Doctor Who: Let it Go

DW: Let It Go

Author's Note: The following story was written before I had seen "The End of Time," and "The Time of the Doctor." Any similarities between this story and the former is pure coincidence.

*   *   *

Everything has its time, and everything ends…

       The door to the TARDIS creaked and then suddenly slammed open as the bloodied hand of the Doctor struggled to open it.  Once it was wide enough to step through, he clumsily but gently staggered in carrying an unconscious Clara in his arms.  With his feet about as mobile as lead bricks he made his way into his ship and set Clara gently down on the console room floor, being careful not to hit her head against the cold metal.
 
       He then turned his attention to the reason his hands were covered in blood. Underneath his now soaked shirt was a large cut across his abdomen. While it wasn’t very long or deep, what was happening under the surface of the wound was more troubling. This particular kind of injury was designed to cause the maximum amount of damage from the inside, and like one successive micro explosion after the other it was turning his insides into a bloody, soupy mess that was coming out of the cut.

       The Doctor couldn’t remember who or what had dealt him such a blow, he didn’t remember how long he’d been bleeding for; all he knew was that he had to get away from this place. Darting as fast as he could to the control console, he started flipping switches and pounding buttons, hoping that the TARDIS would take them somewhere, anywhere.

       As the TARDIS started up its launch sequence, the Doctor’s legs gave way underneath him and he was able to take a better look at the damage he’d sustained. His hands were crimson and sticky, his shirt had turned a dark red and his trousers and coat sleeves were starting to turn the same color as well. Worst of all, his bowtie was a complete mess.

       “Too much,” the Doctor muttered to himself. “I’ve lost too much blood…”

        He tried to press his hands against the wound to stop the bleeding but no matter how much pressure he used the same amount of the life-sustaining liquid seemed to ooze out between his hands and onto the floor. It was also starting to drip from the corners of his mouth.  He had to do something but when he tried to move his vision started to blur more and more and his head swam so bad he thought he was going to be sick.  

        He couldn’t move. Not good, not good at all.

        As he looked around the console room for anything that could help, his darkening eyes fell onto Clara. She was knocked out but at least she was alive and safe, and that made the whole situation a little bit better. As the Doctor was thinking about this, his thoughts drifted to Amy and Rory and all the adventures they shared. He also thought about River, Donna, Martha, Rose, Sarah Jane, all of them. All of the memories he had of each and every one of them played through his head like a film reel; and in a strange way this made him feel happy, even in such a dire situation like this it made him feel good that he was able to share each of those things, good and bad, with people he cared about.

        However, when the last of the memories played the TARDIS’s engine suddenly stopped and the lights in the console room began to dim. Remembering his situation he checked his vitals. No pulse, at least none that he could feel, and both of his hearts had slowed to a crawl and practically stopped. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle and his skin was as pale as porcelain with little flecks of gold.

        “Gold...Oh no…” the Doctor thought panic-stricken.

         As much as he hoped and prayed that it was just his eyes playing tricks with his mind it had started. The golden light of his regeneration process had started at the tips of his fingers and had begun to move down his arms. Along with the light was the blistering heat that went with it. As the light and heat made its way down his arms and up his neck, the Doctor could only think of and mouth out one phrase,

         “I’m not ready…I’m not ready…!”

          And indeed he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to die, not here and not like this. There was still so much for him and Clara to see, so much for them to do, so many people for him to help. He didn’t want to disappear into oblivion! How could he face death after what he’d done?

          Then and there the 11th Doctor made up his mind that he wasn’t going to fade. He wrapped his arms around his wounded abdomen and placed even more pressure on his injury, trying to stop the regeneration process or at the very least move it to where it would regenerate just his wound. As he did so, the golden light began to dim and even disappear on some parts of his body. However, the regeneration heat became even more intense than usual and the lights in the TARDIS began to brightly glow and some even started to explode as if they were responding to the Doctor’s resistance.

          Despite the pain and the heat the Doctor kept trying to stop his own regeneration, both of his hearts pounding so hard they threatened to burst out of his ribcage. Then just as both the pain and the heat became so bad and the explosions became so numerous that they threatened to consume the whole TARDIS, the Doctor felt something warm resting on his shoulder. Not like the heat he was feeling now but more like the warmth you’d feel if you were sitting by a fire and were wrapped in a blanket on a cold winter’s day. It was a comforting kind of warmth. The Doctor slowly opened his eyes to see that it was a hand on his shoulder, then turned forward to see the owner of the hand.

          It was him! Well, the previous incarnation of himself to be precise. Kneeling before the dying 11th Doctor was the 10th Doctor in his trademark coat and pinstripe suit; and to top it all off his whole form radiated an aura of warmth and brightness like the whitest of stars.

          And he was smiling; this alone the 11th Doctor found to be very strange since the last time he regenerated he remembered not wanting to leave. So why was he smiling now? Was this a hallucination brought on by his body shutting down?
The 10th Doctor then looked the 11th Doctor in his tear filled green eyes and simply said,

          “Let it go.”

          He then stood up, still wearing that warm, peaceful smile and held out his hand to his 11th incarnation. Looking behind him the 11th Doctor saw something that blew his mind even more. All of his previous incarnations, all the way back to the very first one were standing alongside the far side of the TARDIS, which had opened up to reveal the same warm light that radiated around each of them. They were all waiting for him, and they were all smiling.

          The Doctor looked back at his 10th incarnation, then toward the door, then back to the 10th. He wasn’t sure what lay ahead if he took the 10th Doctor’s hand, or if any of this was real at all. But whatever this strange warmth was, it felt like home. The 11th Doctor slowly reached out his shaking, blood-drenched hand and placed it in the immaculate hand of the 10th Doctor.

          What happened next was difficult to put into words. Whether it was the force of his regeneration or if it was him being pulled up he wasn’t sure, but the Doctor felt himself being lifted up to his feet as the regeneration process began.  He would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt because it did. The oppressive heat singed and consumed every last cell in his broken body and the only thing he could see and hear was gold and the rushing sound of hurricane force winds. Even in all this he didn’t mind, because there was a hand holding his that would guide him to whatever was next.


The End