Author: Wendy Richards
Email: wendy@thedoctorandme.org
Rated: R

A light is blinking on the console that shouldn't be. And another that should be glowing but isn't.

Note to self: in future, don't allow companions to rip open the TARDIS, even if it is to save self's life. And try to prevent self from taking out regeneration sickness on the TARDIS. It's better that way.

Still, it's repairable. And it'll give him something to do, since he's promised Jackie that he won't take Rose off flying around the universe again immediately. Jackie's right: Rose needs a rest, time to regroup, get her energy back, recover from all that she's been through in the space of just a couple of days.

A week ago now, all that. She's looking better, more relaxed, every day. And more accepting of him as he is now, even if he knows she still misses the old him. He's still here, he tells her every time, and she's beginning to see it.

They'll be fine. More than fine.

It's New Year's Eve, and there's a party somewhere that Rose is going to, with Jackie and Mickey. He said he'd drop in at some point - she's left him the address and made him promise to be there before midnight. He will be.

It's surprisingly like doing domestic, but then this last week has all been like that. And, much to his amazement, he hasn't minded it. Has even quite liked it at times. And it's all worth it when Rose meets his gaze across a room and smiles at him. That smile is worth it all.

Worth dying for, too.

She's alive, and that's all that matters.

She almost died to save him, and that still astonishes him. And she knew that was the risk she was taking. He wasn't sure at first. He'd thought that she'd done it all without thinking about the risk, without thinking about anything other than getting back to him. But, in conversations over the past few days, Jackie and Mickey have told him the truth. That she knew she was probably going to die if she went back. That she didn't care about that. That all she wanted was to get back to try to save him.

Sonic screwdriver in hand, he crouches down and reattaches a cable. And then his gaze is caught by something that shouldn't be there.

Just a few feet away, on the other side of the console, a pair of black shoes is visible on the grating. Black shoes with two black-clad legs attached.

And the shoes are familiar.

He straightens, and his suspicion is confirmed.

"Well, hello there." He eyes his visitor with surprise and interest. "Haven't done this for a while, have we?"

"No." His predecessor meets his gaze, unblinking. "So you're the next, are you? Bit pretty, aren't you?"

He shrugs. "I think it looks all right, as bodies go. Hair's an improvement, definitely. Though I'm still sad it's not ginger. What do you think? Should I've been ginger?"

"Does it matter?"

Oh, that's the previous him, all right. Unconcerned by appearances; thinking that any concern with his appearance is not only a waste of time but also verging on effeminate. Oh, the insults he'd exchanged with Jack over that...

Jack. Well. Best not think about Jack.

He shrugs in answer to his predecessor's question. "So, not that I'm not happy to see you, but I'm assuming there's a reason you're here? And, actually, how are you here? Oh, and when is it for you? Wouldn't want to cause any paradoxes, y'know."

"Got a lot of questions, haven't you?" The younger Doctor comes closer to the console and rests his hands on the edge.

"Yeah, I do, as it happens. Mind you," he adds, running a hand through his hair, "I don't remember this. And I would. So I'm guessing I wiped my memory after it happened."

"That, or I never remember in the first place," his predecessor suggests. "I'm not really here. This is the Time Vortex."

"Ah." His eyes widen. "So you've just saved Rose's life, have you? Nice one."

"Yeah." The other Doctor frowns, looks worried. "Is she all right? No after-effects?"

"Not that I've seen so far. Though it hasn't been all that long. About a week."

"Good." The word is invested with a lot of emphasis. And he remembers how much it always mattered to him that Rose is safe.

It still matters, of course. It will always matter. But, somehow, to his previous self, it seemed to matter more than almost anything in the universe. Because, of course, she was all he had.

She's still all he has, in a way, but he has a little more perspective on that now. He still loves her, but he's beginning to let her take her proper place in his hearts and his priorities again. Not that he wouldn't still die to save her if he needs to, but that he's less... intense about the way he loves her.

What his visitor has said intrigues him, though. "The Time Vortex, though? You've used that to send yourself to me?"

"Sort of. `S more a projection than reality. I'm still on Satellite Five with Rose, but I'm here, too. Somethin' I wanted to talk to you about."

"Okay." He nods. "So, what's that, then?"

"In a minute," his companion says. "Where is she? And Jack? Best be sure they're not gonna walk in on us. Create complications, that would."

"Jack?" He looks away, hands in his pockets, hating the stab of guilt that returns every time he remembers his fallen companion. He knows there was no other way around it. Jack had to die. If he hadn't, the Daleks would have got there sooner. And then it wouldn't have mattered whether he could have set off the Delta wave or not, or whether Rose had come back or not. It would all have been over.

"Jack's dead," he says, hearing the harshness in his tone. "You know that. You - I - heard him die. Before Rose came back."

His previous self makes a dismissive motion with his hand. "Yeah, but she saved him. What's the matter with you? You don't remember that? I knew as soon as I took the Time Vortex from her."

He shakes his head slowly. No. He doesn't remember that at all. Why doesn't he remember?

"He's alive." His visitor's voice is harsh now. "An' you left him behind? Back there on that satellite, with nothin' but dead bodies?"

Hell. He did. If Jack's alive, then he did.

"If you're throwing accusations," he says, his tone light, trying to hide the guilt, the anger at himself that he feels, "then, strictly speaking, you're the one who'll do that. Not me. We'd already left Satellite Five when I regenerated."

"Splitting hairs," his ninth persona says. "You're me."

"Yes," he agrees. "And we left him behind. Mind you," he continues, and moves around the console, coming closer to his previous self, "doesn't seem like you to be so concerned about Jack. You never behaved as if you liked him very much." He grins.

A look of irritation flashes over the other man's face. "He's a good bloke. Might not've thought so at first, but he proved himself. An' he knows what I think of him." He rolls his eyes then. "An' you know this, anyway. Wanker."

"Thanks." He grins again. "So now you know what you've got to look forward to when you regenerate." Leaning back against the console, he adds, "I'm glad about Jack. Soon as we're finished here I'll go back for him. Which reminds me - you said you came because you want to talk to me?"

"Yeah. First things first, though. Where's Rose?"

"At a party. It's New Year's Eve." He glances at his watch. After ten already. Not that that matters - time machine, after all. "No need to worry that she'll interrupt us, if that's what you're concerned about."

"Yeah. Best if she doesn't." But he sees the look of regret that passes over his visitor's face.

Deciding it's safer to ignore it, he prompts his predecessor. "So...?"

"Right. `S about Rose. How's she takin' it? The regeneration."

"Ah, right, okay. Well... Not bad. We've seen worse. I haven't strangled her, for a start."

"Good." The word is almost growled.

He purses his lips. "Hmm. You're not going to remember, because I don't remember, so I suppose it's all right if I tell you. She didn't believe it was me - you - at first, and it didn't help when I got sick and started to go crazy right in front of her. Crashed the TARDIS right in front of her mum's flat."

His visitor mutters something inaudible. He's sure it's not a compliment on his driving.

"And, as if that wasn't bad enough, we had an alien invasion while I was sleeping off the regeneration sickness. She got captured by them - well, the TARDIS did - and I woke up just in time to stop them killing her."

The frown on his visitor's face is now black and heavy.

"She's fine," he insists. "Getting used to it now. She says she still wants to come with me when I leave. I've been explaining as much about regeneration to her as I can - and you could have helped!" he adds. "Didn't tell her anything at all, did you? And even when you knew you were dying you were wittering on about having two heads instead of explaining to her what was happening."

Another inaudible mutter. No more polite than the last one, he's sure.

"Oh. Right. No, you haven't done that yet, have you? Shame you're not going to remember any of this. Otherwise I'd tell you to bloody make a better job of it this time. Then maybe she wouldn't accuse me of being a Slitheen when I'm standing right in front of her in your clothes telling her than I'm me. Or you. Or whoever."

"So she's all right?" Finally, something sensible out of his visitor. "You sure about that?"

"Yes, I'm sure." He makes an effort to be patient. He loves her too, after all, and he remembers how it felt to be in that last skin.

"Good." The younger Doctor turns, seeming about to walk away, but then he looks back. "I need to know. Do you still feel the same about her?"

The question surprises him more than anything else that's happened tonight. But he doesn't hesitate. "Of course. You really shouldn't need to ask that."

"Good," the other Doctor says again. "That's all I wanted to know. Right. I'll be off, then. Don't forget to rescue Jack."

He surprises himself this time. "Don't go. Not yet."

The leather-clad man turns away again. "I need to get back to Rose."

"You're in the Time Vortex. Time doesn't matter. However long you're here, it'll be less than a second back there. Am I right?"

His ninth self concedes with a nod. "Some reason you want me to stay?"

"Yes." He advances on himself. Because he remembers everything, and he remembers it only too well. The pain. The guilt. The grief. The anguish. The self-hatred. The loneliness of the sole survivor, the man who believed he shouldn't be alive at all. The man who'd, in the end, faced with the Dalek hordes, found himself unequal to the task of sacrificing another planet, another race, to save the universe. Incapable of playing god a second time.

"I just wanted to tell you..." He walks right up to the younger him, the still-damaged him. The more-damaged him. Looking himself directly in the eye, he says, "It gets better. Honestly. You need to know that. Even if you're not going to remember that once you lose the Time Vortex."

"Better?" The other him's voice cracks on the word. "How can it ever be better?" The final word is spat out. "The Daleks lived! Our people died. Our planet burned. And it was all for nothing because the Daleks lived!"

"I know." He places his hands on the younger him's shoulders. "I know, every bit as well as you do. But it gets better. Don't believe me?" His visitor doesn't answer. "Then see for yourself," he whispers, and moves his hands to either side of the other man's face, resting his fingertips at his temples.

He can feel his previous self's shock. It's there beneath his fingers. It's all around him. And it's inside his own head. Shock, resistance, an attempt at recoil... and then gradual acceptance, allowing the contact, allowing the mental link.

And he feels the sense of peace he's had in his own head ever since waking up in this new body flowing from him to the other him.

The War is over. The Daleks are destroyed. The enemy is dead.

But we are still alone. The last one.

His younger self's words still contain pain almost beyond bearing.

Yes, he says in response, but we've learned to live. You did that. Rose helped - she's still helping. There's a whole universe out there still to explore. And there's still work to do. We may be the last, but Time Lord still means something.

The other man breathes deeply, his posture suggesting that he is starting to come to terms with everything. His life. His pain. His death. That's your job, not mine, now. Do it well, all right?

He could answer in words. Or in thoughts, senses. But, instead, some instinct makes him lean in to the other man. And he gives his answer in a brush of lips against lips. A kiss, to accept the responsibility handed on to him, to express thanks, to show empathy. To take away the pain.

There's resistance again, at first, but then the other Doctor's lips part and the kiss is being returned. Hesitantly, initially, then with need and driving passion, lips parted, teeth and tongues getting in the way and then exploring, tasting, discovering.

When they break away, they're both breathing heavily.

"Blimey!" the Doctor exclaims. "Never done that before."

"You're - what, a week after your regeneration?" his younger self says, a scathing note in his voice. "Wouldn't expect even a pretty boy like you to've got snogged that soon."

"Didn't mean that." He grins. "I meant it's the first time I've ever snogged myself. Though, actually, you're right there, too. First snog with anyone, in this body. Could be worse," he adds with a grin. "Could've gone to this party Rose wants me to go to later, got drunk and ended up snogging Mickey."

"Thanks. Nice to know I'm a step up from Rickey the Idiot."

"Well, you're not exactly Rose. But I'm sure you'd say the same about me."

His younger self studies him, then says dryly, "I've had worse."

"We both have." He returns the study with interest. "You know, in the interests of science..."

The black-clad Doctor actually grins. "You might even have a point."

He can't refuse an invitation like that, and so he doesn't. Lips on lips again, kissing himself; well, he is all about new experiences in this new body. It's not the same as kissing anyone else, human, alien or Time Lord. The man in his arms is himself, and that shows in so many subtle ways.

Shared emotions and memories as two Time Lord minds meet. Remembered guilt and grief from little more than a week ago, pain and anguish he thought he'd left behind. His previous self is still submerged in it, weighed down by it. How had he managed to survive?

Pain, loss, they're all gone, suffering, guilt, all my fault, rootless, nowhere to belong, there's no-one else left, need, never-ending self-blame, the power's gonna kill you and it's all my fault, crisis of conscience, can't destroy again, coward every time, resignation, almost welcoming death, maybe it's time...

It wasn't time then, he says. It is now, but it's for the best reason.

He knows. His previous self knows that once he returns to his body he will be minutes from death. But life goes on. And he thinks he's succeeding in showing the younger Doctor that it gets better.

It's worth it, he says. Worth the pain and the grief. We live. The universe survives. She lives.

And Jack, his younger self reminds him. But too many others died. The Controller. Lynda. The others - I didn't even know their names. Too many.

We can't save them all. We never could.

The need to comfort, to offer succour, drives him to deepen the kiss. Reassurance will not be remembered beyond this encounter, and anyway, he remembers his previous self well enough to know how little it helped. But perhaps physical affection will serve in its place.

Hands busy themselves with buttons, zips; clothing is pushed aside, torn off, discarded. Skin touches skin. Time Lord touches Time Lord.

Who pulls who to the floor he cannot tell, but then they're on the grille, metal cold and hard against bare skin, but neither seems to care. Hands and mouths are busy exploring territory all too familiar to him, but new to his previous self.

A hand is warm and tight about his cock. His hand holds one that until recently he knew intimately, but it feels different in this new, more slender hand. He knows what his visitor likes, how he likes it; hard, rough, with jerky movements. He knows how his visitor likes to be sucked, too, and he bends to offer what he knows his previous self wants.

You sure about this?

He grins as he lets his tongue lap at the thick length in his hand. Why not? One advantage different regenerations of us have over everyone else - we don't cause a hole in Time if we touch. Why not take advantage of that?

He felt his other self's amused laughter. Just don't tell Jack about this. He'd be jealous as hell.

You know what he'd say, of course...

Something along the lines of gives new meaning to go screw yourself? The younger Doctor's fingers are busy on his thighs, his balls, his arse. His breath catches.

Fingers moisten, and then the other man shifts, moves between his thighs, probes with slippery fingers, and then he is sliding slowly, carefully inside, aware of the newness, the virginal state of this new body.

He doesn't want slow, doesn't want careful. Any physical pain is nothing compared to the pain inside his younger self's head, and anyway, there's more pleasure than pain here now. He pulls the other man's head down and kisses him, hard, hungrily, demanding more.

Thoughts, emotions all fade into the background, replaced by sighs and moans and pure sensation. A hand is hard around his own cock as another pounds into him. Lips and tongues meld, bodies move slickly together.

And then the crescendo comes, washes over them simultaneously, what it is to feel your partner's orgasm as well as your own; haven't done that in a long time, leaves them spent and exhausted on the floor.

His ninth self reaches for his hand, grips it and squeezes. "Thanks. Dunno why, but I think I needed that."

He smiles ruefully, sympathetically. "La petite morte. Et après... la deluge."

The little death before the conflagration his predecessor has to come.

***

The floor is too hard to sit on for too long. He reaches for his shirt, passes his lover his jumper. "Time to go, I suppose."

"Not just yet." His previous self dresses with the same economy of movement he remembers. But then, jumper, underwear and jeans doesn't require much. His new wardrobe takes a bit more effort. T-shirt, shirt, tie, suit. But he likes it.

"No?" Not that he minds. Strangely, although some of his past meetings with previous selves have been irritating, to say the least, this has been... intriguing. And it feels good to have been of some help to this most tortured of all his incarnations. The one who bore the brunt of his eighth self's actions - actions he had no choice about, and for which he died.

Ironically, his ninth self lived weighed down by the consequences of that event, and will now die too as a result of the same event.

But here ends the Time War. Thanks to his ninth self, and to the courage of a human girl called Rose Tyler.

"You're going to get Jack. I'm coming with you." Standing, dressed again, the other Doctor again looks detached, withdrawn.

He steps closer and lays his hand on the other man's shoulder. "If you want."

"He won't know you. Best if I explain."

"Fine." A quick embrace, before his younger self can object, and he's bounding up to the console. The other Doctor is there with him, moving instinctively to controls. Together, they set the flight path and they're on their way.

Satellite Five. A place he never wanted to see again, never imagined he would see again. He has no wish to return, but in the circumstances it's unavoidable. As they get closer, he steals a glance at his younger self. He, of course, is still there; he's just saved Rose's life and is about to return the Time Vortex to the TARDIS. He still has to take Rose and leave the satellite. Still has to leave Jack behind.

And it's obvious that he's not the only one to feel tension. Even if, now, all the Daleks have gone, Rose has gone, the other TARDIS has gone. The only person left alive on the satellite is Jack.

And there he is now, visible on the viewscreen as they materialise. He's slumped on the ground, but his head shoots up as the TARDIS appears. Anguish is replaced by disbelief and then relief.

"I'll talk to him. Explain things." His guest is already heading to the door.

Ah. He gets the impression that his younger self wants some time alone with Jack. So he just nods and waits at the controls.

On the screen, he sees his predecessor walk out. Sees Jack look at him, expression accusing. And then that look changes, replaced by concern and then shock. Then they embrace and, as he watches, the two of them kiss.

No surprise there, really. It wasn't just Rose who occupied his thoughts and fantasies over the last few months. Since Jack joined them, he'd battled feelings of jealousy and wanting, made worse once he overcame his mistrust of the ex-Time Agent.

Watching his friend kiss his younger self, he wonders if he should offer them the use of a bedroom and make himself scarce.

But they're walking towards the TARDIS now. His predecessor has his arm around Jack's shoulders. That bedroom is clearly beckoning... until he realises that Jack's in pain. That arm is for support.

They're coming through the door now. His younger self nods in his direction. "This is me. The new me."

He feels Jack's gaze on him, appraising, assessing. "Not bad. Nice deal you got going there. Die, get a new and equally good-looking body. Course, I die and I've got the same body I always had. You get younger, Doctor."

"He only looks younger," his predecessor says, his tone a growl. "I'm the younger one here."

"By about a week," he feels obliged to point out. "Hello, Jack. Have to say, I'm relieved to see you're alive. And sorry, by the way. I had no idea you weren't dead, or I'd never have left without you."

Jack shrugs. "Yeah, he said. Guess you had no reason to believe otherwise."

His predecessor interrupts the conversation. "He's hurt. We're going to the medlab, okay?"

Jack protests. "I'm fine."

"You could barely stand when I got out there."

Time to break this up. "He's right, Jack. Or should I say I'm right? I saw. So, come on, let's get you seen to."

In the medlab, he stands back and allows his younger self to do what's needed. It's mostly residual pain from the Dalek death-ray. Some analgesic and the tissue regenerator take care of it.

And then the younger Doctor is looking at him questioningly. "What next?"

"Next..." Rose. The party he said he'd go to. And Jack will be a lovely surprise for her. She thinks he's dead. She's been mourning him, as well as mourning the man in the leather jacket. "Got to go and see Rose."

"Ah." And he can see that his predecessor is torn.

"No." Firmly, he pre-empts the suggestion. "You can't. You know that. You've got to get back to your Rose."

Because his Rose, the one currently at the party, is still dealing with his regeneration. Because if she saw his previous self now it would set back her recovery, and he won't allow that. She has to accept him as he is now.

There's no argument. "Yeah. Time I was off."

Jack slides off the examination couch. "So this is goodbye, Doctor?"

His predecessor shrugs. "Only sort of." He jerks his head towards the regenerated Doctor. "Still here, me. Just different. An' he's not so bad, Jack. Give `im a chance."

Now there's a change from the scathing attitude of half an hour ago.

Jack nods. "I can do that. Always assuming I'm still welcome..." His tone is cautious.

"You'll always be welcome, Jack," he says instantly. "The TARDIS is your home as long as you want it to be."

He turns his back as the other two kiss again. A final goodbye, this time, at least to himself in that form. And then he's surprised to feel a hand on his shoulder. He turns, to see himself standing very close.

"Thanks. For... everything." The younger man has his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of the leather jacket.

"You're welcome. It's been good seeing you."

"Yeah." The other man nods. "An' you. Look... take care of them, right?"

His turn to nod. "I will."

"Good." And this time it's his younger self who initiates the kiss.

One final touch of their lips, kissing himself. A final embrace. And then the other man steps back and, in a sudden mist of gold, vanishes.

A low whistle comes from behind him, and he turns to see Jack watching, an awed expression on his face. "I don't know which is more impressive - being able to kiss yourself, or him just disappearing like that."

Good job Jack doesn't know the rest, he thinks. "Do me a favour, Jack - don't mention any of this to Rose. Seeing him, I mean. I don't think it'd help her."

Jack nods. "I can imagine. She must've been devastated." He runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, I know you're still here, Doctor, but that's got to be hard for her to understand. Especially the way she feels about you."

He frowns. "The way she...?"

"Oh, come on, Doctor! You're not blind. You must know how she always felt about you - you before. And once she comes to terms with the change she'll feel the same about the new you."

Jack's right, of course. He'd always tried to ignore that, because for some reason he'd felt that it wasn't right. That he'd be taking advantage of her, or that he wasn't fit to be with anyone in that way, because of everything he'd done, everything he was. Is.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this new body is a body for new experiences. He's just shagged himself, after all - something he has no intention of telling Jack about.

And he still has no memory of the encounter from the perspective of his previous life. So obviously they were right; the Vortex erased it. Good.

"Come on." He claps Jack on the back. "We've got a party to go to. And a surprise for Rose."

This is going to be fun. Rose will be ecstatic. And, of course, it's New Year's Eve, traditionally a time for new beginnings, new resolutions. And a kiss at midnight. His second kiss with Rose, though the first one she'll remember.

"Yeah." Jack grins at him. "But first, Doctor..."

"Yes?"

"I just kissed you goodbye, though I gather you don't remember it. How about I make up for it with a kiss hello?"

Incorrigible as ever. But he has no problem with that idea. He'll kiss anyone, him, so it seems. Well, anyone so long as they're Rose or Jack. Or himself, it seems. Narcissistic, too, now, is he?

Doesn't matter. Not like this is ever going to happen again anyway, not that he has any regrets in any case.

With a grin, he leans in and meets Jack in a demanding kiss that's so much better than the other goodbye kiss he had from the Captain. Very different from kissing himself, but still good. Very good.

Yeah, he thinks he just might be keen on kissing in this new body. And more, too, when he gets the chance. Somehow, too, thinking of his companions, he suspects that he won't have to wait too long.

Yeah, it does get better. Much better.

And he almost thinks he hears his former self reply, Glad to hear it.

END