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The Tenth Doctor (dominustemporis) wrote in wariscoming,

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?!"