Note: In this fanfiction, I address the Doctors by their regeneration number, not their 'title', so John Hurt is Nine, Christopher Eccleston is Ten, David Tennant is Eleven, Matt Smith is Twelve and Peter Capaldi.
It was warm, and somewhat moist, the ground beneath the Doctor was uneven and hard. Blinking several times, the Doctor's vision cleared, swirling gray mist hovered over him, and far, far above the mist, piercing through the violet sky was a star, slowly accompanied by several others. Breathing evenly, the Doctor stared up at the night sky, watching it unfold before him in all it's splendor.
It wasn't the night sky of Earth, it was the sky of Gallifrey, from his youth, before he'd been outcasted, before the Time War had changed those stars as both Time Lords and Daleks destroyed nearby solar systems in a struggle for power. What was he doing here? And exactly where was here?
Suddenly, a shadow fell over the Doctor, and blinking, he took in a familiar face. The round, youthful features, mop of blond hair and cricket uniform adorned with a stick of celery was certainly a sight he would never forget. His hesitant gray-brown eyes were pleasant enough, and held a secret which was easy to see, but hard to read.
The Doctor's fifth regeneration struggled to smile, even politely. "I'm a disgrace, aren't I?" Eight asked numbly. He'd always looked to his previous regenerations as goals to be measured up to. If he failed, then he would bring down the name of the Doctor. The Good Man would no longer be what he was supposed to be.
The man who time and space so desperately needed.
We all failed at one point or another, Five voice echoed through Eight's mind, a kindness in his voice which Eight had tried to emulate countless times, but had always failed. In Eight's mind, he saw Adric's cold, dead, body, which quickly vanished from sight.
Of course, he's me, and I'm him, we can pear each others thoughts, Eight realized. Five's smile became more sincere, but not full. "Now you've got it," he said, offering his hand to Eight to help him up.
Eight took it, letting Five pull him to his feet, his war-worn renaissance coat trailing mist behind him. "Never thought I'd see you again," Eight admitted, dusting himself off briefly, then noticing the grime on his hands, realizing that the finicky habits of this regeneration would only prove pointless.
"Oh yes, you've forgotten, haven't you," Five said, moving away slowly through the mist and across the water-worn-smooth rock face. "We all forget," Five said absently, sticking his hands in his pockets as Eight hesitated to follow. He trusted Five, more than other versions of his past, though Five had never been too sure of himself. He'd been different from the first four forms the Doctor had taken, but that didn't make him bad. In all reality, it just proved he was all the stronger for maintaining the name of the Doctor.
It felt strange to follow Five. He felt the neural connection between them, could sense Five's feelings, though not his vague thoughts. It also didn't help that they were two separate beings. Five was Five, and Eight was Eight. Connected minds, but bodies which were once controlled by the same conscious, were controlled separately. "Forget what?" Eight asked, half a step behind his younger self.
"Each Time Lord has thirteen lives: twelve regenerations and one birth. From birth, our genetic code dictates what each of our regenerations will be like, in personality, appearance and order. Until we are to take our place in the regeneration cycle, we fester in the subconscious, developing ourselves, observing and learning from our predecessors," Five explained with an unexpected level of charisma. As they traversed the network of open tunnels, a thick, gray mist seemed to breathe into existence, distorting Five's close figure. "We go into our regeneration, relying on our past and our future selves, though we may only be aware of the past. We live, we die, we return here, letting the next regeneration take our place."
"And what do we do once we come back here? This is my subconscious, right?" Eight deduced, vaguely recognizing the tunnel's similarities to neural pathways throughout the brain, though the connection was a long shot of an observation.
Five nodded, glancing back at Eight to check his mood. "We assist and advise the current regeneration. We're often in contact with the Tardis, and encourage her to go to different locations with us against our will; places where we are the most needed. We are here for a total recall of our past, to remind ourself of exactly what is right and wrong, things like that."
"I don't see what anyone could possibly learn from me," Eight said quietly, thinking of the way that he'd gotten himself killed. He'd not only lost Cass, but he'd put the Tardis in danger. Yes, she probably had survived the crash, but there were horror stories of what happened to a Tardis once their owner ran out of regenerations. By now, some other fellow would have taken his place, and been off with it. But- had there been enough time for a regeneration. "Do you remember your regeneration?" Eight asked, growing worried.
"The first half, but then Six took over," Five said, pulling his hand out of his pocket and raising it to the stone wall, letting it run against the smooth, grainy surface. "Our advice isn't necessarily flawless, only proven by the first couple hours of Six's regeneration," Five trailed off as Eight felt something brush against his skin- the feeling of stone.
"I can feel the wall," Eight said, pausing, looking down at his hand, staring at his fingertips as the sensation vanished. Looking up again, he let his blue gaze meet with the more reserved version of himself.
"That sometimes happens," Five said, slipping his hand back in his pocket, as if to avoid any other neurally transmitted sensations to pass between them. It didn't work, as Eight's fingers quickly became quite cooler.
"Your hands are cold, aren't they," Eighth asked, rubbing his fingers, noting the emphasis, and reminder, that Five's hands had always been cold. The sensation was odd, as Eight hadn't had the same issue, but somehow Five had just brought on the sensation.
"Oh, it's something I've always had," Five said with a shrug, absent of the fact that Eight already knew that. Despite that, now he felt it; in a different body nonetheless.
"You said this happens sometimes?" Eight asked, reaching up to the tie turned scarf messily secured around his neck. Fighting with the knot for a moment, he managed to loosen it, feeling more comfortable with it further from his neck. He'd gotten sloppy with the Time War, in his earlier regenerations, his appearance had been somewhat of an obsession, but now he hardly cared.
"Usually only when we're in close proximity with another self. Our mind is vast enough that that doesn't happen unless we want it to happen, and trust me, we've all become masters at keeping to ourselves when it comes to..." Five trailed off, his steps faltering as he stared into the fog. Eight could sense it too: another one of themselves was approaching through the mists of their mind, the energy in the air changing, becoming slightly erratic and on edge.
"Oi, Five," a brisk, young fellow with sloppy, almost black hair, interrupted as he emerged from the mists. He wore a bowtie and a tweed coat, his eyes holding an intense, yet childish quality to them. The tension in the air seemed to release like a broken seal as the fog retreating slightly from the three Doctors. "Good, you've found him. Welcome back Eight, lovely to see you again," he said, offering his hand. Eight hesitated, but went to take it. Before he got there, the other him pulled his hand away suddenly, instead raking his fingers through his hair, adding to the already sloppy quality. Eight paused for a moment before letting his hand drop down again.
"What is it Twelve?" Five asked, some how keeping his voice pleasant, despite the discomfort emanating from him.
"Oh, we just have a problem with the regeneration cycle, and One wants to talk to all of me as soon as possible. He's called us to the prefrontal cortex. You know, he's sort of a brisk chap, and wants us there as quickly as possible," Twelve's words seemed to spill over each other like a floundering fish out of water what wasn't struggling to breathe, but to swim. He played with his hands constantly, distracting Eight from his intense brown gaze.
"And he sent you to come find us, did he?" Five asked coolly, his face lacking all amusement, turning into a sort of frown,
"No, no," Twelve rushed, though his next words came out slowly, almost painfully so, as if he were thinking about each word before allowing them to leave his lips. "I took it upon myself to come find you. All the others were arguing so much I knew they would take too long to come and find you."
"Thank you Twelve, we'll be there shortly," Five said slowly and firmly, leaving no room for the other Doctor to protest.
"Right. Gotcha. I understand completely. I'll go tell the others." Twelve didn't leave immediately, and hesitated before he added one more, "I'll leave now." Hovering a moment longer, he turned and left, vanishing into the mist.
"Right, where were we?" Five asked, turning back to Eight.
"Is he alri...?" Eight began to ask in worry. Would he really turn into that man?
"Oh yes, can you still feel what I feel?" Five asked, plowing over Eight's words, pulling both hands out of his pockets. In one hand he held a red and white cricket ball, which he tossed between his hands, a satisfying smack coming with each catch. Eight hesitated, trying to feel the weight pass between his hands, but there was nothing, his hands even had warmed up considerably since Twelve had shown up unexpectedly.
"Nothing," Eight answered simply with a shake of his head.
"That's fine," Five said, slipping the ball back into his pocket. "As I said, sometimes it happens, most times it doesn't. There's no reason for the difference, so if I were you, I'd just accept it, and move on."
"And you are me, so I really ought to listen to you," Eight added with a smile, his weathered face creasing with the grin. It felt nice to be somewhere where the Time War didn't hover over him like a shadow of threat.
Five gave a tight lipped smile, gesturing with his head in the direction Twelve had gone, "Best not to keep One waiting, he's impatient enough as it is. I think we've all decided that's why he was the first of us all."
"So, this is our mind, right?" Eight asked as the two of them headed into the mists, looking around attentive to the details, which were few.
"Yep," Five said, still not in a rush, leisurely strolling through the tunnels of their mind. What it must be like to be so relaxed. Five had seen better days, and though it may have had it's times of difficulty, Eight couldn't help but feel a surge of envy for him.
"What happens when we've gone through all thirteen lives?"
Five was silent for a long minute before admitting, "We're not sure. Supposedly, we can either let go of our conscious self, and move onto the next stage of existence, whatever that may be, or we can- bend the rules."
"Like Omega, Rassilon and the Other?" Eight asked, intrigued. Unlike the rest of the Time Lords, the three original Time Lords had broken past the twelve regeneration limit. Supposedly, there was a way other Time Lords could accomplish this feat as well, but the means were far from common knowledge.
"Whatever the price for that is, it must be very steep indeed, or the Master would have done it when he'd gone through all his regenerations." This comment surprised Eight, the Master had run out of regenerations in the Doctor's Seventh regeneration, after Five's time. In the past, when the Doctor had run into himself, memories were exclusively kept to what each regeneration had already gone through, but Five seemed to know things beyond him. Why this struck Eight after an entire conversation with Five made him feel a little slow.
"All the Time Lords are so scared of death, surely they would all do it," Eight agreed as they entered an open area. It made sense that Five knew the things EIght knew. Connecting the pieces was the difficult part. Something was wrong, Eight's head felt foggy, made literal by the mist condensing around them. His thoughts coming slowly, and not necessarily in order.
"Welcome to the prefrontal cortex," Five said, unaware of Eight's struggle. He came to a halt, Eight saying close to him, trying to see through the mist.