. That might just be brilliant.

The mattress bounced Amy playfully. The Doctor was trying to get her to wake up, apparently without success. Sighing, the Doctor closed her sonic screwdriver and reached to put it in her jacket pocket.

But that simple action, one that she had performed countless times, no longer felt right. Not because of the rather conspicuous mound of flesh that now protruded from her chest, right beneath the tweed's breast pocket. No, the pocket itself was gone, burned off during either the hectic regeneration cycle or the explosion that had killed her in the first place. Damn, I'm as raggedy as last time, she thought. She looked down at the singed black socks she was wearing, at her tattered trousers and charred pink shirt. I don't suppose there would be anything in the clothing room… we never really planned for something like this. She looked around the control room.

"Ah, of course! Pond has clothes!" she said excitedly, before slapping herself lightly on the cheek. "I can't undress Pond for her clothes," she admonished. "But didn't she bring her wardrobe on board?" She started striding toward the door to the rest of the ship, then stopped abruptly. "I can't steal Pond's clothes…

"Besides, it seems I've quite a different array of body measurements than Pond." She turned back toward the console.

"I thought I was done being the raggedy Doctor."

The Time Lady jogged up to the console and perched her hands on the familiar buttons and switches. Her hands were smaller, she realized. That'll take a bit of getting used to… don't want any crash landings, do we?

"Well, what do you say, sexy? Let's get back in style, eh?" She flipped a lever and punched in some coordinates. "There's only one place to get clothes for a Time Lor—Lady—and, actually, that place was on Gallifrey, destroyed in the Time War. Pity, really, they had wonderful biscuits in the front room. Well, it's only fair that I bring Amy back to Earth, so we might as well kill two birds with one sonic blast, as the humans say." She jiggled the navigation joystick and the TARDIS shook lightly. "They don't say that for another three millennia from when we're going," she murmured as she brought her fist down on the timey-wimey lever. The familiar vworp-vworp-vworp resounded throughout the TARDIS' interior.

"And into the Time Vortex we go," the Doctor said brightly, looking up. "Sweet Gallifrey, it sort of feels like the very first time again! I'm practically brand-new!" She paused, a bit taken aback by what she had just said. But then a wide grin spread across her face, and she continued more quietly. "Who'd have thought, at nine hundred and fourteen—or is it thirteen?—I could ever feel this young?"

Laughing, she slapped the console playfully. A girl and her box off to see the universe. Still the best thing there is.