Doctor Who Fic: Six Stages Sequel - Part 1 of 6
Title: The Six Stages of Meeting A Younger Looking Regenerated You (Or, Zen And The Art Of Metacrisis Maintenance)
Author: Gowdie
Characters: TenII/Rose, Eleven, Ten (briefly)
Rating: If not Adult now, it will be in future chapters.
Summary: When The Six Stages of a Human Time Lord Biological Metacrisis ended, Rose and the Doctor were both feeling very magnanimous towards the full-fledged Time Lord. Sometimes reunions are easier in theory than in practice.
Author's Note: I solemnly swear this chapter is the hardest angst of the entire fic, but it had to be done. Later chapters will return to our regular scheduled program of humour, angst, fluff and occasional smut.
Stage One: Genuine Shock and Drama
“Rose.”
She knew the whispered voice was a dream immediately, even before the landscape came into focus. She remembered getting ready for bed, in all its laughable detail.
They had been standing at their bathroom sink, brushing their teeth; the Doctor in his navy stripey boxers and a grey vest, she in her comfy hot pink flannel bottoms, and a white cotton camisole.
The Doctor was wiping his mouth, when he’d suddenly grabbed her head, exclaiming, “Hold on!”
She’d pulled away from him, desperately needing to rinse and spit, before his surprising antics caused her to choke. “What was that for?” she’d asked, as soon as she was able.
He’d pulled the top of her head back down and inspected. There was the slight pain of a hair being pulled, and then he’d shown her triumphantly. “Rose Tyler, you have a grey hair!”
She’d rubbed her head, glaring at the offender. “But I’m only twenty-eight!”
He’d scratched his neck and scrunched his nose. “Well, that’s about right.” He’d grinned madly, twirling the hair between his fingertips. “But what’s far more important is that you were first.”
Rose had turned her attention to his brown locks. His great hair. His really great hair. She loved his hair, lusted for it, to be more accurate, but its continued greatness was becoming suspicious. “How is that even possible. You’re way older than me.”
The Doctor had wrapped his arms around her and walked her backwards into their bedroom, his demeanor making it clear that he didn’t grasp the seriousness of the situation. Didn’t grasp it at all. “I have a theory about that. Want to hear it?”
“Obviously,” she’d answered. His theories almost always led to good things, even when they were about grooming.
“When I came into being… This me, that is. This, this me. This human me…” he’d babbled, working around to the point. “All my cells were new. Muscle cells. Blood cells. Even hair cells. Without all the usual wear and tear of someone who looks my age. Strong heart. Fresh lungs. Clean veins.”
“So you were the equivalent of a newborn,” Rose had concluded. This theory was turning out disappointing.
“Not quite. I was past puberty, obviously. And fully grown. I’d say a healthy strapping eighteen, maybe.” He’d puffed out his chest for emphasis.
“So you’re saying you looked like a man in his thirties, but with the metabolism of a teenager,” she’d said.
“Precisely,” the Doctor had answered, looking quite pleased.
“It explains all the sex,” she’d mused. “But it means you’re younger than me.”
“Only by a few years.” The Doctor had climbed onto the bed on his knees, facing her, and took her hands. “And this is a good thing, considering how statistically human men tend to die earlier, from heart disease and whatnot. Really, Rose, this means we are, in fact, perfectly suited.”
“Perfectly,” she’d echoed. She agreed wholeheartedly. She didn’t think it was possible to love anyone more.
“Yup.” He’d smiled again. Impish.
“Apart from my grey hairs, you mean,” she’d pouted. She still didn’t like that part.
“With them,” the Doctor had said, quite seriously. Then he’d held her face in his hands and kissed her soundly, moving slowly from her bottom lip to her top, his tongue easing into her mouth to lightly flick against her own. He’d pulled back, leaving his hands in her hair, his fingertips massaging her scalp, just behind her ears. “I intend to grow quite old and grey and wrinkly with you. But that’s still a long way off. Right now, I’d very much like to use my twenty-two-year-old metabolism to make love to your very firm and brilliantly voluptuous twenty-seven-year-old body.”
“Well,” she’d teased, pretending to think about it, her tongue poked between her teeth, “if you insist.”
“Rose,” the voice called again.
She remembered all that. Remembered falling down to the bed, and pulling off clothes, and the feel of his skin. She remembered the Doctor holding her against him, biting down on his shoulder as she came. She could still feel that pleasant rawness of having had him so recently inside her. So she knew this was a dream. But then, since she remembered drifting off to sleep, safe in his arms, so explicitly, this had to be more than a dream as well.
“Rose.”
And she knew that voice. Knew it intimately. Knew what it felt like whispered against her ear, which is just how it sounded now. But she also knew it wasn’t coming from the Doctor whose body was curled up around her.
So that meant… It had to mean…
“Rose.”
The other Doctor was calling.
She could see where she was standing now, and hear the waves. The sky was as dull and grey as ever, but while the sand was wet, her feet didn’t sink. At least there was that. Plus the small mercy that her dream self wasn’t still naked. That could have been awkward. Just a bit.
Finally, she could see him, materializing in front of her, hands deep in his pockets. The brown suit she hadn’t seen for years seemed newly pressed. His tie was straight. But his face looked thin, and tired.
The Doctor gave her a small smile. “Hello.”
“Hi,” Rose answered quietly, feeling sad already. She sniffed and glanced at the water. “This stupid beach.”
He winced in acknowledgement, and quickly said, “Sorry.” He closed his eyes and concentrated, causing the scenery around them to blink and change. “That better?”
Shivering a little, she wrapped her arms around herself and took in their new familiar surroundings. “I guess.”
He frowned as he looked about, squinting in the dark. “Where are we?”
“My backyard.” They were just down the lawn from the house, about half way to the barn. She wondered if he had any idea the new baby TARDIS was so very close.
“Right.” The Doctor nodded. “Of course. Looks a bit different without all the mist. And the Cybermen.”
Rose thought she knew the answer, but she had to make sure, so she asked, “Is this real?”
“Yes.” He was wearing his serious expression. The one that told her how much he loved her, even though he would never say it. The one that told her his hearts were breaking.
A lump formed in her throat, and she bravely swallowed it down. It didn’t make sense to cry; not before she knew why he was here. “Are you coming through, like last time? Should we meet you?”
“No. It’s too late for that.” He tried to smile. “But hey, bright side, at least this way I can touch you.” He stepped forward, reached with his hand and cupped her check. “Sort of.”
Feeling his cool touch, after so long, she instantly grasped his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm, even as the tears started to fall. “How many suns are you burning up this time?” At that his eyes turned grim. Maybe she didn’t want to know. “What do you mean, too late? Could you have come through before?”
The Doctor nodded, and swallowed, his eyes shining.
“Well,” Rose’s voice cracked, “why didn’t you then?”
“Because…” He stopped to gather himself. “Because I knew it would be like this.” He traced one of her tears with his thumb. “I didn’t think it was right to hurt you. Again.”
Well, that was stupid. She didn’t care if it hurt to see him again. To know that he was all right. “And now?”
“It was my last chance. I panicked.” The Doctor’s lips turned up in a brief self-depreciating smirk. “I guess I was always rubbish at sticking to promises.”
“You’re really not, you know,” Rose blurted, suddenly feeling the need to remind them both of the him still sleeping in bed beside her. “What do you mean last chance?”
“The last tiny, miniscule gap is closing.” He paused. There was obviously more, something even more important. She waited. The Doctor took his hand away from her face, and looked out over the horizon. “I wanted to say goodbye. Because I’m not going to be like this much longer. I’m going to change.”
The way he said it, his tone, was almost exactly like her first Doctor. She could hear him saying almost the exact same words, tinge with so much regret. His daft old face. His beautiful face, and voice, that she still holds dear in her memory. Still aches for a little, from time to time. Losing him had been agonizing. She didn’t want to lose this Doctor too. “Is it happening now?”
“No,” he rushed to assure her. “But soon. I can feel it. In my blood.”
It’s a bit dodgy this process. You never know what you’re gonna end up with. “I’m sorry,” Rose whispered, struggling to control her voice.
“It’s okay.” He put his hand back in his pocket, retreating again. “It’s good.” He nodded. “It’s time.”
How could it possibly be okay? “But it means something awful’s gonna happen. You’re gonna… You’re gonna die.”
“Or be reborn,” the Doctor shrugged, “depending on how you look at it.”
Rose heaved a hitching breath. She knew how she was looking at it. The him she knew was dying; would be gone forever. She wouldn’t even know who he was anymore. He would become a stranger and she wouldn’t even recognize him. She felt her entire face crumple. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Oh, Rose.” The look he gave her was so full of pity, she wanted to scream. “This body was made for you. Out of my… Out of how I felt for you. And I…” He paused. Took a breath. “I have a long life to live. People to meet. It’s time for us to say goodbye.” His eyebrows lifted. He was begging for her to understand. To accept. “I need… I need to let you go. And you need to do the same.”
If anyone had asked her earlier that day, she would have said she had. Years ago. She loved the man she was with, desperately. Breathlessly. That was still absolutely true. But as he spoke the words, Rose suddenly realized she’d never let this Doctor completely go at all. A tiny little part of her was still waiting. Always holding on to the idea that one day she would see him again. “No!”
Rose stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He let her; his hands coming up to hold her, one cradling her head.
She felt him speaking against her hair. “When you wake up, the me you’re with will still be there. Still love you. But it’s time for this me to go. Rose Tyler, you have to let me go.”
She held him tighter. This couldn’t be the last. Impossible. Her heart rebelled. She could never. She loved them both. The words were almost strangling her, “I don’t want to.”
The Doctor was fading. His embrace growing weaker. Before he was gone completely, she heard his final request on the air: “Please.”
When Rose woke up, she was sobbing. Tears streaming. Gasping breaths wracking her entire body. Before she was even fully conscious of the bed beneath her, her Doctor was gathering her up in his arms, calling her name with a tinge of fear in his voice, stroking her hair.
She clung to him. He was still here. Solid. Warm. He was hers. Her Doctor. And he would never ever leave her.
She knew she was probably scaring him to death, but as she continued to cry all she could manage to choke out was, “He’s gone.”
Next Chapter - Stage Two: My Hair, My Hair, My Precious Hair
Author: Gowdie
Characters: TenII/Rose, Eleven, Ten (briefly)
Rating: If not Adult now, it will be in future chapters.
Summary: When The Six Stages of a Human Time Lord Biological Metacrisis ended, Rose and the Doctor were both feeling very magnanimous towards the full-fledged Time Lord. Sometimes reunions are easier in theory than in practice.
Author's Note: I solemnly swear this chapter is the hardest angst of the entire fic, but it had to be done. Later chapters will return to our regular scheduled program of humour, angst, fluff and occasional smut.
Stage One: Genuine Shock and Drama
“Rose.”
She knew the whispered voice was a dream immediately, even before the landscape came into focus. She remembered getting ready for bed, in all its laughable detail.
They had been standing at their bathroom sink, brushing their teeth; the Doctor in his navy stripey boxers and a grey vest, she in her comfy hot pink flannel bottoms, and a white cotton camisole.
The Doctor was wiping his mouth, when he’d suddenly grabbed her head, exclaiming, “Hold on!”
She’d pulled away from him, desperately needing to rinse and spit, before his surprising antics caused her to choke. “What was that for?” she’d asked, as soon as she was able.
He’d pulled the top of her head back down and inspected. There was the slight pain of a hair being pulled, and then he’d shown her triumphantly. “Rose Tyler, you have a grey hair!”
She’d rubbed her head, glaring at the offender. “But I’m only twenty-eight!”
He’d scratched his neck and scrunched his nose. “Well, that’s about right.” He’d grinned madly, twirling the hair between his fingertips. “But what’s far more important is that you were first.”
Rose had turned her attention to his brown locks. His great hair. His really great hair. She loved his hair, lusted for it, to be more accurate, but its continued greatness was becoming suspicious. “How is that even possible. You’re way older than me.”
The Doctor had wrapped his arms around her and walked her backwards into their bedroom, his demeanor making it clear that he didn’t grasp the seriousness of the situation. Didn’t grasp it at all. “I have a theory about that. Want to hear it?”
“Obviously,” she’d answered. His theories almost always led to good things, even when they were about grooming.
“When I came into being… This me, that is. This, this me. This human me…” he’d babbled, working around to the point. “All my cells were new. Muscle cells. Blood cells. Even hair cells. Without all the usual wear and tear of someone who looks my age. Strong heart. Fresh lungs. Clean veins.”
“So you were the equivalent of a newborn,” Rose had concluded. This theory was turning out disappointing.
“Not quite. I was past puberty, obviously. And fully grown. I’d say a healthy strapping eighteen, maybe.” He’d puffed out his chest for emphasis.
“So you’re saying you looked like a man in his thirties, but with the metabolism of a teenager,” she’d said.
“Precisely,” the Doctor had answered, looking quite pleased.
“It explains all the sex,” she’d mused. “But it means you’re younger than me.”
“Only by a few years.” The Doctor had climbed onto the bed on his knees, facing her, and took her hands. “And this is a good thing, considering how statistically human men tend to die earlier, from heart disease and whatnot. Really, Rose, this means we are, in fact, perfectly suited.”
“Perfectly,” she’d echoed. She agreed wholeheartedly. She didn’t think it was possible to love anyone more.
“Yup.” He’d smiled again. Impish.
“Apart from my grey hairs, you mean,” she’d pouted. She still didn’t like that part.
“With them,” the Doctor had said, quite seriously. Then he’d held her face in his hands and kissed her soundly, moving slowly from her bottom lip to her top, his tongue easing into her mouth to lightly flick against her own. He’d pulled back, leaving his hands in her hair, his fingertips massaging her scalp, just behind her ears. “I intend to grow quite old and grey and wrinkly with you. But that’s still a long way off. Right now, I’d very much like to use my twenty-two-year-old metabolism to make love to your very firm and brilliantly voluptuous twenty-seven-year-old body.”
“Well,” she’d teased, pretending to think about it, her tongue poked between her teeth, “if you insist.”
“Rose,” the voice called again.
She remembered all that. Remembered falling down to the bed, and pulling off clothes, and the feel of his skin. She remembered the Doctor holding her against him, biting down on his shoulder as she came. She could still feel that pleasant rawness of having had him so recently inside her. So she knew this was a dream. But then, since she remembered drifting off to sleep, safe in his arms, so explicitly, this had to be more than a dream as well.
“Rose.”
And she knew that voice. Knew it intimately. Knew what it felt like whispered against her ear, which is just how it sounded now. But she also knew it wasn’t coming from the Doctor whose body was curled up around her.
So that meant… It had to mean…
“Rose.”
The other Doctor was calling.
She could see where she was standing now, and hear the waves. The sky was as dull and grey as ever, but while the sand was wet, her feet didn’t sink. At least there was that. Plus the small mercy that her dream self wasn’t still naked. That could have been awkward. Just a bit.
Finally, she could see him, materializing in front of her, hands deep in his pockets. The brown suit she hadn’t seen for years seemed newly pressed. His tie was straight. But his face looked thin, and tired.
The Doctor gave her a small smile. “Hello.”
“Hi,” Rose answered quietly, feeling sad already. She sniffed and glanced at the water. “This stupid beach.”
He winced in acknowledgement, and quickly said, “Sorry.” He closed his eyes and concentrated, causing the scenery around them to blink and change. “That better?”
Shivering a little, she wrapped her arms around herself and took in their new familiar surroundings. “I guess.”
He frowned as he looked about, squinting in the dark. “Where are we?”
“My backyard.” They were just down the lawn from the house, about half way to the barn. She wondered if he had any idea the new baby TARDIS was so very close.
“Right.” The Doctor nodded. “Of course. Looks a bit different without all the mist. And the Cybermen.”
Rose thought she knew the answer, but she had to make sure, so she asked, “Is this real?”
“Yes.” He was wearing his serious expression. The one that told her how much he loved her, even though he would never say it. The one that told her his hearts were breaking.
A lump formed in her throat, and she bravely swallowed it down. It didn’t make sense to cry; not before she knew why he was here. “Are you coming through, like last time? Should we meet you?”
“No. It’s too late for that.” He tried to smile. “But hey, bright side, at least this way I can touch you.” He stepped forward, reached with his hand and cupped her check. “Sort of.”
Feeling his cool touch, after so long, she instantly grasped his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm, even as the tears started to fall. “How many suns are you burning up this time?” At that his eyes turned grim. Maybe she didn’t want to know. “What do you mean, too late? Could you have come through before?”
The Doctor nodded, and swallowed, his eyes shining.
“Well,” Rose’s voice cracked, “why didn’t you then?”
“Because…” He stopped to gather himself. “Because I knew it would be like this.” He traced one of her tears with his thumb. “I didn’t think it was right to hurt you. Again.”
Well, that was stupid. She didn’t care if it hurt to see him again. To know that he was all right. “And now?”
“It was my last chance. I panicked.” The Doctor’s lips turned up in a brief self-depreciating smirk. “I guess I was always rubbish at sticking to promises.”
“You’re really not, you know,” Rose blurted, suddenly feeling the need to remind them both of the him still sleeping in bed beside her. “What do you mean last chance?”
“The last tiny, miniscule gap is closing.” He paused. There was obviously more, something even more important. She waited. The Doctor took his hand away from her face, and looked out over the horizon. “I wanted to say goodbye. Because I’m not going to be like this much longer. I’m going to change.”
The way he said it, his tone, was almost exactly like her first Doctor. She could hear him saying almost the exact same words, tinge with so much regret. His daft old face. His beautiful face, and voice, that she still holds dear in her memory. Still aches for a little, from time to time. Losing him had been agonizing. She didn’t want to lose this Doctor too. “Is it happening now?”
“No,” he rushed to assure her. “But soon. I can feel it. In my blood.”
It’s a bit dodgy this process. You never know what you’re gonna end up with. “I’m sorry,” Rose whispered, struggling to control her voice.
“It’s okay.” He put his hand back in his pocket, retreating again. “It’s good.” He nodded. “It’s time.”
How could it possibly be okay? “But it means something awful’s gonna happen. You’re gonna… You’re gonna die.”
“Or be reborn,” the Doctor shrugged, “depending on how you look at it.”
Rose heaved a hitching breath. She knew how she was looking at it. The him she knew was dying; would be gone forever. She wouldn’t even know who he was anymore. He would become a stranger and she wouldn’t even recognize him. She felt her entire face crumple. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Oh, Rose.” The look he gave her was so full of pity, she wanted to scream. “This body was made for you. Out of my… Out of how I felt for you. And I…” He paused. Took a breath. “I have a long life to live. People to meet. It’s time for us to say goodbye.” His eyebrows lifted. He was begging for her to understand. To accept. “I need… I need to let you go. And you need to do the same.”
If anyone had asked her earlier that day, she would have said she had. Years ago. She loved the man she was with, desperately. Breathlessly. That was still absolutely true. But as he spoke the words, Rose suddenly realized she’d never let this Doctor completely go at all. A tiny little part of her was still waiting. Always holding on to the idea that one day she would see him again. “No!”
Rose stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He let her; his hands coming up to hold her, one cradling her head.
She felt him speaking against her hair. “When you wake up, the me you’re with will still be there. Still love you. But it’s time for this me to go. Rose Tyler, you have to let me go.”
She held him tighter. This couldn’t be the last. Impossible. Her heart rebelled. She could never. She loved them both. The words were almost strangling her, “I don’t want to.”
The Doctor was fading. His embrace growing weaker. Before he was gone completely, she heard his final request on the air: “Please.”
When Rose woke up, she was sobbing. Tears streaming. Gasping breaths wracking her entire body. Before she was even fully conscious of the bed beneath her, her Doctor was gathering her up in his arms, calling her name with a tinge of fear in his voice, stroking her hair.
She clung to him. He was still here. Solid. Warm. He was hers. Her Doctor. And he would never ever leave her.
She knew she was probably scaring him to death, but as she continued to cry all she could manage to choke out was, “He’s gone.”
Next Chapter - Stage Two: My Hair, My Hair, My Precious Hair