Fic Pinstripes & Jacquard ‘Verse, Epilogue: Time’s Up…
Title: Pinstripes & Jacquard ‘Verse, Epilogue: Time’s Up…
Author: psyfi_geekgirl
BetaBabe: akkajemo
Characters/Pairings: Thirteenth Doctor, Twelfth Doctor, River, Jack, Martha
Rating: PG-13
Excerpt: This was one man who had refused to go sauntering off.
Word Count: 3,381
Disclaimer: Until she’s Jossed, Twelve is mine-but of course, based entirely on stuff that ain’t mine… All hail Auntie Beeb!
A/N*: This is the final entry to the Girl in the Mirror/Pinstripes & Jacquard ‘Verse.
Please make sure you’ve read Chapter 26, Time For A Change (posted Friday, April 20th) before reading this.
Part I: Girl in the Mirror ‘Verse Masterlist
Part II: Pinstripes & Jacquard ‘Verse
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12
Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18
Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24
Chapter 25 Chapter 26
Please make sure you’ve read Chapter 26, Time For A Change (posted Friday, April 20th) before reading this.
New York, 2008…
River Song appeared in a buzzing blue haze of teleport exchange in the New York branch of the UNIT office minutes before the arrival of the Dalek ships that were fated to attack. Her hairdo swished and bobbed as she sought her objective.
She had a timeline to set right.
After regenerating, the Doctor had closed the rift above Estannia Sylvannatonna with the TARDIS’ Relative Dimensional Stabilisers. While erasing the Valeyard portion of Ten’s memories in the Matrix had collapsed most alternative timelines and healed the cracks in time, some things could not be changed back. There were still some minor effects on local causality-some things that wouldn’t self correct, some timelines that had atrophied from the changes.
Martha’s fate was one of them.
So they had to do it manually…
“Martha!” she yelled. “Martha Jones!!”
A brown skinned woman in a black UNIT forces uniform turned her head away from the windows in alarm.
“Who the hell are you?” she bleated, recognizing the Vortex Manipulator wrapped around her wrist.
“The Doctor sent me!” River replied. In her arms she held the experimental Sontaran teleport device called Project Indigo. She’d nicked it only moments ago from a storage closet in the building.
“Take me to him,” Martha ordered, running towards her.
“Oh, Honey,” she purred. “I’m afraid you’ve got to take the long way ‘round…”
Gallifrey, Present Day…
The TARDIS door opened, and a new man came home again.
It’d only been a few days since the last time he’d been here, back when he’d been dead, back when he’d been a she…
He wore a simple light grey summer-weight suit. He was tie-less, and his pristine loden green dress shirt set off his eyes. It was also unbuttoned to reveal a thatch of ginger on his chest.
River had called him one sexy bastard before he’d dropped her off. He was still grinning from that…
He lugged the heavy, coffin-like extradimensional teleportation module into the survivor’s camp deep underground. There was no need to notify them about the time slippage being rectified; they would have felt that already. In fact, things appeared to be back to normal. He could see people tending the fields below as the spring sluiced down the irrigation channels to water the plantings and gardens below. In a clearing of lush scarlet grass was a grouping of Time Tots, no doubt going through the first stages of brainbuffing, a rapid learning programme that had been used to prepare the mind of Timelords since time immemorial. Off in the distance he saw Flutterwings-proper, non-mutated Flutterwings-flitting about from tree to tree. It made his hearts light to know that a few of these had survived, not everything had been lost, and all might someday make it back to the surface above.
Someday.
The Doctor heard a small, polite coughing next to him and he turned to see the Keeper.
“Keeper!” he greeted the old man and shook his hand warmly.
The Keeper regarded him curiously, his eyes shifting from the TARDIS to the ginger-haired, crinkly-eyed, middle-aged man standing in front of him. “Doctor?”
The Doctor grinned. “Yep! It’s me! Had a bit of a bother with the Valeyard. Nothing I couldn’t handle, however. Unfortunately, it took my last regeneration to do it though!”
The Keeper continued to eye him. “I see,” he said. Obviously the Doctor hadn’t quite figured out that the Restorative Elixir hadn’t just resurrected the Twelfth Doctor, but had completely restored the regenerative cycle...
The Doctor now had eleven regenerations left.
“I am very pleased to see you won the day,” the Keeper congratulated.
Uncomfortable with the idea of being lauded for besting himself, the Thirteenth Doctor grimaced and waved his hand. “Yeah, well, like I said. All better now. No more time slippage. You probably already know that, but you can tell the Master that the Time War is still safely Time Locked. Oh! And another thing!” he gestured towards the metal coffin. “I brought you this!” Brightening, he dragged the bulky thing in front of him. “It’s an extradimensional teleportation module! It’ll take a single occupant to the Matrix.” With a flourish, he produced the key that his Tenth self had made and that his previous version had fixed. “Keeper? May I present you with your Key…”
Amazed, the Keeper reverently held out his hands to accept the (revised) Key of Rassilon, the key that the Doctor’s Tenth self had fashioned, but the Twelfth had perfected with her own blood, sealing in the Rassilon Imprimatur and allowing its bearer access to the Matrix, once more.
“There,” said Thirteen solemnly to the man. “You are restored to your charge: A Keeper once more.”
The old man’s eyes wobbled with emotion as he clutched the precious Key in his hands. Just holding it, he felt like a proper Timelord again. A little piece of the old world brought back to life, the past linked to their future-tradition restored. He looked at the Doctor, but could find no words.
The Doctor smiled and nodded fleetingly before he spun around towards his TARDIS. “That’s all. Gotta go. Tell the Master I’ll check back in regular intervals…”
But he stopped as he saw into the Looming Room.
All of the ancient, gnarled, tree-like Looms were empty, save one female individual on the end, as if she were overlooking the valley below. From his vantage point, she resembled a typical Looming in process. She was the size of a three-year old, by standard Looming practices, but was completely finished, nonetheless.
“Who’s she?” asked the Doctor, pointing at the girl, wondering why she hadn’t been released from the Loom yet.
“The Vessel,” replied the old man.
The Keeper explained what the Master’s price for resurrecting the Doctor had been and how he had charged the genetic experts among the survivors to experiment with Jack’s DNA to create vessels that the Master could eventually implant himself into. “But out of all of them, only this remains,” he explained. “Unfortunately, the Master has deemed it ‘too human,’ and it must be destroyed.” He shook his head, sadly.
“Too human?” asked the Doctor.
The Keeper nodded. “Yes. The Master wished for a combination of the immortal one’s indestructibility, and his own Timelord brilliance-in order to regenerate himself into it when the time came. But the Vessel only has one heart-which isn’t a problem, necessarily-many who are Loomed who eventually become Timelords are born with one heart and grow a second upon their first regeneration… But this one, the DNA suggests that the human strains far outweigh the Timelord ones. It is a weak hybrid, and therefore is too inferior to receive the Master’s consciousness.”
The Doctor went around the old man and entered the Looming Room, heading straight for the “inferior” Vessel stretched out on the farthest Loom.
In their haste to clean up the leftover mess from the Valeyard, River had never told him what she had needed to do to secure the resurrection for his Twelfth self… And he had forgotten to ask.
The Doctor removed his sonic screwdriver and scanned the girl.
What he found supported the Keeper’s claims: Female humanoid, about three years in age physically, but possessing some scant traits and genetic signatures of that of a Timelord.
In other words: Human, plus.
Her wispy, blonde, corkscrew hair fluttered in the breeze as she laid peacefully on the Loom.
Despite whatever the Master saw, the Doctor knew this wasn’t just any ordinary Looming.
The Doctor fought for his words as something akin to fear pooled in his gut.
Yes, she was too human. She would always be too human...
“I persuaded him to keep her,” muttered the Keeper, who was now by his side. “I told him to allow it to finish as an experiment so that we might learn from our mistakes. It is the only reason he has allowed her to remain. However, he grows impatient to be rid of her. He says it only reminds him of how his geneticists failed him, and how Earth has betrayed him in the past.”
“You sound as if you don’t want her destroyed,” said the Doctor.
“No,” he admitted. “I do not.” He sighed. “It is odd. Yet despite her humanness, she exhibits unusual qualities.”
“Like what?”
“Well,” the Keeper explained, “Loomed individuals are not conscious to the process and have no memories of the Loom.”
The Doctor looked at the old man, deciding not to break his beliefs by telling him his own memories of the Loom, and said instead: “Is there something odd about the Vessel?”
“Yes. She seems sentient, even if she does not speak.”
The loom she was on was closest to the edge of the barrier between the Looming Area and the burgeoning Gallifreyan nature preserve below.
“What’s odd about her?” asked the Doctor. “Why do you think she remembers?”
“She appears to enjoy the song of the river below,” replied the Keeper, thoughtfully.
The Doctor’s eyes grew wide. “Show me!” he said.
The Keeper snapped her fingers, and the Vessel’s eyelids reflexively snapped open, revealing the wise, childlike, and beautiful blue eyes of a tiny River Song.
There was nothing else for it.
After releasing her from her prison, the Doctor scooped her up and quickly headed out with her. “Never let him do this again!” ordered the Doctor, as he carried the girl safely in his arms. “And tell the Master that if he ever ties to manipulate life like this I will come back and personally destroy him! Have you got that!? Timelords will continue to regenerate-just as we have done for millennia!” Unlocking the TARDIS, he had one last message: “Tell him, he’s just gonna have to find a way to put up with his own rubbish body-maybe he should just go back to dyeing his beard!”
The doors swung shut on Gallifrey once again.
“C’mon, you,” he said to the tiny girl, “Time to run.”
After leaving Gallifrey, he opened the door to the TARDIS in some random section of spacetime and released an object into space. It was the Gem of Salvation, removed from Ten’s body in the Matrix.
The violet coloured psychic gem tumbled away into the anonymity and vastness of space, hopefully never to be heard from again.
Next Stop: Somewhere on 51st Century Earth…
He hesitated on the doorstep. There was a part of him that wondered if he was doing the right thing. The Doctor took in the surrounding neighborhood. Not the best place, certainly. Looked a bit rough at the edges.
Was this really the best place after all?
The tiny blonde girl who could not talk yet clutched at him through his tweed coat. She smelled of Gallifrey.
“It’s gonna be ok,” he reassured her, knowing she couldn’t possibly understand.
She would never remember any of this.
It was just as well.
Spoilers, and all that.
He knocked on the door and waited for his friend.
The barrel of his Webley revolver greeted him before his friend did.
If there was surprise in Jack Harkness’s liquid blue eyes, it was not because of the little girl the Doctor reveled that was shivering, hidden inside his coat.
Because Jack had been waiting for this day for ages.
He accepted the child without question.
The Doctor never told him who the “mother” was…
Some things were just too difficult to say.
A Few Days Later, Back To 2026…
His measured, even footsteps disturbed the immaculately manicured gravel on the walkway with dull crunches. He watched his feet as they swung out from his legs. New legs. Not bad. He wore a battered old pair of leather wingtips again.
Strange how certain cravings reappeared after years of being dormant…
His fingers clutched his parcel as he trudged on. Wasn’t far now.
River had called him rash and impetuous when he’d told her his plan, but he’d known better. It would be fine. In and out, no problems. He had to do it. There was something he’d forgotten to do, and it bugged him.
Plus, he had to see her.
This was one man who refused to go sauntering off.
He knew just where to go and mixed easily into the group. No one thought twice at yet another ginger-haired man in black.
She also arrived on time. She looked nervous and awkward, fiddling with her sunglasses. She swayed a bit in the wedges she had only just bought, nursing a brand new blister that would take days to heal.
She also wore a structured suit in a fabric that in less polite circles might be called somewhat ostentations-in even less polite circles, clownish.
But he didn’t care; he’d always loved that suit.
Although, he’d forgotten about the curly hair…
It didn’t matter to him though, because to him, she was beautiful.
The Thirteenth Doctor watched as his Twelfth self struggled through the ceremony. It’d been a hard few days for her, losing Amy, and Rose-in another way-only days before. But she’d stayed to say goodbye to her friend. She’d stayed to clean up the emotional mess.
And that had been a big deal.
They were on the eulogy now, and even though it was his second time around, he had a difficult time listening to it. Because this time it wasn’t just about the death of his good friend and loyal companion, Amy, it was also about losing her-losing Twelve.
It was a ludicrous thought, he knew; after all, there she was across from him-alive. And regardless of the differences in the time continuum at the present moment, she was still present, still a part of him now-still quintessentially, the Doctor.
But the truth was that he felt he owed his previous self so much.
Because of her, he was now more centered than he’d ever been before. He was calmer, more focused. He had given up on flashy, individualistic clothing. He didn’t need those things any more, cos he knew who he was. In contrast, she’d struggled so much to assert her individualism, tormented within a pluralistic mind. Her whole regeneration had been plagued with self-doubt and internal struggle-but she’d solved it. And, thanks to her working through all that, he now knew so much more about himself and felt so much more at ease with himself and who he was.
He also knew-really knew, deep down in his bones knew-that he was loved. For the first time in ages, he could actually let that in.
And it felt brilliant.
She had also released him from the emotional prison of the Time War, or at least his own crippling guilt about it. And whilst he wasn’t exactly overjoyed with having been the one to push the button and sacrifice his people to their ultimate fate, he did have a lot more compassion for himself and the choices he’d made. It helped, too, to know that there were hundreds of survivors toiling underground to rebuild their way of life-minus their previous master’s inclination for bloody, vengeful, pointless war.
And speaking of the Master… Needless to say, he was grateful to know precisely where he was at all times, and additionally that he apparently had no interest or means to leave (yet). He’d also been surprisingly welcomed back home with open arms. While he still wasn’t completely comfortable being there-and wouldn’t exactly be building a summer home on the ruined shores of Gallifrey in the foreseeable future-he could at least go there and not be shunned like the leper he once thought himself to be.
As a result, there was a peace in his hearts that he hadn’t felt in many years or regenerations.
And she had done all these things for him.
It was her gift to him.
And he loved her for it. He loved her for everything.
He loved how much she cared, he loved how much she tried; he loved how vulnerable she was, and how much personal responsibility she wielded. He even loved the glitter nail varnish and that crazy suit of hers.
The hair had been pretty terrific, too…
In truth, he couldn’t have become him without having been her.
Now it was time for him to give back.
When he wiped his eyes he noticed her staring at him.
He wanted to go to her, to reassure her that it was all going to be all right-that she would find her way, end her pain, have her time and be pretty damn fantastic along the way… but he knew he couldn’t.
All he could do was faintly smile at her through his reverent sorrow. He hoped that would be enough… but he already knew it was.
Suddenly, the crowd shifted as the minister gave the final blessing. The Doctor took his cue to leave, leaving the other one behind.
But before he vanished, he left the modest bouquet of sunflowers he’d brought on the coffin…
In memory of…
******
The Doctor walked up to the new console that stood like a jewel set in his entirely re-decorated “desktop.” Sure, it lacked a bit of the sleek, modern flash that his Eleventh incarnation had, and was a bit retro with the brass and the tawny wood, but it was gorgeous just the same. Rather more traditional gentleman’s club than his Eighth incarnation’s Gothic Cathedral meets Library hidey-hole, it was familiar, but still entirely different-kind of like him, he figured: Familiar, but altogether new as well.
Somehow, the TARDIS had managed a very comfortable hybrid of console room and modest personal library, complete with a worn, tufted leather settee with nail head trim, a gigantic old seventh century cartographer’s globe (sixty centimeters in diameter, mounted in a floor-stand) that was, indeed, actually a freestanding bar hiding a small selection of liquors! To the side of the sofa was a vintage Royal Doulton character mug in the shape of Winston Churchill’s head sitting on a leather-inlaid occasional table, which gave him a good giggle looking at it. Poking a curious finger into the mug, he found it filled with cellophane wrapped butterscotch drops, one of which he promptly unwrapped and stuffed in his mouth. A satisfied groan quickly followed.
Offhand-between the liquor and the sweets-he wondered if the TARDIS knew something about this new incarnation that he didn’t know already…
But she had truly outdone herself this time! The entire place had the look of a place the men would retire to smoke cigars and talk of politics in Jane Austen books. It even had proper library ladders and a loft above containing plenty of old, leather-bound books that looked interesting enough to ward off the deadly dullness of a typical Thursday afternoon!
His teeth crunching up the caramel sugary sweetness of the butterscotch drop, he hurriedly reached into Winston’s hollow ceramic head for another. “Mmmm… So sorry, Winston. Don’t mind me…”
With another giggle at the TARDIS’ wicked sense of humour about the mug, he unwrapped another sweet and popped it into his mouth as he continued to look around.
The hexagonal shaped, coffered wood ceiling arched into the wall on one end to gracefully form the familiar roundels the TARDIS had always had, filling the room with glowing amber light. She also had a rather nice stone fireplace at one end, which he could already imagine dozing in front of. His new home smelled of pine pitch, brass, beeswax, wool and leather. She had a very homey interior, indeed; the entire place felt just like his old wingtip loafers: warm, lived-in, and comfortable.
He loved it.
With a gigantic, appreciative, toothy grin, he stroked the console, a mashup of old and new tech, rife with a bunch of new gadgets that looked straight out of a Victorian adventure novel.
He couldn’t wait to try them out.
“Whatdya say, old girl, how’s about showing me the sights?” He lovingly fingered the brass controls, setting them to random and bowed, slightly. “Wherever you think I need to go, of course…” When he winked, there was a mischievous glint and a crinkle around his eye.
Pulling the handbrake, his beloved TARDIS pointed the new new new new new Doctor to a whole new set of adventures…
Everything was going to be just fine.
End.
*To all of you who have followed this, I thank you. Whether you were there from the beginning, stumbled onto it in progress, or way after the last posting date; commented sporadically, most of the way through, or lurked in the shadows-if you read it, thank you.
Originally, I started writing D/R shippiness during a long and painful recovery from being ill. Specifically, I started writing Girl In The Mirror as a way to deal with coming to terms with one of the main side effects of my illness-namely not being able to have kids. So as a result, it’s no accident that Twelve struggles through the whole first half to figure out what it means to be female. Finding my definitions needed to change, it was something I struggled with at first, too. So we struggled together, Twelve and I. Similarly, also no accident are the many instances of rocky, ruined or barren caves, or even any of the dusty tunnels and caverns that are found in abundance in Part II. Although, once Ten finally landed in the underground city on Transboolian, I finally noticed what my subconscious had been doing all along. As a result, the Shades came about from me accepting my own internal symbolism, and playing it for all it was worth! I hope they were as creepy to you as they were to me.
As you can guess by now, this project was far more than just some little writing exercise, it became a sort of occupational therapy. It has also been a journey three years in the making for me. It was a labor of love as well as a journey through my own creative process. This is something I’ve wanted to do since I was ten, write a book-sized project. Counting Part I and Part II, the entire adventure is approximately 173,560 words (Pt I = 71,055w + Pt II = 102,505w)!!
This is certainly one thing I can now cross of my bucket list!
Of course, special thanks go out to my amazing, supportive, and long-suffering BetaBabe, akkajemo! I’ve sung her praises many times, but to me she deserves champagne, roses and ticker-tape parades! She cajoled and encouraged, cheered me on and cracked the whip-and was hardly ever wrong when it came to characterization. She made me rewrite a few of my drafts during the process, and while I may have grumbled, she was always right and the story was all the better for her insistence. I’m sure at least a few lines or passages that were your favorites came directly or indirectly from her. She listened to me angst over story details and breathlessly conspired with me as I plotted. She’s my Willow Rosenberg working quietly but powerfully in the background, and I love her. She also provided the many icons and chapter illustrations posted along the way. Couldn’t have done it without you, babe! Thanks so much!!
I cried while writing the last 900 words or so. I hope it touched you, too.
♥