The Ginger Doctor

The Doctor groaned, stretching and blinking at the underside of the TARDIS console.  Well, at least that explained where he was, even if it didn’t explain what had happened.  “Right,” he mumbled, reaching up to grab onto the edge of the console and pull himself up.  His arm moved a lot faster than he thought it would, and it required a lot less pull to get himself upright, so he ended up splayed over the console with a new bruise on his wrist.

“Well, that’s new.”  New....  New!  Straightening, he carefully examined his hands and grinned.  “New hands!  I guess I was forgetting something!  Good lord, I’m tiny now....”  He followed his arms up to his elbows, and then started spotting some very, very alarming differences.  “Oh.  Oh.  Um....  Isn’t this awkward.”  Sure, they were his--should he even be thinking that about himself anymore?--but he still didn’t really know what to do with that knowledge.

Squirming uncomfortably led to a new revelation, though.  Long hair!  It fell in his face, and he squealed with delight, seizing a lock of it and holding it up to see the color better.  “At long last!  Ginger!”  After lots more examination, and a bit of tossing his head around with the new experience of how long hair whips about, he put his hands on his now rather curved hips and surveyed his TARDIS.

Then, the Doctor sighed.  “No use in being sentimental, I guess.  Fine, fine, I’m a she, now.  Don’t really feel like a ‘she’, but I suppose I don’t know how ‘she’s are supposed to feel.  Unbalanced, apparently.” 

While she was still trying to figure out how the new body operated, a banging sounded at the door of the TARDIS.  “Doctor!  Amy!  Really need you out here!”

“Oh!  Rory!  Yes, Rory, wonderful Rory, of course it’s Rory!”  Grinning, the Doctor dashed out of the TARDIS to check on him, but ended up running smack into him instead.  “Oh, hello Rory!”

“Hello.”  He helped her steady herself, but eyed her with confusion.  “Are you all right?  Where’s--”

“Coming, don’t you worry.  Now, Rory.”  The Doctor leaned in a little closer, and Rory leaned in, too, out of habit.  “What happened?” she whispered.  “Memory’s a little fuzzy; I seem to have misplaced a couple more recent pieces.”

“Uh, well,” Rory began, but that was about when the Doctor actually started looking around.  Daleks.  Lots of them.  That didn’t really require a whole lot of explanation, and she was sure that the rest of the details would filter in as her brain settled into its new box.  Its new ginger box!  She really couldn’t get over that.  It had finally happened!

“Never mind.  Got it.”  She stepped forward to address them.

“Ah!  I think we should wait--!”

“Daleks!” she called, putting her hands on her hips and leveling a challenging look at them.  “Sorry for the wait.  I’m ready to listen to your grand scheme to destroy everything again so that I can stop you all cold in your tracks.”

“WHAT IS THIS TRICKERY?” one Dalek demanded.

“WHERE IS THE DOCTOR?” from another.

“WE SHALL DEFEAT THE DOCTOR!  YOUR EXTERMINATION IS OF NO CONSEQUENCE!”

“Amy, really, we should wait for the Doctor,” Rory called quietly, creeping his way forward to try and snag her hand and drag her back.

“We don’t have to--wait, Amy?  Did you just call me Amy?”  The Doctor turned in a circle, looking at the outfit she was wearing, which looked nothing like the old jacket and bowtie that his last regeneration had worn, which should logically be what she was still wearing.  “What?”  Instead, it was a jean skirt, boots, and a tight little t-shirt with a jacket over it.  “Now, really, what’s the point in wearing a jacket if you’re wearing a short skirt?”  The Doctor put her hands on her hips.  “Does that even make sense?”

“You’re ... not Amy?” Rory took a wild guess.

The Doctor held a finger up to the Daleks.  “Hold that thought.”  Charging back into the TARDIS, she headed into the back to find the wardrobe which had the best mirror for this very problem.  Pushing impatiently past the racks of clothes, she finally stopped in front of the full mirror and stared straight into Amelia Pond’s face.

“AAAAAHHHHH!!!”  The Doctor felt cold metal suddenly.  Back in the TARDIS control room, lying on the floor again face down.  “Quick, quick!  Hands, face, hair....  Not ginger!”  Springing up, the Doctor rediscovered his whole body all over again and leaned against the console, breathing deeply and running a hand over his face.  “A dream.”

“Amy!”

He jumped, then put a hand through his hair to try and disguise the motion, as if those two even made any sense together.  “Rory, go look for your wife someplace else!” he snapped, turning to the console and flipping dials to busy himself so that his tone wouldn’t draw suspicion.  He kept an eye on Rory discreetly, though, and as soon as he was out of sight, the Doctor dashed off to find the mirror again, just to reassure himself.

“What a nightmare....”