Death of Cold
A Doctor Who Fanfic
"You know, you're going to catch your death of cold like that… " said the Tenth incarnation of the Doctor, folding his hands behind his back.
The Other, as he had taken to calling himself, languidly withdrew his fingers – they were just as long and pretty as the proper Time Lord's, thank you- from the cool, brisk water of the TARDIS swimming pool and played them over one of the larger pieces of indigo shale that formed the poolside.
"You would know, wouldn't you?" he bit back sharply, a bit out of habit, a bit out of shameless angst at the constant honest demise of his good mood.
To think that He'd just had to come in and spoil his swim…
"Don't be that way. You know it wasn't my fault, erm, our fault. Or Rose's. Stop blaming ourself for nature's way, would you? It's becoming a bit distracting, up here!"
The Doctor tapped His temple; said it so easily like He'd been rehearsing… and of course the Other knew He had…
A tut from the perturbed man in the pool; the soreness of this subject was not going to be antique or forgotten any time soon.
"Stop referring to us as us and –I- may consider retiring to the parlour near the kitchen… that is, if that particular parlour is still –near- the kitchen."
Strange, the Doctor's sudden, maddeningly understanding quirk of the lip seemed to resonate through the TARDIS corridors like a promise. The Other found himself wondering at it, musing, sifting through layers of dust in his mind as he would have done in the months before, when he'd still been Him.
"Are you in heat, or something? You're being awfully accommodating, -Doctor-."
The Other felt his own special something, that long and hard and narrow something that was only his, tighten, squirm, coil and boil, flinch and perk like legions of angels trying to stick far too many camels through a needle. And it was –his- needle. He'd always been good at sewing, but how the Doctor could be acting this way now was beyond him. Wasn't –he- the one with the horrendous part-human gift of oh so generous libido?
Worse, was the bonafide original doing what he thought he was doing?
"Well, the facts are what they are, after all. A body has needs, no matter what way you peel your banana."
How could He remain so calm, after saying something like that? The Other was flabbergasted at his full Time Lord self's sudden descent into sexual innuendo. Had the old dot finally gone senile? To his horror, he found then that he quite wanted to step out of the water, despite the harrowsome fact that his signature ripened cluster of physical accoutrement would be upturned, dangling like ready rockets in the air, always inconsiderately seeking venture toward temporary housing in erm… conjugal orbit.
Why was he thinking about such things? Damn them both, the human woman who'd made them better and the full Gallifreyan he'd been in the time before the Hand. Course, why was he bothering to think of it that way? Even before they'd become separate people, the Doctor had still not been a pure blooded Loomling… his mother had been human. Well, not really. That rumour had been just a joke he'd used to secure an ID at the observatory that night with Grace.
"Mmm. Your mother was Donna, technically," said the Doctor as he sat down on the edge of the pool beside the Other, not bothering to take any of his clothing off as the pool water soaked into his shoes, his socks, his pants, the pockets of the long long coat that Janis had given him; the coat that, although it did a kind of comic, Indie justice to his younger, older yet still so thin body, no longer quite fit.
Perhaps… perhaps it was time for a change... he wasn't going to be Ten much longer, anyhow.
"And my mother was, quite frankly, not Donna at all. Seems to me, me, me and me there's no conundrum here. You feel a bit tense, a bit terse. I can help with that. Being me, you know I can."
He reached for the Other's damp brown head, stretching out his arms with a sweetness on his face that his duplicate could only describe as… a kiss of apple grass mingled with banana and the universally-favoured aroma of Earth-Solian bread baking. Then there was a faint scent of cookies, and candy, and pie, and… Oh yes, the Doctor could lay on the pheromones when he wanted to… using those gene-enhanced Gallifreyan talents… but the Other knew it wasn't just another goad, knew the genuine, honest welcome in it like he knew the mole between his shoulder blades.
"Stop reading my mind, you chaff. And as for us, we both know why you consulted Six."
"We never consulted Six about anything, none of us, till we needed to yesterday. He was mad as a loon and more dangerous than a weeping angel on a bender."
Suddenly the Doctor looked down, his eyes vacant.
The Other knew that look; a classic -I am remembering, thinking too hard about something and amusing myself at the same time… - look. Was He worried about something? Why mention Six? Their Sixth incarnation had been so worm-eaten, so…
Wait a moment... all at once he shoved his eyebrows to the ceiling and turned to stare, mock-pouting over his shoulder every few minutes at a certain bemused Time Lord with a happy little sparkle in His eye.
"You were upset. I got an idea about the crazy from talking with Six. Feel better?"
"Almost, you old fool, almost. You got me to say We! You got me to say Us. Course I'm gonna feel better! Can we get on with it?"
The Other smiled across his own gritted teeth and then held out his hand. "The feeling better, I mean? Speaking of being depressed, my erm… external drive is humming, overheating something awful."
His fingers may have ghosted across his groin, but his eyes never strayed from the only other set of eyes in the room. "This… this will be different won't it? You all right for this, Old Man?"
The Doctor sighed, looked down, and began to pick away the parts of his clothing he would no longer need, watching as his doppelganger pinched his own hardening nipples idly through the tight white tee shirt he'd thrown him, as if he could force his very human bits to stop needing release for any real length of time. The poor bastard… it was going to be a while before he was truly adjusted to being finite, in the sense that he was completely finite, now, as opposed to before.
"Why don't I take a look under the chassis? Perhaps there's a loose wire."
He let the Other undo his brown pinstripe pants with wet white teeth and those moist, thin lips that dripped with anxious froth.
The Other gasped as the bottoms of those pinstripes slipped away, sucked in a breath. "This would be… considered… quite odd by our Solian friends, right now, but nonetheless, I thank you for the opportunity," he managed, "… and want… most fervently for you to know… that I am not… not entirely angry with you for leaving Rose with me that… day on the beach. She said she always knew she wouldn't have us forever… guess, guess she… wanted… to move on, either that, or… knew she… had to. I had her body buried in Japan… It was so strange, her dying. I buried her in our favorite spot and then I just… I had to get away."
The Gallifreyan took his partly human double's spiky head and rested the oftentimes destitute mess against his naked torso, running long slender fingers over and under and through and between, connecting, protecting, seeking to disinfect his new one-hearted not quite pet from all the horror of creation.
"If you want a tree to grow the way you want it to, you must plant it yourself."
He paused, taking a breath as the Other took His manhood into his mouth and gave a little convulsive shake with the cold of Him as the Doctor bucked sweetly, then carefully released the desired fluid down His charge's hungry gullet.
"And even then, my dear boy, there are always surprises. Do tell me if you become tired. We both know you can't possibly fatigue me, so don't worry. Even if you make me pregnant. You need a reprieve, and this is your moment. Relax!"
The Other's eyes bulged at this; -Even if he… what? What?- still, the Old Man had a point. It was no longer fitting to call Him his older self, being only months old. It felt so very strange, having a different set of animal normalities forced upon him by his very bones, his blood, his traitor genes. Oh yes, he reasoned, as his mouth migrated over the Doctor's slim bony thighs; he'd always been a dessert first man, before this, this separation. Strange how so many evolved species couldn't understand that sex could be made enjoyable without causing harm; in his own case, especially, he relished the Doctor's patience with him, the sympathy and understanding that radiated from the man despite himself. He himself would never be able to comfort someone with that same skill, again… mentally, physically, spiritually. So he savoured the taste of each moment between breaths, and just… fell away.