Hello all. It's been a long time. I'm not going to be fully returning just yet, but this wrote itself and I felt the need to share. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: the BBC owns everything Doctor Who.

Oh Brilliant.

"…Doctor, I let you go."

He lets out a sigh of relief. Once he allows it, the regeneration comes quickly, as it always does. He feels the heat begin to rise as the familiar golden dust flies all around him. He gasps as the change rips through his body—causing his organs, his bones, his very face to begin to melt away. The force of the process causes him to bend backwards and throw his hands into the air as if to punctuate his final words.

And then everything is on fire.

Is that him screaming? He never can tell. This process is so confusing no matter how many times he goes through it. All he can ever do is let it happen and pray he doesn't break the TARDIS for good along the way.

The last of the fire burns through his mind, and he feels himself fade. He begins to forget pieces of himself as all that he is turns to flame. Did he like Scotch? What was his favorite color? What was the best way to fix the Space-Time coordinator circuits when the TARDIS' indigestion got too bad? He thinks harder and feels a jolt of fear when he can't even remember his own name. It's not the first time, and it probably won't be the last, but if he doesn't have his name then who is he? He's certainly not that boy from Gallifrey with the name no one could ever possibly pronounce. Well, no one except children.

He gasps as his body cracks, and snaps forward as the flames abruptly disappear from his line of vision. He feels…different somehow, but he can't put his finger on it. Lighter maybe? Oh God, is he shorter? He hopes to the Great Gods of Tirius II that he's not shorter.

He blinks away the last of the dark spots in his vision and stares around him in wonder. The TARDIS continues to explode around him, but even so, she's beautiful. She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He stumbles forward as a nearby explosion rocks the ship around him. His ears are ringing and his balance is off, but he has to know. He has to know before he starts to work on learning who he is. What if he made a personality up and it turned out to be totally wrong for his face? That wouldn't do at all.

He reaches out for the computer screen, and his eyes lock with his reflection.

Oh. Oh.

Nimble hands slowly reach up to brush soft skin, and the contrast is striking. What was once rough is now smooth, and what was once heavily wrinkled is now barely showing. Wide eyes light up as a bright smile spreads over unfamiliar cheeks.

"Oh brilliant," she says.