EX-TER-MI-NATE! EX-TER-MI-NATE!
He shot up like a rocket, gasping for air, hearts thundering in his chest, adrenaline firing through his body. His eyes darted wildly around him, but he saw nothing of his surroundings. He was searching frantically for the creature of his worst nightmares, his mortal enemy. He would never escape them – they would follow him and destroy all that he held dear and there was nothing he could do to stop them and then they would destroy him…
No, no, it wasn't real, it wasn't here. He struggled to regain his fragile hold on his sanity, before terror swept him away. Even as panic held him in its grip, his brain was assessing his bodily functions, and he could tell from the sparkling flashes in his peripheral vision and the tingling in his extremities that he was hyperventilating, seconds away from passing out. His head fell forward as he fought to control his respirations, and sweat poured from his face into his lap.
After several long minutes he felt his hearts slowing and the panic subsiding, although he was still shaking. He lifted his head, wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his hand as he looked warily around him, taking in the surroundings he had been unable to perceive before. To his surprise he found himself on his bed in his own room in the TARDIS. Why he was surprised by this he didn't know. He had just awoken from a dream… hadn't he? His gaze fell on his desk, cluttered with his latest projects, his small bookshelf, the open door to his bathroom, trying to understand why all of this looked normal but felt wrong somehow.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and discovered that he was wearing pajama trousers and a tee shirt. Strange, that… he usually just stretched out on top of the blankets in his clothes for a quick nap, his only concession taking off his leather coat. He stood up and immediately realized that this was a mistake – his vision began to cloud and his head spun, and he hurriedly dropped back down onto the bed before he passed out. He felt so odd, so unlike himself – weak yet bursting with some kind of strange but familiar energy. His perception of his environment was amazingly hypersensitive. He could feel the texture of the sheets under the pads of his fingers, the individual fibers of the rug beneath his feet. He smelled stale sweat and engine grease, exhaustion and … tea? Something had happened, something that lurked just out of his reach, waiting to pounce…
A click from across the room and his eyes quickly lifted to see a blonde girl in jeans and a pale blue hoodie walking in the door. She was carrying a mug in her hands but it fell to the floor with a dull thud when she saw him. For the briefest second her eyes flashed golden and blazing, and he drew a sharp breath in fear and wonder, and then it was gone, and Rose, his Rose, was running to him, arms outstretched.
"Doctor!" she cried, and there was trepidation and joy mingled in her voice as she dropped to her knees in front of him and grasped his hands tightly in her own. He felt a shock, like a current of electricity, flow through him at her touch. Her eyes, now just their normal hazel, searched his face anxiously. "Thank goodness you're awake! How do you feel?"
He opened his mouth to answer but instead broke into paroxysms of coughing. His throat and mouth were parched, his vocal cords felt singed. Immediately she jumped to her feet and ran into the bathroom, returning in a moment with a cup of water. She held it to his lips and he gulped it down gratefully.
"Are you better now?" she asked worriedly. She sat down next to him on the bed and rubbed his back as he fought to bring his breathing under control. Even as he heaved and gasped, eyes streaming with tears, he was excruciatingly aware of her hand on him. It felt like a brand through the thin cotton of his damp shirt.
"Yes," he croaked, then, carefully clearing his throat, asked, "What happened?"
"You don't remember?" she asked, turning toward him and holding his hands again.
He searched his mind – nothing seemed clear, just vague impressions and images dancing out of reach. Even his time sense felt out of sync, like he was disconnected, adrift. "Only bits and pieces." The fact that her thumbs were gently stroking over his knuckles did not help clear his head in the slightest.
"Well, we're not too sure, either," she said, and she bit her lower lip for a moment. "We're hoping you can fill in some of the blank spaces. We've been so busy taking care of you and the TARDIS. We had you in the infirmary at first, but then the TARDIS said it was all right to bring you in here so long as I kept the tea nearby. She was very insistent about the tea – dunno what that's all about."
"Full of antioxidants and tannins – good for the synapses," he said automatically, hardly aware that he spoke. "Was I – unconscious?" he asked apprehensively, and she nodded. He searched her face – she looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled into a messy plait. She was still beautiful, he thought. "How long?"
"Two or three days, I think," she said, her brow furrowed slightly. "'S always hard to keep track of the days in the vortex."
Two or three… days? "We're in the vortex?" He was about to ask her another question, but something she had just said made him pause. "Wait a minute – you said the TARDIS told you about the tea. What do you mean, told you?"
She bit her lip again, then said quietly, "She's been speakin' to me. I can hear her in my head."
He stared at her, incredulous. "But… but…that's not possible," he stammered, completely gobsmacked. "Only me. I'm the only one who can – you can hear her?"
"Ever since we left the Gamestation," she said almost musingly. "At first it scared me – it was strange enough knowin' she was translatin' inside my head, remember? But she told me not to worry and helped me take care of you."
He was stunned. He knew that the TARDIS was extremely fond of Rose. He had teased her about it more than once. But to actually be able to communicate with her…
"You were ill, I think," Rose was continuing. He looked back into her face and saw her eyes swimming in tears. "Unconscious. Your skin was…shimmering. Glowing from the inside, like you were on fire, and you were so hot. Sometimes you cried out – about Daleks and delta waves and… something about a dog." She squeezed his hands convulsively. "I was scared to death, even though the TARDIS said you would be all right."
He experienced a strange sensation, as if a piece of his memory was sliding into place, and suddenly he could see what had been just out of reach – the Gamestation, the Controller, the Dalek fleet bearing down on them, and Rose – Rose emerging from the TARDIS glowing with light and power…
His head spun and he must have looked lightheaded again because her hands were now on his chest, pushing him back onto his pillows. "Lie down," she urged him. "You haven't eaten in days and you're still so weak. Don't want to have to haul you into bed again – my back's still not the same," she added with a weak grin.
"Did you get me here by yourself?" he asked in astonishment. Rose was in good shape but to pull his dead weight…
"No, Jack and I did, of course," she answered, puzzled by his question. "You look pretty thin, but you're heavy!"
"Jack? But… Jack's –"
"Glad to see you back in the land of the living, Doc," announced a voice from across the room. The Doctor looked over Rose's shoulder and what he saw hit him like a blow to his solar plexus. His blood seemed to drain away and he cringed against his pillows in shock.
Jack was walking toward them with his familiar swagger, smiling widely. "I told Rosie you'd be all right, but she couldn't stop hovering around you like our very own Florence Nightingale." He winked at her, but then his smile began to fade. "Doc? Are you ok?"
Jack. Jack Harkness, whom he thought had been killed by a Dalek. But not the Jack, the friend remembered. This… he was… wrong. Very, very wrong. The Doctor's mind reeled - he couldn't process this, couldn't begin to understand how their friend had become… this! It was impossible!
He realized how he must be staring at Jack and tried to school his features into a more neutral expression, pushing down the horror he was feeling. Jack didn't know, or didn't understand… "Um, yeah, I'm fine, just surprised and – glad to see you." He hesitated only a fraction of a second over the word. Gladness was the last thing he was experiencing right now. He could hardly think. "I thought the Daleks – "
"So did I." Jack was still eyeing the Doctor as if he wanted to ask him something but had decided to wait for now. "I was the last man standing, remember? The Daleks were coming toward me with the usual 'Exterminate!' line. I emptied every gun I had and then… I was lying on the floor and the Daleks were gone. Just piles of dust on the floor."
Rose was looking from the Doctor to Jack as if aware that something was going on between them but unable to figure out what. The Doctor felt another memory tickle in the back of his mind at Jack's words.
"I ran back to the TARDIS and found you and Rose collapsed on the floor of the control room. I managed to get us into the vortex despite the damage. By then Rose was awake, and we got you into the med bay."
"Damage?" He was almost afraid to ask. He was beginning to feel that he could expect almost anything today.
"Yeah, Rose did a real number on the control panel – I think she used a truck to pull it apart from what she remembered," he grinned then added quickly at the look of horror on the Doctor's face, "Don't worry – I've almost got her back to her good old self."
The Doctor mentally reached out to his ship and relaxed a bit when he felt her reassuring hum echo in his head.
"Jack, don't scare him," Rose scolded. She was looking at him worriedly – obviously his expression was still too revealing.
Memories were rushing upon him now…
"If I'm really clever – and I'm not just clever, I'm brilliant – I might just save the Earth – or rip it apart."
"I'd go for the first."
"Me, too."
...
"You see, Jack, that's the decision I've got to make for every living thing – die as a human or live as a Dalek… What would you do?"
"You sent her home. She's safe. Keep working."
...
"Doctor, you've got twenty seconds maximum!"
"Ex-ter-mi-nate!"
"I kind of figured that."
...
"You really want to think about this 'cause if I activate this signal every living creature dies!"
...
"Hail the Doctor, the great Exterminator!"
...
"What are you, coward or killer?"
"Coward, any day."
...
"What have you done?"
"I looked into the TARDIS, and the TARDIS looked into me."
...
"I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself."
...
"You've got the entire vortex runnin' through your head – you're gonna burn!"
"I want you safe… my Doctor. Protected from the false god."
...
"How can I let go of this? I bring life!"
...
"I can see all that is… all that was… all that ever could be."
...
"C'mere. I think you need a Doctor."
...
He lifted her into his arms – he had to get them both into the safety of the TARDIS before the change began. Already the fire was beginning to lick through his body. His legs were shaking as he carried her into the control room and laid her down carefully onto the grating. He needed her to wake up before… she would be so scared if she woke up to… His knees buckled and he fell beside her…
...
He could feel their eyes on him as these thoughts raced through his brain. He could hardly comprehend all he had remembered. Rose… and Jack… and … he had regenerated! Of course he had! No one could hold the Time Vortex as he had without being destroyed. That explained the glowing Rose described, the excess of energy he was experiencing, the strange disorientation. No wonder they were staring at him. They had certainly not expected this, any more than he had expected Jack.
"So, must have been surprised to see me," he said with a weak attempt at a smile. "Or maybe you figured it out, Jack?" He had to force himself to look the Time Agent directly in the face – the man's handsome face made his skin crawl. "You know a little about Time Lords, right? Probably heard rumors. How do I look? Is it an improvement? Am I ginger?" For reasons he did not care to analyze, he hoped Rose would approve of his new appearance.
"Figured out what, Doctor?" queried Jack with a hint of wariness.
Jack and Rose were looking from each other to him, and there was definitely more than a trace of alarm, especially in Rose's face. This was certainly not the reaction he was expecting. Why were they looking at him like that? What had happened to him? An answering fear was rising in him, a trace of panic returning…
"Doctor, what are you going on about?" Rose said in bewilderment, laying a hand on his shoulder. Again a current seemed to jump through him at her touch. "What's wrong?"
He needed to see for himself. He swung his legs out of bed and stood up again, swaying a bit but regaining his balance. The bathroom – there was a mirror –
"Doctor, no!" Rose cried, grabbing onto his arm. "You're still too weak!"
He shook off her hand more roughly than was his custom – a part of his mind registered this and he felt a pang of remorse - and staggered through the open door into the loo. He leaned on the edge of the sink for support and peered into the mirror at his reflection for a long, silent minute. Then the breath he had been unknowingly holding exited his lungs in a hiss of utter amazement. Whatever he had been expecting, it had not been this!
"What in the bloody hell…?"