“How come your touching him don’t cause a paradox? Like, shouldn’t it invoke those . . . bat-like demon things, you know, to sterilized the wound?” Rose asked, setting down a cup of tea beside the sleeping form of the newly regenerated Doctor. She settled into the chair beside him.
The other Doctor paced at the foot of his bed, arms crossed. “Could be any number of reasons, really.” He turned to face her. “We found him on Gallifrey, which was a bed of temporal activity at the time. It could be that much interference already involved in the time stream just allowed one more paradox to pass by unnoticed.” He let his gaze wander to the unconscious man in his bed. “We’re in the TARDIS now, too, which shields us from a lot of what otherwise might be devastating.” Sighing, he rocked back on his heels.
“Okay, well, that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t,” the Doctor muttered. “I’ve done this before, though.”
“What? Helped yourself regenerate?”
“Well, no,” he replied, “but I’ve met myself before, on a number of occasions and nothing bad has happened. Not like that, at least, I mean. It’s complicated.”
Rose gave him a critical look, but said nothing. Instead she reached out to hold the unconscious Doctor’s hand. “Will he be all right?” she asked.
Shifting uncomfortably at the sight, the Doctor nodded. “All right enough. He’ll become the man you knew. He has to.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she replied.
Silence stretched between them for a few moments. At last, the Doctor shrugged. “He’ll manage.” He gave her a warm smile. “We’ll make sure he does.” Noticing the teacup on the nightstand as if for the first time, he uncrossed his arms, gesturing at it. “What, you’ll make a cup of tea for an unconscious man, but not the one who risked his life to save him?”
His friendly, chiding tone made Rose smile, despite the intensity of the situation. She patted the hand she was holding, before rising to her feet. “So sorry, Doctor,” she teasingly mocked. “Thought you was capable of making your own tea, being all nine-hundred-and-something years old, or whatever.”
“I am perfectly capable,” the Doctor smugly replied. “But what on earth do you think I take you folk on as companions for in the first place?”
Rose rolled her eyes, pleased at the lighter tone. “Be your maid, is it?” She laughed. “You’ll have to start paying me for that, Sir Doctor.”
The Doctor laughed too, swatting her out of the room. “Go on and get me some tea, girl. Fix yourself a cup, too.”
“Oh, so kind of you,” Rose mocked as she headed out the door. “One lump or two?” she called.
“Yes please!” the Doctor replied.
He was met with laughter, and listened until it receded away, down the hall to the kitchen. Turning around, he found his room once again encroached with silence. His eyes focused on the man in his rarely used bed. “What am I going to do with you?” he mused to himself.
The Doctor settled into the seat Rose had vacated, pulling out his sonic screwdriver as he did. He clicked it on, and waved it over the unconscious man. The read out it gave him made him frown. “You’re making my life complicated on purpose now, aren’t you?”
It was strange to sit there and watch himself sleep. Sure, he’d interacted with himself before on other occasions, but never like this. Outside forces had been manipulating him, then. There was nothing like that now. The only explanation he had for it was that the TARDIS had opted to bring him to Gallifrey in that moment, and even that made no sense, because Gallifrey had been destroyed, completely, throughout all of time. It was impossible for him to revisit it because the he—no, the Daleks—had seen to it that the planet had never existed in the first place.
Which, of course, brought him back to the paradox of how he could even exist, if the Time Lords never had. It was a question he had pondered over without reaching an answer enough times in his previous regeneration that he was loathe to breech the subject again. Still, the thought plagued him. He had walked on the planet’s surface just moments ago. He’d seen the sky, breathed the air, and stumbled over the rocks. It had existed.
Checking the read out from his sonic screwdriver once more, he slipped it back into his coat pocket. The only person who still might have the answers was lying unconscious before him. There was a great deal he didn’t remember about his regeneration from his eighth form into his ninth; he could learn a lot from this man. Waiting for him to wake up was the least of his worries, now.
“Predestination paradox,” he said aloud, turning as Rose handed him his cup of tea. “It’s the only think that makes any sense.”
Rose looked from Doctor to Doctor. “What’s it mean?”
The Doctor took a sip of his tea, then began to explain. “The Time War destroyed all the Time Lords, save me. Apparently I survive because a future version of me picked me up off of the planet before it was destroyed. I live so I can go back in time and save myself. Ontological predestination. Remarkable.”
Very carefully, Rose sat on the edge of the bed. “But that makes no sense,” she said, picking out the bits of the conversation she understood. “How can you go back in time and save yourself the first time?”
“Because I’m very, very clever,” he answered. Seeing that she didn’t buy his answer, he added, raising his eyebrows, “Well, therein lays the paradox. I’ve predestined myself to completing it. It creates a time loop.” He peered into his tea for a few moments, shaking his head. “They’re very rare, you know. It’s only happened because of the War. Usually I exist outside of them.” He lifted his eyes to focus on Rose and saw she was not following him at all.
He shifted into a more comfortable position, and began to rephrase his explanation. “When I exist outside of the time loop, I can fix the loops. They’re very dangerous because they go on forever, which puts a strain on the space-time continuum. Here, let’s try this: remember when you asked to see your father?”
Rose pressed her lips tightly together, nodding. “’Course. Caused a right nice big paradox that time, didn’t we?”
The Doctor nodded. “We did. We also existed outside of it, because we fixed it. To your mum and everyone else, your father has always stepped out in front of the car, and you were always there with him, at the end. To you and me though, protected by the TARDIS and the time stream, we remember events before that, when he was hit hours earlier, and died alone.”
Rose wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her eyes were dark and focused on the unconscious man. Perhaps seeing him helped her remember better, or perhaps looking at the conscious man made her feel heavier guilt. “What is important though,” he said, trying to put her at ease, “is that we stopped it.”
Rose pressed her hand to her mouth, and spoke around it, sounding muffled. “But that car was only there the second time ‘cause of the paradox. The other event has to have happened to make the car move in the first place, doesn’t it?”
The Doctor leaned back in the chair, pleased. “Exactly.”
“But that makes no sense,” she protested, starting to feel like a broken record.
“Not to you and I, no. But to everyone else, it does. Your father broke the loop when he stepped out in front of that car. We still see it, but to everyone else, it never existed.”
“You’re hurting my head.”
“That’s time travel,” the Doctor cheerfully replied. “But I’m used to living outside the loops. We can see and remember both outcomes. But, now I seem to be caught in one, and I don’t see the alternate.”
Rose lifted her head, to look between the two Doctors. “Because you can’t have survived to save yourself in the future if you didn’t survive in the first place.”
“Exactly,” the Doctor agreed.
“So, what’s that mean?”
“Either that someone else is manipulating my time, which is a hard thing to do me being a Time Lord and all, or something very strange is going on.” Curious, he looked at her. “What time have you got?”
Rose blinked in confusion at the question, but quickly looked at her watch. “Uh, half past ten. Why?”
“Not enough time,” the Doctor mused. His eyes flickered to the unconscious man. “C’mon, we’d better leave him be. Won’t do him any good if my big gob wakes him up before his regeneration cycle is complete.”
They didn’t discuss where they’d reconvene, they just both headed for the control room. Rose took a seat on the small bench at the back of the console platform while the Doctor went to check their coordinates.
“So, what do we do with him?” she asked.
“Wait for him to wake up?” the Doctor replied, turning a knob absently. He glanced over his shoulder at her continued silence. “And after that,” he added slowly, seeing she wanted more, “we finish sorting all this out.”
“But you said it was the Time War.”
“Yes, but I also told you I don’t remember. When he wakes up, we’ll take him to his TARDIS, and be done with it.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you mean ‘that’s it’? What were you supposing? We’d romp about the galaxy together, the three of us?” Rose looked away, but he could still see the shame in her eyes, like perhaps she’d actually hoped for that. In a less accusatory tone he said, “Rose, you know we can’t.”
“I know,” she said, playing with a fold in her jeans, “but it’s just--” She looked up at the Doctor. “The look in his eyes. Before he regenerated.” She studied his face, searching for something similar. “He was empty inside. There was just darkness. How’s he get over that, then, if we just drop him off?”
The Doctor turned away from her, focusing instead on the controls. They were getting much too personal for his likes. The very last thing he wanted to discuss with Rose was his emotions and feelings about the Time War. He didn’t want to think about them to himself, let alone talk to her about them. “I don’t know,” he finally conceded.
She rose from the bench, hesitantly approaching him. One of her hands went out, as if to touch his arm, but she let it hover for just a few seconds before dropping it back to her side. “That’s just it, Doctor,” she softly said. “If you don’t remember how, then maybe it was ‘cause we helped him. You.”
The Doctor turned his head just enough to see her standing there beside him. He studied her from the corner of his eye, trying not to let her words penetrate him. What she was suggesting just wasn’t possible. And yet, it was in his nature to do things to please her, and this thing she was asking was to please him, and Rassilon help him if maybe he didn’t actually need it. “Rose,” he said softly.
He started to turn toward her, willing, this once, to open up at least a little, to explain why it wasn’t possible. He wasn’t given the chance. In the distance, carrying through the corridors, he heard the unsettling sound of himself screaming. Rose looked surprised, but his eyes just lit up. “That isn’t supposed to happen,” he curiously noted.
Quickly the Doctor swerved past Rose, taking off down the hall toward his bedroom. He arrived in no time and hung in the doorframe a moment, looking for whatever assailants had followed his ninth regeneration. The room was empty, save the man, who was now thrashing in bed, clearly caught up in a nightmare.
‘What nightmares does a Time Lord have?’ someone had once asked him. The contemplation of the answer had haunted him for a fortnight. He shoved the thought aside, pulled out his sonic screwdriver, and had it shining into the other man’s closed eyes by the time Rose caught up with him.
“What’s going on?” she asked, concerned. “Is he all right?”
The sleeping Doctor had settled a little, but his eyes still twitched behind his eyelids, and the Doctor knew the nightmares weren’t over. They might never be over. “Just a dream, Rose,” he said in as smooth a voice as he could muster. “Nothing to worry about.”
He could tell Rose wasn’t settled by his reply, so he gave her a wide, bright smile. It seemed to lighten her features, even if her brow remained furrowed. The Doctor resumed his examination with the sonic screwdriver, and was about to say something to Rose when the unconscious man regained consciousness. His eyes snapped open, fixing right into the Doctor’s. His right hand came up, grabbed him by the tie and pulled him down onto the bed.
“Doctor!” Rose exclaimed.
“Hello, there,” the Doctor said as he braced himself, grinning down at the man whom he now found himself nose-to-nose with. His smile evaporated almost instantly, taking in the hollowness in the man’s eyes that he’d heard spoken of by Rose.
“I’ve got to input the final code so the weapon can launch,” the ninth Doctor said in a raspy voice. “I’ve got to get back, to . . . to destroy them—” His voice cracked at the end, but his gaze remained strong and serious.
The Doctor put his hand down to where the other man was grasping his tie. He gave the hand there a gentle squeeze, trying to get him to loosen his grip. “It’s already been launched, Doctor,” he softly said. “The war is over.”
The grip on his tie loosened and the ninth Doctor’s body sagged as he dropped back down into the bed. He blinked once, staring up into the ceiling, before letting his eyes drift back to the other Doctor. “I should be dead,” he said.
“You regenerated. You’re in the TARDIS now.”
The ninth Doctor closed his eyes, listening to the hum of the ship around him. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Not my TARDIS.”
The Doctor straightened up, sparing a glance to Rose at last. “No, mine,” he agreed. “But it’s still yours.”
“My TARDIS was dismantled during the War,” he said. Opening his eyes, he shifted his gaze to take in his next regeneration. “I’m so tired.”
The Doctor offered him a sad smile. “Haven’t got a zero room for you or anything like it, I’m afraid.” His eyes alighted on the nightstand, which brightened him considerably. “Rose brought you some tea though,” he said, picking it up to offer. “That ought to help immensely. Did wonders for me.”
Rose stood hovering in the doorway, watching as one Doctor helped the other to sit up and drink tea. It was quite possibly the strangest, most surreal experience of her life.
“S’probably gone all cold by now,” she noted.
Both of the Doctors looked at her when she spoke, both seeming to have forgotten she was there, despite partaking of her tea. “It’s good,” the ninth Doctor said, and there was a hint of normalcy to his voice.
“Aah, that’s it, a nice cup of tea. Cures anything.” The Doctor said, smiling his carefree, cheerful smile. “Listen, Rose,” he added, “all the noise isn’t good for him. It’s a bit distressing. There’s the hum of the ship and all the groaning from the control room. It’s going to wear him out. Would you mind closing the doors and waiting outside for a bit?”
“What, just leave you in here with him?” she asked.
The Doctor smiled. “Yeah, well, he and I’ve got a bit of catching up to be doing.”
Rose’s eyes darted back and forth between them. “Thought the noise was too much, you said.”
“We’re not going to be talking. Have to update him. It’s a Time Lord thing.” He tapped his temple. “Telepathic.” He studied Rose’s nonplussed expression and perked up. “Are you jealous?”
Rose backed up, crossing her arms. “I’m not jealous.”
“You are,” the Doctor replied, grinning. “I can tell.”
“I’m not,” Rose protested.
The ninth Doctor finished his tea with a contented sigh. He broke into the conversation easily. “Thanks for the tea, Rose. It was fantastic.”
The smile he gave Rose nearly brought her to tears. She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to think of something to say. Instead, she just shook her head and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her as she did.
The ninth Doctor’s brow furrowed at her reaction and he looked to his older self. “Did I say something?”
The Doctor settled back in his chair, putting away his sonic screwdriver as he did. “She met me as you,” he explained. “I think it’s still a shock for her to see you.” Without waiting for the other man to offer more idle chatter, he launched into the more important things. “You said your TARDIS was dismantled?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Type-40s were considered too old to be of any use in the war, so they dismantled her for parts.”
The Doctor put his finger to the bridge of his nose. “Ah, yes, that’s right. I remember now.” A thought occurred to him. “But I hid her. I wasn’t going to let them dismantle her.”
“Well, I hid the important parts. Jettisoned most of the rooms for them to sort through, save the console room and a few others.”
The Doctor’s eyes lit up. “Hid her in the groves! I remember now!”
“Villengard,” the ninth Doctor agreed. “She was supposed to be safe there. They betrayed us.”
“Time betrayed them,” the Doctor replied gravely. “They only wanted what none of us could give. 51st Century weapons were no match for the Daleks.” A little more cheerfully, he added, “There’s a banana grove there, now.”
“I like bananas,” the ninth Doctor replied.
“Bananas are good.” The Doctor nodded in agreement, but then his face turned serious again. “We’re in a bind now, though. Dodgy thing about memory wipes. I don’t remember what I’m supposed to do with you.”
The ninth Doctor carefully set the teacup on the nightstand again, rearranging himself on the pillows. “Don’t expect much.”
“Well, I can take you back to the Weapons Factories, at least. You’ve got to get your TARDIS back, or at least what’s left of it. But first—” He studied the face of his younger self, then reached out to touch his cheek, pressing his palm flat against the other man’s skin. “Ready for that software upgrade?” he asked with a faint smile.
The ninth Doctor’s eyes closed at the touch on his face. He didn’t reply at first, just raised his own hand and placed it over the Doctor’s, mimicking the action Rose had done, just before he had regenerated. “Have we got to?”
The Doctor had closed his eyes too, in preparation, but now he opened them at the question. The expression on the other man’s face was unfamiliar to him. “Why, have you another plan?”
For a period of time, the ninth Doctor didn’t reply, he just pressed his hand into the Doctor’s hand, until his cold cheek was warmed. “Seems a bit senseless, don’t you think?” he asked. “Give me your memories just to erase them later.” He opened his eyes, fixing them on the Doctor. “Might be better just to skip that step.”
Tilting his head curiously at the notion, the Doctor considered the option. “I guess you’re right. Never did it that way before, but I don’t see how it could hurt not to do it.”
The ninth Doctor lowered his eyes. “Have too much in my head to process already.”
His tone was somber and it tugged at the Doctor’s heartstrings. He remembered that feeling all too well. “Hey,” he said in a gentle voice. When the ninth Doctor looked up at him, he gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be all right. Everything is going to be just fine.”
The ninth Doctor’s crystal blue eyes met his, and only reflected fresh waves of pain and loneliness and sadness. “No,” he said in hushed tones. “They’re all gone, and because of me. I’m totally alone now.”
In that moment the hum of the TARDIS seemed to fade into a muted silence. The room felt as though it shrank in on itself, and the scope and magnitude of what his younger self was saying to him really and truly sank home to the Doctor. His hearts tightened painfully as the weight of the universe piled on his shoulders, and the onus of having caused the genocide of at least two species blossomed into reality once more in his mind.
Fierce protectiveness suddenly flared up inside him and he straightened up, resituating himself on the bed, to look intently into the clear eyes before him, searching for a familiar spark that he couldn’t yet find. His hand cupped the other man’s cheek, fingers pressing into the close-cropped hair at the nape of his neck intensely, and he firmly, passionately said, “You are not alone.”
--