A sequel/companion piece to "Paper Royalty."
Red
The next time he finds himself sitting down to a Christmas dinner, he's not at the Powell Estate with Rose and Jackie and Mickey, but he is wearing a paper crown again. Red. Just like before, except this time the smiles are a bit more forced, and there is grief and melancholy hiding behind the happiness. A new face, a new crown, and a new emptiness in his hearts.
He wears a crown for the second time in his life (and his fondness for ridiculous head gear has only increased with his newest regeneration) and the knowledge that there is no pink and yellow princess to match him strikes him as a physical blow. This new face is much better at hiding its pain than any of his previous ones; on the outside he is laughing and joking and wishing the others a Merry Christmas, but on the inside he is burning. If his tenth was born from a kiss and love, then his eleventh was born in pain and loss.
Abigail and Kazran are sitting to his left, their hands not-so-secretly clasped under the table and it makes his own hand ache with emptiness afresh. New hands, but they still miss the feel of hers enclosed within them. He wonders if he'll ever stop needing the feel of her hands in his again, if he'll ever be able to hold someone else's hands without noticing how wrong it is, how the shape and feel of them are all wrong and nothing like what he wants.
He can't quite make himself believe that he will. When the night is over and it's time to take Abigail back, he pulls the crown off his head quietly and folds it up carefully. The red paper sits in his palm and he can't help but think that red will always be one of his favorite colors. Red for Rose.
A last lingering look and he slips it into his breast-pocket, nestling it close to one of his hearts. Because they'll never not belong to her.