My Lonely Regeneration

MY LONELY REGENERATION

The regeneration of the Tenth Doctor

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!

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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?

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.

Chapter 3

Sarah Jane Smith

The TARDIS had always been a welcome refuge for the Doctor after an adventure. However, the growing embers of regeneration throughout his body taunted him, and was feeling more worn out the longer he fought off the transformation.

He dropped the mallet carelessly into the toolkit as he headed to the console. He knew exactly who he wanted to see next. He wasn’t sure he would get the chance to cross paths with her after the change, and he wanted to see her just one more time with these eyes.

As he sent the TARDIS off to the next destination, he briefly fantasized K-9 talking to him.

“Why do you wish to visit your companions, Master?” the stilted yet charming robot’s voice might ask.

I dunno, K-9. I suppose I’ll still know them after I change. I think because they are as beautiful and brilliant and a part of who I have been this life that I wanted to see them all one last off , the Doctor imagined would be his reply.

“Does it help to see them again?” K-9 would ask.

Yes, the Doctor considered, yes, I think it does. Seeing them reminds me of all the marvelous things we have done. I care for them very deeply.

K-9 was a great companion, he thought. The Doctor looked at his hands again, noting that his body temperature was mildly elevated.

It had been such luck to encounter her at Defry Vale School after all these years; she was not the first companion he’d left and let fall from his mind. But he ignored those vestiges of guilt as he remembered the disappointment he’d felt those many faces before when he’d found out he had to let her go.

The Time Lord made his way out of the blue box and headed toward Sarah Jane Smith’s home. The same as with Martha and Mickey, he intended only to be seen and not talk. He did not want to explain anything, and he did not want their sympathies; he only wanted to see his friends.

As he walked, he saw Sarah Jane’s son, Luke, walking down the street and talking on his phone. The Doctor watched as the teen turned to head across the street. A car was headed his way as he held an excited discussion with someone named Clive. It was clear that he was

oblivious; the Doctor felt a wave of anger with the young boy for being so careless. He sprinted at full speed to catch Luke before the car did. He grasped the boy’s shoulders and pulled him from harm’s way, stunning and disorienting him by the sudden jerk backwards. He looked at the Doctor with unabated astonishment. Lucky again.

“But it’s you!” he stammered. “You’re—“

The Doctor glared at him. His irritation faded quickly and he felt his desire fulfilled; he’d saved the lad which meant that Sarah Jane would have her son, and she would hear about his own appearance to rescue him. He was fatigued by the exertion of running; he turned and walked back to the TARDIS.

“Mum! Mum!” he heard Luke calling as he ran towards his house. He then heard a familiar sweet voice’s response:

“What? What is it?” he could hear Sarah Jane say as he opened the blue door. He turned to see her, one last time.

“It’s him!” Luke panted as he reached her at full sprint. “It’s the Doctor!”

Sarah Jane’s eyes darted around; even from this distance, he could discern the hope that filled her eyes and her face betraying the concern within her spirit.

He allowed a lingering glance before raising one hand and waving to her. Some companions just reached him more deeply than others; it was a testament to who they were. He turned back and entered his time-and-space machine.

He closed the door and leaned against it, allowing a brief momentary reprieve from his battle against the regeneration. There was still much he wanted to do. He realized he was both hungry and nauseated.

Well, since I’ve never had this much time before regenerating, I think I’ll have a bite, he decided. He walked across the control room and headed for the kitchen.

Chapter 4

My Lunch Break

The Doctor walked down the corridor and reached the kitchen. He set about preparing a meal for himself.

What do I want? He tapped a finger on his leg as he considered his options. His subconscious mind submitted a modifier for that question.

“…for my last meal…” he said aloud. The thought sent a sharp chill through him. He wasn’t afraid; he’d changed before. But it was still jarring to realize that an irreversible change was trying to overtake him, and that once it did, he would no longer be the person he was right then. He didn’t want to go.

He shook off the introspection and turned his attention back to his food. He pushed some buttons on the wall near the dispenser. Certainly, some tea would be nice. Plus, he hoped it would help him stabilize against regeneration. It helped me recover after the last one, he reminded himself.

He added to his order some grilled steak and mash, and topped it all off with a banana. A rebellious urge seized

his mind and he changed the setting from food bars to actual food. The wall made some sounds as it produced his dinner; moments later, the door slid aside and revealed his farewell meal.

He sat down at the adjacent tabletop provided by his ship, hoisted his feet up to the table and reclined with his plate in his lap. The cool silence of the ship overlaid by the gentle Music of the Spheres was always a welcome reprieve, since within the TARDIS he could block out the universe and have some solitude. However, today he wanted anything but solitude. He didn’t want company, per se, but he didn’t want to be alone. Not now.

He took the time to savor each bite of his steak, and shoveled the mash in between each steak bite. He let the tea wash over his tongue and linger briefly before swallowing, allowing the aroma enhance his food flavorings. His eyes darted to the banana frequently; each time he felt a subtle surge of excitement in anticipation of the yellow treat.

He blocked out his heavy emotions as he finished his food, choosing to enjoy this instead. He felt the food reinforcing his body, fueling his push against the regeneration. No, he would not be able to fend it off indefinitely, but he now had a bit of a second wind to finish his planned victory tour.

He stood and dispose of his plate and utensils, and drained the tea from its cup before tossing it in after them. He picked up the tantalizing banana and headed out the door.

Instead of walking back to the control room, the Doctor turned left and began to stroll down the hall, deeper in to the TARDIS. Of all his travels, one of the adventures he had not had opportunity to explore since becoming his current self was the TARDIS itself. He took a bite of the banana and his mouth swam with the full, sweet taste as he walked.

He chuckled at the thought of spending his final moments somewhere deep in the bowels of the fabulous ship. There was no way he would be able to explore the whole ship before he could no longer hold back regenerating, but he did want to stop at a couple spots.

He first stopped by the Drawing Room, taking in the study’s haphazard organization. He walked over to the chair and sat in it, smiling at the light squeak is it received his weight. He’d sat at this desk only once, on one terrible night, since he’d been this incarnation. His eyes drifted around the room as he took in over seven hundred years of time travel. He did see the leather jacket he’d tossed in here after he’d regenerated last. Yes, his other incarnations were more serious men in their adventures,

but they did spend more time in here after a go at it to reflect on the events. Perhaps their ways weren’t so bad after all, he yielded, feeling a bit of nostalgia. He swallowed the last bit of the banana and tossed the peel into the waste bin.

The scarf on the lamp, the rainbow umbrella, the black umbrella with the question-mark red handle, even the little black brooch given to him back when he had white hair. A room filled with mementos and ponderings, a refuge for a man who needed one. He realized that he did not want to sit here and reminisce. He wanted to walk .

He stood up and began to walk out of the room when he paused for a moment. Many of the memorabilia in his study were put there by a new man who replaced the one who had experienced the memory. He did not want to leave it to his successor to set that for him. The Doctor reached into his pocket and fingered his glasses. The next Doctor will want to choose his own glasses, he thought. He walked over to the mantle across the room, and gently placed the frames among the other items, beside the brooch. He smiled, remembering both the brooch’s previous owner, the Aztec Cameca, and every time he’d pulled out those tortoise-shell frames.

Let the next Doctor choose his own memories.

He turned promptly and strode from the room. There was one more place he wanted to visit before returning to his final round of appearances.

It took nearly an hour to find it, but he eventually arrived at the Eye of Harmony. He wanted to bask in the artificial black hole’s energy. He took a deep breath before entering the cavernous room, walking halfway across the catwalk.

He made it nearly to the halfway point when he started to feel the burn of the regeneration start to swell. He had thought the black hole would further strengthen him; he did not anticipate the Eye to accelerate his change.

“NO!” he bellowed amidst the pain. He ran the rest of the way across and threw himself out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him. He thought of everything he wanted to do, and found strength in the hope of completing his task. He saw the people in his mind whom he wanted to visit before he gave up the fight. Each face inspired him more, and after several moments the regeneration heat finally began to retreat.

It hurt. Oh, did it hurt. But it was important, the Doctor reminded himself. His friends were worth the pain he was fighting.

As he stood up, his marriage to Queen Elizabeth flashed in his mind. There was no reason for it to have, but there it was. Sure, her later fury with him was unpleasant, but early on it was delightful. The romance with the young red-haired queen, and his own fascination with gingers being requited, to an extent. However, the memories he’d acquired not a few days ago seemed hazy at points.

He slowly began making his way back to the control room, reflecting more on Good Queen Bess. He could not put his finger quite on where the memory went awry. He went to 1562 in pursuit of a Zygon, but somewhere along the way he and Bessie hit it off. Each time the memory played through the foggy parts, the Doctor’s stomach felt a weird tickle. He recognized that tickle; he only felt it when his memory was blocked from events that occurred when crossing Time Streams with his future selves.

Oy, I bet that was fun, he thought with jealousy. Too bad I don’t get to remember it. Maybe the Next Doctor will.

He stopped walking for a moment, and then frowned at his pouting. He began walking again, more determined now to finish his task.

Chapter 5

Captain Jack

The Doctor stood before the console, watching the screen update on Captain Jack Harkness, late of the Torchwood Institute. However, it showed his current status as “AWOL”. The Doctor frowned.

He thought about his friend, and started to go through their conversations together. Remembering Jack’s reference to one bar as his favorite, he began twisting and poking at the dials and buttons on the panel, directing the TARDIS to take him there.

“The Face of Boe,” the Doctor chuckled as he said it. “Outstanding!”

True, he did not know for sure if Jack was destined to become the billion-years-old friend the Doctor knew. It made sense since The Face of Boe was the only known being with such a long life, and Jack was once known as “The Face of Boe” for being from Boeshane, and his immortality bestowed by Rose offered a convincing link. But then the Doctor tried to imagine the evolution—if it could be called that—that Jack would have to undergo in order to become a gargantuan head that lived in a jar and

communicated by telepathy. The exercise of trying to visualize that much change, especially the loss of limbs and torso, needed gray matter he was currently using in his battle against regeneration. He let go of the train of thought and went back to working out how to find the Captain.

The TARDIS indicated it had arrived at his intended location. As he emerged from the blue box, he could hear the swanky music emerging from the main room. He selected a place in the far corner, choosing to scout the area first. He sat at a table and looked around the room, hoping to see something he could do for Jack.

He gazed towards the music source near the bar when something caught his eye.

Perfect!

Now, how to get them to cross paths …

The young man had just taken a single table not far from the Doctor. If only he could get lucky again …

As if he had orchestrated it himself, he saw Captain Jack enter through the door across the room. Jack headed straight to the bar and ordered a drink. The plan came together in his brain at lightning speed. The Doctor stood up and walked over to the kid. As he approached, the

midshipman looked up from his hat, which he had been slowly flipping in his fingers.

“Get up,” the Doctor demanded tersely, before the young man could say anything.

“I beg your pardon?” he replied through a nervous smile. The Doctor had guessed right; this was before his sojourn on the Titanic .

“Sorry,” the Doctor said gruffly. “but this is my table. You need to go, now .”

The space sailor looked confused. His eyes seemed lonely and hurt. The Doctor needed to keep him in the bar, not send him home with a broken spirit.

“Look, there’s a spot at the bar,” he continued, softening his tone a bit and nodding toward the center of the room. “You can go there, but I need this table, right now .”

The kid stood slowly, and his shoulders fell as he shuffled toward the bar. As soon as his back was turned, the Doctor crossed the room back to the adjacent room where the TARDIS sat. He glanced back watching as an Adipose toddled down the bar and disappeared in front of Jack, and the sailor coming up from behind.

The Doctor reached the console and set the target for a mild violation of the timeline. The spacey sounds echoed through the control room and then faded as the TARDIS materialized in a different part of the station which housed the bar. As it landed, he pulled out a piece of paper from below the console and wrote on it:

HIS NAME IS ALONSO

He walked out of the TARDIS and re-entered the bar from the other side. He made a brief glance to his few- minutes-ago self and hid himself behind large aliens in his line of sight.

The bartender was walking back to the bar from the back storage areas when the Doctor caught his upper arm. The bartender didn’t say anything, but looked at him with a curious expression.

“This,” the Doctor began, holding up the folded paper with his other hand, “needs to go to one of your patrons.”

“Which one?” the bartender asked, looking at the Doctor’s hand on his arm. The Doctor released it.

“The man in the gray trench coat at the bar,” he replied, staring firmly into the bartender’s eyes.

The bartender held the stare, before nodding once.

“Yeah, okay,” he added with a shrug.

A minute later, he watched as his previous self evicted Alonso from the table. Simultaneously, the bartender tossed the note onto the counter in front of Jack, and tossed a thumb back towards the Doctor. Jack followed the thumb and sat up a bit straighter when he realized it was him. He watched as Jack opened it, read it, and then looked up again with curiosity. They locked eyes, and the Doctor nodded to Jack’s left. As Jack followed his nod, Alonso arrived beside him at the bar. Jack looked back to the Doctor. The Doctor offered a friendly salute with his index finger; Jack stood up a bit more returned with a full military salute.

A swell of pride filled his hearts. Jack had been as heroic as anyone the Doctor had known, and he felt that he might well have been the best person to receive the burden of immortality. If he was indeed the Face of Boe, then the Doctor felt doubly appreciative of having known him.

The music played as the Doctor left the bar, its jazzy sound resonating in his ears as it faded through closed doors of the TARDIS.

Time to get on with taking care of Donna.

Chapter 6

Joan Redfern

This part of the plan was simple. He knew exactly how he wanted to repay Donna for all she had been, especially through the MetaCrisis. She wasn’t the same now, and she would never know what he would be doing for her, but he felt it would be the only way to give back to her.

The ache was not ignorable now. It wasn’t disabling, but he felt his body’s need to regenerate more now than ever. He took a deep breath after he closed the door of the TARDIS, resting his head on the blue wooden surface as he regrouped his energies.

Having just finished acquiring what he needed, he had come back to a point about five months before he had originally meet Donna for the first time. He navigated the streets of London as he headed to Geoffrey Noble’s routine haunts. Along the way, he passed a book store. Something caught his eye.

He paused, and then slowly walked backward until he stood in front of a large window.

“A Journal of Impossible Things” covered a stack of books, and a large poster announcing the author’s presence filled the window.

The fob watch flashed in his mind, followed by his peculiar affair with Ms. Redfern. It was peculiar in that had he been himself at the time he knew her, he would not have allowed himself to develop feelings for her. Indeed, by turning himself human, he was very easily susceptible to being human, and falling in love. He resisted the urge to feel those buried feelings yet.

He glanced at the price, made a mental note, and decided to take a detour from the day’s plan. It would not cost much. His ache was increasing slowly, but he knew he still could push it off.

He walked down the sidewalk until he reached an ATM machine, and waited in line behind two others. He casually reached into his breast pocket to retrieve the sonic, tucked it into his palm, and set the device to the necessary setting using touch alone. By now, he was next in line. The patron in front of him finished and went off on their way, and the Doctor stepped up to the cash machine. He kept the sonic tucked in his sleeve and feigned to put a card in, and activated the tool. He whistled loudly and in poor tune in order to mask the screwdriver’s own noise, and then instructed the

machine to issue him thirty pounds. It did as it was told and soon he was walking back to the bookstore.

He paused again to take in the book. The cover was lovely, and simple. An open fob watch, not unlike the one he stored his Time Lord Essence in during this adventure, on an image of a leather-bound journal. The author was a woman named Verity Newman. Inhaling, he strode into the store.

The line for signing books was thankfully short, but gave him little time to prepare. The author, Ms. Newman, looked up from her signature at the woman standing in front of her. He knew immediately how she had come by the book: she could only be more identical to Joan if she had worn an early-twentieth-century nurse’s dressing. Remorse reared itself to his heart.

The line moved forward again; the Doctor reached over and grabbed a copy off the stack, and waited his turn. He flipped through the pages, and remembered being John Smith, a human teacher who hid at her school. He remembered how Martha had taken care of him, despite his naïve resistance to it. He remembered the shared moments with Joan, the gentle brush of her hand on his, and sharing a waltz with her. The line shortened again; he would be next.

He recalled the fear and angst he faced while human, not knowing how clever he could be in rescuing her and Martha from the Family. He allowed himself to remember sharing the vision with her. And their last conversation.

She’d asked him if he could change back.

“Yes,” he’d said.

“Will you?” she asked, her voice breaking in the question.

“No,” he admitted.

He’d invited her to join him aboard the TARDIS; she declined. She made him face the consequences of his decision to hide there, at her school. It was almost harder than losing Rose; this time, it was not a universe-rift that separated them forever, but his own choices.

It was his turn.

He stepped to the table, sliding the book to her before she’d had a chance to look up.

“And who’s it for?” she asked with a kind tone.

“The Doctor.”

“To ‘The Doctor’,” she repeated, signing the interior page of the book. “Funny, that’s the name he used.” Her words slowed as she realized the possibilities. She looked up at him. He could read in her face as she tried to take in the moment.

“Was she happy?” He asked with a soft, solemn tone. “In the end?”

Verity gazed at him for several moments. “Yes,” she finally answered, blinking. “Yes, she was.”

He felt a level of relief. He had come into her life after she’d been widowed, and she had opened her heart to a man who would ultimately break it.

She continued to look at him. “Were you?”

He was now.

He smiled at that, joyful amid his culpability. She flashed the faintest moment of a smile in return, still clearly trying to figure out if he was indeed John Smith.

The Doctor picked up the book and went to pay for it. He pocketed it while leaving the store, casually dropping the change into the purse of an older woman who had stopped to look at some books at the entrance.

Chapter 7

The Next Doctor

After leaving Verity Newman and the bookstore, the Doctor had resumed his plan regarding Donna’s father. Having completed that task, he was now headed to her wedding, by way of a supermarket to make a purchase. He already knew the numbers.

The time rotor began pumping as the Doctor threw the levers and twisted those grungy dials. He could feel it growing now. He maybe had a day left, maybe hours. He’d pushed off the regeneration before, when he had the big ears and leather jacket. Granted, he’d delayed maybe ten minutes, but at least he knew at this point he could do something with it.

Of course, in retrospect, the regeneration that had produced him had seemed somewhat more powerful than most others.

Indeed, now that he thought about it, resisting regeneration must increase its power. That may not be a good thing, though, he pondered. He thought back to the first time.

He’d never undergone one before then, although he’d seen it happen before. Most everyone who’d he’d asked about it said it hurt, but in a stretch-out-the-tightness pain rather than injury pain. After battling the Cybermen, he’d fallen and was nearly unconscious when his body emitted its first yellow glow. It didn’t hurt much, but now he suspected that was more to do with his semi- conscious state rather than the nature of regeneration.

The second one did hurt a lot more, because it was forced upon him; he’d resisted it then. But the Time Lords had banished him to Earth and basically controlled the whole thing. At least that time he did get to bid his friends farewell ahead of the change.

The third time again, he’d fallen unconscious and had limited discomfort, but by then it had much more potent and lingering effects.

He remembered the next one too, lying in the grass amongst his companions, trying to comfort them as he lay dying. He chuckled at the irony of that moment, and leaned heavily on the console as another round of nausea and burn drifted through him. It was definitely getting harder. He took in a slow breath, flexing every muscle he could find to push back the energy. He still wasn’t ready to go.

He did enjoy being those two Doctors. He eschewed the idea now of wearing the unruly scarf, but it suited him then. And while his Fifth Self did tend to be rather haughty, he was perhaps more easy-going in a lot of ways, even to the point of wearing celery decoratively. But what stood out from that period in his life was his regeneration from Cricket to Rainbow. It was the first time the discomfort of the regeneration was enough to raise concern whether it was going right or not.

He tended not to think much of his Sixth incarnation, as he felt there were times he’d been too extreme, and was maverick with his interpretation of what being the Doctor meant. His transformation from Sixth to Seventh self was mild by comparison, but again he was not conscious, as was also true when he transformed and woke up in a morgue.

Dying on Carn in the crash was more a memory he had reconstructed rather than remembered, and the potion he drank which triggered his transformation felt more like being stabbed ten thousand times by a hundred thousand pins of fire. It was agony but because it was artificially induced, it was quicker than all his previous alterations.

Then he thought about The Moment. The 2.47 billion whose lives he ended, and how even to this day he could

think of no other solution to save time and space. 2.47 billion lost, due to a silly war. On top of that, he had that tickle. To think, if more than one of him had conspired and could not conceive a better solution, all the worse. It was sickening, beyond his current plight.

He only vaguely remembered turning into his most recent incarnation, and recalled the relief and delight of being able to start again to be the Doctor.

Which brought him to his last time. He’d had a shorter life then than in this body, but that transformation seemed somehow welcome to put another regeneration between him and his past.

Rose had been there. He had to absorb the Vortex energy she’d acquired from the TARDIS to save her, and he remembered her tears of confusion as he bid her farewell. There was true regret in his eyes; he despised that he’d frightened and upset her. We never did go to Barcelona.

So who would he be tomorrow?

Ginger , he thought. We have some control over this, right? I want to be a ginger!

Something odd struck his mind. In all his regenerations, this one was his loneliest. Sure, no one was there when

he awoke in the morgue, but that didn’t bother him. There were times he would prefer to be alone, rare as those times may be. But not this time. He lost two companions through circumstance of their adventures, and Martha left because of her feelings for him. No, they weren’t the first he’d lost. Honestly, he’d lost them all, even the ones he’d had to abandon without warning. He never relished the end of adventures with his friends. They always added to his pleasure of traveling time and space.

Today, they were all gone. No companion; no one to witness his change, to welcome him as the next Doctor opened his eyes to the universe for the first time. And, he allowed himself the conceit, no one to show off his new take on his cleverness.

Perhaps the next Doctor should be a loner. Loners don’t feel alone, and they don’t miss love and friendship. He’d been a loner once before. No companions when he’d destroyed Gallifrey and the Daleks. If it hadn’t been for Rose and her reawakening his joy of travelling the universe, he might not have taken a companion at all while wearing the leather jacket.

Who knows; maybe he wouldn’t have taken one if he’d not had Rose to start this life. Donna, for her part, was the first to make him really re-evaluate his treatment of

his enemies. To show compassion. He was truly lucky to know her. And she would never know what she meant for him. He fingered the quid that sat in his pocket. No more lingering reminiscing. Time to repay his best friend.

Chapter 8

The Nobles

The bells of the church rang as the wedding party burst out of the doors. The Doctor looked on as Donna and her new husband were greeted with hugs and applause. Wilfred lead three rounds of cheers as flowers flew into the air. He was pleased she had found love, and one who was dedicated to her and not to the Racnoss.

As Donna ordered everyone into place for photos, Sylvia Noble turned and was the first to notice him standing at the edge of the churchyard. She nudged Wilf and they both walked over to him.

“There you are, eh?” Wilfred exclaimed, beaming. “Same old face. Didn’t I tell you you’d be all right?” Wilfred continued to talk as the Doctor tuned out the news. He was too close to yield now to his regeneration, and did not want to get off topic.

“I just wanted to give you this,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the envelope. “Wedding present.”

The two senior Nobles looked at him with puzzled faces as Sylvia took the offering.

“Thing is, I never carry money, so I popped back in time, borrowed a quid off a really lovely man,” he said. He inhaled the importance of what he was about to say, so that he could say it. “Geoffrey Noble, his name was.”

Sylvia gasped, covering her mouth; Wilfred’s jaw fell a bit.

“Have it, he said,” the Doctor finished. The love he was sharing at the moment rose to his face, and forced a slight smile from his stoic expression. “Have that on me.”

Wifred mouthed a thank you, and escorted her over to the wedding party. He watched as Sylvia recomposed herself, and then they approached Donna.

Wilf handed the envelope to Donna, who opened it and found the lottery ticket. She apparently had some remarks before stuffing it into her bodice. Sylvia turned to Wilfred in shocked joy, and they both turned to look at the Doctor as Donna went over to fuss over her new groom. As the wind picked up, bringing the remaining petals into the breeze, Wilfred Mott took a step towards him, stood at military attention, and saluted the Doctor.

The honor was all mine, Wilfred, he thought. He turned and walked back, opening the blue door and entering his sanctuary.

Chapter 9

Rose

He walked over to the console, wrestling with this final visit. If he chose to do it, it would be his last. The ache had grown and was now almost a full-body cramp. It was becoming more and more difficult to move without giving in. By now, he was almost ready to yield to the Time Lord physiology.

“No,” he said to his body. “Not now. I’m not ready.”

He had made up his mind. He couldn’t go to her present, but he could go to her in the past, before they’d first met.

He needed to see her. One last time. Hope and regret all in one feeling. He threw the lever and set the coordinates. The TARDIS’ timey-wimey sounds echoed through the ship, and his body throbbed with the sound. He took a deep breath and flexed everything again as the sounds faded.

One more hour, he demanded. One more hour, and then you can have me.

He walked to the door, but more slowly and with significant effort, and opened it. Every move threatened to override his defiance and bring on change.

It was snowing outside, and he walk-staggered across the alley and took the corner, frosted breath bursting from his nostrils. Rose had once told him of her and her mother’s annual outing on New Year’s Eve. He did not want to talk to her or interfere, but he wanted to see her. He needed to see her, and hear her voice.

He waited in the shadows next to a pair of dark doors, one of which had a creature with green and red face painted upon it.

How appropriate, he mused.

After several minutes, he heard voices from around the corner of the building; both female. It did not take long before the voices became clear enough for him to identify both Rose and Jackie Tyler.

“…You never know,” he could barely hear Rose’s voice say. They must have been just beyond the corner; they had definitely stopped walking. He resisted the urge to take a step sideways to see. “There could be someone out there for you,” Rose said.

“Maybe, one day,” Jackie said, dismay and uncertainty in her tone. Then her voice shifted to excitement. “Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year!” Rose’s voice said back, nearly simultaneously. He was happy to have heard her voice. If he burst into regeneration now he would feel complete.

Blimey, I’m even pleased to hear Jackie’s voice , he thought.

“Don’t stay out all night,” Rose said, followed by Jackie’s receding “try and stop me!”

Rose came into view, arms folded up and blonde hair protected by her dark pink knit hat. The Doctor watched her walk by in his peripheral view; somewhere inside him his hearts pleaded with him to talk to her, to tell her what he was prevented from saying that day as she stood on the coast in Dårlig Ulv Stranden on the Parallel Earth. Just as he had been resisting the regeneration, he resisted this one too.

He’d almost succeeded when a sharp burst of energy shot through his intestines, causing him to flinch and grunt. Almost time now , his mind submitted.

“You all right, mate?” Rose asked.

Got to be the Doctor, never let them see you sweat, he chided himself.

“Yeah”, he replied.

“Too much to drink?” She asked, a small smile flashed.

“Something like that.”

“Maybe it’s time you went home,” she suggested. What perfect timing for that suggestion. She was so sweet and caring.

“Yeah.”

“Anyway,” she broke into a broad grin. “Happy New Year!”

She was beautiful. He considered himself so very lucky to be able to see her again, after all that had happened. He’d been right that first afternoon. He was a lucky man.

“And you!” he offered as she turned to walk away. “What year is this?”

“Blimey, how much have you had?” she asked. He made a motion, hoping she’d just indulge him.

“Two thousand five, January the first!” she replied, her answer a bit slower due to the peculiar question.

“Two thousand five,” the Doctor absorbed the answer. He inhaled. He wanted to tell her.

“Tell you what,” he began. His mind flashed over everything they did together that year, when he was Leather Jacket. He loved her, and he felt it, so strongly. For a brief moment it even drowned out the regeneration pains. “I bet you’re going to have a really great year!”

“Yeah?” she said, thinking his mysterious remark over a moment. He smiled and nodded. She looked away momentarily, and then turned back to him with her wonderful smile.

“See ya!” She turned away, he smile the last thing he saw on her face.

See ya, he replied inwardly as he watched her recede. She went into her apartment building, and that was the last he saw of her.

Chapter 10

I don’t want to go

The pain was too much now. His internal organs screamed in pain at the residual radiation poisoning and the restrained regeneration. His bones seared under the stress of the battle.

The walk back to the TARDIS seemed insurmountable, as every breath was difficult and walking was as though he was wading through razor blades.

He’d made it an amazing ten steps before his sides seized, knocking him to his knees. Tears forced their way to his eyes as the icy snow crunched between his fingers.

He heard a faint, but familiar, sound. The stabbing pain in his sides subsided, but not without lingering warnings that things were about to get worse. He looked up, and saw the Ood Sigma.

“We will sing to you,” the gentle, sweet voice of the Ood tickled in his brain. He began to hear the song of the Ood, a piercing yet soothing music which gave the Doctor the last bit he needed to return to his blue box.

The Doctor struggled to his feet, determined to at the very least have the last say on when he would give up his fight. He took unsteady, determined steps towards the time-and-space ship.

“The Universe will sing you to your sleep. This song is ending, but the story never ends.”

Rose. Donna. Martha. Mickey. The Ood. Humans. The Master. The next Doctor. All the previous Doctors. He had won, he had beaten his regeneration. He had been great, and brilliant, and clever.

He had been the Doctor.

He entered the TARDIS as the Ood song uplifted his courage. He slipped off his coat, tossing it over the golden support.

He lifted up his right hand, staring at it. He let go.

His hand began to glow with regeneration energy. How bad would it be, having held back so long? He walked to the console and set the time rotor into action. He looked up at them, watching them undulate for the last time. The Ood song swelled in him.

He could feel the regeneration growing with the music, as if they had orchestrated with his biology. He walked

around the control room platform, waiting for the final burst. It was definitely coming.

He stopped for a moment, looking off to the distant wall. It was still too soon. There was still too much to do. Too many things to see.

The burn was engulfing him now. He felt it in his feet, in his toes, in his hearts. He felt it enter his face. It seemed light, but he know this was the wave ahead of the tsunami. Tears reached his eyes, and he began to breathe more heavily. He could see regeneration energy emerging from the skin of his face. Why couldn’t he have more time?

“I don’t want to go!”

He could feel it rolling towards him, perhaps like a freight train or a cannon ball, growing larger and more powerful and more frightening the closer it got. The golden energy began to overtake his field of vision.

At last, it conquered him. His arms flew out reflexively, and his head flew back as the energy engulfed his body. He could feel its power and for a fraction of a second he feared he’d held back too much, and may not survive this regeneration.

He heard the energy strike the walls of the TARDIS control room, causing damage. The pain and energy was overwhelming; there was no way to assess the damage being done. Explosions and fires broke out, the whole room was bright with the light of his regeneration and the destruction it wrought.

Still, the Ood sang.

And then, that last sharp pain.

Other works by J L Tracy, Jr

The Time Opener: 1692

http://thetimeopener.com

The Curse of the Gold Peanut (short story)

redfogof1935.weebly.com

The Snake Brothers (comic strip)

https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Snake- Brothers/285596044882834