The Doctor was dying. Rather inconvenient, he thought, dying right after dying. How embarrassing would it be if he woke up in a new new body. The ultimate embarrassment for a Gallifreyan. Regeneration before the new body was even whole. And his only consolation was that the next body just might be ginger.
If only he hadn't tried so very hard to keep the last body.
Or if that body hadn't been so very intent on staying.
Thinking of his regeneration problems as his previous incarnation's fault helped him feel better, like it was another person who was causing his new born body to fail. So that's what he did. He blamed ten for his desperation to live. He blamed nine for his willingness to die, and he blamed four for liking jelly babies so very much. He was certain they couldn't be good for his later health.
But after a while he got bored of passing the blame, because deep in his hearts he knew that things just were the way they were. He was not ashamed of his will to live, or his love of sweets, and certainly not of his sacrifice for Rose. No, the thought of being angry with his ninth regeneration for saving her life snapped all of his shattered personalities back into one, her name and memory healing his mind so that he could heal his body.
That will to live was still evident.
11*11*11*11*11
Amy worriedly sat by the bed of her newfound companion, no longer aware or even caring that she was late for work. Somehow it didn't matter. She was too afraid that the second she walked out the door he would end up dying, and in light of a police box showing up in her living room work seemed utterly insignificant. She would see how she felt when the bills came, but for now it didn't matter.
Reaching out a hand, she brushed aside one of the long locks of dark hair hanging over his deep-set eyes. His hair fell through her fingers like dark water, and when her hand brushed his cheek the skin was soft, but icy cold. Placing her hand gently, almost fearfully to his chest, she could feel no breath, and under her palm there was not even a whisper of a heartbeat.
But she couldn't bear to move him.
He had died, this wonderful, mysterious stranger, and she had done almost nothing to prevent it. Somehow at his death she felt a terrible loss; as though she had had a great opportunity slip through her fingers.
Sitting numbly next to him, her fingers absently brushed across his collarbone, the top button of his shirt coming undone as she did so. Her knuckles rested on his jaw and throat, gently stroking the cool flesh.
Amy should have been wondering what she was doing, but she didn't care. She was deeply regretting the fact that she had never known the man's voice, or seen his hand reached out towards hers in a beckon. She would never see the excitement flare in his eyes.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was being silly. Why did she have any reason to think that he would take her away? Somehow she knew that he was a traveler, and not one of that world. It was a quirk of her personality that she always seemed to know something important about a person upon seeing them, but she still had no reason to assume that he would take her anywhere.
Sighing and resting her hand on his chest for the last time, she moved to get up, suddenly stopping when she saw his head turn slightly and his lips part in an exhale. From his mouth streamed a golden mist, and under her palm she felt a single rhythm. But not a rhythm of two- no, a rhythm of four. Beat through once before falling silent again.
Amy drew her hand back as though she'd been burned. He was alive. He was alive but he was so cold. And what was that strange beat in his chest? It couldn't be a heartbeat. But frankly Amy couldn't decide what else it possible could be.
Deciding that no matter who this man was she should call a doctor, Amy dialed the phone and bit her lip as she waited. Christian wouldn't want to talk with her, but at least she had a good reason.
"Hello?"
"Hey Christian, it's me."
"Amy?" There was a heavy sigh on the other end. Amy clasped her patient's hand to solidify her resolve. "I thought we agreed things were over and we should stay away from each other."
"I know Christian, but this is important. I may be loosing my mind, but there is a man here who is very sick and I don't feel that I can take him to a hospital."
"Your new boyfriend I'm guessing?" He said cynically, making Amy wince.
"No you dolt! I'm not as needy as you seem to want me to be." She snapped, immediately regretting it. "Look, I just need your help. I think he's dyin' and I really can't take him to a hospital. There is something weird about him, and either he would get autopsied pre mortem or I would get locked in a padded room. Either way I'd rather get the verdict from you first."
Christian sighed. "Alright, I'll be over in a few ticks, just don't expect me to stay any longer than he needs me to."
Amy heard the click of the other line before she could reply.
Setting the phone down in frustration, she turned her attention back to the man lying on her bed to try and take her mind off of her just-until-recently boyfriend. His skin was still ice cold and when she placed her fingers against his throat she still could feel no pulse. Maybe he really was dead and she had cracked completely.