Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.
Author's Note: I figured I'd better upload this before "The Day of the Doctor" makes this completely AU and breaks my headcannon for the Time War. I actually started writing this right after Ten regenerated-kind of as a coping/grieving mechanism. This will be a short story, only three chapters or so, but it will be finished. I never start posting anything unless it is already completed-I'm just that slow. Comments and criticism is more than welcome. Enjoy.
"I don't want to go."
They were his last words—well the last words for this go round. The next thing out of his mouth would be in a stranger's voice, formed in a strange mind. He'd have new teeth. If he hadn't been transfixed by the fire swelling in his marrow he would have laughed bitterly. No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't do anything—ever again. The entity of the Doctor would go on, but he would be dead; just another set of memories and cast off clothes in the amalgam of the Doctor.
Only a few seconds, a scattering of heartbeats, and the regeneration would be over. He'd never been more aware of the fickle nature of time; the way it could creep through seconds like centuries and fossilize the present. Time roiled, rushing forward and yet he was frozen at the center of it, a stone battered in the middle of a stream. At once he had already changed, lost comprehension of himself, and been forced aside by some interloper, but he could still feel the regeneration moving through his system. Cell by cell the molten energy seeped through him; pooling, melting, reforming.
He had lifetimes to contemplate the change eating through his flesh as it compacted sinew and twisted bone. It was strange, but this would be the only time that would ever be his alone. These moments would be lost in the pain of regeneration and the egocentric confusion of a burgeoning personality. He grasped onto the moment—his last moment.
He'd seen the earth born; an insignificant plant cradled among the stars in what should have been the most boring galaxy in the cosmos. And he'd seen its people clawing out an existence at the end of the universe. He'd seen all that, but there was so much more. So much these eyes had never seen— would never see. Perhaps it was selfish, but he rather thought that the whole of space and time had never looked better than through these eyes.
The TARDIS shuddered. Deep in her core, the vortex thrummed in response to his spasming hearts. He was ripping apart. He fought the regeneration through every cell, clinging to this body, this mind. The TARDIS didn't know what to do. She reached out, trying to calm him, help him. He thrust her off—savagely—he didn't want help changing. He wanted it to stop. Her heart twisted. This wasn't how it was meant to be. She was supposed to be easing him through the process as she had so many times before. But he fought her, shutting her out as she battered against the walls of his consciousness.
He was losing. Already a new version of himself shunted him to the side, his mind blurring as two personalities shoved against one another. Energy flared as he threw back his head. The tears dried in his eyes before they could touch his cheeks. This stranger in his head wanted life just as much as he did. And this new man had the strength to take it.
Not yet, not yet. Just a little longer. That was all he wanted. Another breath, another thought.
The TARDIS screamed. Fires surged through the grating. They both burned. The Doctor wanted to scream, but the mouth was no longer his. Darkness closed in. The last notes of his song faded into the stretches of the universe. He was out of time.
I'm alone.
Across the Void, a blonde woman looked up into the night sky and began to cry. She didn't know why. The rangy man at her side pressed a hand against the ache in his one heart.