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"So...how, exactly, does it...work?" Clara asked, rather unspecifically. The freshly regenerated Doctor's lightning blue eyes flicked up from the TARDIS controls. "Well, it's really a lot of complicated mathematics and such, but I mostly just press buttons and-"
"I mean the regeneration," Clara interrupted. The Doctor sighed. He at least owed her an explanation. She'd saved his life so many times; he could've regenerated many times more already without her, or maybe even have died - no regeneration.
"What do you mean?" he asked, searching for a more specific answer. His voice felt strange on his throat. His throat felt strange on his throat.
"Well...your parents. The genetics and all that. How does that work, I mean, with regeneration? If you change your face, then what exactly is it that your parents pass down to you?" Clara elaborated.
The Doctor smiled. She was so human. So literal. So innocent. He thought back to his young life on Gallifrey, his parents, his children...he cringed.
"...Doctor?" Clara urged. The Doctor looked up and met her gaze. He saw her waver, barely keeping his gaze, like she didn't want to look. A pang of guilt twinged in the Doctor's hearts. It's not like it's his fault he changed...if he could regenerate without changing, he would. At least his appearance would be a nice constant; less confusing.
"Time lords don't quite work the same way as humans do," the Doctor began.
"I noticed," Clara said, half-jokingly, half-solemnly.
"All that XX-XY stuff doesn't really apply to time lords. I mean, it does, but since time lords can regenerate into either sex, the haploids and diploids can-"
He realized Clara was staring at him blankly. He stopped, mentally stripped the sciencey-boring stuff out of what he was about to say next, and started over.
"Time lords may change from regeneration to regeneration...but our core mentality and perception is the same. We call it our crux substratum. It's the most important part of a time lord's mind. To answer your question, what our parents have to do with their children other than the fact that they're the reason they exist...well, obviously, each time lord's crux substratum is unique. Different combinations of emotional experience, memories and knowledge make up a time lord's substratum. The way we react to different situations, the memories we create based on those situations, the knowledge we acquire while handling those situations...the bonds we make and break, the things we feel and wish we didn't feel, the secrets we keep and tell..."
Clara was looking intently into the Doctor's eyes, and it threw him off.
"Am I boring you?" he asked before continuing.
"No, no...Doctor!" Clara quickly replied, as if he'd just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. "I think...I think it's beautiful. Go on. Please," she begged. The Doctor smiled. "My...mother. Her life was rather emotionless and uneventful...so she had a sort of...crusty outer shell. But she was so loveable and so loving. She wanted things to happen, to see things, to hear things, to be everywhere at once-"
"Sounds familiar," Clara interrupted.
"Exactly, Clara. But her way of thinking and remembering was very different from mine. That's the part I got from my father," the Doctor explained.
"But how can you know that?" Clara wondered.
"Time lords have a certain level of psychic ability to them. We can feel each other's thoughts, though not read them. We can share memories by simply opening our minds and form links with our closest friends and family. My mother always lived in the moment. She never looked back. Never resurfaced old memories unnecessarily. She was always moving forward, or at least staying in the present. I remember feeling that so much as a child and wondering why..." the Doctor trailed off to gather his bearings. An image of his mother flashed through his mind. He sucked in a breath quickly to prevent himself from breaking down. He'd done that enough to Clara.
"But that does sound like you. You never want to talk about your past. When I ask, you just...change the subject," Clara said in frustration.
"But see, there's a difference, Clara. My father...his memories were painful. He never had family before he made one with my mother. He was left as a baby, and regenerated into a child not long after, all alone. He lived mostly secluded his entire life, not bothering to make friends. He had a few friends, but they all rejected him eventually because he had a rare time lord disease called cardaxgovaius, which is probably why he was abandoned by his own parents. There is no known cure, and it means he has a third heart."
"But what's so wrong with that?" Clara asked innocently. "And what does that have to do with you?"
The Doctor sighed. His memories pricked at him, like he was scrabbling through a clump of thorn bushes. He wanted to answer all of Clara's questions now so that the subject never came back up later. "His third heart isn't a regular one. It doesn't pump blood, but an energy."
"What kind of energy?" Clara pressed.
"It's not...really...known. Of all the known cases of cardaxgovaius, there has been no traceable pattern. One time lord who had it exploded, only in his second incarnation, because the energy built up too much. One had glowing eyes. One couldn't feel pain, nor regenerate. Only one life."
"And you? You're not saying you inherited this, are you?" Clara worried.
"Oh, no, of course not. But my father died, when I was very...very young. Maybe on the cusp of going into my 40s. In his case, he didn't have the special connection most time lords have. He was...well, like a human. He didn't have the little surge of psychic energy. The energy his extra heart pulsed through him somehow cancelled it out. But what I got from him is simply his mind...the way he feels and interprets things. The way he remembers things. You think I don't look back, but I do. Every day. I can't not look back. In that way, I'm like my father. I can't talk about it because the past is too long and terrifying and beautiful and complicated...and it hurts." The Doctor stopped to let Clara interrupt or ask a question, but she stayed silent. He analyzed her surface emotion, using his psychic abilities even though he usually didn't use it on his companions. He felt it like a twisting storm of understanding and confusion and sympathy and pity, and let go before it overwhelmed him. It felt like how he always felt...but he buried it deep down, stuffed in the dusty darkness between his hearts.
"But...how can you know that if he had no...connection...thing?" Clara asked. The Doctor smiled again, and held her head in his hands.
"You don't need a psychic link to see some things."