Doctor Who-After Image






Disclaimer: Doctor Who is trademarked by the BBC.

(This is a “Female Doctor” prompt fic requested to me by FF.Net author Bighead98, who wanted me to pattern this Doctor off of Rebecca Mader.  I’m not that good with describing appearances, so I used a Youtube interview she conducted as inspiration in her dialogue)


He wasn’t up to it.

The TARDIS could tell.

The soothing hum within the console room levelled off ever so slightly. It had been building ever so steadily to a climax for a good minute or so, wanting to ease The Doctor into what was to come next.

But no, he was being stubborn.

He always was when the end times came.

Whatever had it been this time?

It urged him to answer.

He didn’t have to speak.

He had so little breath left, he could barely whisper.

His hands were numb, clammy, ice cold to the touch.

Even as they glowed as brightly as a sunbeam.

He cast mind back to a day rich in that sort.

The day the impossible faded from his memory.

The day the forgotten companion left him where the buzzards gather.

Leaving behind a simple message. To run, and be a Doctor.

A healer, a wise man. Not a warrior. Never cruel or cowardly.

And he had honoured that.

Even if it had cost him yet another of his lives.

How did it happen this time? His mind was too spent, too traumatized from what had occurred that he could barely recollect the aftermath.

All that seemingly mattered now was anticipation of the after image.

Perhaps it had been a murder.

Perhaps it had been self sacrifice.

Or perhaps it had been a dream.

Yes, perhaps.

They seemed like they were all dreams to him. Each face, each lifetime, some longer than others, yet all over in the blink of an eye.

And in each instance, all was the same.

And yet all too familiar.

The methods, the madness, all too alike, and more alike each day. As if a single stubborn creative mind in the universe had refused to cast itself aside to let another’s vision take root and guide him through an altogether divisive and riskier path.

Perhaps. Yes, perhaps.

The healer, the wise man, had been made a warrior in a time where there was no need for a Doctor.

Perhaps now, in the wake of death, for the sake of the end, and for the needs of a better way, there was now no time for man.

There would always be time for mercy, always be time for life, but as all of life knows, there is always a time to sleep.

He stretched his arms outright; he tilted his head up to the heavens.

Go gently, do not resist.

And don’t sneeze. Sneezing interrupts the flow of all things.

Even something as delicate as magic.

He also chose to smile.

If nothing else, he’d like to remember the smile

The radiant glow of regenerative energy flowed through his hands and stretched upwards across his neck and enveloped his features. The old order collapsed, and a new, more graceful age, figuratively and literally, came to life. The hair grew longer, the body became thinner, the lips became ruby red, the chest expanded.

As the glow slowly dissipated, the radiance in the hair remained. A principle highlight of a stunning body of on display.

The console room warmed up to it already, the temperature mildly increased.

This was a moment to savour.

Both for it.

And now for her.

She examined the body, but more to the point, the outfit.

“Great, a booby t-shirt, I’m already competing with the old darling” she remarked.

A purr came from the TARDIS

“Drink. I need a drink, where DID River misplace the scotch cabinet…scotch? Do I have even like that anymore? Maybe I should hold a referendum…wait…” she stopped, checking her voice, “British accent…faintly, no, mostly, yes definitively mostly…distinctively…ENGLISH. Oh yes, I’m on the winning side again. England all the way. We’re gonna score one more than you”

She gleefully waltzed over to one of the roundels on the wall, opened it up and took out a string of mirrors. Compact and wide. She waited ages to properly glimpse herself in their reflections, she was indeed too busy waiting for the reflections to catch up with her, and they were all maintaining the image of the old coat she had just discarded.

That had happened once before, with the first of her previous life cycle.

“I’ll try not to hold it against you dear” she said, admiring the old face as it slowly transmorphed into her new one.

“Ginger. So many dreams, and this one comes true at last…mind you, I look like I dropped straight out of Cambridge” she said. “Cambridge…they’ve got universities there…oh I don’t fancy that. No, I’d fancy being more of a carnie…have my house on some wheels”

The TARDIS generated a significantly louder hum. Almost in protest.

“Hold it together old thing” she said.

The hum settled.

“Good boy” she said, “And yes, I know you were a woman once, but since we’re fiddling about with genders, you might as well have a go. From the way you let the Cloister room blossom, it’s practically your way of letting your hair grow like a beard anyway…”

Thoughts occurred to her,

“Settling in now…yes, change, not a moment too soon, whether you like it or not, but I feel like you’ve got to remember something important…not crashing, crashing’s too easy, no…I have to remember all the people I used to be. Mix a bit with the old in with the present. Come to think of it, Cambridge Universities have professors…academics….I remember a Dorothy someone; she used to call me ‘Professor’. Always liked that name. Sounded I’d been promoted. I was a chess master then, very good at making myself look like a capable comedian, so busy setting plans and traps, I failed to see those set for me…it’s high time I reminded everyone what I stand for and what I stand against. Injustice, crime, tea getting cold, and bus stations. Loads of bus stations. What do you reckon boy?” she asked of her faithful time/space machine.

The kitten was obliged to purr with another loud hum.

This time it was made in confidence and not irritation.

Whatever the challenge, she would be up for it.

The TARDIS could tell.