What Do You Want?; or, Two Parts Made Whole

by Yugure

(Author's Note: Written after David Tennant's exit as the 10th Doctor; taking place concurrently with his passing. As far as I'm concerned, this is how it should have ended, and by "should have" I mean in my fandomy perfect world where everything happens the way I want it to and Donna gets to be with that dude she met in the Library and Martha... well, Martha already got everything I had hoped for, so that's okay.)

"I don't want to go!"

If he just screamed it loud enough, if he just fought hard enough, could he stop it? The pain of the radiation eating away at him, it was a unique sort of torture, horrible and exquisite and maddening all at once. And of course the process couldn't be stopped or reversed. Diverted, yes, he'd done that before, but this was inevitable. Like time itself. Always moving, always changing.

Did Time Lords live too long? Maybe. Maybe.

But he wasn't ready yet. This wasn't what he wanted: a rebirth, a new look, a fresh start. Not really. This person he was now, right NOW, he didn't want to let go. There was so much still here, and…

The pain rolled over him like waves, sucking away at his consciousness, a fire consuming him from the inside out. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the process to kill him, just outright kill him and get it over with, regeneration was really just a kind of death anyway, wasn't it? But the usual would happen, and a new face would replace this one, and he'd go on and on and on, but he didn't want that now.

He wanted…

He wanted…

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at tiny glow-in-the-dark stars mapping the galaxy across the ceiling of a white painted room. He was in a cold sweat, pulse thudding through his veins, feeling like he'd run across the entire planet of Ood and had stopped long enough to let the chill sink in. His hearts, racing—

Wait.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, taking in the pale blue sheets, wide, dark mahogany bed, matching dresser set covered in clothes and knicknacks and loopy necklaces, the floor mostly clear but for a pair of running shoes and socks deposited in a corner. Across the room was a door to a bathroom, and he scrambled out of the bed, propelling himself toward the mirror hanging above the sink.

And there it was, his face. His face—well, it was always "his" face, but this one, THIS face, the one he'd gotten so attached to, with the dark eyes and cheeky smile and the spiky brown hair, a bit skewed with bedhead but still so stylish, all above the collar of an extremely comfortable, dark brown flannel pajama shirt—

He put his hand to his chest, first on the right side, then on the left.

One heart?

This didn't make any sense. He was just in the TARDIS, dying, regenerating, both hearts failing, and then… and then…

He left the bathroom and the bedroom and lunged down the short hallway to the kitchen, where he pulled up short at the smell of maple syrup and pancakes.

And she was there, standing in front of the range, one hand on her hip and the other holding a spatula as if she were waiting, planning an attack on the griddle in front of her, scowling down at the bubbling puddles. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, half of its contents spilling down her neck and falling against the old t-shirt she wore. One of her legs crooked upwards as she scratched the back of her knee with her toes.

"Wh—" The sound came out of his mouth as if he'd been choking on it.

She spun around, her face brightening.

"Oh good, you're up. We're out of eggs so I had to improvise. The first batch didn't, er, come out so well, but I think I made it work." She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a trace of flour along her cheekbone. "And we've got lots of bananas yet so no need to freak out like last time, all right?"

She smiled, then; that lovely warm smile with the crinkling eyes that had always set his hearts skipping out of synch.

Well, just one heart now, but it was skipping all the same.

One step, two, and he was next to her, reaching out to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his head against hers as she laughed in surprise.

Two parts made whole again.

Yes. This was what he wanted.