Post by John Darnacan on Dec 2, 2005 15:53:19 GMT
Part 2 – Accustomed to Your Face
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Faye wiped the gooey phosphorescent liquid off of the Doctor’s face and throat as best she could. He looked pale. She checked his pulse. While she thought she could detect a faint double pulse, she couldn’t be sure.
“Don’t die on me, Doctor!” Her eyes filled with tears. “You can’t…..” She had never been at such a loss. What little first aid she knew would be grossly inadequate for this situation. She could no longer feel a pulse. ‘It can’t end like this’ she thought.
Faye stood up and looked at glowing console. She never learned to operate much more than the scanner controls. She wished Susan was here to take command. She did remember the fast return switch, which would take the TARDIS back to its last destination. But even if she could get the TARDIS back to Earth, would that help the Doctor.
She checked the Doctor. His breathing had stopped. There was no longer even the hope of a pulse left. She attempted CPR, to no avail. Her tears flowed in full force now. One of them fell on the Doctor’s cheek. A puff of smoke rose as if his skin had been struck by a drop of mild acid. She realised there was still some residue on his chin and cheek. She wiped it off, not knowing why. It no longer mattered.
She sat on the floor despondent and cold, yet unable to move. Only moments before he was teasing her. She stared at his face. It was a handsome one, one she had taken for granted, one she had become accustomed to. Yes, just as the old musical number from My Fair Lady went, she had become accustomed to his face, one that would never smile, frown or laugh again.
Then, the Doctor’s face started to glow. At first, Faye thought it was more of the stubborn gelatinous residue; but as she continued to wipe it off, it became apparent that the Doctor’s skin itself was glowing. Then she realised. Why had it not occurred to her?
“Regeneration,” she whispered to herself.
Faye had seen Susan regenerate, and she knew the Doctor had regenerated many times before. The Doctor’s skin glowed so brightly that she could barely discern his features. Slowly, as her eyes adjusted, she could make out some details; but she didn’t like what she was seeing. The Doctor’s face looked skeletal and slightly decayed, particularly on his lower face where most of the residue had been. This didn’t seem anything like Susan’s regeneration. His body suddenly jerked, as his face continued to change. His eyes, nose and forehead were slowly losing the decayed appearance. Something seemed to be forming around his jaw and mouth. Faye was relieved to discover it was hair.
She laughed. This new version of the Doctor is going to have a beard, she realised. She took a clean towel, placed it under his head, and waited for him to regain consciousness.
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After a few hours, the Doctor finally opened his eyes, and pulled himself up on his elbows. She stared at Faye silently.
“Sarah?”
“No, it’s Faye, Faye Austin.”
“Ah” he answered, looking around the console room.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure.” The Doctor slowly rose, supporting himself against the console. His eyes widened as he caught his reflection in one of the reflective surfaces on the console. His touched his whiskered chin.
“Regeneration?” The Doctor seemed very disturbed by this realisation. He eyed his reflection again. “Well, that’s never happened before,” he said, rubbing his newfound beard. ”That’s the trouble with regeneration; never any control over what you get.”
He stood up straight, carelessly placing his hand on his chest. He pulled his hand away quickly from his gelatinous-soaked shirt.
“That’s the goo that caused you to regenerate,” Faye explained. “Perhaps you should change.”
“I think I just did” the Doctor answered, bewildered.
“Your clothes” Faye pointed out.
“Perhaps.”
Faye had to guide him to the clothes closet. The “closet” was nearly as large as the library. Faye had rarely gone into this room. There wasn’t even the pretense of any organisation in this room. There were clothes from many eras and places mixed together. Most clothing was at least hanging on coat trees and racks of various sorts. Faye picked up a small pile of odd clothes she found lying on various parts of the floor.
“Thank you,” said the Doctor, as he took the pile from her. “That will do nicely.”
“But there all wrinkled. And I don’t think they match,” Faye explained. “Let’s find something more appropriate.” The Doctor walked off, not seeming to have heard her. Within a few moments he returned, completely changed. The clothing didn’t match, but could have been worse. The only really odd piece was a long red scarf. The Doctor explained it was the one Madam Nostradamus never completed, not nearly as long as his old unraveled one. It was only ten feet.
The Doctor seemed to be in rush to get back to the console room. He examined the burst tubule.
“Serves me right. I should have waited until we landed on Braxis III. I won’t be able to repair this until we’ve landed, but not on Braxis III.”
“Why?”
“Temporally, we’ve lost some control. The only way to truly control our destination is use the fast-return switch.”
“Well, we could do worse than 1979 Paris” commented Faye.
“Here goes” breathed the Doctor. Although Faye brought no skills when it came to operating the TARDIS, she chose to stay in the console room to keep an eye on the Doctor. The Doctor watched the console like a hawk, making small adjustment here and there. He frowned. Faye thought the combination of the beard and frown made the Doctor look far more serious than his previous self. The new Doctor would take getting used to.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid we are deviating from our course. And I can’t find the exact cause. I’m sorry, no 1979”
“You seem out of sorts. Are you all right?” asked Faye.
“Fine. I’ve just regenerated.”
“I know. I was there.” She immediately regretted snapping at him. She put her hand on the Doctor’s arm. “I guess this means you have one less regeneration now. Not too many left, I suppose.”
“I’m not afraid of dying, or even of losing regenerations, although the process isn’t pleasant.”
“But something’s bothering you.”
“Losing a regeneration over such an inexplicable accident. Trans-dimensional fluid isn’t toxic. Or least isn’t supposed to be. Of course, it hasn’t been changed in 500 years” he admitted.
Just then, the time column settled, indicating they were landing. One of the few things Faye did know how to operate was the external monitor. She turned the switch to view the exquisite pastoral vista in the early morning light.
“Earth?” she asked. The Doctor nodded yes. “Not Paris?” The Doctor nodded no. “Year?” the Doctor shrugged. “This new regeneration is a mime?” For the first time, this new Doctor smiled.
It wasn’t a bad smile, more kindly than the manic one she was used to.
“Well, it’s probably the 20th century” he finally answered, as he ducked under the console. “But we overshot 1979.”
“Are we stranded here?”
“No, I think not. This should be an easy fix. I’m surprised it cost us this much trouble.”
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Finally, the Doctor was finished the repair.
“Well, are you ready for Braxis III?” the Doctor asked, yet his hearts clearly weren’t in it. Faye had seen the Doctor pensive, angry, joyous, a whole range of emotions. She wondered whether he was usually depressed after regeneration. Or was this the demeanor of this new Doctor?
“I think Braxis III can wait, Doctor. I’ll reheat our food. Then, I think you need some fresh air; a nice walkabout to lighten your mood.”
As it was now morning outside the TARDIS, their dinner was renamed breakfast. Once they finished they stepped outside into the field. After about a quarter of a mile, they spotted some cattle entering the pasture. They were followed by men on horseback lazily following the herd. They were called back and forth to one another in Spanish.
“Doctor, do you think we’re back in Spain?” asked Faye hopefully, who still hadn’t gotten over her relationship with the young Pablo Picasso.
“No, their dialect lacks the Castilian flavour. Probably, South America. Maybe Argentina or Uruguay, judging by their attire.”
They were quickly spotted by the four black-bereted gauchos, who immediately galloped toward the Doctor and Faye. Two of them were carrying rifles. They quickly surrounded them, so no escape was possible. The heaviest of them was pointing his rifle at them.
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To be continued...
====================================================================
Faye wiped the gooey phosphorescent liquid off of the Doctor’s face and throat as best she could. He looked pale. She checked his pulse. While she thought she could detect a faint double pulse, she couldn’t be sure.
“Don’t die on me, Doctor!” Her eyes filled with tears. “You can’t…..” She had never been at such a loss. What little first aid she knew would be grossly inadequate for this situation. She could no longer feel a pulse. ‘It can’t end like this’ she thought.
Faye stood up and looked at glowing console. She never learned to operate much more than the scanner controls. She wished Susan was here to take command. She did remember the fast return switch, which would take the TARDIS back to its last destination. But even if she could get the TARDIS back to Earth, would that help the Doctor.
She checked the Doctor. His breathing had stopped. There was no longer even the hope of a pulse left. She attempted CPR, to no avail. Her tears flowed in full force now. One of them fell on the Doctor’s cheek. A puff of smoke rose as if his skin had been struck by a drop of mild acid. She realised there was still some residue on his chin and cheek. She wiped it off, not knowing why. It no longer mattered.
She sat on the floor despondent and cold, yet unable to move. Only moments before he was teasing her. She stared at his face. It was a handsome one, one she had taken for granted, one she had become accustomed to. Yes, just as the old musical number from My Fair Lady went, she had become accustomed to his face, one that would never smile, frown or laugh again.
Then, the Doctor’s face started to glow. At first, Faye thought it was more of the stubborn gelatinous residue; but as she continued to wipe it off, it became apparent that the Doctor’s skin itself was glowing. Then she realised. Why had it not occurred to her?
“Regeneration,” she whispered to herself.
Faye had seen Susan regenerate, and she knew the Doctor had regenerated many times before. The Doctor’s skin glowed so brightly that she could barely discern his features. Slowly, as her eyes adjusted, she could make out some details; but she didn’t like what she was seeing. The Doctor’s face looked skeletal and slightly decayed, particularly on his lower face where most of the residue had been. This didn’t seem anything like Susan’s regeneration. His body suddenly jerked, as his face continued to change. His eyes, nose and forehead were slowly losing the decayed appearance. Something seemed to be forming around his jaw and mouth. Faye was relieved to discover it was hair.
She laughed. This new version of the Doctor is going to have a beard, she realised. She took a clean towel, placed it under his head, and waited for him to regain consciousness.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After a few hours, the Doctor finally opened his eyes, and pulled himself up on his elbows. She stared at Faye silently.
“Sarah?”
“No, it’s Faye, Faye Austin.”
“Ah” he answered, looking around the console room.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure.” The Doctor slowly rose, supporting himself against the console. His eyes widened as he caught his reflection in one of the reflective surfaces on the console. His touched his whiskered chin.
“Regeneration?” The Doctor seemed very disturbed by this realisation. He eyed his reflection again. “Well, that’s never happened before,” he said, rubbing his newfound beard. ”That’s the trouble with regeneration; never any control over what you get.”
He stood up straight, carelessly placing his hand on his chest. He pulled his hand away quickly from his gelatinous-soaked shirt.
“That’s the goo that caused you to regenerate,” Faye explained. “Perhaps you should change.”
“I think I just did” the Doctor answered, bewildered.
“Your clothes” Faye pointed out.
“Perhaps.”
Faye had to guide him to the clothes closet. The “closet” was nearly as large as the library. Faye had rarely gone into this room. There wasn’t even the pretense of any organisation in this room. There were clothes from many eras and places mixed together. Most clothing was at least hanging on coat trees and racks of various sorts. Faye picked up a small pile of odd clothes she found lying on various parts of the floor.
“Thank you,” said the Doctor, as he took the pile from her. “That will do nicely.”
“But there all wrinkled. And I don’t think they match,” Faye explained. “Let’s find something more appropriate.” The Doctor walked off, not seeming to have heard her. Within a few moments he returned, completely changed. The clothing didn’t match, but could have been worse. The only really odd piece was a long red scarf. The Doctor explained it was the one Madam Nostradamus never completed, not nearly as long as his old unraveled one. It was only ten feet.
The Doctor seemed to be in rush to get back to the console room. He examined the burst tubule.
“Serves me right. I should have waited until we landed on Braxis III. I won’t be able to repair this until we’ve landed, but not on Braxis III.”
“Why?”
“Temporally, we’ve lost some control. The only way to truly control our destination is use the fast-return switch.”
“Well, we could do worse than 1979 Paris” commented Faye.
“Here goes” breathed the Doctor. Although Faye brought no skills when it came to operating the TARDIS, she chose to stay in the console room to keep an eye on the Doctor. The Doctor watched the console like a hawk, making small adjustment here and there. He frowned. Faye thought the combination of the beard and frown made the Doctor look far more serious than his previous self. The new Doctor would take getting used to.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid we are deviating from our course. And I can’t find the exact cause. I’m sorry, no 1979”
“You seem out of sorts. Are you all right?” asked Faye.
“Fine. I’ve just regenerated.”
“I know. I was there.” She immediately regretted snapping at him. She put her hand on the Doctor’s arm. “I guess this means you have one less regeneration now. Not too many left, I suppose.”
“I’m not afraid of dying, or even of losing regenerations, although the process isn’t pleasant.”
“But something’s bothering you.”
“Losing a regeneration over such an inexplicable accident. Trans-dimensional fluid isn’t toxic. Or least isn’t supposed to be. Of course, it hasn’t been changed in 500 years” he admitted.
Just then, the time column settled, indicating they were landing. One of the few things Faye did know how to operate was the external monitor. She turned the switch to view the exquisite pastoral vista in the early morning light.
“Earth?” she asked. The Doctor nodded yes. “Not Paris?” The Doctor nodded no. “Year?” the Doctor shrugged. “This new regeneration is a mime?” For the first time, this new Doctor smiled.
It wasn’t a bad smile, more kindly than the manic one she was used to.
“Well, it’s probably the 20th century” he finally answered, as he ducked under the console. “But we overshot 1979.”
“Are we stranded here?”
“No, I think not. This should be an easy fix. I’m surprised it cost us this much trouble.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Finally, the Doctor was finished the repair.
“Well, are you ready for Braxis III?” the Doctor asked, yet his hearts clearly weren’t in it. Faye had seen the Doctor pensive, angry, joyous, a whole range of emotions. She wondered whether he was usually depressed after regeneration. Or was this the demeanor of this new Doctor?
“I think Braxis III can wait, Doctor. I’ll reheat our food. Then, I think you need some fresh air; a nice walkabout to lighten your mood.”
As it was now morning outside the TARDIS, their dinner was renamed breakfast. Once they finished they stepped outside into the field. After about a quarter of a mile, they spotted some cattle entering the pasture. They were followed by men on horseback lazily following the herd. They were called back and forth to one another in Spanish.
“Doctor, do you think we’re back in Spain?” asked Faye hopefully, who still hadn’t gotten over her relationship with the young Pablo Picasso.
“No, their dialect lacks the Castilian flavour. Probably, South America. Maybe Argentina or Uruguay, judging by their attire.”
They were quickly spotted by the four black-bereted gauchos, who immediately galloped toward the Doctor and Faye. Two of them were carrying rifles. They quickly surrounded them, so no escape was possible. The heaviest of them was pointing his rifle at them.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To be continued...
