A/N: A sequel of sorts to Time's Scythe

The Dead are Walking, the Dead are Talking

Sometime between a year and last week the Doctor contemplated tearing up his well-thumbed copy of Great Expectations just for something different to do. Simply reading the novel had ceased to pass any time at all and the idea of creating hundreds of paper planes or paper cranes or water bombs was beginning to hold an irresistible sort of appeal.

All that was stopping him was the knowledge of the lecture he would receive from the old man masquerading as a librarian some nine hundred years in his past when he eventually gave the book back.

The Game Station was burning around him. It had been a quiet day so far. The Daleks had failed to materialise and he hadn't heard the faintest whisper from Rose for almost a week now. If this sort of respite hadn't happened before he'd believe that he was beginning to understand the nature of this reality, this afterlife, and that he had gained some sort of control over the manifestations. He'd believe that he could finally confront all that lay within him and accept it.

Of course, he knew better. It was only a matter of time before she came back, all bright and vibrant and alive. But there'd be no TARDIS singing in her soul; there wouldn't be any TARDIS at all

(sometimes his ship was there, sometimes it even opened, letting him see a blank darkness within, its internal dimensions no greater than its external ones)

The two of them, trapped and alone and the Daleks surrounding them. They'd take Rose first and give him all the time in the universe to grieve before killing him too. Again.

...and again and again and again and...

He had tried to run. Tried to hide. He had begged. Pleaded.

He had fought back.

He had stood in front of the way back through his lives for weeks at a time, trying to shed the pride that prevented him from using the only escape he knew of.

Sometimes he was afraid that he was teetering on the brink of madness; sometimes he wished he was mad.

How long can one endure this and remain sane?

Most of the time he was the Doctor and he did what he had always done.

On one of those days (sometime between a year and last week) he found another way out: he found the way forward.

The Doctor was curious; the Doctor stepped through the breach.

And he knew that some day this future place would house another part of himself. It was dead now, black and dark and impenetrable. Still he could move. There was nothing here.

He was here.

And there was something else, it had just taken his eyes a few minutes to adjust. Dark grey lightening rabidly. Four spikes of fierce white light from the sky to the ground and straight through it, descending until they fell from his sight.

Three were empty. He approached the fourth, and the outline within. Humanoid and male and instantly recognisable. It was him., of course. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted upwards, into the light.

Without thinking about it too much at all, the Doctor reached into the light, grabbed his arm and pulled him out.

The figure stumbled forward, almost falling, his movements jerky. The eyes sprang open, wide and inquisitive, they stared right at him.

"Oh, hello."

The Doctor looked at himself, all clean and new and naked. The hands held onto his shoulders as he looked around at all the nothing until finally his attention turned back to him.

"Ah, sorry." The new Doctor took his hands off his predecessor and the Doctor realised that he'd been scowling. Probably not the best sight to begin a new life with. He tried to smile, but settled for a neutral expression. He was the one who was dead, after all.

The regenerated Doctor waved his hands in front of his face, examined the nails, the knuckles. Peered out from behind his palms, looking at the other. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Yeah," said the Doctor without much enthusiasm. "You'd better be, anyway, or something's gone really wrong with this regeneration."

"But this isn't...isn't...where was I? Ah, yes, of course: this isn't the TARDIS." He glanced at the lights, the empty ones and the one he had just vacated. "Definitely not the TARDIS."

"I wanted a word with you."

"I don't think I can help you with whatever you're dealing with in there." He waved vaguely in the direction the Doctor had come from. "Now that's interesting, isn't it? I know where I am. Know who you are. Wonder what else I remember? Seem to have quite a vocabulary, don't I? Plenty of sentence construction going on anyway."

"It's not about that. It's about Rose."

"That's a flower."

The Doctor found himself gritting his teeth. "Uh-huh."

"Oh, right. Rose, of course." The other grinned. He tapped his temple. "It's all brand-new, can't expect the synapses to start working right away. I wonder if I can do sums. Something in the old temporal equation variety, I think. Now what was that series Borusa was always very keen on? Never did manage to solve it past the twenty-third recursion, but no harm in giving it-"

"Could you give it a rest for ten seconds? I don't know how much time we've got."

"Time and tide melts the...no, no, that wasn't me. Some woman that I went to school with was there though..."

"Doctor!"

"Yes!" He spun around, eyes suddenly very still, one arm extended, pointing at his predecessor. "Yes, I'm the Doctor. Right now, that's me, that's who I am." He took two short steps forward. "You're the past now; you're somewhere back there fighting all the things you hid from when you were alive. You are dead, Doctor. Alive, of course," he tapped his head, "but dead all the same."

"Keep her safe."

"We always try to keep them safe," said the Doctor.

"Looks like your memory's getting better." He paused. "How's it feel then?"

The Doctor looked at his predecessor - scientist, soldier, survivor - saw all the little cracks and tears hidden in the creases of his skin, the tilt of his head, the twist of his mouth. Saw signs of the hunted in the way his eyes watched him and remembered how he had run from the destruction of his beautiful, ancient world to the only other stability that he had ever known.

And as the memories washed over him, so did the compassion. He grew older, he grew wiser. The past stood in front of him and he knew that what had driven him then had faded now. Those hard immoveable edges had been ice all along, melted away along with his old body.

He was new and unformed. Fluid and supple. His future was a blank, full of mistakes waiting to be made.

No, no, no!

How negative. Enough of doubt, plaguing every action. Enough of fear of losing what little he had left, stopping him from reaching out.

New now. New and different.

"How's it feel?" The survivor leant forward, a harsh whisper in his ear. Warm and threatening.

The Doctor smiled, one had reached out, touched the other's face. A gentle gesture, but he knew it might not be interpreted as such. "It's past now. I don't blame you. I don't blame him." The other didn't move. The Doctor traced his jaw line, before his hand cupped his chin, thumb stroking his cheek, days old stubble scratching at his soft new skin. "I wish I could help you."

"I don't want your help." His voice softened. "I kept her safe. I took her out into the universe and I kept her safe."

The Doctor knew, of course he knew, but what was memory to him was reality to the other. Objectivity wouldn't help here any more than time would. The universal healer was as much in the mind as everything else that existed in this place.

"Now I know I've only been alive for, oh, the better part of five minutes, but I'm a little, just a little mind, insulted that you'd assume I wasn't capable of looking after my companion."

"This regeneration was different."

"They're all different."

"Difficult then."

"Oh, please. Given that every time this happens it tends to be the result of ending up dead, I wouldn't call any of them easy." He ignored the glare. "And I'm rather hoping that, what with being all new, I'll keep a bit more perspective about me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"No more delaying important decisions to save billions when there's one life at stake, for instance."

"You little-"

"I'm the same height as you. No need to get personal just because I've a little less width." The Doctor glanced down at himself. "Oh. I appear to be naked."

His earlier self folded his arms, a grin suddenly appearing on his face. "Yeah, you are."

"I also seem to have some sense of modesty manifesting. I feel a bit uncomfortable like this." He glanced up. "Don't suppose I could borrow your coat?"

"I don't suppose you could."

The Doctor shrugged, the momentary discomfort seemed to vanish. He spread his arms. "So, how do I look?" The survivor rolled his eyes. The Doctor frowned. "I'm going to assume you're just being difficult, again, and that was not a comment on my physical appearance."

"D'you really care what you look like?"

"Well, I've never been particularly vain before. In fact, I think I've gone out of my way not to be. Might be a nice change to spend hours in front of the mirror every day contemplating all the angles of my fabulous visage. If it is fabulous. If not, I think I might just skip that." He rubbed his chin. "Or perhaps a beard. I haven't had a beard before either."

"Y'know, much more of this and that hell back there is going to start looking like an appealing prospect."

"Oh, you got me right here," said the Doctor, throwing his hands over his right heart. "Or here." The hands moved to the left. "Which one would you like? Though I'm not sure I've got one left to give you. Didn't I give my hearts away in Paris? Or was there just a lot of wine and kissing involved?" He frowned. "Gets a bit misty as the centuries go back. Hope that clears up."

"It will."

"Well hurrah for that." He glanced over his shoulder, pointed to the light with his thumb. "At some point, I've got to go."

The other nodded, his eyes slipping to the floor. Somehow the inevitable had drained his strength, his shoulders slumped forward, the leather coat hung off him like an old skin.

The Doctor relented. "I'll take care of her. You know I'll take care of her."

"Thank you."

"Right, well then, time I was off, I suppose." He gave a quick stretch and an experimental jump. "Time to try this nice new body out in the real world."

"You take care of yourself too."

"Course I will." He grinned. New and different, the whole universe to see over again. But it'd be a long time before he saw his predecessor again and somehow a simple goodbye didn't seem a particularly memorable parting. He rather liked the idea of being particularly memorable.

He was standing close enough to him that there was very little time between thought and action, certainly not enough time for him to glance at the other's eyes incase he had any serious objections.

The kiss was long and deep, the Doctor concentrated on memorising the sensations. The harshness of the stubble, the softness of the lips. The way a few seconds passed before the other responded, parting his lips just far enough to slip his tongue into the Doctor's mouth.

That should have been enough, and he should have walked away, but he found that his hands had moved, slipping up and under the other's leather jacket, tugging it down off his shoulders.

They broke the kiss. Without the jacket, his younger self seemed so unprotected, so very vulnerable without that black armour shielding him against the world.

"Freud would bloody love this," he muttered.

"I'll mention it next time I see him," said the Doctor.

"If this sets a precedent..." The Doctor didn't need to be told he was thinking of their other selves.

He shrugged. "None of them ever have to know."

"They will." He nodded to the three empty spikes of light.

The Doctor shrugged. "The future. Unwritten. Unknown. Since when did we live worrying about what might happen?"

"It couldn't make things any worse, back there I mean. At the Game Station."

"That where you ended up?"

"Yeah. No way out. Just a lot of dying."

The Doctor paused. "It's just you that creates it. I should go, we do that and who knows what it'll throw up in your subconscious." He handed back the jacket, stepped forward and embraced himself. Felt the other's strong hands press into his back, returning the gesture. "I'll take care of her, I promise."

"And the Doctor always keeps his promises."

"Well, he certainly tries. I would rather not be a liar, all things considered. No, I'm quite determined I'll be the sort of man that keeps his promises."

He stepped backwards, back into the light, one hand raised in farewell. "See you on the other side."

There was a roar of air and the light shot upwards in a blinding flash. Up through the floor and up and out far beyond where the survivor could see, taking the Doctor with it.

Alone again.

And three lights were left in an empty pool of darkness.

It was quiet; it was peaceful. He could stay here forever, but he doubted even a second would have really passed until he went back to where he belonged.

The Doctor had never been a coward, and the past was waiting for him. He slipped the jacket back on and turned back, ready to face his demons.

End.