Chapter Text
"Doctor...I let you go."
His last words burned through his mind almost as brightly as the regeneration energy that surged out of every nook, cranny and orifice of his being. Such a send off, as if he really really didn't want to put another lifetime through the same sadness and losses that he and all his other faces had suffered. Hadn't he learned anything through his time with Clara? The good came with the bad.
What was it he'd said in that body before? "The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them less important." Advice he'd been giving a friend that apparently he'd forgotten about somewhere down the line. When did that start? When had admiring the good things and remembering them become such a burden?
The flames licked harder against his skin, burning off the aged Scottish eyebrows and frown-wrinkles that had only gotten deeper as the life had gone by. Maybe it'd be nice to try for a bit younger this time - not baby-face floppy hair, maybe something closer to that life that started so happy and, like this latest one, ended so lonely.
"I don't wanna go."
Full of regrets that one, friends lost to him in one form or another - some had happy endings, one married to a normal everyday bloke, two more married to the job and each other...and one separated by a whole universe. 1500 years and change later, that parting still stung the worst, he'd hated beaches ever since.
That hatred had only grown when the mental blocks surrounding the Moment had finally dropped away and he'd seen just who it was that the weapon had chosen as the interface. A face chosen specifically for him, because it had known - long before they ever met, the Moment itself had known what she would be to him. Unfortunately all this came too late for him to do a damn thing about it of course, so now all he could do was mourn a chance he'd given up.
He partially blamed River for that, but then it wasn't really her fault was it? He'd held off from telling her his name until that last day on Darillium, when they couldn't put it off any longer and she had to go on her final expedition to the Library. In doing so he closed the loop that had crushed his hope for the life had wanted in favour of the one that Time demanded of him.
Would that he could do it again...
I don't wanna go. Those words again. By the Other, if only thinking them could make it so... If there was a way to get back everything he'd lost he'd take it, he knew that about himself. Endings were sad, Ashildr could make it out as beautiful all she liked but it didn't change that some of them had just hurt - so much that the memory of them burned his hearts to the point he thought not even regeneration could heal them properly.
Clara and Missy had gotten it wrong; he didn't assume he was going to win, he just tried his best not to lose. Well for once, for the first time in over a millennium, he wanted to win!
I don't want to go! And if anyone happens to be listening, and you've got any kind of problem with that...TO HELL WITH YOU!
As if thinking these combined thoughts of two faces who died alone was some kind of trigger, the regeneration began to pick up speed. The burning intensified, stripping all sight from him so that all he could see was the golden flames...and for a moment...just for a moment...he thought he saw a flicker of something just beyond it...
And then it was over, the flames died away and all the weight of his new body slammed into him, knocking him forwards before he self righted again.
Funny, he should be feeling dizzy right now. That was usually the way it went: New body, new attitudes to get used to, and a new alien problem because apparently he wasn't allowed to regenerate in peace. This time though...well, for lack of a better word, he felt good.
Hafta look into that.
But that was the moment the TARDIS remembered She was supposed to sweep her Time Lord off his feet as She suddenly lurched into activity, flinging the Doctor off his feet, face first, onto the grated floor (grated? Just how badly had he damaged the Old Girl this time?). Having done this now a grand total of three times, he was staggering back onto his feet in record time and stumbling back over to the console...had it always been that close of his face?
“Right then, love, what’re you in such a rush over?” Blimey was that his new voice? It was all high and light, and not Scottish anymore which he was of two minds about - on the one hand it meant he couldn’t complain about things anymore, but at least he wasn’t a bloody Estuary boy again. He sounded northern, not quite Yorkshire, and a bit too inland to be Manchester or Hull...Huddersfield! He sounded like he was from Huddersfield! Hadn’t done that before.
No, wait, distractin’ me’self. Focusing again on the scanner, he flipped a bunch of knobs and buttons that should have looked familiar but it seemed the TARDIS had done herself up when he wasn’t looking ‘cos none of these controls looked familiar. Well he should at least be able to get the scanner turned on…when had it gotten that small?
Shaking it off, he tried any of the odd knobs and switches trying to get it on...and when that failed he resorted to his old standby that he hadn’t used in years: hit it.
Oh look at that! A mallet was right there under the console! Lucky day! Grabbing it he whacked the top a couple of times, ignoring the protestations from the ship.
“‘S not my fault!” Ooh, very high pitched. “Next time show me what does what! Now where’re we going?”
Finally, the TARDIS acquiesced and the screen blinked on, the flight plan and destination time zone written out in circular Gallifreyan. And suddenly he caught his breath. They were going there? But that was dangerous! He already had an established presence there! He couldn't go back there...what if he ran into her? He'd never be able to leave until that Big Eared moron from Manchester came down and stole her away.
"Why?" He asked up to his ship, noting the familiar column for the first time, glowing turquoise and churning away into a circular console, surrounded by six large pillars that reached into the ceiling and dipped down deep into the storage space beneath the grating (wait, how did he know that? No, never mind, destination problems first). "Why're you going there? I can't interact with my past, you know I can't!"
A blipping on the scanner turned his attention back to the too small scanner and again he grunted in frustration. "Nestene activity in London. Yes I know! I already took care of this, you senile- ouch! Oi!"
She'd sparked him! The ruddy old ship had shocked him for trying to prevent a paradox! That last regeneration really had to have fried something this time! Growling in annoyance, he tried to work the strangely familiar-but-not-familiar console again which only upped his vexation as the long sleeves of his leather jacket got in the way. He was five milliseconds into tossing the thing off and rolling up his sleeves when his brain caught up with him...leather jacket? When did he put that on?
And now he finally had a proper look at his clothes...when did he put that waistcoat on? Victorian by the look of it, not something his last self would have looked out of place in but certainly not what he'd regenerated in...and this leather, black, battered and beaten...he knew this outfit...long time since he'd worn it but...But now he was looking around the TARDIS properly as well. The familiar-but-not feeling...because he did know this look...he just hadn't seen it for a very long time.
"You've let this place go a bit."
"It's his grunge phase. Don't worry, he grows out of it."
"What's this then? Coral?! It's worse than the leopard skin!"
"What the bleedin' 'ell is going on, here?!" By Omega, he sounded like Jackie Tyler. The universe really must be ending.
Another shake kept him from looking into it and he grabbed hold of the old console again, the TARDIS flinging and falling through the Vortex to a place he certainly shouldn't be going to a crisis that he had already dealt with once before. Something was really, really wrong.
At last the landing cycle began, the tell tale Vwoorp-Vwoorp droning in his ears that he loved so much no matter what River said, followed up by the satisfactory Thud signifying that they'd arrived somewhere new. Except this time nothing was new. He knew exactly where he was, which city he'd landed in, what day it was, what year it was, even the exact alley She'd parked Herself in. How could he ever forget? This was the day he started getting better.
And the last place I should be! Frustration mixed with sadness got him focussed on the console and he started working the controls, the memories of how to work this one slowly coming back. The wheel for time travel, the pump was the Helmic Regulator, that knob for takeoff and...nothing. The TARDIS shuddered a bit and that was it, She hadn't even budged a little bit.
"Alright this has stopped being funny now!" He shouted up at Her. "I can't be here! Lord-of-the-Ears is gonna be here any second, which means I have to go!"
The TARDIS only responded with a small ping! on the scanner, highlighting where the strongest signal of Nestene activity was emanating from. As if he needed to look at it: Hendrik's, just a stone's throw away.
"I know!" He said again, gods he was going to wear his voice out and he'd only just gotten it. "But he'll take care of it! He'll build a bomb, go in there, and blow them up! I've done this already! Now please, let me go!"
Again, the Old Girl just ignored his pleas and opened one of the hatches by his feet. A moment later something came shooting out from the depths right into his face, which he instinctively reared back from, arms leaping forwards to catch what had been coughed out of storage. A quick inspection of the device told him all he needed to know - digital clock not yet set, small yield proton pack, wires connected them together and all of it wrapped up in parcel-tape - an exact replica of the bomb he'd used the first time. What, in all the actual hells, was She doing?!
Bad enough the TARDIS seemed to have lost the plot about timestreams, what if he ran into her whilst he was busy blasting a hole in the universe? How would he be able to handle that? But She just dinged an insistent ding again on the scanner, backing it up with urgent flashing lights from the Hexagonal Things on Her walls (ooh, terrible name that, Hexagonal Things, he'd have to do something about that), and flung Her doors wide open to admit all the sound and bustle of early Twenty-First Century London, England, Earth.
"I'm not doing it! I'm not!"
"Wilson?"
No...no that wasn't fair.
"Wilson, I've got the lottery money! Wilson."
She was down there right now...and by the Other it took everything he had not to look at the image on the scanner that his blasted ship had keyed into. How dare She? How dare she do this to him?! What was he supposed to do, steal her away before his past self arrived? Everything would fracture. And yet still the TARDIS was ushering him out the door.
"Look I can't hang around, 'cos they're closin' the shop."
Any minute now Baldy Big Ears would be here...so what was taking him so long? Unbidden, he glanced over at the open doors...he couldn't, he really couldn't!
A rustle on the scanner, followed by a small collapse of something, had the subject of Her observation turning to face the noise. "Hello? Hello Wilson it's-"
"Fine!" He finally shouted, marching over and shutting the blasted thing off. "Fine! I'm going! But don't think for a second we're done here!"
The only response She gave him was a pleased hum, like a parent smugly satisfied that they'd gotten their errant kid to do what they wanted. He merely huffed and marched down the grated pathway, stopping along the way to glare at the jacket he was wearing - ruddy thing was swamping him - and chucked it away. He kept the waistcoat though - this was London, no one would thing anything of it - and stuffed the bomb inside of it...which was a surprisingly tight squeeze but he was still too annoyed to think about it and marched out of his meddling ship.
London was as ignorant as ever, yes he got the odd look from one or two passers by but a good glare sent them running - nice to see he'd kept that - as he made his way to the Hendrik's store, found the back way in and got into the staff-only lift. Every logical nerve told him to press the up button, just plant the stupid thing and get out again. No muss, no fuss...and yet...his eye lingered on the basement level...
He really shouldn't, it was far too dangerous. What if he ran into himself? That'd slow things down maybe too much and then she would be dead and it would be all his fault.
Just go to the roof. Go to the roof and get it over with...Common sense, yes, listen to common sense.
He immediately pressed the basement button.
Oh, this is so stupid! Why am I doing this? It'll only hurt.
But he arrived on the basement level none the less and, as if on automatic pilot, made his way down the corridors to the storage room where he would see what he still remembered even now. Pushing the door open quietly, he entered the room and watched from a distance.
There she was, backing up away from the Autons. So very young, looking around with just the start of panic entering her eyes.
"Right I've got the joke! Who's idea was this?"
The Autons remained silent as they marched forward in their sluggish manner. Rassilon, it never occurred to him before but they were in real bad shape - they hadn't looked this bad at Stonehenge had they? Never mind, not important, Big Ears should be here soon.
Masking his presence as best he could, he waited...and waited...
"Who is it? Is it Derek? Derek is this you?!"
He should've been here by now. What was taking him? First time round he'd been down here looking into just how far they had spread and then he'd heard her blunder in. He should be able to make out that stupid leather jacket slipping through the stacks...so where was he?
She'd backed away from them as far as she could, hitting the wall behind her as the Autons continued to box her in. Witnesses couldn't be afforded and so they had to get rid of her right now. The lead dummy approached her, lifting its arm up in preparation to strike.
WHERE IS HE?!
She closed her eyes, screwing them up in preparation for the pain...
And suddenly he was rushing forwards. Reason and common sense took a back burner as he silently hurried over to her. This was so, so wrong!
But then he grabbed her hand, watched as she turned in shock to face him, those beautiful young brown eyes meeting his in surprise and suddenly all the wrongness of it vanished. He had his hand in hers again after so long...and there was only one word that came to mind.
"Run!"
And then they were running for their lives, hand in hand, like so many times before, and it felt so right. Gods it hurt.
Oh Big Ears is going to get a piece of my mind when I find him! Late to his own bloody party!
For now though he just focused on getting her out of danger, running back down the corridors he'd just come, dragging her along with danger barely a step behind. Why, oh why, had the TARDIS done this to him? Never mind. Lift right up ahead. Get her inside, rip the Old Girl a new one later.
Sure enough the lift was still waiting and he came around, shoving her inside as the nearest Auton stuck its arm inside the lift just as the doors came closed. Seeing the same old script playing out, he grabbed hold of the arm and gave it a couple of good tugs. For the first few pulls there was nothing, another and he felt the arm loosen, and then finally the whole thing came off, the doors slamming shut right in front of him.
Well, at least I have something to smack Manchester with.
"You pulled 'is arm off." The panic-filled shock behind him reminded him of his companion - No, not mine, his...or she should be.
"Nothin' to worry about." He replied, going for levity but absolutely refusing to turn around. Better if they kept their interaction as minimal as possible, but he still tossed the arm to her which he heard her catch much the same way he'd caught the bomb. "See? Just plastic."
"Yeah, very clever, nice trick!" She said, breathing hard from their short jog - eh, give her time, a Slitheen or two and she'd be in good shape for fleeing Daleks. "Who were they, then, students? Is this a student thing?"
"Might'a been." He muttered, trying his best not to engage.
"Okay."
Well that wasn't right. Why was she just going along with that cover story? Frowning, he glanced back at her but did his best not to actually look. "Why d'you think they're students?"
"...I dunno."
Well that wouldn't do, he needed her to think about it. She wouldn't get his past self's attention if she didn't "Well you brought it up, why students?"
"Well..." she was quiet for a moment, getting the argument in her head, and then answered. "To get that many people, dressed up 'n muckin' about, they've gotta be students."
He couldn't help snorting at that. "You shoulda seen my student days." He muttered, memories of the Academy running through his brain, by Rassilon he'd been so much trouble. How Borusa ever put up with him...well, better not to think about that.
"Yeah well, whatever kind of game you're pulling," she told him, a hint of warning in her tone "when Wilson finds them he's gonna call the police."
"Who's Wilson?" He'd heard her throwing that name around, so it probably meant something, but bother if he couldn't remember who that was.
"Chief Electrician."
"Ah." Probably dead then. Best if he didn't bring it up, sounded like she'd had just about enough.
"What's that mean?" She asked, catching his hedge. "Is he alright?"
Staying quiet didn't do any good and he soon heard her stepping up behind him. "Did you do something to him? What happened?"
He kept silent, they'd interacted far too much as it was, But if anything it just upped her temper as she snapped at him. "Tell me, you bloody bint, what'd you do to him?!"
Wait, hang on, what was that? Frowning, he came around to face her at last, his curiosity overriding his self preservation and he looked her full on. "What did you call me?"
"What, you don't like that?" She snapped back, glaring at him with all the power of one of her mother's slaps. "Pretty thin skin. And what's that you're wearin'?"
"No wait, go back. You called me a bint."
"Yeah, and?"
"'Bint.' English slang for a female whore, synonymous with 'bitch.'" His frown only grew as he worked with what information she'd given him...the results he came to were odd. "Why're you using woman-oriented insults?"
"Does'at matter?" She asked back, glare not letting up a bit. "What'd you do to Wilson?!"
"No, this matters, why're you insulting me like I'm a woman?"
"'Cos you are a woman, you nutter!"
"Am I?" Well that explained a couple of things, the high voice for starters. Ooh, and why he felt so top heavy, the bomb was pressing against something that he’d never had before: teats! He had teats for the first time ever! Suddenly the issue with plastic and timelines became irrelevant as he - no wait, she - asked that all important question:
“Does it suit me?”
“What?”
The change in topic threw her, the other more important her not her her (oh wow, that was going to get confusing), and that gave the newly christened her a moment to herself to think over this newest look. A female body...well if Koschei could bend that way why not him - her - too?
Further introspection was cut off as the lift dinged, reminding her of the current situation and she quickly grabbed her (yes, that’d keep things simple, think in italics) hand and pulled her out.
“Oi, I’ve ‘ad enough of this now!” She snapped, decidedly not appreciating being dragged along like that - well she never had, preferred to wander off on her own accord.
But she already had her back to her and was looking over the lift. The Autons would be making their way back up, she needed time to get back to the roof, and this thing would give them an easy escape. Too bad for them she had her… Oh dear.
“No sonic.” She...well the previous he, had always kept his sonic in his jacket which she’d left in the TARDIS. Well maybe he’d put it in his trousers. Nope. “Empty pockets...arrgh! I hate empty pockets! Never mind, I can still hotwire it...probably.”
Glancing back at her, she quickly instructed her to shield her eyes and then ripped off the call button, exposing the wires and circuitry. With no clear plan in mind save stall for time, she grabbed a few at random and pulled them clean out. There was a burst of sparks and the lights from the buttons blinked out.
“The hell’re you doin’?!” She demanded behind her. “Bad enough you were muckin’ about down there, you’re gonna have to pay for that!”
“No cash.” She replied and then started running off, trusting that she would follow.
And she did, frustration now replaced with that tone of fed-up-with-this...ness. “Who’re you then? An’ what’s those things down there? I said what are they?!”
“Not students, for starters.” Oh she really shouldn’t be explaining all this stuff, it wasn’t her place to say...but if Nine wasn’t going to make an appearance then she really couldn’t be held accountable for his screw ups.
“They’re called Autons - living plastic.” She went on to explain as she led her to the back exit. “I picked up their activity a little while ago and was scoping it out. Looks like they’re being controlled by a relay dish on top of this building, which’d be a problem if…” And she pulled her bomb out from her waistcoat’s pocket, relieving the pressure on her chest (oh she’d have to do something about that), and waggled it in front of her face. “I didn’t have this here.”
There it was, the back door which she opened with a complete lack of fanfair which Big Ears would have been proud of. “So, I’m going to go upstairs and blow it up. Ah don’t worry about me, I’ve survived worse. You just go on home. Go get yourself something to eat and just enjoy the night.”
So saying, she shoved her out the door and would have been happy if that was how the night would’ve ended. She wasn’t the only one completely fed up with this situation, but it was the absentee figure who was drawing her ire right now. He’d better be there tomorrow.
Maybe it was that, or maybe she just wanted to look at her face one more time, but she fixed her with what she hoped was a firm stare (new face, who knew how silly it looked?). “One last thing, if a tall idiot with stupid ears and a leather coat comes knockin’ around, you tell him the Doctor would like a word with him.”
And before she could ask any questions as to what that meant, she shut the door. Good, that was enough, bit of a mystery but it should pique that Northern moron’s curiosity. It worked with Clara after all… but she wasn’t Clara, she was far more jeopardy friendly than Clara and that was saying something. And she was quick, fast, clever, compassionate, beautiful and suddenly she was turning back and opening the door again where she was still standing with a bemused expression.
“That’s me by the way, I’m the Doctor. And what’s your name?”
“Rose.” She replied (no need for italics now, she’d be torturing herself with that name for a century).
Hiding the bittersweet feelings that name always brought her behind an easy smile, she nodded in recognition. “Good to see you again, Rose. Now,” she waggled the bomb in her face again, “run for your life.”
Then she slammed the door again and ran for all of her worth away from it before she wrenched it open and dragged her Rose all the way to the TARDIS and never let her go again.
One spectacular explosion of an entire building and rendering Rose jobless later, the Doctor was back in her TARDIS and glaring the Old Girl down with as much disapproval as her five-point-four-eight(rounded up)-foot stature would allow. She'd mutter about the height later but right now her ship needed a good scolding.
"So, care to explain yourself?" Wow, that was matronly...good, meant she could tell people off good and proper, Rassilon knew she'd been on the receiving end enough times to know how to dish it out.
The one doing the receiving however was feigning ignorance, letting out an innocent buzz as if it didn't know at all just how much trouble She'd just put them both in.
"Oh don't give me that!" The Doctor retorted, hands on hips. "You changed my timeline! Now I might never meet her properly! I get that you miss her, I do too! I miss her every day, but that doesn't mean we can step in all willy nilly and change the past. And while we're on that, why'd you change my clothes?"
She just sent another innocent ping back at her before bringing the scanner around and turning it on, showing Rose as she made her way back to the Powell Estate, plastic arm in hand.
"No. No. Not doin' it. Done too much already." So saying, the Doctor marched up the grating (ugh, terrible, what had She been thinking when She chose this layout?) and tried to get them going again. The TARDIS juddered once, twice...and finally the central column began to rise and fall, the Vwoorp-Vwoorp signifying their successful takeoff...and then not a moment later the engines began the landing cycle again.
"Stop it!" She snapped at Her, running around and trying to abort the landing to no avail, pointedly ignoring the image of the Powell Estate on the screen. "Just stop it!”
Oh no. Tears. This body did tears. She could feel them already starting to well up her ducts. Well could anyone blame her? The TARDIS was torturing her with a temptation she could never give in to. Why?
Her answer came in a soothing hum and the image on the scanner finally changing to something non-Rose centric, but still it made no sense because now she was looking at footage from within the console room. Nothing too weird about that, but it was the figure standing there that didn’t add up: The War Doctor, Captain Grumpy, inspecting his hands that were glowing gold in that tell-tale way - he must only be seconds away from regenerating.
But why? What was the point of that? And then all her answers were given at once.
The War Doctor exploded into light, vanishing behind a cloud of regeneration energy...and went it ended, there he stood. Or, rather, there she stood. Where there should have been a crop-haired, big-nosed, big-eared, Northern cross man, there instead was a short, blonde haired woman who could have passed for early-to-mid thirties on Earth.
“But...that can’t be right…” Disbelief filled every word as the Doctor rewound and rewatched the footage again and again. “That can’t be right. Regeneration doesn’t work like that!”
But there it was, over and over again. The same thing on the screen, the War Doctor disappeared and she took his place.
This has to be a trick...or a dream state. But a cursory inspection of the surroundings and hunt for the usual tells - fractal patterns and the like - came up with nothing. For all intents and purposes she was wide awake, standing in a thousand year younger TARDIS, inhabiting an equally younger body.
All evidence seemed to conclude that this was real.
But if it was real then…
“Rose!”
Responding to her word as if it were a command from on high, the scanner switched back to the Powell Estate. There was a plastic hand scrambling around there somewhere, waiting for the chance to get at her and willing to use Rose as bait to do it.
It galled her to do it, but the Doctor kept herself from running out there and just dealing with the problem now. Selfish as it was, she wanted Rose to see her take care of it and for that to happen she and the arm needed to corner each other in the Tyler flat.
O’course to do that, I need my… No sooner had she thought it, a section of the console slotted open and a small streamlined silver object was pushed out. Trust the Old Girl to think of everything. Feeling good things about her ship for the first time since she’d regenerated, the Doctor took the old-but-new sonic screwdriver and patted the console affectionately. “Cheers, love.”
A quick test of the old tool later though, she was already finding problems with it: for starters it used settings instead of a psychic interface and it was still running the calculations needed to freeze Gallifrey, no point risking that, but also it just didn't feel right in her hand. This screwdriver was for a completely different Doctor, a him rather than a her.
Still, beggars an' all that. She'd have to make do for now. Sticking the sonic in her pocket and fishing the psychic paper out of Grumpy's jacket, she pushed the TARDIS ahead a few hours till morning.
At half-past seven, March twenty-sixth, 2005, the Doctor stepped out onto a street just a short walk away from the Powell Estate and began, what she hoped would be, the reclamation of her lost family.