His mind swam in a sea of colors. Swirls of perception mixed like taffy, allowing for no thought, no past, no future.
To be or not to be….
He was, and he was not. Or he was everyone, everywhere, and no one nowhere at the same time. Stories upon stories….
After some time (Time? What was that? He couldn't remember, though it seemed like something he should know), he perceived…something. A pull, a question that had to be answered.
What do you want?
The question wasn't in words as much as an insistent feeling to define himself. His complicated matrix, with so much history, reasserting itself, affirming his existence.
He sifted through that history, trying to find an answer to the question. He considered his current self: a good man, possibly even a great man, but he knew he did not want to be a copy.
What else could you be?
This new question struck a feeling of déjà vu, a sense that he had been asked that question before. A sense of self was returning slowly, as the swirling colors eased. His memories slid around the question, remembering the one person that had asked the most of him. Her face formed crystal clear in his mind.
Ace.
She had asked him who he was, all those years ago, when he found himself shaken after showing her the Oncoming Storm.
He saw her face, her beautiful, smiling face, and became excited for the future. Please? He thought into the swirl of color. This is what I want. The last time I felt true to myself.
The feeling grew stronger, as if it was smiling.
And then the feeling was his. And it hurt.
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Light penetrated the dark slowly, bringing with it pain. Bodily pain. Everywhere. No longer was he swimming in a disembodied sea, but felt himself take a large, harsh gulp of air. Lungs. He had lungs! Another gulp of air, and the pain seemed to recede slightly. Had he been holding his breath?
"Doctor?" He heard a soft, feminine voice. His eyes fluttered open, the light making them water. He raised his hand up to shield them.
"Turn the lights down," the soft voice said. He turned his head towards the voice, and saw a woman with light blue eyes, possibly around seventy in human years, yet still with the coloring indicating she had been straw-blond in her youth.
With the lights turned down, he looked around. He seemed to be in a hospital bed, in a sterile room. A sheet was covering him. He looked back up at the woman, startled. He had no clothes on. He felt himself blushing.
"How do you feel, Doctor?" she asked again. He swallowed, attempting to move vocal cords that felt like they had never been used before.
A small moan of pain escaped him. He felt like he had been beaten with Ace's baseball bat.
"Yes, I'm the Doctor. I think," he managed to croak out. He scrunched up his nose at his vagueness.
"Yes, I remember seeing pictures of you when I was young," she said, a soft smile on her lips. "My people tell me you'll probably be very sore for several days. The process of re-materializing you wasn't easy."
"Do I know you?" he asked, still trying to get his bearings. He knew there was much more he needed to remember.
"I'm Jenna Lethbridge-Stewart," she said simply. "The Brigadier's great-granddaughter."
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They left him alone to get dressed. He took stock of himself. Looked at his hands, his feet, the rest of him. Hmm. He knew this body, and it wasn't the one he had recently become accustomed to.
He stood up gingerly, and looked around for a mirror. Steel-blue eyes looked back at him instead of the vivid green as of late, brown curling hair a bit tousled. He grimaced slightly at the lack of height.
And then a slow grin spread across his face as he worked out how this could be so. He wasn't a copy anymore. That's what he had asked for, and his wish had been granted.
Clothes were sitting on a table, waiting for him. They were acceptable; reminiscent of what he had worn during this incarnation, but less stand-outish. More like the professor that Ace had always said he was. He thought of Ace in a rush. Had that request been granted, too?
He opened the door and limped into a hallway, his legs protesting the activity. It was a hospital, but the Doctor sensed it was underground. At least he had some Time Lord senses still intact. Time would tell how closely this Flesh form had aligned with his past self.
Because he knew what he was, now. A Ganger. But not quite.
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Jenna came around the corner. "Alright to talk?" she asked gently.
"Yes, I think so," he said, delighted at hearing the old Scottish burr. He had always liked this voice. "Where should we begin?"
"It's 2127. We've worked out how to stabilize Flesh, though using it is going out of fashion now that your Ganger has rights," she started as they sat down at a conference room table. She had asked him if he was hungry, but he had declined anything but a glass of water. "Do you remember the accident?"
He thought back, the memories foggy. It was disorientating, so many memories….he put a hand to his head, trying to sort out the lives he had lived…and nodded. What had happened to Amy? He wondered.
"We were only able to isolate your matrix, though, from the island. My scientists seem to think it has something to do with your regenerative abilities." Jenna looked at him intently. "We didn't keep any samples, just in case you were wondering."
"Thank you," he said with relief. "I do appreciate how tempting it might have been."
"Not really," Jenna waved it off. "After Harold Saxon, we've learned that some things are better left alone."
"Harold Saxon?" The Doctor asked, the memories returning fast and thick. "The Master?"
"Yes," she said. "Though our scientists would probably love to at least talk to you for a bit."
"I'm sure that would be fine, but…" he pressed his lips together in thought.
Jenna tingled at being in the same room as this man, this Time Lord from another world, who was obviously more intelligent than she could possibly imagine, that she had essentially grown up knowing.
"How did you know I was there? If memory serves, I asked the captain and the others who made it out not to mention me."
"Figured you would ask that," she said with a grin. She took out an envelope from her pocket. "You wrote yourself a letter."
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He gave the paper a small lick, causing Jenna to grin again. The letter was 127 years old. Another Time Lord sense confirmed, he thought smugly. It was written in High Gallifreyan, though, which surprised him at first.
"Mother taught me Gallifreyan years ago, though I never have spoken it well. You both figured it was the best way for you to know it was genuine."
"We?" he asked.
"You and grandmother, 130 years ago, Doctor," Jenna said simply.
His nose scrunched up again, he sighed heavily, and began to read:
I do not want to write too much, as you know well that it is not a good thing to know too much about one's future. But Jenna has the ability to fulfill all of our dreams, if you let her. If you chose to follow this path (and yes, it is still your choice, even though you are reading this), then you must tell Kate about the Flesh accident when the time is right, or else figure out some other way for UNIT to know to reconfigure you out of the goo.
Otherwise, listen to Jenna. And one more piece of advice: be gentle with Ace. Let her choose, too.
Geronimo.
Finished, his face held the same puzzled look as when he started reading. There were many bewildering aspects of the letter, but he could only ask one question at a time.
"I'm not sure I understand. I distinctly remember setting Ace up with a background in the year 2007. She's over a hundred by now if she's still alive!"
Jenna couldn't help but smile at his acuteness. "We have a time machine."
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"This pack contains the time machine, though from what I understand, it isn't a time machine per se, but a matter "re-orientating" machine," Jenna explained to the Doctor as he looked over the pack. It had straps to be worn on the shoulders, and metal tie downs that reminded him of a parachute.
"This is what Martha used, isn't it?" he asked, the memories starting to order themselves nicely.
"Martha Jones, in the aborted timeline, yes. And there's where the problem is. It's not a real time machine, like the TARDIS. It needs your mental input to set coordinates. My best scientists say that it should be possible, with a strong enough focus, for you to be able to go back in time. To Ace."
She looked him directly in the eye. "Or else, to oblivion. If you don't have a strong enough focus, you will never re-materialize. And that's the choice you have to make. I can't make you go back. I'm not even sure I want you too," she admitted with a look of uncertainty.
"But you remember my influence in the past," he protested. "I must have taught your grandmother Gallifreyan."
Jenna shrugged. "Time Travel. Still, you're the one that has to pull the cords. It's your choice."
The Doctor considered the words of the letter. Listen to her. "I think it's time to you wrote a letter of your own," he said.
Jenna grinned. "My mother had a word for that. Timey-Wimey."
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He gathered up all of his memories of Ace in his mind. His other companions had all been wonderful, but Ace had been his best friend. He knew that for certain, now, having answered the question What else could he be? Being a duplicate of his 11th self was of no interest to him. In this form, he could be his own man, a Time Lord, and see Ace again, he thought excitedly. He held one image in his mind: her face, the day he left her in Brighton. The grace, the wisdom and the maturity he had beheld there had almost made him stay. Her face shinned in his mind.
He pulled the cords.
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And felt his knees give way, crashing him to the floor.
"What on Earth!?" a woman's voice yelled as he winced at the pain of hitting the floor, now on his side with the pack still on. Good lord, I'm getting too old for this! he thought furiously, his limbs shaking with exertion.
"Surround him! And get a medic!" a blond woman in her thirties bent down and touched his shoulder. Practical woman, he thought through a haze of pain, exhaustion, and frustration at being so undignified. The trip had taken every ounce of strength from him.
"Who are you?" she asked bluntly. "This is a military installation, you need to tell me how you got here."
"You are the Brigadier's daughter, yes?" he whispered, making a reasonable guess. She looked so much like Doris.
"Yes, how did you know that?" she said softly, automatically scanning him for injuries, somehow knowing that this man was not a threat. No one that knew him ever needed to say her father's full name. And no one that was a threat would ever say his name with such reverence.
She helped him to a sitting position, as it was obvious he was in no condition to stand. "Wait…I know you. Or, my father described you. He made me memorize all the descriptions of you. You're The Doctor, aren't you?" she said with awe.
He made a face. "Yes and no. I have a letter for you."
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He was still a bit unsteady, pain shooting down his left leg every time he took a step, so they stayed in the medical area while she read the letter. A very primitive method of traveling, "re-orientating", the Doctor grumped to himself. Not recommended.
Kate Stewart looked up from the letter, pensive. "Well. It's almost too incredible to believe. I mean, I'm not even married, and yet this letter is from my granddaughter. In the future." She sighed. "But if anything Dad taught me, it was to expect the incredible when you show up, Doctor." She gave him a searching look. "Or should I call you something else?"
"Yes, I think a new name is in order," he said smoothly. "You may even meet the original me again, which could be confusing." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Dr. John Smith should do."
Kate smiled. "Yes, I should think that would do nicely. Considering that that name is already in UNIT's system."
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"Doctor of Anthropology," Kate said as she handed the Doctor his new ID and credentials. "I did some checking, and a doctorate in astrophysics is much too noticeable — there aren't a lot of them in Britain. Best go with something a little more common. Also, an anthropologist might very well talk about humans as if they weren't one." She smiled, a joke between them. He smiled back, amused.
"And here is the letter that I've written for you to give to your granddaughter. Though we will have to get together soon, for language lessons." He smiled broadly.
"I've also taken the liberty of arranging housing for you, and a monthly stipend." she said, taking the letter. "You do, technically, qualify for UNIT pension." What we owe this man is incalculable, she thought.
She then looked at him with sympathy. "She hasn't seen you in six, seven years, Doctor. How can you be sure?"
Would she accept a copy? his mind hissed evilly. "I can't," he said shortly. "That will be her choice."
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Dorothy G. McShane started opening the mail as she drank a cup of afternoon tea. Her non-profit company, A Charitable Earth, received stacks every day, and going through it was a bit of a chore.
She was turning forty next week, and had been running the company for almost seven years, now, alone, but happy. It sponsored good work around the globe, and she had had the chance to meet scores of amazing people.
Her friends all wondered about her past, as she didn't really seem to have one, but didn't pry. Many thought she was gay, as she never dated, but that wasn't considered anywheres near as controversial in 2014 as it was in the 1980s, so no one really mentioned it.
How could she date, when none of them could ever compare to him?
A large envelope caught her eye from the midst of the pile, the size unusual. The return address was local to London, but it otherwise had no other information on the outside.
She opened it, and took out a CV on fine paper. She was puzzled. She hadn't put up any job postings.
She read the name, and nearly spit out her tea. John Smith.
The Professor had gone by that name, sometimes.
Always wondered if the Professor used John Smith because it was common, or if it became common because he always used it?
She read through the credentials. Doctorate in Anthropology, normal jobs. It didn't really sound like him, though.
But she knew in her gut that it was. For some reason, he was leaving it up to her to contact him. Her eyes moistened with tears. He was worried she didn't want to see him anymore. She was sure of it, somehow.
But why a CV? Was he trying to tell her something? That this time, maybe, he would stay? She stifled the wave of hope that threatened to overwhelm her. He was giving her the choice. Why? She thought. Why would he be afraid of seeing me?
This time, you get a choice. Something you never got before, a voice in her head answered back. He feels guilty about that. Are you going to let him back in?
She only needed a heartbeat to decide that. Of course she would. It was The Professor, after all.
But what if she did ring, and it wasn't him? What would she say? 'Sorry, I thought you were an alien I once knew?'
She made her decision. She would hire this man, regardless. If he was interested in charitable work, she could use another hand. And if it was the Professor….
She picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialed the number.
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It picked up on the first ring. "Smith residence," the voice said, accented, rolling the r. She nearly choked.
"Doctor?" she asked. My Doctor.
"Ace," he said softly. She could hear his smile.
"So that's the story," John said, as Dorothy poured him another cup of tea. "I seem to be an honest-to-goodness Time Lord, with all of the abilities of one." He made a face. "Though I have no interest in finding out if I can regenerate." He took a sip of his tea and sighed. She still knew exactly how he liked it. "And the limp seems to be permanent. Probably a side effect of Flesh time-travel. The cane helps, though."
"So what's the plan?" she asked carefully. She had listened to him, all the while waiting for the shoe to drop. "Will you go back to Gallifrey?"
He froze, his teacup at his lips. His eyes grew sad, as he sat the cup down slowly. "No. You saw the planet last year, that appeared in the sky?"
She stared at him, incredulous. "That was Gallifrey? What happened?"
And so he told her about the Time War. About losing Rose, and taking Donna's memories. Becoming human, and falling in love. The Face of Boe. About Amy and Rory, and the baby that he was sure Amy would bear alone. All of the losses, all of the pain.
He was sobbing by the time he was finished, tears streaming down his face, no longer able to hold the feelings in. This regeneration had always felt more than the others, and he shook with emotions from the actions of regenerations both past and the future, from months of uncertainty of what his future held, from fear and dreading rejection.
Dorothy knelt in front of him, emotions racing through her so fast it almost made her feel queasy. She had never seen him cry. She knew he was an emotional being, but that depth of feeling had only ever expressed itself to her in righteous anger or the childlike innocence of happiness.
She put a hand on his knees as he slowly came to himself. Tears still falling, he looked at her with embarrassment, fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief. "I'm so sorry, Ace, I didn't mean to-"
"Don't. Don't apologize to me for who you are." She looked into his eyes. Ace. She hadn't used that name since leaving him. It warmed her heart to hear it again. And strange Flesh technology or not, those were his eyes. She used to drown in those eyes, seeing the feelings he could never express.
"But I need to know," she took a deep breath, "why you are here. Really." He wanted to smile, but knew she would take it the wrong way. It was the question he was asked — What do you want? His Ace had always kept him honest.
But he didn't have the right to just waltz in and ask for her heart, did he? He was never good at talking about what he felt, or even knowing what he felt. He was silent for a moment, not sure how to put what he wanted into words.
"I would like... to stay," he said, finally. Ace's eyes went wide at the confession. "No! I don't mean — I have my own flat, UNIT has been very helpful," he started talking faster, "I just would like to stay, be a part of your life, I know you might not think I'm real, but-"
"Doctor, you're babbling," Ace said with a soft smile. "Come on, let's sit on the sofa."
They both stood up at the same time. Their eyes locked, and there was nothing else she could do. Ace grabbed his collar, and kissed him. Hard.
There was nothing chaste about this kiss. She poured all of her love, all of her needs into it, his cooler lips making her warm, full ones tingle. It felt as incredible as she always dreamed it would.
It took him only a split second to respond, gripping the table with one hand, curving the other hand along the base of her neck. He nearly growled, a satisfied moan in the back of his throat, relishing the fulfillment of desires he wasn't even sure he had.
The kiss ended slowly, if only for a need of air. Ace's eyes were still closed, lost in the heady feeling.
John winced, his leg starting to twitch from the lack of support. Ace's eyes snapped open at the sound of pain.
He grimaced in frustration. "This is what I mean. I'm not the man I was." His nose scrunched up in dislike at the thought. "In fact, I was never the man I've been."
Ace guided him to the couch, smirking a little at the ridiculousness of that last statement, letting him lean on her. "You really don't understand, do you?" she said. He sat carefully, and looked at her expectantly.
"I get it, that there's an "original" you out there, saving the universe, doing what has to be done. I know you'd never give that up, that you couldn't."
Her voice ragged, she paused for breath, her head bent nearly to her chest, baring her soul to him. "I couldn't stay. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up. Even with the Cheetah virus, I could feel myself getting older. And I couldn't bear how much it would hurt you to lose me when the day came that I couldn't run fast enough."
Her eyes bored into his, trying to will him to understand what she saw so clearly. "You've been given this one chance to be free. After all you've been through. Like a gift from the universe, or payment for services."
He let himself relax in her gaze. He felt like she was cradling his soul. "And you thought of me." Her voice crackled with emotion. And then she smiled, that wicked grin he remembered so well. "And I'm not giving you up again."
He grinned back. John Smith laughed out loud, a wonderful, happy, ecstatic laugh, thanking anything that might be listening. And then leaned in to kiss her again. Dorothy. His Ace.