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The first thing the sort-of-Doctor was aware of was being inside a cocoon. He'd never been in a cocoon before, and he had to admit that it was surprisingly pleasant. Warm. Safe. He decided blearily that he'd remain in here for as long as he could – maybe until the beast he was could regenerate into a prince. Until then, however, he'd stay here.
The next thing he was aware of was the grumbling from his stomach – apparently this useless human body was hungry yet again, something which he didn't think he'd ever get used to. He fought hard to ignore the sensation of his stomach gnawing itself from the inside. The difficulty of this task increased a hundredfold when two more sensations assaulted his senses at once – the loud buzzing of something outside his cocoon and the sharp aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He wrinkled his nose; his peace was being ruined by these intrusions, but he stubbornly curled further into a ball, screwing his eyes shut.
The final straw, shattering the illusion of safety, comfort and belonging, came in the form of someone prodding him through his cocoon; he grumbled incoherently and opened one eye slowly, followed by the other. His eyes met the underside of the cream duvet cover, sunlight filtering through the thick quilt and encasing him in a warm golden glow. Suddenly, he found himself rolling sideways as the duvet was pulled out from under him, unwrapping from around his body and casting him unceremoniously into the overly bright bedroom. Jackie stood beside the bed, one hand on her hip and the other clutching the corner of the duvet. Her pencilled in eyebrow was raised in amusement as she indicated the tray on the bedside table.
"Doctor, it's past midday! I brought up a little bit of brekkie for you – don't worry, I didn't cook it! I'll see you downstairs whenever your majesty feels like getting up…" she chuckled, tossing the cover back at him and tootling from the room, closing the door behind her with a sharp snap. The sort-of-Doctor took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling, allowing the heavy mantle of sleep to slide slowly from him. He had to admit, sleep was something that had been nothing more than a boring pit stop as a Time Lord, and one he thankfully didn't have to make very often. Now, however… Sleep was something he could get used to. He hadn't felt so relaxed in oh, say, a few hundred years?
He stretched languorously and sat up, reaching out his left hand to pick up the steaming mug of coffee from the tray. Carefully, he dipped the tip of his tongue into the hot liquid and took some into his mouth – taste had always been his most powerful sense in this regeneration, and the explosion of bitterness on his taste buds seemed to confirm that this hadn't changed when he had become half human. Trans-cinnamic acids, quinic acid, p-coumaroylquinic acids – having never had proper brewed coffee before, the sort-of-Doctor felt thoroughly agog at the knowledge of how often humans willingly consumed such a foul, acid-reflux inducing beverage. He drank the whole mug in one, determined that he wouldn't hurt Jackie's feelings on this – he'd done enough damage. The hot buttered toast was quick to follow, and he once again tested his taste buds: carotene, oleic acid… nothing unusual there. He licked the remnants off his fingers, far preferring the silky texture and slight tang of salt to the flavour of the coffee.
Springing out of bed, he barrelled out of the door still in his borrowed pyjamas and all but ran down the stairs: his usual sense of urgency had returned and the sort-of-Doctor knew he wouldn't be able to abide sitting still for as long as he had yesterday.
"Jackieeee?" he called brightly, ruffling his hair and grinding to a halt in the hallway. "Jackieeeeee?" he cried again, more insistently this time. The woman in question arrived before him just as he filled his lungs to shout again. She looked amused.
"Oh, it's himself!" she laughed, quirking an eyebrow and raking her gaze up and down his lanky frame. "You didn't bother gettin' dressed, then?"
"Dressed?" he queried, placing his hands on his hips and rocking backwards on his heels. "Why would I want to get dressed? I'm only going to visit the TARDIS, she won't mind my jimjams."
"You are not going to visit her yet, Doctor. Later on, maybe, but there's more important things to be done today. I'm taking you shopping."
The sort-of-Doctor stopped dead, one foot raised on his way towards the opposite wall which he had, of course, intended to lick. He brought it back to rest beside the other and turned on the spot, jaw loose and mouth hanging open.
"What?"
"Shopping, I said. We're gonna go into London proper and get you some new clothes – can't have you wearing that bleedin' blue suit every day now can we?"
"What?"
"I mean I know you used to but Rose said the TARDIS could clean stuff in ten seconds flat – our little old washing machine can't. You're gonna need some underwear and your own pyjamas and maybe some proper shoes – you can't go running around in trainers all the time, you know!"
"What?"
"And some jeans for slobbing around in. You can't be comfortable in suits all the time, can you? And some spandy new ties; Rose loves it when you wear a tie."
"I'm not going shopping!" he screeched, face contorting in horror. "Normal shopping, yes, but clothes shopping? With you? Well…" he trailed off, drawing out the word like he so liked doing. The very thought of traipsing around central London like some bloody tourist buying dress shoes and jeans inspired more horror in him than the Time War and a bowlful of pears put together. She couldn't be serious. He was sure of it – she couldn't be…
Apparently, she was. Jackie Tyler pursed her lips and stepped so close to him she could hear his heartbeat. Tilting her head right back she glared at him, chin poking uncomfortably into his bony chest. Several tense seconds passed as she stared him down – and into submission.
"You go and get ready right now, Doctor! I mean it!"
"But-"
"Now!"
Selfridges was; as far as the sort-of-Doctor was concerned; the deepest circle of hell, reserved for only those who had committed the worst kind of crime against humanity – earning too much money and spending it on pointlessly expensive objects they didn't need. His dislike of it had been increased immediately when, on passing a salesman in the perfume department, he had opened that infamous gob again.
"So, Selfridges… You don't happen to, you know… sell fridges, do you?" he'd chuckled, only to find himself recoiling from the icy glare fixed on him by the man holding the atomiser. Jackie had apologised profusely on his behalf, and the sort-of-Doctor couldn't understand why he was so irrationally angry about her mithering. However, on account of her being Rose's mother, he'd allowed her to usher him upstairs to the men's department. It was with a most Donna-esque pout he'd accepted the jeans and casual t-shirts she'd thrust at him, recognising with a pang the way he thrust his jaw sideways and exhaled impatiently – how very Donna Noble indeed. His frustration increased when she'd forced him into trying on a pair of shiny black dress shoes with a three figure price tag that made his eyes water (he also recognised exaggerated hip wiggle as he inspected the shoes in the mirror as a Donna-ism, the only reason he submitted to buying them).
However, the moment the sort-of-Doctor stumbled miserably into the suit department, his eyes lit up and a wide grin crossed his previously dejected face. With all the energy of a child in a sweet shop he bundled his new clothes into Jackie's arms and tore off, inspecting the stitching of sleeves, the texture of material, the carefully crafted pockets and creases and tapers and- He was awash with joy in this world: for a brief while he could forget he was the Doctor, forget he was dangerous, forget he was hated by the woman he loved most, and just enjoy the experience of a new suit.
In the end he picked out three – two blue, one black. The blue were similar to the one he was wearing – rusty pinstripe cutting through the sumptuous blue. The black was a carbon copy of the Tuxedo of Doom as he'd fondly called it; he was sure it would be far less unlucky, as this was a parallel world it could only become more lucky, couldn't it? Jackie was confused as to why he refused to buy the brown suit shot through with blue he stared at so longingly. The sort-of-Doctor shook his head, dropping the sleeve quickly when she'd caught him looking.
"Nah. Not really my colour," he said with a shrug, turning towards the shirts and ties. He had a field day here too, picking out every variation of red, blue and black he could get his hands on, including a dapper looking bow tie he was pretty sure he would never actually wear. Trainers came next – three new pairs of Converse hi-tops in blue, black and red. Jackie knew better this time than to suggest he buy the off white ones he'd once favoured. Hair gel, underwear (boxer briefs, he'd insisted, were all he would were… on the odd occasion he bothered to wear them: Jackie felt sick at the thought), a cup of coffee in the tearoom. He became more wired than ever, and Jackie began to wonder if coffee was really a good idea when it came to the Doctor.
Soon, they traipsed down Oxford Street, the sort-of-Doctor whining about walking too far and the lack of the TARDIS and the rude people who constantly bumped into you without so much as a sorry. "Well, I can sympathise with always being in a hurry but I mean really, where's the common courtesy of the humans in this world? At least in the other one they'd apologise for knocking you on your backside," he muttered mutinously, turning and baring his teeth threateningly at a man who'd almost knocked him sideways into a rubbish bin while being too focused on his mobile phone. "Mobiles! The worst invention in all of time and the ruin of the human race!" the sort-of-Doctor continued to seethe. Jackie ignored him, typing furiously on her mobile phone.
"Doctor? Rose might come over tonight again for tea. How do you fancy chips?" she asked absently, not seeing the flash of pain that crossed his already crumpled face.
"I'm going to Torchwood once I've dropped these bags at your car. I want to spend some time with the TARDIS – she'll grow faster if I show her I'm still here."
"You don't have to stay away just because Rose'll be there, you know," she said gently, closing her phone with a sigh and sliding it into her pocket. The sort-of-Doctor nodded and gazed into the distance over the top of her head.
"Oh I know. I just miss the TARDIS, that's all. I think Rose needs some time apart from me anyway. The last few days have been hard for her; recoup with her family is exactly what she needs."
After a moment, Jackie shook her head angrily, her heavily made up eyes closing in disbelief.
"See, this is your problem, Doctor. You're forever making decisions for people because you always think you know what's best. Pull your head out your bum and just listen to what the rest of us want for a change, will you? I'm sick of it." She took a deep breath before continuing. "And you can stop your little self-pity pout too. You don't have to be right all the time; you don't have to be alone anymore. Give us half a chance and you could have a family."
"Jackie, I-"
"No, shut up. Here's the money for a taxi to Torchwood. I'll see you later," she snapped, thrusting twenty quid into his hand and grabbing his bags before turning and marching down the busy street, quickly swallowed by the crowd.