Work Text:
He wakes up in his room in the TARDIS. Not exactly in his bed, but that is far from an isolated incident. He's still wearing his leather jacket, which isn't an isolated incident, either.
The same can't be said of his dream. It was utterly ridiculous. So much so that he hesitates to call it a nightmare, which in itself is ridiculous. The Doctor doesn't have dreams featuring the Daleks which are not nightmares. Then again, he's never had a dream featuring the Daleks that ended well.
Well, the dream didn't exactly end pleasantly either. Regeneration is always nasty business. But kissing Rose Tyler after she became a Goddess for him? Oh, what a way to go that would be. Still, clearly it must have been a dream, because the Doctor still has broad shoulders, close-cropped hair, and (a quick look in the mirror confirms) the face he's grown accustomed to this past year.
Contented by this proof that the events that stand so clearly in his memory really were just an unusual dream, the Doctor heads to the Galley to prepare a breakfast for himself and his two passengers. Soon, the smells lure them in and he starts humming as he flips the last of the pancakes.
The Doctor steals a surreptitious look at Jack, who is setting the table, and happily notes that his timelines and Arton energy levels look perfectly ordinary. Or well, ordinary for a human time traveller, that is. What an absurd dream it must have been, indeed, for him to have willingly given up the perfect balance of his two humans in the TARDIS with him.
And that, of course, is when the transmat beam hits them all.
●
Between the temporary memory loss from the transmat beam and all the adrenaline, it takes the Doctor a while to realise that everything is happening as he remembers. It takes him a bit longer still to figure out why. But once he tunes in to the flow of time around him, the conclusion is undeniable: he's experiencing a time loop.
And he's experiencing truly is the word for it: nobody else has any memory of having lived this day before. In a way they haven't, and they won't. The Doctor also wouldn't, if he could only figure out what caused this and how to break it.
Ironically enough, he doesn't get enough time.
●
The Doctor is exhausted. He's tried so many things, altered the events in as many ways as he could think of, and he still doesn't know what could possibly be enough to break this time loop. All he knows is that he wants, no, needs, his humans there with him, the both of them.
"Took you long enough," he throws to Jack when the man runs in, panting. "Close the door on your way in, won't you?" The Doctor pulls the lever to finalise the dematerialisation without waiting for a response.
Like he's been waiting impatiently for Jack and never intended to leave him behind. Like he doesn't know damn well that Jack just died and came back to life. Because there's no time to talk anything out and the Doctor would like to be himself a little while longer before he forgets himself entirely, even though who he is has grown muddy from how many times he went forth and back to it.
Jack laughs, a little breathless, so maybe the Doctor got it right. There's something almost reassuring to the Wrongness by now. And when Jack sweeps Rose into a hug, the cacophony of his timeline merges with hers with such natural resonance it makes it seem like part of a song.
And there's something sweet to the encroaching pain of regeneration, even though he's never grown used to it despite all the repeats. The Doctor can hold it off a little longer.
"Rose, Jack," both their eyes are on him immediately. Part of him wants neither of them to ever look away. "I'm going to change now," he gasps as the pain spikes but he's done this so many times that by now he almost has words for it, if he can just say them.
Rose is taking a step towards him, concern in her eyes, and no no no she can't, not now.
"Stand back!" he all but yells. Rose's eyes widen in fear and that's it's own punishment, but at least she's safe. The Doctor needs her safe. And he wants her unafraid. So he should really get to explaining.
"This is going to look bad, look like I couldn't possibly survive it, but I will. It's what I need to survive. Time Lords, we're like phoenixes, in a way. Except when I'm reborn I won't look the same. I won't behave the same, even. But it will still be me, in every way that counts I'll still be me," he's pleading, with Rose, with Jack, with the concept of regeneration itself.
Because it's always him, he always still feels like himself, at least eventually, but he knows from experience it can be hard for his companions to see that. And if he's being honest with himself, he hasn't always made it easy to see, either.
Jack steps forward, wraps his arms around Rose, leads her back. Then he gives the Doctor a nod, looking him right in the eyes with such resolute acceptance it's good as understanding. Only seconds later, Rose nods as well. The Doctor's knees nearly buckle with relief. But instead, he lets go and the flame pulls his body taut as it burns it away, reforming it into something different, if he can no longer honestly call it new.
The Doctor runs his tongue along his teeth and it doesn't feel unfamiliar. He drags his hand through his hair and it feels reassuring. Rose and Jack are looking at him like they've never seen him before, because they haven't. That's the part that never gets any easier.
Despite how many times he's ended up in this body, he's never been given the time to settle into it, to figure out who he will be. All he knows is that he still needs Rose's love, and if he's being honest, he needs Jack's as well. And he's so tired of giving it up voluntarily, even if he isn't sure it will ever be given to him again.
"See, just like a phoenix," he says, hoping that the call back to what he was talking about before changing will help reassure his companions that he's still himself, even if that's never worked with Barcelona.
It doesn't seem to help much, at least not immediately. It still takes the Doctor a bit of convincing and going down memory lane for Rose and Jack to believe that he's himself and not a kidnapper who decided to conduct a poor impersonation. Their concern for him is touching, even if it's really not what he needs from them right now. And then-
"Can you change back?" Rose asks, haltingly. She loved that version of him and he can never tell before he isn't what she wants anymore and the difference of the look in her eyes is stark. The Doctor swallows back his "Do you want me to?", too heartsbroken to lead her fingers to digging into that particular wound one more time.
Because there is no way for them all to survive without him regenerating. He's tried and he's tried. If he doesn't lose her for a kiss the whole world will lose her along with him, and that's so much more tragedy than he could ever allow. Anything other than that, he'd take any other pain for her.
And speaking of pain, here comes the regeneration going wrong, again.
The Doctor knows that flying the TARDIS while in such a state is a terrible idea, but he does it anyway. Because after everything, Rose deserves the comfort of home, no matter what it does to his hearts to acknowledge anything but the TARDIS as such.
The Doctor stops being aware of what he's doing after that, torn between the high of so much energy coursing through him and the excruciating pain of it being way too much.
"Merry Christmas!" he says to Mackie and Jicky. When his body gives out, the Doctor has just enough time to register that it's Jack's strong arms catching him and consider it a vast improvement before his consciousness deserts him completely.
●
When the Doctor comes to, it's not on the TARDIS and there are two human-temperature bodies pressed either side of him and care tickling his telepathic synapses from both of the different hands clasping each of his own. His Rose and his Jack, it doesn't take him long to realise. Moreover, it is Christmas Eve, progressive (if still not exactly linear) time.
The Doctor can try to figure out how this happened later. For now, he lets his exhaustion and contentment drag him back under.