Title: Engendered Change

Author: Jadie

Summary: In which the doctor is forced to change his body without dying and has difficulty coming to terms with the defilement of his physical form. Jack helps.

Pairings: Ten/Jack

Genre: AU, hurt/comfort

Warnings: Nudity, sex, non-con (not rape), probably slash at some point or other at least referenced, possibly violence, Americanisms (not really on purpose, but probably on accident there will be a few), gender bender (whoops, did I just give away the plot? Oh well, not like you don't learn that within the first few paragraphs)

Spoilers: Doctor Who…possibly up to the 2009 Easter special. Torchwood…well I'm rather behind in Torchwood so probably nothing really that you wouldn't quickly learn in the first few episodes.

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I do not own Dr Who or Torchwood. I am making no money from this story.

Prologue: The Change

The change, when it happened, seemed inconsequential in contrast to everything else that was going on. The sudden difference in height was important only in that the doctor almost tripped over his own pants and did completely manage to fall right out of his shoes. As he was running for his lives at the time, he regrettably had to leave the converse behind like some strange alien Cinderella (if Cinderella were a 900 year old time lord and the prince she was escaping from wasn't so much looking for marriage as a chance to harvest her potential children in the usual mad scientist manner). There wasn't even time to roll up the pants or alternatively remove them; the doctor had to make do with holding them up and being particularly careful not to step on the extra length. The re-proportioning of mass was slightly more problematic than the height, partly because his center of balance had changed and partly because the lost mass had converted to energy that he had yet to find a way to dispel and so he felt it throughout his body as a constant electrical ache. This did not making running easier.

The situation being what it was, it was in fact surprising that he managed to make it to the TARDIS at all, albeit with barely enough time to slam the door shut in the face of the pursuing detainment force. If the force wasn't so determined to take the doctor back alive and relatively uninjured, he probably wouldn't have managed even that. But he did, and with slightly more effort than usual (the reach of his arms had changed with his height) he took the TARDIS into the vortex.

There, basking in the gentle hum of his machine, he finally had a chance to acknowledge what had been done to him. The ache of converted mass had grown almost unbearable but he was reluctant to dispel it. Dispelling it was practically giving in to his new form and he wasn't ready to face what he had become, let alone accept it. It wasn't really the change itself that upset him; he was somewhat used to changing his form after all. It was the way it had been forced upon him that made him feel sick. The way they had taken him, the scientists talking over his body as though he were nothing but some mindless creature that they had every right to study and experiment on. He shuddered and consciously attempted to turn his mind to other things. Like his sheer relief that they hadn't succeeded in their ultimate purpose. But they had certainly done enough, and no amount of redirecting his thoughts to inconsequential, mundane details was going to get around the new change. And it was a change unlike any he had ever faced, even through nine and a half different regenerations.

"Right," he said (and he was still a he as he stubbornly insisted inside his own head, no matter what his body currently looked like), "First things first…what did I do with that energy container?" His voice sounded strange in his own ears and he closed his mouth again, deciding for the moment not to speak out loud. It wasn't as though he had a companion he needed to relay things to. The container took longer than it should have to find, a testament to how distracted his mind was. He spent nearly thirty minutes rooting fruitlessly through the E's before realizing it was, in fact, stored under 'M' (for mass conversion portable containment extractor unit, because who wants a simple name when an interesting one would do?). The energy sparked between his finger and the extractor antenna like a particularly potent bit of static shock that left his entire body buzzing, but the deep ache of the energy was finally gone. He told himself it wasn't dispelled so much as relocated, and as such there was still hope. Even if it was very unlikely hope.

Then he sighed, gave up on forcing his thoughts into anything resembling normal, and allowed the TARDIS to guide him to his room in the vain hope that things would look better when he woke up. He didn't quite make it to the bed before he had to acknowledge the difference. He tripped, twice, just getting into the room. And there, once he had pulled off the ill fitting clothes, he didn't quite manage to avoid looking at himself in the mirror. And once he looked, he couldn't stop.

He was a woman.

He knew he was, of course. He had known it for at least an hour now, but it was quite different to know it, intellectually, and admit it at an internalized level. He was a woman. Grammatically speaking, he should be she. But he wasn't ready for that, not by a long shot, and his mind shied away from the very notion, going so far as to revert to thinking in the language of the Sakoor, a race of people who had only one gender and consequentially no need for a feminine pronoun. The syntax taken care of, he allowed himself to be distracted with the idea that this was just like exploring a new body after regeneration. No different at all. After all, regeneration was generally imposed upon him by outside circumstances rather than choice. And the change was even greater in those circumstances; this time he still had his personality and voice (well, accent anyway) after all. It wasn't like change should traumatize a time lord, no matter how unexpected. He would go to sleep and this…gender changing sickness, that was all it was, would be over and he would get on with his life. As a woman.

He had breasts. That was the first oddity he really noticed. Oh, his face had changed, subtly. Oddly enough his hair had mostly stayed the same; same style even the same length. Only the sideburns were missing. And His skin was slightly smoother, subtly changed to a more feminine effect. So it was different but not jarring. And he was shorter. A good deal shorter, in fact, judging by the length of pants he had tripped over. He refused to measure himself though; if he didn't measure himself then he could pretend it wasn't more than a few inches. Even if he knew otherwise. The lack of height went hand in hand with a slighter form; if he was skinny before he looked positively fragile now. All except for his chest which had blossomed into two mounds of voluminous flesh, otherwise known as breasts. He resisted the urge to poke one and see if it would jiggle. They were disturbingly ample proof that his body had truly changed. And he was missing something rather vital males.

Of course he didn't have a penis anymore. The weight at his chest was balanced by the distinctive lack of weight between his legs. Finally, perhaps to avoid playing with the breasts, he brought an exploratory finger to that space where his dick once hanged. It felt strange, squishy and fleshy and hot. Holding his legs apart and bending over didn't give him a satisfactory look at this new change, but the a small hand mirror allowed him to look in detail. It looked to him like a pair of grotesque mutated lips and he dropped the mirror quickly. Not like he had never seen a vagina before anyway; just usually not quite so…attached. That made it uglier somehow, because it shouldn't be there. Not that he had seen someone else's in quite some time (though quite a few of his companions lately had seemed quite willing to let him look). He touched it again, gasping suddenly as his finger ran over a particularly sensitive part, and he pulled his hand away sharply. He suddenly felt perverted, no matter that it was his own body, and he turned away from the mirror.

None of his pajamas really fit, of course, but he was not at all in the mood to go to bed naked. He wanted the shield of clothes, even ridiculously loose clothes, so he pulled on a striped pair. They weren't really comfortable and they forced him to notice his change in size, but they still allowed some armor to hide from the sight of his new body. Later, he told himself, he would wake up and he would feel fine. He'd go to the wardrobe, and he'd explore the changes thoroughly. It would be a fun adventure, the changes, until he could find a way to change himself back. Because he would, of course he would. It would all be all right. When he woke up.

Six hours later he did wake up, felt the utter differentness of who he was, and burst into helpless tears..