My Lonely Regeneration

MY LONELY REGENERATION The regeneration of the Tenth Doctor A Doctor Who Fan Fiction by J L Tracy, Jr This is a work of fan fiction . Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Doctor Who is a BBC Wales production for BBC One. Executive producers: Steven Moffat and Brian Minchin. BBC, DOCTOR WHO, AND TARDIS (word marks, logos, and devices) are trademarks of the British Broadcasting Corporation, and are used here without permission, as a fan fiction and at no profit to the author. This story does not have a copyright, and is an extension of the story “The End of Time, pt II” , written by Russell T Davies. Contents 1. It’s begun 2. Martha & Mickey 3. Sarah Jane Smith 4. My Lunch Break 5. Captain Jack Harkness 6. Joan Redfern 7. The Next Doctor 8. The Nobles 9. Rose 10. I don’t want to go! 3 Chapter 1 It’s begun His face hurt. His whole body hurt, but the strain of falling five hundred feet, facing the Master and Rassilon and sending Gallifrey back into the Time Lock, and then absorbing a nuclear bomb’s radiation felt like it had landed right on his face. He reached up with both hands and buried his face in them. His injuries screamed in stings. He inhaled deeply, trying to diffuse the stress. “But they’ve—“ Wilfred Mott muttered, before exclaiming, “Your face! How did you do that?” The old warrior’s eyes leapt all over the Doctor’s face, right where all the stingings were fading. The Doctor stretched the remnant discomforts from his face, and held up his hands. He was looking at the now- healed injuries from his terrific fall, and took the opportunity to look for the tell-tale glow he now anticipated. Nothing yet; not even his cuts. He sighed. “It’s started,” was all he had to say about it. Wilfred stared at him, his mouth moving slightly as if he almost began to speak. The Doctor internally felt relief 4 each time Wilf failed to say something; he’d had as much emotion as he’d wanted over the past few hours. All he wanted now was to get back to the TARDIS. After a long moment, Wilfred simply shuffled close to the Doctor and wrapped his arms around him. He let him. The process was started; soon, he would change again, and this fabulous universe would get to be seen through a new set of eyes. *** Their return to the TARDIS was a silent walk, one of two old warriors who had shared battle and knew the weight of the sacrifices. The Doctor appreciated being able to spend this time with Wilfred. He knew this companion was a man who truly understood his need for silence during this walk. Three years , he mused as a regeneration pang swam briefly through his body. Just three years to absorb this gorgeous, amazing, baffling universe. Three years to make a difference, his way. Oh yes, he’d been at it for around seven hundred years before he traded that leather jacket for his preferred suit and trench coat. Still, it had been centuries since the scarf, when he last remembered simply enjoying traveling through time and space. In his other identities, it was more business than 5 pleasure; they were stuffier personalities, in his opinion. However, this time he’d taken the time to truly indulge himself with the adventure of his travels. In the process, he’d helped people. He’d saved mankind, several times, and did it brilliantly . Doing things brilliantly is one thing, and he’d always been that. But to do brilliant things while enjoying the thrill of the adventure was one characteristic he’d cherished this go-through. Three years. I don’t want to go , he lamented. He threw the handle up on the console, sending the TARDIS to the next destination. Not five minutes later, he stood next to Wilf as they stepped out of the TARDIS towards the Noble home. As if cued to appear, Sylvia Noble’s head popped from around the door. “Oh, she’s smiling,” the Doctor quipped. “As if today wasn’t bad enough.” He saw Wilf react ever-so-subtly to his remark. “Anyway, don’t go thinking this is goodbye, Wilf,” he said, prompting his companion to face him. “I’ll see you again, one more time.” It was more a goal he now set for himself than it was a promise to Donna’s grandfather. He desired to resist regenerating as long as he could, and now he needed to 6 in order to fulfill his promise. It would be his final thrill in this body: to be greater than his own biology. Wilfred’s amusement fell to alarm. “What do you mean? When’s that?” He could see the man holding back tears. If only he knew what the Doctor was holding back. “Just keep looking,” the Doctor replied with a gentle voice. “I’ll be there.” “Well, where are you going?” The Doctor’s eyes went off towards the Noble home, setting his plans to defy his regeneration. He’d done it once before; perhaps he’d be successful again. “To get my reward,” he said as he closed the TARDIS door. 7 Chapter 2 Martha and Mickey The Doctor made his way to the console. The green glowing time rotor seemed brighter, as though the TARDIS was encouraging his defiance. He set to work on the controls. Hacking into the U.N.I.T. database was loads easier these days, now that they had gone to digital communications over the past decade. The information he sought appeared on the monitor screen, mixing British English and Gallifreyan symbols to tell him what he needed. He targeted central Britain, and sent the TARDIS on its way. As it landed, he headed for the door when he stumbled—a lightning bolt of pain struck him from left shoulder to right little toe. He paused and rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He checked them again, to make sure it hadn’t progressed beyond a point he could no longer restrain. His hands looked normal. He took a deep breath and forced deeper the energy he felt smoldering. I’m not going to give up easily , he promised. 8 He headed out the door, but not before reaching into a tool alcove and retrieving a hard mallet. It was a bright, sunny morning, but close to lunchtime. Apparently, this mission was playing out at an old abandoned factory and yard. He could hear occasional bursts of gunfire and Sontaran rifle shots. He walked leisurely; if he was seen now, there would be nothing he could do except get shot. He’d regenerate, but it wouldn’t be unexpected. As he drew closer, he could hear human voices shouting. He knew the one voice, but it took him a moment to recognize the second. He’d intended to visit the one, but was pleased to have the opportunity to visit the second. The Doctor had been very far from impressed with the man at their first meeting, but he’d grown since then. With her, though, he’d seen rain fall upside down and saw Shakespeare’s only performance of a lost play. The Doctor reached the stairs that would take him up to exposed walkways, from which he would be able to spot them. He saw some movement at the far end of the level as he ascended the last step. He took the opportunity in the distant Sontaran’s focus on the grounds below to hide behind a pile of debris. He watched the alien militant traverse the catwalk with stealth, closely watching his 9 targets below. From his current position, the Doctor was not able to see the humans, but he could hear them talking. Rather loudly. They’d better pay more attention if they are going to be that chatty , he suggested to himself. He felt a wave of discomfort wash over him; he fought back the sensation, never letting his eyes leave the round, brown scalp. The Sontaran sniper set his position, and began to take aim. Feeling momentarily refreshed, he flipped the mallet and caught the handle after one flip. He quietly stepped toward the soldier, surprised that he ( it? ) did not hear him step on rubble. He raised the mallet, and without misgiving brought it down powerfully on the creature’s probic vent. The potato-headed Sontaran collapsed to the floor, protected from falling to his death by the paint-chipped rusty old rail. The Doctor settled his left hand into his trouser pocket as he inhaled the moist morning air. Neither Martha Jones Smith (as noted in her U.N.I.T. file) nor Mickey Smith immediately knew the danger they had just been in. He allowed himself a moment of pleasure to know that he was able to save them; it was lucky timing. After all, he was a lucky man, wasn’t he? 10 He watched silently as Martha finally noticed him, and then turned Mickey’s attention to him. Seeing Mickey brought upon a different pang, one not related to his regeneration. He forced himself to dismiss those feelings. He stood for a long moment, relieved to be able to let them know he had been there, one last time. He now felt this task was complete; he turned on his heel and headed back to the TARDIS.

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