Engendered Change
folder
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,945
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,945
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Doctor Who, nor am I making money from this.
Wardrobe
The tears were brief. The doctor managed to pull himself together with the firm resolve that he was fine and that this…change was merely a temporary adventure. It should be embraced as a chance for an experience that few could boast of, to get to know what it’s like as the opposite sex. So with this in mind, he resolutely marched himself to the wardrobe room.
Finding clothes that fit was rather harder than he expected. It wasn’t that there weren’t any so much as that there weren’t any he really felt comfortable wearing. Adventurous though he tried to be, he was in no way ready for a dress. Or anything that looked particularly feminine. In fact, what he really really wanted, was what he always wore. Except in a size that fit. And there was nothing remotely like that in his size. Which was just plain ridiculous considering the wardrobe’s resources and size.
“Come on!” he cried out loud, “There has to be something that fits and isn’t frilly or pink!” His voice didn’t make him cringe quite so much this time, perhaps because he was too distracted by his annoyance. Anger was better than sobbing any day. And if the wardrobe got a bit…messy, well, it was its own fault for not having what he wanted. Which was, if he was really honest with himself, a way to change back into a man or undo the past few days completely so the memories would get out of his head. Now if only time machines could work like that.
He was about ready to pull on one of Adric’s old outfits (never mind that the style was completely against his current aesthetics, or the fact that wearing a dead companion’s clothes, a companion who was dead because he was his companion, was about as good an idea as poking at a scabbed over wound with a hot poker) when he finally admitted that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. So he gave over shredding a few period dresses who had done nothing more than mock him in their frilly girly elegance, and gave in. Not to the dresses but to the fact that he simply had to make do with what he could find and possibly go shopping later. If he could find a place to shop where no one he has ever met or will ever meet would see him.
It took at least an hour of trying on clothes after that to admit that the girl’s outfits were easier. Even the smaller men’s clothes tended to be a bit on the baggy side when he tried them on, or far too tight across the chest. Rose’s clothes fit, somewhat, but he felt too weird to wear them, even the least girly one’s. Plus it was a bit disconcerting when his trials in her clothes revealed he was actually shorter than her now. He swore those scientists must have purposefully shrunk him; surely merely switching genders shouldn’t have lost him that much height! Had Jenny been this short? And wasn’t that a lovely thing to think of; as long as he was going to be nostalgic, standing among racks and racks of memories his thoughts had to throw a dead daughter into it. He might as well throw on Adric’s clothes with Rose’s sneakers. And now he was back to crying again. He’d blame it on being a woman but he knew better.
Arguing with himself did no good either. He knew this wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to him. All things considered, it probably shouldn’t even rate the top ten. It was just…difficult to get a handle on for some reason. It had been a while since he had felt so helpless in such a personal way. Being threatened with death, either to himself or his companions was one thing. This was different. Not as bad as, say, the time war. Maybe more along the lines of being possessed and almost thrown out of a shuttle by a bunch of humans and burned up by the sun. That had left him feeling similar, but then there had been Donna. Another companion gone.
He ended up wearing generic black trousers. The wardrobe had millions of them in all different sizes and with a single-minded purpose he sorted through them until he found some that fit. The top he finally grabbed was blue and not really to his current taste but bland enough that it didn’t repel him either. A bra was pushing it, but he finally conceded that the things flouncing about on his chest were rather awkward when given free range. Finding one to wear was awkward as well, but at least they didn’t bring up memories, good or bad, as he had no idea if anyone had ever worn the one he found before him. Luckily it was from a late enough century that it adjusted to his size automatically and he didn’t have to work hard to figure it out. But under absolutely no circumstances was he going to wear panties. Pants were just fine.
He was just getting into the whole dressing thing, searching out a coat that didn’t completely swamp him but still could offer large pockets, when the phone rang.
He froze, the relaxed, enjoyable atmosphere evaporating with the shrill ring that echoed from nearby. Of course it was nearby; even if it wasn’t to begin with the TARDIS had obliged by bringing it within hearing distance the moment it started ringing. He didn’t want to answer it.
Answering it meant someone needed him. Him, him; as in the man Doctor. And while he wasn’t really that different; nothing like as though he’d regenerated; he wasn’t ready to take this new form out for a spin, so to speak. It was partly from the desire to hide from what had happened and not have to explain it to anyone, and partly pure embarrassment. He really, really didn’t want anyone to see him like this. So much so that he actually considered just letting it ring.
He didn’t of course. There was a chance, a small one, that someone was just calling to say hi. It did happen from time to time. But more likely he was needed, and no matter that he had forgone companions, he wasn’t about to leave his old friends in a lurch. But he didn’t run, either. He reached his phone just as it stopped ringing. Before he could begin to set about calling back, it started ringing again. He still didn’t answer it until the third ring, holding it gingerly to his ear as though he expected it to bite him any second.
“Hello?” he asked, then cringed as he remembered his changed voice. Clearing his throat and attempting a lower octave he repeated, “Hello?”
“Doctor?” Martha Jones’s voice came into the phone, “Is that you? You sound odd.”
“Er…” the Doctor said, “I have a cold?” There was a short pause at the other end. If Martha had been there, before him, she never would have let him get away with that. Of course, if she was there, before him, she already know what was the matter. But apparently she decided the oddity of his voice could wait.
“Doctor, I just got a call from Jack,” she said, “He says he’s stuck in 1983 and he needs a ride.”
“What?!” the Doctor cried, frowning, “He didn’t try something with his vortex manipulator did he? Because I told him…”
“It wasn’t that, it was…” Martha interrupted him, but before she could continue he was talking again.
“Or the weeping angels! You remember that! When we…”
“The rift!” she cried before he could go on, “And are you sure you’re alright, your voice really does sound odd.”
“I’m fine,” the Doctor mumbled, and then, “Well can’t you use the rift to bring him back?” And if he sounded just the slightest bit whiny it was only because he didn’t want to use the TARDIS like an inter-temporal taxi cab and had nothing to do with the fact that Jack was the absolutely last person he wanted to show off his new figure to.
“And he said you better come and to remind you that you owe him for the last time he needed a ride and you didn’t come,” Martha answered, sounding slightly as though she were reciting something from notes, “And to say that if you don’t come this time, he’s going to seek out his counterpart and see if they can’t figure something out between them.”
“What!” the Doctor cried, even though he knew Jack probably wasn’t really serious. Probably. It still didn’t stop the Doctor from ranting for nearly five minutes straight on exactly why that was such a bad idea. He suspected Martha had stopped listening after the first few seconds and was just waiting on the other end for him to finish. He finally did with, “And how did he call you up anyway? And if he has a phone, why didn’t he just call me in the first place?”
“He called me because my number was the only one he knew that he could reach from the year 1983,” she answered, “And he couldn’t call you because he didn’t know the number.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said, “You could have given it to him.”
“He said he was out of quarters. Should I send you the exact specifics of his location?” The Doctor almost said not to bother because the TARDIS could probably find him easily enough. But then it occurred to him that there were probably two Jacks running around and as much as he didn’t want to see Jack, he really didn’t want to see the old, probably still pissed off at him Jack. So Martha texted him the information Jack had given her so he could find the right Jack and she ended the call with a jovial, “See you soon.”
Terrific. Not only did he have to pick up Jack but he’d probably have to see Martha now too. Maybe the TARDIS could ‘accidently’ miss the time slightly and drop Jack off in the middle of the night.
Sighing and giving into the inevitable (and as much as he didn’t want to do it, he knew he really couldn’t just leave Jack there. And not just because he was his friend. Having two Jacks in the same timeline was just asking for trouble.)
But he wasn’t going to go before he found himself a decent pair of shoes.
Finding clothes that fit was rather harder than he expected. It wasn’t that there weren’t any so much as that there weren’t any he really felt comfortable wearing. Adventurous though he tried to be, he was in no way ready for a dress. Or anything that looked particularly feminine. In fact, what he really really wanted, was what he always wore. Except in a size that fit. And there was nothing remotely like that in his size. Which was just plain ridiculous considering the wardrobe’s resources and size.
“Come on!” he cried out loud, “There has to be something that fits and isn’t frilly or pink!” His voice didn’t make him cringe quite so much this time, perhaps because he was too distracted by his annoyance. Anger was better than sobbing any day. And if the wardrobe got a bit…messy, well, it was its own fault for not having what he wanted. Which was, if he was really honest with himself, a way to change back into a man or undo the past few days completely so the memories would get out of his head. Now if only time machines could work like that.
He was about ready to pull on one of Adric’s old outfits (never mind that the style was completely against his current aesthetics, or the fact that wearing a dead companion’s clothes, a companion who was dead because he was his companion, was about as good an idea as poking at a scabbed over wound with a hot poker) when he finally admitted that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. So he gave over shredding a few period dresses who had done nothing more than mock him in their frilly girly elegance, and gave in. Not to the dresses but to the fact that he simply had to make do with what he could find and possibly go shopping later. If he could find a place to shop where no one he has ever met or will ever meet would see him.
It took at least an hour of trying on clothes after that to admit that the girl’s outfits were easier. Even the smaller men’s clothes tended to be a bit on the baggy side when he tried them on, or far too tight across the chest. Rose’s clothes fit, somewhat, but he felt too weird to wear them, even the least girly one’s. Plus it was a bit disconcerting when his trials in her clothes revealed he was actually shorter than her now. He swore those scientists must have purposefully shrunk him; surely merely switching genders shouldn’t have lost him that much height! Had Jenny been this short? And wasn’t that a lovely thing to think of; as long as he was going to be nostalgic, standing among racks and racks of memories his thoughts had to throw a dead daughter into it. He might as well throw on Adric’s clothes with Rose’s sneakers. And now he was back to crying again. He’d blame it on being a woman but he knew better.
Arguing with himself did no good either. He knew this wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to him. All things considered, it probably shouldn’t even rate the top ten. It was just…difficult to get a handle on for some reason. It had been a while since he had felt so helpless in such a personal way. Being threatened with death, either to himself or his companions was one thing. This was different. Not as bad as, say, the time war. Maybe more along the lines of being possessed and almost thrown out of a shuttle by a bunch of humans and burned up by the sun. That had left him feeling similar, but then there had been Donna. Another companion gone.
He ended up wearing generic black trousers. The wardrobe had millions of them in all different sizes and with a single-minded purpose he sorted through them until he found some that fit. The top he finally grabbed was blue and not really to his current taste but bland enough that it didn’t repel him either. A bra was pushing it, but he finally conceded that the things flouncing about on his chest were rather awkward when given free range. Finding one to wear was awkward as well, but at least they didn’t bring up memories, good or bad, as he had no idea if anyone had ever worn the one he found before him. Luckily it was from a late enough century that it adjusted to his size automatically and he didn’t have to work hard to figure it out. But under absolutely no circumstances was he going to wear panties. Pants were just fine.
He was just getting into the whole dressing thing, searching out a coat that didn’t completely swamp him but still could offer large pockets, when the phone rang.
He froze, the relaxed, enjoyable atmosphere evaporating with the shrill ring that echoed from nearby. Of course it was nearby; even if it wasn’t to begin with the TARDIS had obliged by bringing it within hearing distance the moment it started ringing. He didn’t want to answer it.
Answering it meant someone needed him. Him, him; as in the man Doctor. And while he wasn’t really that different; nothing like as though he’d regenerated; he wasn’t ready to take this new form out for a spin, so to speak. It was partly from the desire to hide from what had happened and not have to explain it to anyone, and partly pure embarrassment. He really, really didn’t want anyone to see him like this. So much so that he actually considered just letting it ring.
He didn’t of course. There was a chance, a small one, that someone was just calling to say hi. It did happen from time to time. But more likely he was needed, and no matter that he had forgone companions, he wasn’t about to leave his old friends in a lurch. But he didn’t run, either. He reached his phone just as it stopped ringing. Before he could begin to set about calling back, it started ringing again. He still didn’t answer it until the third ring, holding it gingerly to his ear as though he expected it to bite him any second.
“Hello?” he asked, then cringed as he remembered his changed voice. Clearing his throat and attempting a lower octave he repeated, “Hello?”
“Doctor?” Martha Jones’s voice came into the phone, “Is that you? You sound odd.”
“Er…” the Doctor said, “I have a cold?” There was a short pause at the other end. If Martha had been there, before him, she never would have let him get away with that. Of course, if she was there, before him, she already know what was the matter. But apparently she decided the oddity of his voice could wait.
“Doctor, I just got a call from Jack,” she said, “He says he’s stuck in 1983 and he needs a ride.”
“What?!” the Doctor cried, frowning, “He didn’t try something with his vortex manipulator did he? Because I told him…”
“It wasn’t that, it was…” Martha interrupted him, but before she could continue he was talking again.
“Or the weeping angels! You remember that! When we…”
“The rift!” she cried before he could go on, “And are you sure you’re alright, your voice really does sound odd.”
“I’m fine,” the Doctor mumbled, and then, “Well can’t you use the rift to bring him back?” And if he sounded just the slightest bit whiny it was only because he didn’t want to use the TARDIS like an inter-temporal taxi cab and had nothing to do with the fact that Jack was the absolutely last person he wanted to show off his new figure to.
“And he said you better come and to remind you that you owe him for the last time he needed a ride and you didn’t come,” Martha answered, sounding slightly as though she were reciting something from notes, “And to say that if you don’t come this time, he’s going to seek out his counterpart and see if they can’t figure something out between them.”
“What!” the Doctor cried, even though he knew Jack probably wasn’t really serious. Probably. It still didn’t stop the Doctor from ranting for nearly five minutes straight on exactly why that was such a bad idea. He suspected Martha had stopped listening after the first few seconds and was just waiting on the other end for him to finish. He finally did with, “And how did he call you up anyway? And if he has a phone, why didn’t he just call me in the first place?”
“He called me because my number was the only one he knew that he could reach from the year 1983,” she answered, “And he couldn’t call you because he didn’t know the number.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said, “You could have given it to him.”
“He said he was out of quarters. Should I send you the exact specifics of his location?” The Doctor almost said not to bother because the TARDIS could probably find him easily enough. But then it occurred to him that there were probably two Jacks running around and as much as he didn’t want to see Jack, he really didn’t want to see the old, probably still pissed off at him Jack. So Martha texted him the information Jack had given her so he could find the right Jack and she ended the call with a jovial, “See you soon.”
Terrific. Not only did he have to pick up Jack but he’d probably have to see Martha now too. Maybe the TARDIS could ‘accidently’ miss the time slightly and drop Jack off in the middle of the night.
Sighing and giving into the inevitable (and as much as he didn’t want to do it, he knew he really couldn’t just leave Jack there. And not just because he was his friend. Having two Jacks in the same timeline was just asking for trouble.)
But he wasn’t going to go before he found himself a decent pair of shoes.