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Tweak says, "HELLO, BEE."

The Eleventh Doctor thinks bow ties are cool. (the11thhour) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2011-07-24 17:27:00

Entry tags:

the doctor (10), the doctor (11)

WHO: Doctor²
WHAT: Technically, it's Ten getting medical attention, but you can't really stick two Doctor's into one TARDIS without crazy ensuing. It's impossible.
WHEN: Late afternoon.
WHERE: The TARDIS.
RATING: PG for now.

Tweed jacket tossed over one of the railings off to his right, the Doctor tugged at the leather braces running over his shoulders, the sharp snap of them being pulled upward and released twinging lightly against his skin. Distractedly, the oldest of the youngest (physically, at least) of his regenerations twisted a knob at the central console of the TARDIS, not particularly directing the TARDIS in any which location, but doing so out of the need to be doing something with himself. Why? The Doctor was all out of sorts, that was why. Another him had been tossed into the woodwork, hailed straight on into Lawrence from a time so recent that the Doctor could still practically taste the radiation poisoning that had done him in. Those final moments of his tenth regeneration had been dark. Angry. Filled with more sadness than he could bear, because he hadn't been ready. Not him. Not ready to change, not ready to go. To move on and become another, with different thoughts and feelings and perspectives on all things, ranging from the ones that mattered the most to which option was most sensible for supper (fish sticks and custard, without a single doubt).

The man that he had invited into his TARDIS - their TARDIS, if he was really going to be fair, which he (in that moment) honestly did not want to be, because he already had enough trouble trying to fight River off when it came to being in charge of his own ship - was not going to be terribly pleasant. His former self had his moments (many of which were absolutely brilliant), sure enough, but as of now, coming out from all of that, the Doctor didn't much expect for the past to greet him with open arms and a wide grin on his face.

Not that, generally, he would have wanted to hug any of his older selves anyway.

Nonetheless, the tenth of the Doctor's was currently venturing his way over to the blue police box, which had been carefully placed just off the end of a sidewalk a few blocks from the local park. Knowing himself - which he did - the directions that the Doctor had given the other Doctor would have been more than enough for him to manage finding the TARDIS, so the Doctor found that all he could do now, besides fidget and worry, was wait.

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dominustemporis
2011-07-25 12:17 am UTC (link)

The Tenth Doctor had no particular desire to spend time in close company with his future self, nor any particular desire to hide that fact from anyone. He'd narrowly avoided becoming that man with the floppy hair and the bow tie, having stepped through a door into Kansas rather than the radiation booth he'd expected. He knew exactly how close to death he'd come. The prophecy should have been fulfilled by now. He'd heard the knocks. He'd heard them, and realized too late that in his arrogance, he'd thought he'd understood what he had been told and instead gotten it all wrong. That seemed to be a theme, these days, him getting it wrong. He'd managed some rather spectacular mistakes since he'd decided to travel alone. The fact that his successor knew all of them made the prospect of facing him even more unpleasant, on top of the fact that the eleventh Doctor was proof that he had died.

Still, he needed to do something about the injuries he'd sustained in his haste to stop the Time Lords, and he had absolutely no intention of leaving his treatment in the hands of humans, medical professionals or no. He'd already died once thanks to the tender mercies of human doctors. He wasn't about to let them get their hands on him again, not after what he'd gone through at the end of his seventh incarnation leading into his eighth. Perhaps if they'd been UNIT doctors, who at least had the good sense to tuck him into bed and then leave him alone unless he tried to get up too soon, he would have thought differently. Then again, maybe not, given what he'd learned about UNIT's current practices through Martha Jones.

That left him with only one option, the infirmary in the TARDIS, and that meant, like or not, he would have to face his other self. He grimaced as he came to a stop outside the TARDIS doors. Oh, he was not looking forward to this, and he could already tell from the exterior of his ship that the eleventh him had gone and mucked it up. Brilliant. Why not hang a sign out front telling everyone that there was a brand new doctor in town? New and improved. And absolutely daft in a bow tie and bracers, no doubt.

The Doctor didn't bother knocking. It was his ship, after all. He simply strode (well, limped; he'd had a chance to stiffen up rather alarmingly since the whole affair with Rassilon) right on through the doors and didn't even bother with so much as a hello before he was exclaiming, "What have you done to my ship?! Glass floors? Honestly? Who has glass floors in a spaceship?!"

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the11thhour
2011-07-25 07:40 pm UTC (link)

The Doctor turned on the spot, the familiar sound of his own voice - well, not his current voice, but his own former voice - introducing the entry of the other Doctor. Not even two seconds into the TARDIS and he was already picking at the new design, making it all out as though he'd gone and ruined the entire ship all in one go. The Doctor tried not to shake his head out of annoyance, hands clasping together in front of himself, briefly, before he walked across the glass floors that were being critiqued, making it in point to eye them rather fondly as he did so. "She crashed just after we -" A pause. "- you regenerated. Steering went all wibbly, couldn't get her to stay upright." The Doctor wrapped his fingers around the ends of the rails that topped the staircase that led to the TARDIS' entrance, leaning forward with an air of curiosity to take in the appearance of his former self. Very much how he remembered him, he was. Spikey haired, tall and thin, sporting the same old worn down chucks on his feet. He didn't look terribly happy, as expected, but that was understandable.

He didn't look very well at all.

"You don't like the new design?" The Doctor tried not to sound so horribly offended. He failed rather miserably, the puzzled expression dancing across his features easily giving him away. "I think she looks gorgeous. Never better, in my opinion. Re-built most everything herself, my TARDIS. Can't question the taste of your own ship, old me, that wouldn't be very sensible, now would it?"

The Doctor bit back the urge to usher forward and start babbling on about all the changes that had overtaken the ship since his past self had seen it last. Instead, he hopped down a few steps and gestured toward one of the doors to the left, rather insistent that they focus on more important things than TARDIS talk, as the Doctor needed to seek out the best possible treatment for the aftermath of his not-so fun experiment with radiation poisoning. "Come along, then," the Doctor said, "we should get you sorted right away. You can pick at the TARDIS later."

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dominustemporis
2011-07-25 08:02 pm UTC (link)

One could hardly blame the Doctor for being a bit unreceptive of the new design. He was tired and in pain and had just walked through the front door of his home to find it had been almost completely gutted and rebuilt without his permission or approval. He'd been rather fond of the coral. How often had he and Rose run across the floor grates like school children? How many times had he tossed his coat over the struts and flopped back into the jump seat after a long day of running? He'd taught his companions to fly the TARDIS using the coral theme. All of them together, Sarah Jane and Mickey and Jack, Donna, Martha, Rose ... Not Jackie, though. Definitely not Jackie. Oh, that would have been a disaster, Jackie at the controls.

He shook himself out of his memories and looked up at his successor, taking in his appearance for the first time in person. Could have been worse, he decided. It most definitely could have been worse. Oh, the bow tie was atrocious, and the tweed jacket positively screamed school librarian, but he was still built for running. Well, maybe. The Doctor couldn't help but think the first few hours of his next life were going to feel rather a lot like the first few hours of life for a horse, all legs and angles and confusion about which limb goes where. Especially with all that glass underfoot. It was a wonder the next him hadn't broken a leg!

That mental picture put the tenth Doctor somewhat in a better mood (granted, it was childish of him, and a bit mean, but what was he if not self-abusing?), and he found that he could take a moment to appreciate that yes, his ship did have rather decent taste. At least the color scheme was familiar. "Of course she's gorgeous. She's my- our TARDIS," he agreed in spite of himself.

"But I still like the coral," he added, somewhat sullenly, as the Doctor, the other Doctor, nudged him in the direction of the infirmary.

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the11thhour
2011-07-28 12:21 am UTC (link)

"The coral wasn't half bad, I'll give you that," the Doctor couldn't help but agree. He could certainly appreciate the older TARDIS design (he had, after all, once been the man complimenting the way she had looked prior to the new changes, once upon a time), though he did enjoy her new look quite a bit. When he underwent his regeneration, so did the TARDIS. They changed together, seemingly matched out perfectly for one another when they were both complete. Yes, the Doctor and the TARDIS were always very much meant for one another (at least, that was how he liked to look at it), but that particular turn in change had turned from horrible to actually quite decent once it was good and through. They were wiped clean. A fresh start, away from all the bad that they had been put through together only just before.

Though his former self had plenty of memories worth repeating, the Doctor couldn't help but find that he didn't envy him all that he was feeling and going through now. And no, it wasn't just the radiation, though there was that too. Real painful, that. He could only hope that his next run, should he survive it, would be less so.

Not that he wanted to start thinking about that just yet.

Thoughtfully, the Doctor led the way to the infirmary, pushing the door open and shifting off to the side to give his other self access to the room as he pleased. The Doctor picked up a box of bandages (the last he'd used them, it was to chuck them at poor Rory, who had tripped up over his own two feet down the steps at the control room of the TARDIS and faceplanted onto the floor - proud bugger wouldn't let him use his sonic screwdriver to mend him, so he'd wound up hobbling about the TARDIS for a week out of pure need to be outrageously stubborn and difficult) and turned them over in his hands, namely because of that continuous need to keep himself occupied while in the presence of his former half.

"I don't imagine your visit with Rose went terribly well," he couldn't help but find himself saying. If there was anything the Doctor could not deny, it was that he was very nosey. Probably not the best quality a person could have, but what could he say? He was the sort of person who needed to know things. Especially things that were, in a way, in relation to himself. As he spoke, the Doctor simultaneously found himself examining his other half carefully, half considering the procedures necessary to heal him. It would take some work, but considering that he wasn't already dead and gone, the Doctor was sure that they'd manage to find some way to improve his physical health. He appeared to be stable, at least. Stable was good. The Doctor liked stable.

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dominustemporis
2011-07-28 12:41 am UTC (link)

"Could have gone worse," the tenth Doctor found himself saying, tone mild, almost dismissive as he set to rummaging in the various supplies that he kept on hand and only rarely used. It felt safer to be as emotionally distant as possible from his future self, at least while they were in such close company. He was too tired for a proper row just at the moment, though he expected one would happen eventually. It generally did, whenever he was faced with his former or future incarnations. At least this time it was only the two of them.

"You've been here with her longer than I have," he went on. "I'm sure you know better than I do how she feels about me." The Doctor felt strange, discussing Rose with the man he would one day become. A part of him was jealous of the time they had spent together, while another part of him was afraid of what had been said, and still another was grateful that at least Rose had had one of him to depend on. She seemed comfortable enough with the idea of his future self. Was she, truly? Was there something about the eleventh Doctor, floppy hair and all, that was more appealing than the battered man who had come before him?

The Doctor grimaced as he reached for one of the diagnostic tools and his shoulder informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he might not want to move his arm that way again for a good while. No more jumping from spaceships, he told himself, gritting his teeth and grabbing the scanner despite his body's protests. He wondered how deep the damage had gone. Clearly not deep enough to trigger a regeneration, but with the amount of pain he was in, he thought, for the first time, to worry about how much radiation he'd actually absorbed before he found himself in Kansas.

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the11thhour
2011-08-08 03:44 am UTC (link)

He was right. The Doctor did know, well enough, how Rose had likely reacted to interacting with the version of himself she was more familiar with. The last he had spoken with her, she had been cold. Angry. Bitter, because he had chosen to leave her behind with a man that was so very him, but so very not at the same time. Sort of like the two Doctor's standing in the same room now, though with less alien attributes, such as the bonus of having two whole, beating hearts. When confronted on the matter, the Doctor had tried to explain that it was what he thought she had wanted. That, for a second, it almost seemed as though she were finally happy, raking in the opportunity to settle into a life with the almost-Doctor without having to worry about chasing him across the stars in order to do so. She had seemed happy. He thought she had. He had been very wrong. Betrayed was a good word to describe it, really. She must have thought him very daft and foolish, to have believed she'd ever be happy living that life. Perhaps he was, even with all the knowledge he prided himself on carrying.

"She's got every right to be cross," The Doctor offered, turning round rather pointedly. It was a sensitive subject for himself, surely, but he knew that it was probably threefold worse for Other Him. Fresh wounds, those were, and he was fairly certain that picking at them wasn't going to make this whole 'getting along' thing any easier on either of their parts. That didn't mean that the topic wasn't one that interested him. As far as matters filed into the massively large folder of All Things Rose were concerned, the Doctor was always going to be more on the emotionally invested side of things. Which meant that it was very much in his nature to poke and prod at the matter, even when he knew that it was best that he shouldn't bother with it in the slightest.

He was going to keep on poking about it, that was for certain. But now, with Other Him in his current state, he thought to give it a temporary rest. He'd get off easy today, mostly on the default that he needed to rest and heal before taking on more headaches.

"She'll come around," the Doctor added, "she always does." He said no more than that, propping the bandages back down onto the table he'd snatched them away from and turned back around to look over the diagnostics that Other Him had been working on. It didn't much seem like Other Him was going to be playing the role of action guy anytime soon -- the radiation really had done a number on him. Noting that he was visibly grimacing from the pain, the Doctor moved away from the table he'd been lurking by and reached for the scanner. "Let me help," he insisted, hoping that Other Him wasn't going to be too proud to let his future self lend a hand.

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dominustemporis
2011-08-08 04:10 am UTC (link)

If there were one thing the Doctor understood without question in this new world, it was how justified Rose was in her anger at him. He'd been a high-handed old fool again, leaving her behind. He should have waited. At the very least, he should have said goodbye. She had deserved some sort of closure. Still, he wasn't certain he could have managed a life with her and his other self in the TARDIS. It was bad enough, watching the woman he loved grow old while he continued on, ageless by comparison to a human's lifespan. How much worse would it have been to watch his other self fade, as humans did? What else could he have done? He didn't know, and it didn't matter, not anymore.

Rose, brilliant, wonderful Rose, had given him more than he deserved by allowing him back into her life. He wondered if he were taking advantage of her kindness by accepting that invitation. Would it do more harm than good to attempt to reconcile all that had come between them? He didn't know, couldn't see that clearly when his own personal timeline was involved.

"She's not the one who needs to come around," he found himself saying. "It's me. I'm the one who made the mistakes. I'm the one who needs to make amends."

When his other self stepped forward to help him with the equipment, the Doctor silently stepped back, sore arm cradled close against his side. "Do I really have a choice?" he said, flashing a tired smile at his counterpart and the offer of assistance. "Another second or two in that booth and I'd have shown up here already regenerating. Isn't that so?" He cast a glance at the readouts and shook his head. Everything had happened so quickly after he'd opened the door to the chamber. He'd done his best to simply do, not to think. No chance for regrets, that way, and no chance to yet again take the coward's way out. For a moment, he felt sympathy for his older self. What he must have gone through, before he changed. The Doctor was sick at the thought of it.

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