The Doctor always wanted to be ginger, right? Now, he’s getting his wish.
This is one of my first DW fanfics to feature Cece Ryder, an OC (Original Character) whom my friend Hannah created for me in her Figgies in the TARDIS novels. Cece does appear in a few others that I wrote prior to this, but chronologically, they take place afterwards, since they feature the Little Doctor.
The Doctor Dyes His Hair
(by Allison Rose)
“Doctor, you can’t be serious!” Cece Ryder exclaimed, examining the weekly shopping list, written painstakingly on TARDIS-blue notepaper. The very first item on the list was red hair dye. “What are you thinking?!”
“I am serious,” the Doctor retorted indignantly. “I want to be a ginger, and that’s that!” He never admitted it, but he had been insanely jealous of both Amy Pond and Donna Noble.
“So regenerate into one!”
The Doctor shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “I’m kind of running low on those, you see. [And unless the writers come up with a way to work around my twelve regenerations limit, I need to be really sparing.]”
“Oooh,” Cece replied knowingly. “Well, I suppose it’s better if the color’s temporary anyhow. After all, what if you hate it?”
“How could I hate it?” the Doctor insisted. “It’s what I’ve always wanted….” His voice faltered uncertainly for a moment. “But just in case, why don’t I come with you and pick out the color myself, just in case…?”
Cece shrugged her shoulders. “Sure. And make sure to tell me which brand of fish fingers you want too, because you practically rejected the last three boxes I brought back for you.”
“Because they tasted like coconut cakes! I wanted fish fingers!”
“Whatever, Doctor. Let’s go. I want to get there before the place closes!”
In the frozen section, the Doctor and Cece stood in front of one of the refrigerated shelves, debating about what brand of fish fingers they should buy.
“This one’s a whole pound more!” Cece exclaimed.
“But this one’s got food coloring and lemon juice! I hate lemon juice….”
“Just shut up and let me pick one! If you don’t want to eat it, I’ll feed it to the cats.”
The Doctor blanched. “No, Cece – you are not going to start feeding cats. Then they’ll follow us wherever we go and I’ll never get to sleep because of their whining!”
“You’re a party-pooping stick in the mud. Did you know that?” Cece exclaimed, exasperated.
The Doctor ignored her completely. “Come on, Ryder. Let’s go to the cosmetics aisle. I want my ginger hair dye.” He hurried off, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
From where she stood, Cece saw his lanky figure twirling through the main aisle, haphazardly bumping into stacks of canned goods on display and sending shopping baskets flying from peoples’ arms.
“Is that your boyfriend, love?” an employee who stocking the shelves asked. “Handsome fellow he is, but he’s quite a clumsy oaf!”
Cece just facepalmed.
“And you’re still sure you want to do this?” Cece asked one last time. The Doctor stood in front of the bathroom mirror back in the TARDIS, while she sat on the (closed) seat of the loo.
It had taken then over an hour in the store to find the color he wanted, and the Doctor had spent several minutes eyeing the hair colors on each box, pointing out which ones reminded him the most like Amy Pond, and chanting the unusual color names, such as “Cinnabar,” like an obsessed cultist. Finally, Cece had furiously grabbed a random box off the shelf and told him they were checking out.
“Absolutely positively positive to the most absolute level,” the Doctor replied confidently, running his hands through his floppy brown hair. “I can’t tell you how excited I am, Cece.”
Cece just rolled her eyes. “I take it you have never dyed your hair before?”
“Never needed to. I only had white hair two or three times, and it looked good on me then.”
“You were an old man once?” Cece cried. “I find that incredibly hard to believe. You act like a little kid sometimes!”
“Everyone’s a child at heart,” the Doctor said. “And maybe I don’t look it, but I’m actually nine hundred and one years old.” Before Cece could question him any further, he continued, “Now come on. Let’s get cracking!”
With that, he proceeded to rip open the box, upon which there had been a picture of a long-haired model with hair in the desired color, and spill out its contents.
He squeezed the entire tube of white paste into the little white mixing bowl, stirred it a bit with this funny black comb thing, and threw in the entire bottle of something called “developer.” (Inwardly, Cece wondered if this had something to do with photography.)
“This is funny stuff,” he muttered, sniffing the mixture. “Ugh! I don’t suppose I should be eating this….”
“Don’t you dare, you idiot!” Cece snapped threateningly.
The Doctor proceeded to dump the whole thing on his head. “Ouch!!” he exclaimed as he massaged it furiously into his scalp. “This stuff stings like the fires of heck!” Stray bits of the mixture fell onto his shirt, leaving dark patches and stains. He began jumping about like only a madman in a box would, and ran back into the control room of the TARDIS.
“Um, I think you were supposed to let the stuff sit for awhile first,” said Cece in a nervous voice as she followed him. “I mean, I’ve never done this myself, but….”
“So how would you know better than I?” the Doctor retorted sharply. “Don’t worry, dear – this is coming out quite nicely. I can feel it.”
“Don’t call me ‘dear,’ or I’ll call you ‘sweetie.’ Got that?” At that, the Doctor quieted down — for about a minute, which was a record for him.
“Okay, it’s all over me now. What do I do next?” the Doctor asked uncertainly, examining his hands, which were now a funny shade of orange.
“Um…. Doctor?” Cece began.
“Your face is … orange, and so is–.”
“It’s just the light, Cece,” the Doctor reassured her, cutting Cece’s words off. He stopped rubbing his scalp for a moment though, and hurried back to the bathroom. His Doctor’s intuition was telling him something he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know.
“Doctor?” Cece called after him.
“AAAAARRRGGHHH!” An inhuman scream erupted from behind the closed door of the bathroom.
“Are you alright?” Cece opened the door tentatively. The Doctor stood in front of the mirror, staring at his new look in utter horror. His hair had turned a shade of bright, neon orange!
“I-I-I’m a ginger!” he stammered, running his hands through his hair and getting more of that awful coloring stuff on his shirtsleeves.
“No, you’re not a ginger, Doctor,” Cece corrected him, trying to stay calm. “You’re a carrot! Your hair is carrot red! You look like David Bowie!”
“Carrot?! Bowie?!” the Doctor repeated. “Are you insane?!”
“Um, no,” Cece replied. “But if I were you, I’d wash that stuff out of your hair before it settles in for good.”
“Uh-oh,” the Doctor said suddenly. “Did the box say this stuff is permanent?”
Cece dug through the rubbish bin, where he had thrown out the cardboard box earlier. She found it. Permanent. “Oh, yes it is,” she whispered. “You are in so much trouble now!”
“Yes I am,” the Doctor replied miserably. “When this grows out, I never, ever want to be a ginger again!”