The Doctor lying on his face, slowly rolled himself over. With his eyes still closed, and his mouth un-dignifiedly agape, all at once his eyes popped open.
Slowly closing his mouth, he carefully sat up.
"I'm alive! I'm alive!" the Doctor exclaimed, touching his chest, delighting wholly in the strong, even, twin thump thumping emanating from beneath his fingertips. "And beginning to think I really do have ninety lives."
"This is the Game of Rassilon!"
The Doctor grinned toothily, rubbing his nose. Spying his rolled up scarf, he reached for it. Shaking it out, he wrapped the white muffler round his neck. Ever cautious, he stood. He couldn't remember when he had felt so good.
"You know, Lord Rassilon, you tend to say that an awfully lot. But this is not to be misconstrued as I am not grateful for your constant interference in my lives."
Then it dawned on him. He was alone. Narrowing his eyes, they slowly panned the room once more, just to be doubly sure, as he reached into his pocket to retrieve his cloth belt. "Where is the shadow, Lord Rassilon?"
"As a service to the White Guardian you destroyed him somewhere between the twin planets of Atrios and Zeos."
"No," the Doctor disagreed, shaking his curly mop, putting on the brown sash, tying it to his waist. "Not that particular Shadow, but the pint sized, personal, tagalong."
Waiting for Rassilon's reply, he rebuttoned the top button of his shirt, retying the dangling, checkered neckerchief.
"Behold, Doctor!"
A wide screen monitor materialized out of thin air.
The Doctor was to be treated to a replay, of the little Doctor's plea for his life.
'This is the Game of Rassilon!' boomed the voice from the monitor.
"See what I mean?" the Doctor interrupted.
"Silence!" the projection roared. "You are to watch this video, Renegade. And you are to listen with rapt attention."
Slowly a large overstuffed, wingback chair materialized beside the Doctor. He obediently sat down. Settling into it the Doctor began to balk. "What ... no popcorn?"
"Sh ... This is important!" Rassilon's hologram insisted.
The Doctor grinned, turning his eyes back to the monitor as the replay continued to play out.
"She's got you there, Rassilon," the Doctor said, nodding his agreement.
The projections's irritation grew. "Renegade ... must I bind and gag you?"
The Doctor slowly shook his head and smiled, crossing his hearts, he decided he would at least try to behave; as the video tape continued to unfold its drama.
'Please restore him. If you wait too long, even you ...'
'You are assuming I can do such a thing, Renegade. Suppose ... suppose, just for the sake of argument, I could. Why should I expend such a storehouse of energy?'
The little Doctor's long silence sent the Doctor wondering with her.
'Because ... because ... because, I love him, Lord Rassilon.'
The Doctor bolted upright, registering, very sincere shock. This was an unexpected turn of events!
But wait ... what was she saying?
" ... Allow his continued existence, and, and you can take me in exchange.'
An exchange? The Doctor shook his head.
As the little Doctor continued to speak, the Doctor couldn't help but be keenly interested in what she was going to say, or revel, next.
The Doctor sat up straighter, placing a hand to his chin. He was a captive audience then? Without question.
'Allow him to continue his caring ... directive, interference. It will only be to their good, and to your glory.'
The Doctor grinned widely stroking his nose in approval. This Doctor could baffle gab with the best of we. Even ... almost as good as the he!
'Agreed. But the consequences to you personally, should I comply with your request, Renegade.'
'Of no consequence, Lord Rassilon.'
'No Time Lady, you are of very great consequence!'
The Doctor was deeply touched by the little Doctor's lack of concern for her own persona, and struggled deep within himself, wanting to tell her so. So where was she? Rats! He did it again. What was Rassilon saying now?
'I have decided, Renegade. Return to your TARDIS, you have completed you mission.'
The Doctor grinned and nodded. "Good for you, Rassilon."
'No, Lord Rassilon!'
Her voice screamed from the monitor. The Doctor grinned widely at the little Doctor's affront. He stroked his nose and snuffled, his fingertips moving to his chin in contemplation.
'You dare to question me, Renegade?'
The Doctor's eyes narrowed with concern. Then appearing to just notice her tears, he began to realize not only the scope of her proposal, but her secret (till now) devotion of him.
"Aup!" he scolded himself ... he did it again. He must try harder to concentrate.
'You wish to serve me for all eternity? Are you sure, about this? Consider well.'
'Yes.'
The Doctor jumped up from his chair with a loud scream. "No! No, you can't let her do this. You can't do that, Rassilon!"
"Silence, Time Lord! I will not allow you to interrupt this tape again. You are to be a witness to all of this. Now sit down," the projection's voice commanded.
The Doctor stiffened. "Yes, Lord Rassilon," he submitted, sitting back down in very humble compliance.
'... Worthy of such an exchange as the one you offer?'
"Ah, ha! lil' Doc, he has you there," he whispered.
"... Because its wholeness cost the life of one sapient being, he disbursed it, without a second thought. I do not know if this Doctor would have done the same thing. After all Princess Astra was a willing participant ... And the Power of the Cube ... I am not all that certain that even you would not have succumbed to its temptation, Lord Rassilon.'
'Tread lightly, Time Lord.'
The Doctor nodded in agreement. He knew well she was risking much; all, as a matter of fact, and for him. His eyes remained glued to the monitor.
'Oh, no disrespect intended, Sir, just what I believe is fact. What about your De Matt gun?'
'What about it, Renegade?'
'His mind holds that secret too, but has he insisted galaxies bow down to him in terror stricken obeisance?'
The Doctor cocked an ear. "Only because I never quite thought of it like that, lil' Doc, I suppose. Point to you."
' ... Did not the White Guardian himself ...?'
'Sufficient, Time Lady, I was being factious. You have adequately established your point.'
The Doctor laughed. Already quite embarrassed by the little Doctor's opulent defense of him, Rassilon's rebuff pleased him thoroughly.
'Point ... point? But I haven't even gotten to the part about Singularity when he was still Fancy Pants, and I, still little Scarecrow.'
The Doctor grinned toothily at the little Doctor's 'twist' on their first encounter with Omega ... and once more his mind began to wander ... until ....
' ... My love for him is ... is ...'
The Doctor puzzled with her, and was deeply touched by her sudden vulnerability.
'Continue, Renegade, you've had tongue enough so far.'
'I don't know. Honestly, Lord Rassilon, I don't even know if this love for self, even if he is a clone, is ... correct.'
'The correctness of a situation, Prydonian, has never stopped you before.'
'Never had a situation quite like this before, Lord Rassilon.'
The Doctor nodded his head animatedly, agreeing whole heartsedly.
'But I do know ... he does not share the feelings ...I feel ... inside.'
The Doctor swiped his chin with his hand, realizing when push came to shove, he truly didn't know how he felt. The little Doctor's open honesty was forcing him to think about things, he had in the past, always so successfully avoided. His eyes moved back to the monitor.
'... Love potions are the simplest.'
'Not even a temptation, Lord Rassilon.'
"There, see!" The Doctor's eyes fell onto Rassilon's projection in vindication. "Good for you, Doctor." He lifted his head smugly.
'All shall be as you have commanded. Prepare for what is to come, Doctor.'
The Doctor's haughty expression slowly faded. He sat there stunned, not believing Rassilon would actually accept her offer.
'We did it my precious, Pi! We did it!'
"We did?" the Doctor questioned.
'I knew Rassilon could snatch you from the jaws of Death. I knew he could. Without even breaking into a sweat about it.'
As the Doctor watched, the little Doctor bent down to his motionless form, and gently stroked his face, and in turn his nose. Unconsciously the Doctor began to mimic her. When her hand began to caress his white scarf, he took hold of the muffler and began to gently rub it against his cheek.
'You'll never know how much I love you my precious clone, and maybe that is all for the best, and somehow that seems rather inconsequential anyway. What is important, is what you do with this life, I've freely given to you. That, that is the thing that matters most.'
Watching the little Doctor kiss his cheek, the Doctor touched himself on the same spot, his fingertips visibly trembling. Then when she bent to kiss his nose, the Doctor has to smile.
"Goodbye, Curly Teeth," the Doctor watched and heard her say. The Doctor smiled wistfully, and mouthed her his own silent, "Goodbye."
As the little Doctor's fingers returned to his nose, he duplicated her gesture.
'And I will miss this nose, most of all, though I do not fathom why.'
The Doctor smiled ever so wanly.
As the little Doctor began to softly 'waffle' to him, the Doctor found himself muttering the sounds along with her.
'You wish to change your mind, Renegade? Even now, it is not too late.'
'No, Lord Rassilon, this course of action is far ... far too important.'
'Renegade?'
'And what am I supposed to do with all these feelings, Lord Rassilon?'
'Which feelings, Renegade?'
The Doctor cocked his head. Yes, he was curious too.
'For instance, my constant need of wishing to be solely Ensconced by the Doctor.'
'Ah, yes, the ancient custom of Concealing and Protecting an adult female. "Hiding and Holding the Jewel?" ech, Renegade? A custom older even than Rassilon.'
The Doctor smiled at the eternal quote, marveling once more at the feelings the little Doctor had for him. Intense, deep, selfless feelings of ... well, love. At least, he observed, arching a brow, she believed she was in love.
'Where are these, almost overwhelming, emotions coming from, Lord Rassilon. I haven't eaten anything made of chocolate since I regenerated ... honest!'
The Doctor softly chuckled, rubbing an eye.
'Not from jams, or sweets, Renegade, but rather from the mind, and hearts, and imaginings of the very normal, aggressively Estrus driven, female of Gallifrey.'
The Doctor nodded, a slight smile teasing the corner of his mouth.
'Aggressive, I should think so! My mind keeps replaying the same thoughts, over and over again; waking or sleeping, sleeping or waking. Caress the Doctor's crimson wattles ... caress the Doctor's enticing twin navels ... caress. It's so disconcerting!'
'Indeed, Theta Sigma! But you females, be you high ranking Time Ladies or gentle, displaced Shebogans, have always been so.'
The Doctor nodded, when quite suddenly he thought of Romana: both personae. He nervously began to stroke his throat with the back of the fingertips of his right hand. Ah, yes. Disconcerting, to the extreme! His eyes darted back to the monitor.
'When I'm not deviously devising ways of firing the poor ol' Doc up ...'
The Doctor snarled an upper lip at the little Doctor on the screen.
' ... Caring for him during the difficult and sometimes violent Evening-times of his Cool-down.'
The Doctor slowly lifted his head, softly making ah "Ah," sound. "Yes," he hissed. "That ol' thing." Blinking, the Doctor's fingertips returned to his chin.
'Why am I discussing all of this with you, Lord Rassilon?'
'Most likely because there is no one else you can discuss it with, Renegadette.'
The Doctor looked at the little Doctor slightly hurt. "But you can discuss it with me, Doctor," he said at a whisper. "We can discuss anything. We can discuss everything."
'I really don't believe any of this, anyway. Any day now, I'm just going to ... to wake up. Very simple actually.'
The Doctor smirked. It was difficult for him too; especially, since he could do nothing ... nothing but observe. He sighed deeply, still unable to figure out where she had gotten off to. That fact very much disgruntled him. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. Wasn't it obvious? She should be at his side.
As the little Doctor took out her recorder, placing it in his pocket, the Doctor swallowed hard.
'Guess I won't be needing this any longer. Annoying Rassilon with my flute music wouldn't be half as much fun as it was annoying you. And, maybe, who knows, just maybe , it will bring me to mind ... every little once in a while, anyWHO.'
The Doctor reached into his coat and removed the flute, tenderly fondling it.
'I am ready, Lord Rassilon, but the moment has been prepared for.'
'So you said, one time before, Renegade.'
The Doctor nodded, finding himself remembering Logopolis ... the fear ... the pain ... and ... and the intense ... caring presence of the Watcher. The Watcher ... the Watcher ... what was it about the Watcher that so reminded him of ... the little Doctor? But surely not? That, that was totally absurd.
Still it was this Doctor who was the watcher in the woods ... now. And very intent he was too ... as he observed:
The little Doctor move from his prone form, towards the piercing, blue light. And as it began to slowly engulf her ... the Doctor heard her cry out.
And it was then that he began to realize the full totality of her sacrifice.
As his eyes began to glisten with hot, angry tears, he jumped up.
"No! No Rassilon! No, I forbid it!"
The monitor switched off, slowly de materializing, making similar sounds to that of a departing TARDIS.
"Rassilon ... Rassilon ... hear me!" the Doctor demanded. His voice may have been quavering, but his mind and hearts were firm resolute.
"Yes, Doctor?" Rassilon anticipated, with a sigh. More work to be done.
"You can't let this thing be. Undo it."
"Undo it, Doctor? That simple?" The projection seemed genuinely amused.
"Yes, undo it. You must dissinvent* this thing."
_____________________________________________
*Professor Herman Kahn's coined word, as told in:
Doctor Who AND THE THINK TANK
______________________________________________
"Disinvent?" Rassilon's projection asked indignantly. "Am I to spend all of eternity, Doctor, trans matting the two of you back and forth, forth and back between life and nonlife?
"No, no, of course not," he conceded. The Doctor suddenly brightened. "Unless," he began, taking the time to clear his throat, "you plan on establishing The Game of the Two Doctors."
"You dare to pseudo The Game of Rassilon?" the giant image bellowed.
"No, Lord Rassilon, no" the Doctor said, waving his hands before his face in a soothing gesture. "I only sought to ..."
"I know well what you sought to do, Renegade," the projection said with a snort. "And it is back to Lord Rassilon, now?"
The Doctor attempted a not so confidant smile.
"All right, for the moment I shall play at this mock game of yours, Doctor."
The Doctor sighed and smiled.
"So what do you offer me in exchange for the life of the true seventh segment of the one called, Doctor?"
"To serve you with gladness for all eternity."
"This other Doctor has already pledged that. And contrary to her feelings in the matter, I find her tiny nose greatly more bearable."
The Doctor chuckled at the very left handed compliment. "Only because you can hardly find the thing."
But then the Doctor became very solemn. "I should be allowed to offer the same gift, Lord Rassilon, as it is all I have."
"Point well taken, Doctor. Then I am agreed an Eternal Servitor in place of a Foster-Eternal."
Rassilon's hologram issued a final command. "Follow the bouncing ball."
The projection slowly disappeared.
"Wait a minute! Bouncing ball? What bounding ball?"
The Doctor's words were no more out of his mouth, when a bright ball of light popped on in front of him.
"Hum mm ... last time this happened, I was lead to a museum of me, and me, and me ... and to a somewhat tetchy clone of me!"
Shrugging his broad shoulders, the Doctor grimaced. Gesturing expansively towards the little globe of light he commanded. "Well, lead on Mc-Sprite."
After some twists, and turns, between several long corridors, the Doctor found himself in a large, mostly empty room.
Empty except for two, long and rather wide, gurney tables. On the table closest to him lie the little Doctor. The second was, mutely, patiently waiting for him.
The bouncing ball having once again its purpose served, winked out.
The Doctor wiggled the fingers of his right hand in a wistful gesture of goodbye. Then realized: the little Doctor was left armed!
"Just another example of your uniqueness, Doctor," he said chuckling.
Rassilon's projection nosily flipped and quivered into a materialization. "Lie down on the table provided, Doctor."
The Doctor nodded. "May I be allowed to say goodbye, first, Lord Rassilon?"
The hologram agreed.
The Doctor turned back towards the little Doctor.
For a very long time he stood over her in total silence.
At one point he began to fidget.
Finally ... he spoke. "Ah ... guess you are going to have to find yourself another SNAFU partner, Doctor. Hope the next one, you can manage to beat, more than just half the time."
For no particular reason the Doctor reached out and lightly batted at her nose.
Then, taking her recorder from his pocket, he paused, and grinned. He had intended to return it to her pocket. "You were so willing, so ready to sacrifice yourself for me. Who can fathom female logic, or a Doctor Who, who thinks she is in love?"
He shook his head, and returned her recorder to the pocket in his coat. Then, for reasons completely unknown to him, the Doctor lightly stroked the little Doctor's face with his fingertips. He was startled as to just how cool, and inviting her skin felt.
The Doctor blinked, swallowing hard.
Taking the edge of the little Doctor's scarf into his hand, he smiled winsomely. "You know, I have a woolen accessory just like this." Awkwardly he continued to fumble with the cloth. "Oh, twaddle, you stupid scarf. People count ... scarves hardly make either the man, or the woman."
The Doctor aggravatedly daubed the perspiration from his upper lip with the end of his own scarf.
"What's the matter with you, Doctor?" he admonished. "You've faced far worse than this before."
Rassilon's image smiled, remaining silent. He knew, and so too would the Doctor ... given time.
Clearing his throat, squaring his shoulders, the Doctor's eyes had to travel back towards the little Doctor's face.
Oh Lord ... oh, Doctor, she was so tiny ... so delicate ... so feminine. How could she possible be a persona of his own self? Surely Rassilon had fabricated this entire thing. This whole affair was becoming ever more preposterous, as time marched ever onward!
Suddenly, intrigued by a passing thought, the Doctor carefully took her hand into his, measuring the little Doctor's fingers' against his own. And the difference in length, breadth, shape and size was ...
The Doctor shook his head. "Might as well be holding hands with a child," he snorted.
Out of curiosity, the Doctor tried to wrap his thumb and forefinger round the little Doctor's wrist. His mouth gaped open. Without any great effort, his thumb and forefinger not only touched, they overlapped!
"Ridiculous!" The Doctor shook his mass of curls. "Simply, quite ridiculous! Me ... She ... We???" He snorted, and then hiccuped.
About to release her hand from his, the Doctor decided he didn't want to.
Cradling her hand, gently, in both of his, marveling as to how something so small, could do so many things, so remarkably well ... He shook his head. This is altogether silly, Doctor.
Resigning himself, the Doctor placed her hand back on its resting place.
Turning towards Rassilon's projection, the Doctor started to ask the ancient Time Lord a question, when he changed his mind.
Swiveling back round, the Doctor looked at the little Doctor very seriously.
Then without a another word carefully lifted her into his arms.
"Carry me, unconscious, through Rassilon's sub chambers, at a run, fleeing from armed Cybermen?" The Doctor sniggered. "Impossible! At the very least my legs would drag the ground!" The Doctor considered further. "Perhaps they did. So ... where do you keep such muscles, little Lady of Time?"
Tenderly brushing back the jumbled mass of curls covering her ear, with the side of his head, the Doctor nuzzled lightly at the heart shaped earring bearing a slender gold question mark. Lord, she smelled so good.
"Your Teeth & Curls bids you goodbye then, itty, bitty, Doctor." The Doctor grinned widely at his sudden inspiration. "Yes, what a perfect hypocoristic name for the seventh persona of the Doctor, Bitty. And when especially in a hurry, just holler, Bit!"
All at once the Doctor's expression smoothed out. The silly grin was gone and what replaced it was a sober, intense expression.
With many hesitations, several false starts, and wondering if he was even doing this right; the Doctor's lips met the little Doctor's. The Doctor had finally convinced himself to kiss her.
The kiss was brief, much like one would bestow upon a very dear friend, or a beloved sibling, but it vaporised a door, in the very heart of the Doctor's being. A door he had so long ago swore he would never allow anyone to ever touch, again. Already, though not yet realized by him, the tall, enigmatic Gallifreyan was a doomed Time Lord. No way out ... no way back ...
Nervously clearing his throat the Doctor sighed. Big deal, he thought. It was just a kiss of gratitude, a literal kiss of life. Hadn't the little Doctor just freely offered him the essence of her being?
Still, it was with a pair of very heavy hearts that the Doctor placed the little Doctor back on her table, gently lowering her head onto its pillow. Then he hiccuped again.
Up righting himself, he lightly stroked her cheek a second time. And another hiccup.
Briskly walking over to his table, he stretched himself out onto it.
Reaching out a long lanky arm, the Doctor stroked the little Doctor's cheek one final time.
The Doctor swallowed hard, thinking to himself, he couldn't recall the last time he'd been so thirsty. And ... would these aggravating hiccups never cease. Good grief!
"I am ready, Lord Rassilon," he insisted.
"Are you sure, Doctor?" the projection teased. "Are you indeed, finished?"
"Oh, get on with it!" the Doctor insisted, quickly followed by an extremely loud hiccup.
Clearing his throat, the Doctor snuffled loudly.
If he permitted himself the luxury of thinking about his present course of action ...
Putting his hands on his chest, the Doctor turned his head towards the ceiling, suddenly turning into a stone coffin knight; and tried hard, very hard, not to think about anything. (Especially the velvety tones of the little Doctor's laughter ... the enticingly sweet smell of her flutterwing, perfumed hair, and her pearl round ears, so soft, so ... tiny, he wondered, how on earth did she have room for such as earrings.)
Rassilon smiled. "Of course, Doctor ... Doctors."
A blue ray from the projection's eyes shot towards the Doctor, and he screamed, in spite of his firm resolution not to do so.
Then, as consciousness slowly deserted him, he would later reflect, in even greater detail on what he, so very briefly saw:
..........The little Doctor ... smiling coyly ... a head full of cascading curls, falling way below her shoulders ... dressed in a long, white satin sleeveless gown ... a smudge of dirt on her nose and left cheek ... holding a wrench in one hand ... and a humming gravitic anomaliser in the other ... while the fragmented words and tune of an American pop song ran through his mind: '... a tomboy in lace ...' ..........
In the silence then, surrounding the two, the slumbering Doctors began to disappear, wrapped in the protective mantle of a green trans matt beam.