Bits In Between

By Lumendea

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Death of Time's Champion

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of the spinoff material, and I gain no income off of this story, just the satisfaction of playing with the characters.

AN: This takes place during the Seventh Doctor's regeneration into the Eighth Doctor in the TV Movie. It has a horrible script and plot, but Paul McGann is an absolute gift as the Doctor. Given that they've established old faces can return, I'd love to see him finally get a full shot at the TARDIS. I'd actually return to watching the show for him.

AN2: This Bit is Peramia's fault.

…

The Doctor screamed, thrashing on the operating table. His mind was still spinning, still working and still trying to make sense of what was happening. He'd been in the TARDIS, taking the Master's remains back to Gallifrey. Something had gone wrong, an emergency landing. Only-only-only when he'd stepped out, he'd been attacked.

No, that wasn't exactly right. Shot at, yes, but they hadn't known him. This was Earth; they hadn't known him and hadn't cared who he was. Sad, dying this way. The doctors were moving around him, trying to save him. They'd fail. He tried to speak. Wrong medications to put him fully under. Wrong training. They'd kill him, trying to save him. Maybe-maybe-maybe if he could get back to the TARDIS-

No, too far. He was… failing. But-but-but the coming regeneration felt wrong. Too slow. The medications were wrong, but just enough right. His fingers tightened, clutching at empty air. Fear, real fear, that this was the end rose in him. The regeneration energy wasn't coming. He couldn't feel it. The pain was intense. The bumbling fools were only making it worse. The Doctor sought out anything to comfort him. This was it. He was dying again. This body would fail, and there might be no renewal.

He needed something, anything of comfort. He tried to think of Ace, but those memories were too harsh and bitter for now. Susan brought pain and guilt for his high handedness. Tegan brought thoughts of her tears and her running away. Adric- no, not Adric. Not Nyssa. Not Sarah Jane trying to be brave as he had to drop her off to answer a summons he didn't want after she insisted that she wanted to leave. Too much pain and too little happiness in this life, in most lives, it seemed.

Rose. The name came in a whisper, warming him as the memory- no memories unlocked. A young woman on the cusp of life in Rome who had offered him comfort. He'd been dismissive for the most part but had noticed her bright timelines and gentle smile. The young woman in Greece with a sketch pad who'd shared her chips with him while he looked for Jamie and Victoria. He'd spoken to her, expecting her to be a historical figure with the way time danced around her.

In this third life, he'd only given her a passing glance, the fool he was. His exile had dimmed his senses more than he'd realized was the only conclusion he could make. Even the Master had noticed her more than he. But his fourth life, oh, she'd kissed him for the first time after catching him telling Leela how to enjoy Paris. And he adored her for the cheek of it. Then she'd laughed and swanned off, leaving timelines and possibilities dancing in her wake. He might have followed her then if not for his shock.

He now recognized her as the young tourist in New York City and wondered what role she'd played in stopping the Osirian. The memory of touching her skin as he tended her wounds was glorious and bitter. On the one hand, he'd stolen a few moments of her attention before it was due to him but done so because she'd been injured.

In his sixth life, he'd passed her again. A sweet and odd young woman, putting flowers on the grave of that poor girl swept up by politics far too vicious for her. He'd noticed and hadn't noticed her. If only he'd spoken with her longer, he could have stolen more time. But the fool he'd been had moved on too quickly. And yet, yet, he'd had some time with her himself only to have to bury it. In India, they'd had an adventure together, and he learned something of the golden woman waltzing through his lives.

Were there other times he'd met her? Something shifted in his mind, buried deep and locked away, but they sparked and taunted him when he thought of Rose. Why were those memories separate? Had something else happened? Or was it an echo of his future? She'd been injured… searching for something. Then one of the doctors shifted a probe and pulled him back to the pain.

Rose. He clung to her, to the memories he could access. There was no time to try to solve another mystery. Not now. Rose would love him. No, she did love him. He remembered her saying those words to him. And his name, she knew his name. His true name, not the Academy nickname he'd used as shield. The sound of her voice as she whispered it to him filled his ears, driving out the sounds of the fumbling doctors, the machines and their music. Love. He was turning into a romantic fool. And yet… yes, he rather liked the idea of being a romantic fool for her. She thought him worthy of love. Perhaps he was. Perhaps that was something he could have.

But he couldn't remember. Too dangerous. Maybe this next life would be the one; maybe he'd finally get to meet her properly. Maybe his next voice would be the one to whisper his name to her. But the memories would make meeting her too dangerous. He might get it wrong, or worse, he might run. He had to forget. The Doctor kept his eyes closed, pushing his mind, pushing his sluggish brain to bury the memories. Too dangerous. Too dangerous to remember. He had to forget.

Then he was gone. The regeneration energy is too weak to restore him immediately. Instead, it built slowly, only releasing when the Doctor's body was cold in the morgue. But the last order to his mind, forget, lingered on a little too strong.