The deep knelling of a bell dragged the man back to consciousness. He was first aware of pain - a deep, searing ache in every bone and joint of his body. Strange flashes of memory danced through his mind…he saw himself staggering through the doorway of - what? His home? He cradled the battered and broken body of a woman in his arms. There had been a flash of brilliant green light, and then…darkness.

The man felt that there was some reason why he should wake up now…things he ought to be attending to. He forced his eyes open, and realized that the woman from his vision was clutched tightly in his arms, as if he'd been trying to shield her from something with his own body. He reached out his hand, thinking oddly that the skin was the wrong shade, fairer than it should be. He gently brushed long, dark hair away from the face that he'd seen in his mind's eye bloodied and…dead. Impossibly, she was warm and alive. He felt her pulse beat strongly in her throat, and her skin was perfect and unblemished.

If only he could recall who she was. If only he could recall who he was.

He eased himself up to a sitting position, resting his back against the wall of the fantastically appointed room that they occupied. There was a central console with brightly flickering lights that emitted a soft hum. The room nagged at his memory, as did the woman in his arms. He looked again at his hands, thinking that they looked strange and…wrong. He felt something constricting his throat, and reached up to undo his bowtie and collar. His clothing, and the woman's, bore sundry rips, bloodstains, and singes, but they both appeared to be unharmed, which also struck him as wrong, though he couldn't say why.

Acting on a sudden impulse, he bent and pressed his lips to her forehead, and that felt incredibly familiar, and right. She sighed softly, and a wisp of golden regeneration energy escaped her lips.

Regeneration? He knew that word… Wonderingly, he reached up and touched his own face. The outline was strange and unfamiliar. Was that it? Had he changed? Ever so slowly, information began to trickle through his brain. Regeneration. The last saving grace of the Time Lords. Although the process had taken different forms over the many centuries of his life, the last few times had been rather spectacular and explosive, and he couldn't imagine why he would have allowed his companion to stay so close beside him…unless she was already so close to death that it no longer mattered.

Clara moaned softly. She felt herself cradled in a strong pair of arms, and her cheek was pressed against the familiar scratchy tweed of the Doctor's jacket. "Doctor?"

"Hello," a strange voice replied uncertainly.

Clara blinked up into an unknown face. Handsome certainly, with blonde hair and startling light blue eyes that just now were wide with confusion. The clothing was the Doctor's, though it hung oddly on a more compact frame. "Is that…is it really you?"

"I'm not sure. I think I've just regenerated, although I'm not entirely positive just what that means."

Clara sat up, glancing around in sudden fear. "The Daleks. We…" She looked down at herself, noting her battered clothing, although her body seemed to be uninjured. "I was dying."

"I think perhaps we both were."

Clara's beautiful brown eyes overflowed with tears. She reached out to touch his new face tentatively with her fingertips. "I guess I can't call you Chin Boy anymore."

"But I can still call you…Soufflé Girl."

"You could just call me Clara, seeing as it's my name."

The Doctor reached out and clasped her hand in both his own. "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Clara," he replied gravely. He raised her hand to his lips with courtly gentility and kissed it.