A/N: Pay attention, now (or as my daughter used to say as a toddler, copying me in the car yelling at other drivers, "pay TENshun!"), I'm about to start switching Doctors on you. I'll also be pulling in hints from both TV canon and my own stories; but this tale shouldn't rely too heavily on them, I hope.

Twelve: Touchback

*Did you see Joshua?*

The TARDIS's question as he walked swiftly back inside the blue box hiding in the woods behind the Tyler mansion startled the Twelfth Doctor out of his preoccupation. *Who?*

She sent a peppermint-scented ribbon of amusement through his mind in response, then floated a picture of Corin's Time Lord son behind his eyes. *Joshua? What was he doing there?* he asked. Stronger peppermint, with a slight aftertaste of Duh. He scowled, irritated at her levity after his shock, but then stopped for a moment to consider his adopted son. Should he go back and bring him into this? Then he shook his head. No. I have enough to deal with here, and he spun the ship into the Void without another word. Letting the momentum of the resultant bumps carry him to the jump seat, he sprawled across it, staring unseeing at the glowing column of the Time Rotor.

"Well, chérie," he finally said aloud. "Looks like we have a job to do."

^..^

Half an hour later, refreshed from a hot shower and dressed once more in his habitual neatly-pressed faded jeans, stingray skin boots, and his favorite rugby shirt (the one with the blue stripes that precisely matched his current eyes), Twelve once more strode into the control room, bootheels rapping out his ownership in Morse code. A search of the TARDIS's data banks proved fruitless, as he thought it would; she'd been badly damaged during the incident, after all, and had recorded nothing. He was going to have to rely on both sets of his own memories instead.

A high reconnaissance flight over the time and place in question (he didn't dare go too low; the ship still flew through actual atmosphere like a drunken cow – a comparison he was careful never to articulate even in his thoughts lest she hear it) yielded a scan showing the telltale blip. As soon as she realized what was going on down below, the TARDIS prepared to swoop down and save the day, and he had to argue it out with her, sharing the memories that had been unlocked at the reception. "We can't do this by ourselves. We need help from the other side. Don't worry, chérie, we'll be back in time."

*Why not Joshua?* she demanded, reminding him again that the other TARDIS owner had been at the wedding, and Twelve shook his head again.

*One, I don't know where he was in his personal timeline then. Two, I don't need someone on this side of the Cascade, we'll come back and handle it. And three, it's got to be this way, or else I won't even have the memories to unlock to show me the way – and we'll never get out of that fix to even be here now.*

It was a tribute to the time ship's intelligence that she followed that last bit, he thought to himself, because he wasn't even sure he did. But at last she acquiesced, with a sharp reminder to hit the Bookmark! button high on the console before setting the course back through the Medusa Cascade to their home universe. The Doctor paused a moment with his hand on the big red button that logged their current temporo-spatial position, a soft smile of memory tweaking up the corners of his mouth. Dear Joshua. Perhaps I should go back to Larrik Hollow when this is all done and see the family again. It has been a long time, and I miss Jenny and the boys. Hell, I even miss Jack! He'd only been back once during his eleventh life, a flying trip just to let them know Things Had Changed; unable to bear the memories, he'd fled them like a whipped dog – and knew it.

Then he sighed, shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and went in search of an even older face.

^..^

The Ninth Doctor stalked inside the TARDIS door and clicked it snugly closed behind him, sighing. Thank all the stars that's done and dusted. It had taken all his persuasive power – and there wasn't much of it in this incarnation from the looks of it – to convince the Daniels family not to get on the Titanic. Now their youngest son, Terrence, would grow up and receive the Nobel Physics prize like he was supposed to. It had been quite a shock when Nine had tripped over the absence of one of his favorite scientists in the Nobel Laureate lists up in the twenty-aughts. No wonder the fledgling human space program had been three decades behind where it should have been. Now the time stream would go as it was supposed to – he could feel the shift beginning to ripple down the years already.

He sighed again, heavily, as he trudged up the ramp to the console. He'd only been going a few months in this regeneration, but it had been a long, cold slog already. Even though he'd locked up the details of what he'd done to end the Time War, burying the memories inside the TARDIS, the broad outlines hung over his shoulders like the proverbial Reapers, screeching their terrible, heart-stopping cry for his ears alone in the long lonely stretches of the night. He knew he'd be better off if he could find a congenial companion, but he just couldn't face looking for one. (Not that he'd ever really needed to look for one ever before; they just seemed to show up, and usually somehow ended up inviting themselves on board to stay. Well, where was his new one? She – or he – or it – or they – were late, dammit to Rassilon!)

Now, then, back to 2005. There was something strange going on up there, that he'd just gotten the barest whiff of before getting sidetracked back here to 1912. He started going through the usual preflight routine around the console when without warning, he was startled down to his toes to hear the familiar whoosh, whoosh –

– coming from OUTSIDE the TARDIS!

Nonplussed pale blue eyes stared down the ramp at the door, then he followed his own gaze and opened it gingerly. And there, facing him a few feet away, was an identical door. Blue. Wood. Set inside an utterly, intimately familiar Police Call Box.

He was just trying to decide whether to knock or just barge in, when the other door opened, revealing a head of tight black curls over intense blue eyes – darker than his own. He swiftly took in the rest of the vision: crisp casual clothes on a build similar to his; as the stranger leaned casually against his door jamb, crossing his arms and cocking one leg, and finally spoke.

"Hullo, me."

"Doctor?" Nine queried cautiously, netting a short confirmatory nod. "Ah. So you're next." He was about to speculate on how much time he might have left, when the other interrupted.

"Actually, there's two others between us. I'm number twelve."

"Then why are you picking on me?"

Twelve smiled. "Interesting question. I'm here because I remember this moment from your side. Believe me, given the choice, there's any number of moments I could have chosen, any number of other me's I could work with. But there it is: I'm here because I was. Cause and Effect have left the building along with Elvis."

"Well, one thing's for certain," Nine broke in. "You're as gabby as any other version of me."

"Oh, hardly. Wait until you become your successor. Now there's a Doctor who couldn't keep his gob shut. But in fact," he went on, "Doctor Number Ten is why I'm here. I need your help – or rather, he does. He's in need of a rescue, and we're the only ones who can do it."

Nine sighed again. (He seemed to be doing rather a lot of that today.) "And I suppose you're going to tell me that I'm going to help, because you remember me doing so."

"Yup!" came the cheerful affirmative.

Nine's eyes narrowed suddenly. "First prove you're really me. What –"

"The Lost Moon of Poosh," supplied Twelve, before the younger man could even finish asking what he was thinking of. He went on, ruminating, "I should set that up as my 'secret handshake', for future use. It doesn't happen very often, but every once in a while I do run into myself."

"'Secret handshake'?" queried Nine, netting another smile.

"Code of recognition. A friend of mine – you'll meet him shortly, in fact – has one. Useful concept, that, for time travelers." Twelve flashed a quick grin at the memory of Jack Harkness calling his younger self "Jackass", but didn't bother explaining it. "So. Shall we discuss the situation?"

"Your place or mine?" asked Nine wryly.

The older Time Lord glanced behind him at the remodeled interior, greatly changed from the one he knew was across the gap – and that only the visible surface changes. *Sorry, chérie, I can't let him in here. You understand why.* His TARDIS flashed a pouty, reluctant maroon agreement through his mind, and he blew her a mental kiss, then stepped outside and locked the door behind him.

"Yours."