Chapter Text
The day was soft and gray, a smooth layer of clouds spread across the sky. The sweeping fields of tall green grass were more vibrant without undiluted sunlight bleaching them. The air was cool, heavy with the smell of rich, damp earth.
A few stray drizzling drops of rain fell onto a square patch of dirt that had been cleared of grass. Already a few tender sprouts had pushed themselves up from the loose dirt, undeterred by the loss of the previous generation.
The loose patch of earth shifted.
The newborn sprouts trembled.
A distant flash of lightning lit up a corner of the sky, bright and silent. The wind had died down to a sigh, the world going still in anticipation.
Thunder rumbled and crashed, the wind picked up sharply, blowing in dark clouds, lightning flashed again, and the patch of earth began to heave upward, as if the ground were taking in a breath.
Thunder brought rain crashing down.
The dirt rose up.
A gnarled hand thrust its way into the open, just as another flash of lightning burst overhead, turning the hand into a black silhouette of clawing roots.
“Alright,” a muffled voice said, “did that look as cool as I think it did?”
“Totally.”
Sunny squished through the mud in tall boots, an umbrella held in one hand, a camera in the other. Dawn trudged in from the opposite direction, similarly equipped.
“Ah, the crops are doing so well this year! The nerds are ripe for picking!” the Doctor called from somewhere out of sight.
“I'm going to hug you when I get out of here!” Bog called back, struggling in the mud.
“Just you try it, mudball.”
“These are going to look so cool when we put these clips together,” Dawn said, tucking the camera away in its bag, “How's this one fit, Boggy?”
“The legs are on the right way around this time,” Bog said, clawing his way out of the mud, shaking rain drops and momentary double vision out of his eyes.
“That was one time,” the Doctor shouted, still not visible.
“She's putting newspapers down in the Tardis,” Dawn explained, “she's tired of cleaning mud out of the wiring.”
“She made me get in the cracks with a toothbrush,” Sunny remarked, resting his umbrella on his shoulder so he could grab Bog's hand.
Dawn took Bog's other hand, “Okay, and pull!”
The arm Sunny was pulling on snapped off at the elbow.
Bog looked at the yellow liquid oozing out of the stump.
Sunny looked at the arm he was still holding by the hand.
“Bog . . .?” Dawn began.
“I'm out,” Bog snapped. He slumped forward into the mud.
Sunny finally came to himself and dropped the arm, flailing backwards to get away from it.
“This one a better fit?”
Bog squinted. Dawn's bright face and fluffy halo of hair coming into focus as she bent over him. The sunlight was bright, the outline of it around Dawn was blinding and Bog threw a hand over his eyes.
“He's a shade plant, remember?”
A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see the Doctor had unfurled an enormous yellow and red beach umbrella.
“He needs some sun,” Dawn insisted.
“I need a drink,” Bog's voice was hoarse and his mouth was dry. He wondered if that was a good sign or bad sign. Every time he tried on a new body and felt good it usually ended up that his nerve endings were dead or something.
The Doctor poured a cup of water over Bog's head.
“Not what I meant.”
“But it's what you're going to get, my teetotaling tuber. Plants don't drink hard liquor and it therefore follows that you don't drink it either. Anyway,” the Doctor crouched down, the umbrella closing in further on them, “how does it fit?”
“Gimme a ruddy minute, love,” Bog wheezed, feeling his lungs reluctantly inflating, the rigid segments of bark on his chest shifting with each breath.
“Don't smother him,” Dawn chided.
She pulled the umbrella a little further away so the world was a little less smudged yellow and red. There were some green smudges too now. Bog flexed his hands, his joints moving easily, and touched his thumb to his fingertips, feeling the softness there. That was an improvement, definitely.
“Peach fuzz,” the Doctor said, taking his hand and twisting it this way and that, “for a tree you've got really soft hands. The insides, anyway. Backs are still nice and crunchy. Imagine if you hit someone with that. Total annihilation. They'd be picking splinters out of their face for months.”
“Mm,” Bog took the Doctor's hands in his, savoring the newly returned sensitivity in his fingers. It had taken six tries to get his hands right, to turn them from stiff, thick roots to something that he could imagine using to play the guitar with again. He could feel the callouses on the Doctor's palm, the chipped coat of polish on her fingernails.
“He's getting touchy-feely again,” the Doctor called to Dawn, “maybe we need to reboot him.”
“I keep telling you,” Dawn sighed, “that's normal.”
“How's the connection?” the Doctor freed herself and shone the screwdriver in Bog's eyes, “Any lagging? Double vision? Double sensation? Teeth growing in sideways?”
“Nope. Help me out of here and let's see if everything stays where it should.”
“Your ears sliding off that time was weird and disturbing,” Dawn grimaced.
“Then why are you keeping them in a jar?”
“. . . science?”
“Hey, man,” Sunny took Bog's hand, “if your arm falls off again I am done. Completely done. I'm almost at my limit of zombie body horror.”
“And how do you think it feels to be me?”
“If I planted your arm,” Dawn said thoughtfully, “would it grow another Bog? Would it be a tiny Bog? A pocket Bog?”
“Neither your nor your sister are allowed to play with my genetic material without my permission. I thought we established this. And there has got to be an easier way to do this!”
Bog struggled to pull free of the ground, snapping the tiny rootlets that had spread out around the body while it grew. It stung where they broke off, leaving tiny yellow droplets of blood beading on the skin. The skin was still segmented bark, but patterned to be smoother and not grate together so badly at the edges. Only a Cheem body could be grown using the methods Bog and the Doctor had worked out from the data in the primrose. It would take years for a body to slowly take on a more human structure.
“Maybe we should try pods,” the Doctor said. She was pulling hard, but Bog's arm was still attached, “big old pods, bodysnatcher style.”
“Why didn't you make that suggestion half a dozen bodies ago?!”
“I was thinking trees, not peas.”
“Stupid!” Dawn smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand, knocking her glasses askew, “We got too hung up on plants and forgot all about the human aspects! A pod would be so much easier to program a template into and minimize the need for roots to gain nutrients because the body would be suspended in--”
“Miracle-gro?” the Doctor suggested.
“Hate you,” Bog muttered, getting to his feet and brushing dirt off. After the first attempt at growing and piloting a new body Bog had quickly figured out how to add a simple, separate, fabric-like growth in the shape of pants.
“Good, good, the cheekbones came out nicely,” the Doctor nodded in satisfaction before reaching up and pinching Bog's dirt-encrusted cheeks.
Bog was embarrassed to feel himself blush, but also pleased. The body felt real. Almost as if it were him and not just a remote-controlled drone. His real body—real self—was still firmly rooted to the inside of Roland's former Tardis. With a thought Bog could be pulled right back into that prison. Right back into reality.
“Someone is in loooove,” Dawn giggled.
“I'm allowed to appreciate an aesthetically pleasing face!” the Doctor huffed.
“It's the first one I've ever seen you appreciate, sis. Or consistently recognize.”
“He's easy. He's the one covered in bark.”
Bog smacked the back of her head.
“Hey!”
“Oh, so sorry. My reflexes must still be off kilter.”
The Doctor punched him in the stomach.
“I hope this isn't standard courtship stuff for Time Ladies,” Sunny said, standing on his tiptoes behind Dawn so he could rest his chin on her shoulder, “I bruise easily.”
“Sunny, I've seen you fall off a ten foot wall and walk away without a scratch. I'm theorizing that you're either an alien with enhanced resilience or a sudden leap in human evolution.”
“Don't disrespect my skills like this. I am one hundred percent token human and have collected enough bruises and broken bones to take down an elephant before I reached true mastery of parkour.”
“It isn't natural, it just isn't natural. And these bizarre courtship rituals are exclusive to my sister and her lovesick Larch.”
“I'm going out on a limb here and guessing Larch is some kind of tree.”
“Limb,” Dawn snickered, “that's a good one.”
Bog's leather jacket still fit.
Was it 'still' when the body he was wearing had never worn the jacket before?
His tattoos were gone. No, again, the tattoos had never been inked into the tough skin of this body, on the twined bundles of roots that mimicked the shape of arms. The hands he flexed had never picked up a guitar, the feet that were digging their toes into the dirt had never walked on Earth.
Because they weren't on Earth at the moment.
“One of seven Earth-like planets orbiting a dwarf-star called Trappist-1, recently discovered by Danish scientists,” Dawn had explained, “rather less sunlight than Earth, but suitable for a weird Bog garden. Humans will start colonizing in the thirtieth century. Until then it's like your own personal planet.”
Bog had viewed the scenery on the monitors, his interest piqued by a brand-new, untouched planet, “Can I name it, then?”
“Frank,” the Doctor immediately suggested, “or Earthy. Not Earth. Nearth. Frank Nearth. Frank Nearth the Second.”
“You are not allowed to name anything. Ever.”
“What's wrong with New Earth?” Sunny asked.
“Already taken. Or will be,” Dawn shrugged.
“Also that's totally boring,” the Doctor added, “hey, what about calling it Broden? Planet Broden.”
“Never mind,” Bog said, “we're not naming the planet. Not if I have to deal with this.”
Now Bog stood outside Roland's hair salon Tardis, watching Trappist-1 sink behind the horizon. A pristine planet, untouched by the industry of humans—or any intelligent species—and a cheap hair salon was parked in the middle of a grassy meadow, a neon 'open' sign blinking red and blue in the growing dark.
“I guess we've got a keeper,” the Doctor said.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I don't seem to be shedding anything important.”
The Doctor took Bog's hand.
And stabbed his fingertip with a needle.
“Yup,” she said, ignoring Bog's yelp, “nerve endings are good.”
“Wasn't there some nicer way of checking that?!”
“Don't be a sapling about it. You're not even bleeding.”
“Hmf.”
“Connection is holding. Since you're real body is hooked up to a Tardis you're very unlikely to experience signal loss, no matter where or when you might be. All data you collect in your avatar body will be relayed back to the original so even if the avatar body is damaged you won't lose any—any . . . “
The Doctor stammered her way to a stop when Bog brushed his fingertips over her cheek. Was it the newness of his body that made it seem that his fingers were more sensitive than before? Or maybe it was just the novelty of touching a person with affection.
“I guess . . . I guess that's a nicer way to check nerve sensitivity,” the Doctor remarked awkwardly. She hitched up her shoulder and squinted her eyes when Bog's hand traveled down her neck, but it was only a few moments before she was leaning into his touch, eyes half-shut.
“This really is me, isn't it?” Bog asked quietly, “My body? My hand?”
“Do you want me to be scientific of philosophic about it?” the Doctor had her arms folded tight in front of herself, making no move to reach out to Bog, “I've got a good repertoire built up.”
“I wouldn't mind a straightforward comforting lie.”
“I'm good at lies. Bad at comforting.”
Bog let his fingers coast over the back of her neck, counting the vertebrae that made gentle rises in her skin. The contact helped him feel real. It made the Doctor feel real. She was a strange being, too big inside for him to fully understand, too quick for him to catch unless she stood still and let herself be caught. She was always running and even now, in this moment, it didn't feel like she had really stopped.
“New bodies . . . I've had loads. They come with memories of worlds you've walked a thousand times, but never walked before. At least you get to say the same height. I had to lower all the shelves so I could reach things without a step ladder.”
“Doesn't it bother you? Not to be yourself anymore?”
The Doctor shrugged, “Sometimes there are things you're glad to leave behind.”
Bog's fingers had been pushing the Doctor's hair back behind her ear and he paused, looking at the familiar shape of unfamiliar hands.
Hands that had never held a gun.
“I see,” Bog gently rubbed away a smudge of dirt near the Doctor's hairline, “I see.”
“You wake up and it all begins again. There's the whole universe, new again, waiting for you, and you've got a brand new set of eyes that see everything differently than you've ever seen them before. I'm glad we got your eyes right. I was afraid we might get the wrong shade.”
“Hm,” Bog toyed with the lapels of the Doctor's coat, “this is all a new beginning, is what you're saying.”
“Things begin and end every day. Some are just more noticeable than others. Today you set a clock to count down the ten years, more or less, until you're avatar is more human than Cheem. And I've set my own timer . . .”
The Doctor looked out over the fields and Bog followed her gaze to Sunny and Dawn. The two were pulsing the light on the end of Dawn's screwdriver to attract fireflies. Or some sort of firefly creatures. They actually looked more like flying, glowing spiders.
Bog tugged on the Doctor's coat, making her turn away from the scene. Dawn and Sunny were beginning something, something bright and fresh. They carried their own hurts and worries, but the both of them were fundamentally sound and happy in a way that Bog and the Doctor could never be. Sooner or later Dawn's path would diverge from her sister's.
“She's not gone yet,” Bog said softly.
“That's one of the things about being a Time Lord,” the Doctor said, her head lowered, hiding her eyes in shadow, “you see more endings than you should.”
“Doesn't that just mean you see more beginnings, too?”
The Doctor looked up, slight frown on her face while she took in his words. Something seemed to click into place because she laughed, her painted lips twisting into a reluctant smile, “I think I'm starting to see why I keep you around, Bog.”
“I thought it was for my good looks.”
“I guess you're alright. For a tree. I wonder if you'll turn red and orange in the autumn, because that would be spectacular.”
Bog tugged on her coat, pulling her closer as he bent down, “You're completely bizarre.”
He gave her a brief kiss, confirming that the nerve endings in his lips were functioning properly. He took a breath and looked into the Doctor's eyes. It was hard to say whether the stars he saw there were a reflection of the night sky or from the vast universe she carried within her.
A sudden thought tickled Bog and he laughed.
“What?” the Doctor drew back.
Bog pulled her back, “I was just thinking, technically, that was my first kiss.”
Dawn let the twelve-legged insect dance over her hand while it followed the light from the screwdriver, “It wants to play! I thought it was like fireflies and it was a mating thing, but it's just that he wants to play, like crows. What smart little things.”
“Pretty too, in their weird way,” Sunny picked one out of his hair and shooed it back into the air.”
The two of them stood, knee-deep in grass, surrounding by the winking of the insects and the steady light of the stars. It was cool and the wind was rustling mysteriously in the grass.
“Is it over, then?” Sunny asked, holding Dawn's hand while they watched the sky.
“I guess it is. For the moment.”
“You'll take me back and drop me off in time for my shift, just like none of this happened.”
“I guess.”
Sunny's chest felt tight. Dawn was going to go whirling off into the stars. He would be stuck on Earth, just like before, except this time he would know that he was stuck. Before it was just life. You walked on the surface of the world and knew that anything beyond that was out of your reach.
“I mean,” Dawn took his other hand and swung their hands back and forth a little, “if you want. But after your shift ends . . . are you free?”
The cord tied around Sunny's chest broke and fell away, leaving him able to breathe freely again. The shy look on Dawn's face, the puffs of her hair nodding in the breeze, the sparkle of light glittering from under her eyelashes . . . she was beautiful. She was new. Her sister was like some ancient stone, craggy furrows worn into her by time and trouble. Dawn, just like her name, was new, just peeking over the horizon. Sunny wanted to follow her and see new things together.
“Well,” Sunny could only barely keep himself from grinning, “actually, I kind of have a family dinner I have to help set up. Big deal, the whole family, aunts, uncles, cousins. Even an army of plant people could stop us.”
“Oh,” Dawn dropped his hands, drooping a little, “yeah. Can't skip out on family. I guess we'll just—”
“But,” Sunny took her hands again, “are you free to come to the dinner?”
“Your family dinner?”
“Yeah, we're all allowed to bring dates, but only if we're super serious. No casual flings allowed. It's my grandma's rule. Family only.”
“Family only?”
“Yeah, well,” Sunny's face was suddenly hot, “I mean, I don't know how this is going to end up, but . . . I'm—I'm kind of serious. About you.”
Dawn's face lit up brighter than all the stars and lightning bugs around them. She grabbed Sunny by the shoulders and pulled him into a kiss, pushing away all her thoughts about the terrible revelations of the last few days while she slid her fingers through his hair.
Those were endings.
This was a beginning.