The Time of Change

The Timeless Duo

A man falls ungracefully through the vortex and lands on the forest floor with a thud and loud grunt. The Tenth Doctor quickly puts the discarded fez on his own head, furrowing his eyebrows at him. Though the brown-haired newcomer lies on his stomach, the Doctor can make out an extremely prominent chin poking into the dirt. The two Elizabeths behind him are finally silent for a few moments.

"Who is this man?" one of them demands.

"That's just what I was wondering," he replies as the other gets to his feet, dusting off his trousers. They stare at one another in an inexplicably electric silence.

"Oh, that is skinny," says the man at last. He straightens his tan blazer around him, angling himself to the side as if attempting to look thinner. "That is proper skinny. I've never seen it from the outside. It's like a special effect! Oi," he adds, knocking the fez off the Doctor's head with a light laugh. "Matchstick-man!"

The words hit the Tenth Doctor like a boulder, and his mind flits to a woman long lost: Donna Noble. His eyes widen considerably as he stares at the strange man. "You're not," he gasps. Almost in perfect synchronization, the two pull out sonic screwdrivers from the inner pockets of their jackets. The Tenth clicks the button on the side of his slender silver sonic, and it pulses with its neon blue light and whirring sound. The other man gets a cocky smile, sliding the metal petals on his to reveal the electric green power core. Pursing his lips, the Tenth Doctor powers down his screwdriver once more.

"Compensating," he says.

"For what?"

"Regeneration. It's a lottery."

"Oh!" the Eleventh Doctor exclaims. "Oh, he's cool. Isn't he cool? 'I'm the Doctor, and I'm all cool. Oops, I'm wearing sandshoes!'" He points down at the Tenth's feet accusingly, and the latter leans in toward him. "What are you doing here? I'm busy!"

"Oh, busy, I see," says the Eleventh. "Is that what we're calling it, eh? Eh?" He picks up the fez, brushes off its velvety surface, and places it on his head confidently. "Hello, ladies," he adds to the two Elizabeths, bowing low and drawing out the O.

"Don't start," groans the Tenth.

The Eleventh turns halfway to his past self and quips, "Listen, what you get up to in the privacy of your own regeneration is your own business."

The Tenth breathes in his ear, "One of them is a Zygon."

"Ew..." The Eleventh Doctor makes the sound of disgust for a full five seconds before he catches the look the Tenth is giving him and quickly adds, "I'm not judging you."

The time fissure suddenly reopens above their heads, and both men, subconsciously anticipating this, put a pair of square spectacles on their faces. Neither belongs to them, however. The Tenth's belonged to a woman he loves who was lost to him a short while ago: Annalise. He uses them as often as he needs or as often as his heart aches for her. The Eleventh's are the same pair, only aged with time. "Ooh, lovely!" they comment to one another

"Your Majesties," says the Eleventh, "probably a good time to run."

"What about the creature?" the women ask in unison.

The Tenth, exasperated, replies shortly, "Elizabeth—whichever one of you is the real one—turn and run in the opposite direction of the other."

"Of course, my love," they say coevally. One moves forward and tells him, "Stay alive, my love. I am not done with you yet." She kisses him firmly, and trots off.

"Thanks, lovely," the Tenth Doctor squeaks.

The other Elizabeth grabs his sleeve. "I understand. Live for me, my darling. We shall be together again." There is another demanding kiss, and once more she sprints away.

"Well, won't that be nice?" he mumbles after she's gone.

The Eleventh Doctor raises his eyebrows, smirking. "So one of those was a Zygon," he says.

"Yeah."

"Big red rubbery thing covered in suckers—"

"Yeah."

"Venom sacs in the tongue—"

"Yes, I'm getting the point, thank you."

"Nice."

From inside the vortex, a familiar female voice uncertainly says, "Doctor!" Immediately the Tenth's ears perk up, and he stares at the lights for a moment. If this man is indeed a future version of himself, could the voice possibly belong Annalise? His hearts accelerate in speed at the thought.

"Ah, hello, love. Can you hear me?" the Eleventh calls up to his wife.

"Yes." She sounds relieved. "I'm extremely annoyed that you jumped into a portal without any warning, but we can hear you just fine. Where are you?"

"It's a time vortex, not a portal!" he says, feigning indignance.

"Enough with the know-it-all thing, you git," she laughs. "Where are you?"

The Eleventh turns to the Tenth and asks, "Where are we?"

"England, 1562!" the latter shouts, loud enough for the unseen woman to hear.

"Who are you talking to?" she inquires. The Tenth Doctor imagines he can hear a hint of recognition in it.

"Myself!" the two answer together. They grin at each other. The Eleventh Doctor can imagine her face—an adorable mixture of both annoyance and amusement as she stares at the vortex—and has to fight a chortle.

Another lady yells, "Can you get back though?"

"Physical passage may not be possible in both directions, Kate," he tells her voice. "It's—ah. Hang on! Fez incoming!" He removes the fez from his head and chucks it into the fissure. He waits a few moments for one of the women to say something.

The first, his wife, says, "Nothing here."

The Tenth Doctor looks at the Eleventh confusedly. "So where did it go?" he asks.