Author's Note: I'm completely making up this Time Lord biology bit. I just wanted an excuse to have Eleven and Ten meet post-regeneration. This story is my take on all the angstiness we saw from Ten near the end there and how well Eleven takes it. Written mostly because I feel that the Doctor has a lot of issues to deal with, and the best way he can cope is to discuss it with himself. I'd say it takes place sometime between Daleks and Angels in Series 5, while Eleven is still fairly fresh, but the exact time doesn't really matter. Feel free to drop me a review and let me know what you think. I never say no to those.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Doctor Who. Big surprise there.

The Doctor hated passing out. Losing consciousness never led to anything pleasant. The splitting headaches, the chaos that erupted while he was unable to stop it, the neverending worry from his companions... Unpleasant. He would be fine when he woke up - he was a bit more durable than his looks would suggest - but they always worried. "Are you alright Doctor? Anything I can do Doctor? You think getting hit like that all the time is the reason you're so scatterbrained, Doctor?" Always the same.

He was a bit fuzzy on the details of what had caused it. Usually it took more than a knock to the head to bring him down. He never knew while he was out, but it would come back to him when he woke up. While he was out, though, things were... different. He went into a sort of dream state, a guest inside his own head. Time was funny in here. Well, Time was usually funny for him, being a Time Lord and all, but inside here things got complicated. Seconds could be hours could be days and there was never any telling how long he was actually unconscious. He could spend years inside his own head while hardly a second passed in the waking world. Usually not that long, but sometimes it felt like it. Especially when he had to deal with them.

Unpleasant.

It took him a moment to take in his surroundings. It was always different, depending on... Well, depending on a lot of things actually. He had never really taken the time to figure out what led to what. He avoided getting knocked out whenever he could, after all, and some things he just didn't like to think about. This time looked so different from all the others. Sometimes he would wake up in the TARDIS and everything would seem to be just fine. Sometimes it took him to Gallifrey, though it hadn't done that so much lately. Sometimes it took him to Earth, sometimes to the edge of the universe, sometimes to the centre of a star... but never before had it taken him here.

It felt empty, remarkably like nothing. To the casual observer, it looked just like a plain, empty white room, but the Doctor was no casual observer. His head was never this empty. There was an odd stillness in the air, if you could call it air, and there was definitely something rather off. Maybe he wouldn't meet them this time. Maybe he was going to wake up very soon, and his head hadn't bothered constructing any sort of illusion for him. Maybe he was dead.

"Don't worry. You're not. Not even regenerating. You could never do that to Amy, go and die on her like that."

He knew that voice all too well and his stomach sunk. So he wasn't getting off so easy after all, and they were indeed coming to talk to him. He hated facing them. They chided his decisions and made him feel rubbish. Pick on the new kid because that's the only fun they get anymore, having been shoved into storage. Criticize his decisions, because Rassilon knows they never made any mistakes. Didn't matter what they'd done in the past, only the new guy's stupidity mattered.

Bracing himself, he turned. Funny that he had to turn around to face them in this emptiness. It was odd how solid and real he felt, even though he knew that this was only going on in his head. Everything he did felt incredibly physical even though he knew that it was all mental. Before him stood only one, which was simultaneously a relief and the worst possible thing.

He stood there, looking the same as ever. Tall and thin and pale. Brown hair sticking up at the oddest of angles. Those dark, expressive eyes. The bushy eyebrows that arched over top of them. The fitted brown suit with the blue pinstripes. The cream coloured trainers. That big brown jacket. The faint smattering of freckles across his cheeks. The smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You." It was an accusation, spat out contemptuously. Of all of them to come visit, it had to be this one. He wasn't ready to deal with this one just yet.

"Me," he agreed. That smile widened ever so slightly, though the look in his dark eyes was solemn and resigned and oh so compassionate. He was always so forgiving and compassionate this one, and it never failed to infuriate his enemies. Being on the receiving end of that stare was difficult, and it struck something inside the Doctor that began to well up and remind him just why he was so goofy and seemingly carefree in this incarnation.

"You. I have a word or two to say to you. Actually, I have several words." In fact, he had a whole angry speech prepared. Every incarnation seemed to have something to say to the all the others regarding mistakes and bad decisions and things that could have gone differently. Retrospect was a dangerous thing and it made life so very complicated when you were a Time Lord.

The man just sighed and closed his eyes. "Yes, that's what I understand." His eyes fluttered open again, looking at the Doctor expectantly. "Well. Let's have it then." He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels.

The Doctor hadn't expected him to be so willing to take his verbal beating. Well, he should have known, he had once been him, but he was hoping he would fight back. Getting into arguments with yourselves. Good for the soul. He hesitated a moment, but that man, that infuriating man just stood there patiently. Like he had all day. Bastard.

"Right! Well. I'm very, er... very disappointed in your attitude towards regeneration!" Off to a good start. The man just stood there and the Doctor continued. "Feels like death does it? This ability takes something like death and prevents it. We're the same person, really. Not dead, still living to fight another day. That poor man, what did you do to Wilfred Mott? He thinks he's killed you now. Because regeneration is death, is that it? What guilt must that man live with, knowing that you died because of him? But you didn't! You made a sacrifice but in the end I'm still here!"

He sometimes got confused when it came to pronouns. You, me, us? Him? Them? Their usage got muddled, but neither of them noticed. The Doctor went on.

"Did you think I wouldn't be good enough? That you were the most important? It's not like it's the first time we've regenerated. It's a good thing. It's a beautiful process. A chance to start again. You were getting selfish. Your time was up and you blew it. 'I don't want to go' indeed." The man's calm face twitched a bit as those last words were spat out. The Doctor fed on that barely detectable reaction.

"Yeah, that's right. You didn't want to go. And then I showed up. And I felt a need to, I dunno, impress you. As daft as that sounds I was worried I wouldn't be good enough. I wanted to show you that regenerating into me wasn't death and I'm still you. We're the same. I'm not just some new man sauntering off. You're still there. And I can be just as good. I can accomplish all those things you haven't. 'So much more'... I can do that just as well as you can! And I will, just you watch. I'm the bloody Doctor, and I'm here to save the day. All those crises that need averting, all those things that you could have accomplished, I'm going to do it, because I can do them just as well as you can."

The man remained stoic to the best of his abilities, but a faint glimmer behind the eyes gave him away. He looked hurt, ever so slightly, by the verbal assault. The Doctor wasn't usually this malicious, but the wounds were fresh and open and that faint reaction fuelled his fire.

"You didn't have to, and you know it. That's what kills you. That's what kills me! Always playing the hero, the good old Doctor. Hints were being dropped all over the place, giving you a lot of time to worry about your end. And you did spend a lot of time thinking about it. Speculating. Dreading. It was going to be something huge and powerful and unstoppable, no doubt, because that's the only way the Doctor can die. At the hands of something you could do nothing about.

"It all became clear on the Oodsphere, didn't it? Four knocks. First thought that comes to mind? The Master. Yes, the number four, the four drumbeats, four knocks... So logical. And you survived him, so what next? The Time Lords! Oh they were a delight. The greatest evils from the Time War, facing them once again and that was surely the end. Fighting the Time War again was going to be your death. But you survived that! Oh you were war torn and battle scarred, surviving the most extreme of things. You jumped out of a spaceship and busted though glass and landed on a hard floor and you survived! But one man. One old little human man, and he does you in. Trapped in a glass box, doomed to radiation. He's lived a long enough life. He begged you to go! What measure is a single human life compared to that of the Final Time Lord? You didn't have to. Nobody was forcing you to.

"Oh but you thought about it. What if... You could have walked away just as easily. He told you to leave, another person willing to die for the Doctor. You could have left him to die and lived another day. But that damned heroic streak. Always in love with the humans... You couldn't just leave him. There was no reason other than you couldn't. You couldn't just leave him there to die. You didn't have to save him, but you couldn't not. In the end all that saving people rubbish is what got you killed. And you hate yourself for that! You couldn't bear to see one man go before his time, so you went before yours. Your last great act, a willing sacrifice to save the life of a man who, by all means, should be considered small and unimportant, but meant the world to you. If you were going to go, it would have to save a life.

"But you still complained about it! You didn't have to go. You didn't want to go. But you did. And it was done, and there was nothing you could do. There was nothing to be afraid of, you've regenerated before! You knew what was coming. Were you afraid of me? Worried I wouldn't be good enough? Because, damn you, I don't have a single thing to prove to you. I'm spectacular!"

The Doctor stopped. It wasn't quite the angry speech he had prepared, not nearly as eloquent. This regeneration was still charismatic, but he tended to lose sight of where he was going with his speeches. Best stop now and let that man say something. He was good at that.

So the Doctor waited, staring the man down, daring him to come back with a rebuttal.

The small smile had faded but the solemn look remained. He looked very old and very tired, nine hundred odd years of pain etching themselves into his face. "Blimey you're young."

The Doctor laughed. "I'm older than you."

The man sighed. "Funny, isn't it? Regeneration plays with your sense of age. I don't even know how old I really am or how long I wore this body. You lose track. But how old are you really? Is your true age how old you appear? Because you do look like just a kid. Or perhaps your true age is how long you've been in that regeneration. It's still fairly new. We do like to think that we're the sum of all of them though, don't we? Seems the most logical thing. It's hard to keep track of. It's just been so long."

The Doctor glared at him and the man smiled before continuing. "Ah, but you're not here to discuss the intricacies of the Time Lord's age, are you?" He paused. "Something I learned early on... I'm bloody rude." He looked over the Doctor and looked mildly disappointed. "And still not ginger, what a shame. But yes, the rudeness. I was terribly rude near the end there. Rude to Wilf, rude to you, rude to Time herself in fact."

That incident lingered in the air, and the Doctor could almost see it playing out around him, as though the white walls had become a movie screen. That orange space suit, the creepy look in that man's eyes, the base collapsing around them... The Doctor sighed, still angry with the man for that particular incident. He had known better and yet he went on with it.

"Arrogance," was all the Doctor said.

The man nodded slowly. "You know, it's funny. I've forgiven so many people over the years, so many horrible people who don't deserve forgiveness. I forgive them because if not me then who? They don't deserve it, which makes them the most deserving of my compassion. And yet the one person I never seem to be able to forgive is myself."

For a moment the rest of them appeared. Nine men, all too familiar. They stood behind that man, looking faded like ghosts, and they were squabbling inaudibly. The Doctor pursed his lips and said nothing, deciding to let the man continue.

"Multiple personalities. It's fun, isn't it? We're permitted to observe, to watch the new guy go at it, compare our actions to his and how we would never do something so foolish. Then someone else pipes up and points out that, yes, you did in fact do something that foolish, time and time again. It's always easy to blame it on the last guy. We all do. Of note is Nine's attitude toward Eight. He's still sore about the Time War. Who can blame him, really?"

"And what about you?" the Doctor asked. He wondered vaguely if the man wanted his forgiveness. He also wondered if he would be willing to give it. Blame it on the last guy indeed.

The man paused for a moment. What about him? "Nine and I don't get along too well. I'm angry with him for absorbing the Time Vortex. He's angry with me for losing Rose. I'm not too sure if we'll ever get along, him and I, and all the evidence from the rest of us seems to be pointing towards 'not bloody likely.'"

The Time Vortex. Rose. Those had been painful times indeed, and the Doctor cringed at the memories. The man's face remained stoic, but the Doctor knew that whatever he was feeling inside was tearing him apart. Perhaps he felt a little sympathy for him after all. "Sorry mate," he said, but he kept his voice flat and noncommittal.

The man went on. "Sometimes I wonder if the Time Vortex hadn't affected me a little more than I had initially anticipated. I told Jack that if a Time Lord were to do that he would become a vengeful god. Perhaps I did. Like you said, arrogance. Especially near the end there." Another sigh. Blimey, for a man who was most of the time all smiles and cheer and charisma he sure could get maudlin. That was why the Doctor was so angry in the first place.

"You still haven't said why."

The man raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know you wanted to know why? You didn't ask. Actually, I assumed you did know, what with us being the same person and all that. Also, why what exactly?"

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. The man knew perfectly well why what, but he had the audacity to ask anyway. He could be so infuriating sometimes. "Why all the anger and the arrogance? Why didn't you want to go? What was so special about you that you had to cling onto your life for just one second longer?"

Silence. He was actually thinking, pausing to choose his words. Must be a weighty answer. It was very rare when he actually stopped to think before he spoke. "My life had been short. Now, don't look at me like that, the relatively short lifespan of this one isn't the only reason. I'd been through a lot. No doubt we all have but the universe dumped an awful lot on me and my lifespan was brief. It was concentrated misery, all distilled into a few short years. And it hurt."

The man paused, seeming near to tears. The Doctor waited and continued his neutrality. Just let the man talk.

"Pain and loss and sadness... We all go through it to varying degrees. It's part of life. Without that we can never have the happiness. And did I ever have happiness in this lifetime, all those good times with great people. The inverse seems to be just as true, though. The great times make the bad times harder, a horrible tug of war of the emotions. And I think... I think it broke me."

That man sure could tug some heartstrings, blast him. The Doctor's face softened ever so slightly at the pained look that stared back at him. He still said nothing. The man wasn't finished.

"I wanted to fix it. I figured I could. Surely I had recovered from worse, so a little bit of pain and loss was something I could come back from. It adds up though, and I think having all that all at once was a little bit too much. I was broken, I thought I could pick up the pieces. But I had lost some great people. Rose lost forever, Martha pushed away and Donna doomed to never realize her brilliance. And all the others, the people I destroyed along the way. The unnecessary sacrifices made in my name or in my place. So much hurt and so much loss, and I thought I could fix it."

Memories flooded all around the Doctor as the man spoke, dancing on the world like a screen before him. He was still hurt by the man, but the feelings were a little less like venom now and perhaps a bit more like disappointment. He wanted to speak up, but there was nothing for him to say, not yet.

"You're right about a lot of things, though. I didn't have to. But do you honestly think I would have been doing myself any good, leaving Wilfred Mott to die? I think that the day I stop being stupid and saving everyone I can is the day I truly die. Let's face it, I'm the Doctor." The Doctor scowled at that.

"Not anymore you're not."

The man waved him off. "Technicalities. You're the Doctor then. We're the Doctor. What does that really mean? Could I have lived with myself, having let him die for me? I think that would have broken me even more than the rest of that pain combined."

He thought about that for a moment. All those stupid heroics, the sacrifices he'd made, the people he had saved, they made it all worth it. That was why he was the Doctor, and to be anything else would likely doom the universe. "So then why the fear of death? You knew you had to do it, there was no real choice in the matter, so why the fear? Why the complaint?"

"Just because I had accepted my death and why it had to happen didn't mean I was happy about it." He smiled. "Well, look at me. You wouldn't want to go either, if you looked like me. I mean, come on, I've got nice teeth!" They were bared in a wide grin and they were very nice indeed, but the Doctor did not smile back. The man's grin faded and it was replaced with that ancient, pained expression once again. "Number Eleven. We both know what that means. You've got two left. A real fear of death sort of takes over, because we know what happens to the universe when we're not around."

Thirteen lives. It was all the Time Lords got, traditionally. He had indeed thought of that and the inevitability weighed heavy on him with every risk he took in this incarnation. "You thought about it too though. That we're nearing the end, but maybe there's another way. Cheating death... It's been done before."

"But at what cost?" Silence.

The man continued. "I did get fixed though." They were back on track, and this remark earned a quizzical look from the Doctor. "Not in the way I wanted to, but my arrogance blinded me to the real solution to my problems." The pain was gone from his face and that small smile was back. "You."

"Me?"

"Death did fix me. Oh, you've still got the pain and the memories and the heartache, but it's all up here, left for us to sort out. I needed to die, to regenerate into someone with, perhaps, better coping skills. A fresh start. You're doing quite fine for yourself, actually. Although..." He paused, looking the Doctor up and down, appraising him. "A bowtie? Really?"

"Oi!" the Doctor protested. "Bowties are cool."

The man's handsome features erupted into a grin. Blimey but did he ever have a nice smile. "If you say so. You are indeed spectacular, but I can hardly say the same for your fashion sense."

The Doctor looked offended and all sympathy for that cheeky man was lost in an instant. "Hey I look good. You on the other hand... I've always wondered how someone could look so scruffy while wearing a suit." The man stuck out his tongue. "Although, if I'm being honest, the bowtie is less about being cool -though it still is, mind you- but it's less about being cool and more about the fact that you lose your fondness for neckties after you've been lead around by one like a leash and locked into a car door with it..."

The man threw back his head and let out a bark of laughter. "Of course. That brings us back to Miss Pond. She sure is something, I must commend you. Still doing wonderfully with your choice of companions, though I never doubted her for a second."

The Doctor smiled fondly. She really was something, that Amy. The girl who waited... He hoped she wouldn't be too worried about him being unconscious.

"It really isn't better on my own," said the Doctor. "I find myself to be quite fond of Pond. She sort of reminds me of why I take someone with me in the first place."

"Donna had it right from the start. We need someone to stop us when we need stopping, to rein us in when we get a little bit out of control." A sigh. "Funny thing about humans, the way they notice things that we miss. Their perception... it's remarkable." Another pause, but no sigh this time. When he spoke again his voice was much softer. "I thought I could do it. Arrogance. No, I really did need someone there to hold my hand."

There was a long moment of silence. The man's eyes were closed and he seemed to be lost in his thoughts. Faint whispers swirled about the Doctor's head and he pursed his lips. He tried to find the right words to break the silence. He wasn't waking up just yet, and standing here awkwardly until he did was far from ideal.

The man spoke first. He always had been better at words. "Look, I'm not asking for your forgiveness or expecting you to accept the things I've done. Believe me, living with your past isn't exactly the easiest thing to do. Humans often look back and regret the stupid things they can't believe they ever thought was a good idea. I've got nine hundred years and nine other lives to deal with, so I know it can be tough. I just wanted to offer you my side of the story so you don't hate yourself for the duration of this regeneration."

Of course, the Doctor knew all of this already. Everything the man had to say were his own sentiments. It was all still his thoughts and his feelings. But it was nice to hear it firsthand, from the man himself. He didn't feel angry anymore, just a bit tired. This was therapeutic, hashing out his issues with himself. There was still one little niggling thought that bothered him, though.

"What if it hadn't been Wilfred behind that glass?"

There it was, the million dollar question. Wilf had let that other man out, effectively saving his life. There he was, that little old man displaying that quality that made all the difference when it came to choosing his companions. But indeed, what if? What if he hadn't been that sort of man? What if the Vinvocci had chosen to take him home rather than to the mansion where the Doctor had his final faceoff? It was a heavy question, and he wasn't proud of the possibilities in the answer.

The man looked sad. "It would have been a younger man behind there if he had just left it. One with more life ahead of him. But it would have been a stranger."

"Why should that mean anything?"

"Exactly. Isn't that who The Doctor is, in the end? The man who would give his life to save that of an insignificant human. The man willing to sacrifice everything in order to allow one little lesser man the chance to do something great. That man is The Doctor, is he not?" The man's face darkened. "Well, ideally. The Doctor is, in his own head and in his dreams, that unfailing hero, the man who can do anything and save everyone. Unfortunately, reality suggests otherwise."

The Doctor really didn't like to think about the implications. "We've done some pretty awful things," the Doctor said, voice heavy. "We've committed genocide and manipulated people into taking their own lives. So what would be the death of one more little human? Someone you've never met before, sacrificing himself so you can carry on? What if it hadn't been Wilf?"

"Sacrifice is certainly easier to make when it's for someone you know and love. And I was at a pretty dark stage in my life. If it hadn't been Wilf... Well, who's to say what I really would have done."

"What's one more bad decision, added to the infinite number you already have to cope with?" the Doctor added sombrely.

The man nodded. "Fact is, though, that Wilfred was the man behind the glass. Saving his life, for his and Donna's sake, made it so much easier and so much harder. For quite some time, my life had been governed by prophecies, dictating what was coming and what I would do and how I would die and I had had enough. I could have walked away, damn the prophecy, but something about that man... It felt like a choice. Damn the prophecy. It didn't feel like something I had to do, but something I was choosing to do. And it was my honour. And as afraid of death as I was, I knew I couldn't let him down like that. I couldn't let Donna down like that."

The man began to fade and the world around them was starting to darken. "It appears you're waking up. You won't remember any of this once you're conscious, of course, but I really do hope we've accomplished something here today. Go on then, be spectacular."

The Doctor waved at him. "Geronimo."