Chapter Text
The Nestene Consciousness was the perfect threat, if there was such a thing. His young companion had rolled her eyes and refused to go with him, but he’d left the Tardis with a spring in his step regardless, feeling more like who he once had been than he had since The War had started. An old enemy to help him find his old self again.
He had never expected that either of them would survive the final days of the war, in fact the second they had made the decision to steal The Moment from the Omega Arsenal and end the war once and for all, he had considered their fates pretty much sealed. He’d had regrets, of course, his partner in crime was little more than a naive child, appearing to him to be no more than eighty-five or so years of age, though once again he had felt that she was some how much older or perhaps much younger than that estimate, and while he had lived out many of his lives, she was barely three days into her first regeneration. The idea of killing her had gutted him almost as much as the prospect of wiping out at least two entire species.
Waking up in the Tardis, alive and relatively well, with her still by his side, still wearing the same face even though his had changed, had been pleasantly surprising to say the least, even if he found himself unable to explain how or why it happened.
Adjusting to what came next was less pleasant. No matter how fond he had become of her, The Old Man had always assumed he would be taking the kid back to Karn if they survived the war, after all, she yearned for her sisterhood much the same way he yearned for the stars and the freedom they brought him and, as he’d told Ohila, he was a parent no more. But Karn was gone along with Gallifrey, they were alone in the universe, and the only comfort he had been able to offer had been to sit dumbly nearby as she, lacking the strict emotional control of a proper Time Lord, sobbed over their losses. It had been then that he’d realized that they could not go on, not the way they had in war times. No, for her sake as much as his, he would have to find him again. The man he used to be. Buried somewhere deep inside him.
The sound of a girl's voice drew him back to what he was doing, tracking the Nestene Consciousness' pawns through the basement of this shop in hopes that they'd lead him back to their plastic loving master. He couldn't make out what she was saying yet, but she was attracting attention, he realized. Great, just what he needed, a human to get in his way.
“Right, you’ve got me, very funny.” The girl’s voice rang out clearly this time and he startled a little, realizing how close she’d gotten, “Right, I got the joke! Who’s idea was this? Was it Derek’s? Derek is this you?”
He could see her now, a pretty young blonde girl, in her early twenties perhaps, stumbling back towards him, tripping over boxes as she tried to get away from the Autons that were closing in around her. He should help her, he realized as the Autons raised their plastic arms, ready to strike. That’s what The Doctor would do. He would help her. Not bothering to stop and think about it, he darted out of his hiding place, grabbing her hand, “Run!”
The girl didn’t even seem to have time to be surprised as he tugged her along after him with the Autons hot on their tail. They made it into the elevator with meer seconds to spare, one of the Autons managing to get it’s arm through the door as it closed, it’s fist opening and closing in a menacing manner. Grabbing the arm, he tugged once, twice, three times, yanking it free from the rest of the body.
“You pulled his arm off!” The girl gasped behind him in disbelief.
“Yep.” He agreed, tossing the arm to her, not bothering to watch as she fumbled to catch it, “Plastic.”
“Very clever, nice trick.” She frowned, “Who were they then? Students? Is this a student thing or what?”
A little confused, he returned her frown, “Why would they be students?”
“I don’t know.” She admitted.
“Well, you said it.”
“‘Cause, to get that many people dressed up and being silly, they’ve got to be students.” She decided.
“That makes sense,” He gave her a little grin, that was actually quite clever, “Well done.”
“Thanks.”
“They’re not students.”
“Well, whoever they are, when Wilson finds them, he’s going to call the police.” She informed him.
Uh oh. “Who’s Wilson?”
“The chief electrician.”
“Wilson’s dead.” He probably could have told her that with a little more tact, but he was, perhaps, a little rusty at communicating with humans. The elevator doors slid open on the ground floor and he stepped out without waiting to see if she followed him.
“That’s just not funny! That’s sick!” She protested, storming after him.
“Hold on, mind your eyes.” He advised, pushing her out of the way and using his sonic screwdriver to fry the elevator controls, then turning on his heel and marching off to find an exit for her to use to escape the building.
“Who are that lot down there?” She demanded, racing after him. “I said, who are they!”
“Plastic. Living plastic creatures. They’re being controlled by a relay device on the roof, which would be a great big problem if I didn’t have this!” He explained, showing her the explosive device he’d brought with him for this very reason, “So, I’m going to go up there and blow it up and I might well die in the process, but don’t worry about me, you go on, go have your lovely beans on toast. And don’t tell anyone about this because if you do, you’ll just get them killed.”
Pushing her out the door, he closed it quickly behind him. The door had no sooner closed, than he found himself impulsively pushing it back open, “I’m The Doctor, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Rose.” She answered, a little shell shocked.
“Nice to meet you, Rose! Run for your life!” He told her, slamming the door shut again. The Doctor, he realized, the name had slipped out before he’d even really thought about it. It felt almost easy to fall back into the role in that moment, like it hadn’t been countless hundreds of years since that name had passed anyone’s lips, including his own. Frowning, he thought back to the last time he heard it.
He had never been sure of what to do with silence. While this body wasn’t overtly uncomfortable with it, he still held recent memories of bouncing around this very console room, chattering away to whoever was available to listen or, if no one was, absolutely no one at all. This body did not bounce and it didn’t seem much for chatter either, which may have been a blessing because the slight, pale child that now sat awkwardly across the console from him didn’t seem like the type to appreciate it much. Still… the silence perhaps wasn’t the best option either.
“What’s your name, Child?” He finally asked, clearing his throat to get her attention. The girl stared at him, a mild look of confusion on her face. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, like she was trying to figure out how to broach an awkward topic when it hit him. He’d automatically spoken English, as he so often had given the company he tended to keep, but this girl showed no sign of understanding what he’d said. That would have to be fixed, he decided. Switching to Gallifreyan, he repeated himself, “Your name, Child? Do you have a name?”
“They call me Sister Larn.” She informed him after a moment’s hesitation, like even just that might be a secret she should not be sharing.
“They call you Sister Larn.” He repeated back, noting her word choice, “But that is not your name?”
“They call you Doctor.” She pointed out with a touch more confidence and perhaps an edge of defensiveness, “But that is not your name.”
“Not anymore.” He informed her tersely, “Not in war. The Doctor died on Karn. You can call me…”
He frowned. He hadn’t really thought of what he should call himself now. He’d never planned to live to see the day when The Doctor didn’t fit anymore. This didn’t seem to phase Larn, however, as she made her own declaration, “I shall call you Old Man.”
“You may call me Theta.” He corrected, his frown deepening into a full on scowl at her presumptuous choice of terms. There were several ways to call someone an old man in Gallifreyan, but the one she’d chosen hit a particular nerve, the most familial version of the phrase. The way one might address their grandparent, he recalled, but he was no one’s grandfather. Not anymore.
Shaking his head, he pushed that memory aside, he had far more important things than his identity crisis to deal with right now. Blowing up those Autons in the basement, for one thing, and, despite what he’d told Rose, hopefully not dying in the process.