Doctor Oneshots

Packing

(A/N SO MUCH ANGST I'M SORRY)

He pulled open a drawer.

Ties. This was where he kept the ties. Browns and blues mostly. Some in shades of red. He took a few of those, and one of his favorite brown silk ones.

He opened one of the cupboards.

Converse, stacked up high on the shelves. He took a pair of the reds, a pair of the whites, a pair of the blacks.

He walked to another part of the wardrobe and looked through a rack until he found what he was looking for. A long brown coat, not the same one, not perfect, but as close as he was going to get, and he didn't have time to be picky. He shoved it awkwardly into his pocket.

He left the wardrobe, feeling numb. Never in his long life had he been faced with this reality. Never would he have expected it. Now that he didn't have much time left here, he was starting to panic.

Not about not having a ship, he knew he would be taking a piece of the coral with him, even he couldn't be that cruel, so that wasn't gone forever. But about not having this ship.

He'd never see Susan's room again. Or Ace's. Or Sarah Jane's. He'd never see any of Romana's books again, or any of Adric's formula sheets. He'd never see Martha's extra jacket, or Donna's sketchbook full of shorthand notes, caricatures, and tic tak toe.

He skulked out, toward the console room, and stopped just before he entered.

He peeked in.

They were in there. And they were talking. And she was smiling.

Her smile was so beautiful. Her eyes crinkled at the edges, and her tongue poked cutely out between her teeth. How many times had he been temped to forget whatever little adventure they'd been on when he'd seen that smile, to just forget every limitation and kiss her, to tell her how much he loved her against that smile.

She laughed at something he said.

It hurt, physically, to see them talking, see her smile, hear her laugh. He knew he wouldn't be hearing it much longer. Why would she choose him? His hand snaked up to feel the single heartbeat in his chest, the constant reminder that he wasn't the real him. That no matter what his mind said, no matter what memories and feelings he had, no matter what he looked like, he was just a copy. A fake. A poor recreation. He was going to age, and die. And he'd be doing it alone.

But wasn't he used to alone? Wasn't he used to the universe teasing him with the chance of happiness and just when it seemed like he'd always have a hand to hold, taking it away from him? That didn't make it any easier.

He scowled in the empty corridor. Nine hundred years, all to end up dying as a human, in the wrong universe, alone. Maybe it was exactly what he deserved.

He said something, and she agreed, and they moved toward the hallway. He ducked quickly into an alcove and stayed there until they passed. Then he hurried out into the console room and over to a side panel on the central pillar. He flipped a few switches, tapped the screen a few times, and turned a few dials before pressing one last button and waiting. A few seconds of whirring later, a sonic screwdriver plopped into the little slot at the bottom of the panel, and he picked it up and tucked it into his pocket. He moved over to another panel and smacked it a little too violently. A drawer popped out, and he picked up the extra psychic paper and put it in his pocket as well. He spotted a picture of Susan, and, heart wrenching alienly, took that as well. Then he shut the drawer and looked up, just staring around the room he'd called home for seven hundred years.

His teeth clenched and his hands gripped the coral edging tightly as he suddenly fought back a sob.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. He could be so much more than this. And maybe he would be. But this him, this counterfeit, never would. Was this his punishment for all that he'd done? By all rights, it hadn't even been him! Why make him conscious? Why make him share the same mind?

Why hadn't he just changed?

Someone coughed. He didn't need to look up.

The other him walked slowly back into the room. He stared at him for a minute with a look of mixed pity, sorrow, and guilty fascination. It was sickening.

He looked up, and their eyes met. By the way the Doctor winced, he could tell that he knew exactly how he felt. Something flashed in his eyes as well...regret? Pain?

Whatever it was, it felt almost perverse.

Then he coughed again, and spoke, softly.

"I haven't told her what you are yet. Not about..." he tapped his chest. "I'll leave that to you."

"Thanks," he said acidly.

The Doctor rubbed his neck awkwardly, almost ashamedly, then grabbed his jacket off the jumpseat and shuffled out of the room.

"Take whatever you need," he said over his shoulder as he went back to Rose.

He very nearly slammed his fist into the console. His hand was raised and clenched when Donna came in.

"Don't you dare, Spaceman."

His hand dropped limply to his side as he turned to look at her.

Without another word, she walked up and threw her arms tight around him. He hugged back.

Neither commented on the oddness of only two hearts beating between them.

After a minute, she pulled away from him, handing him a small book. He recognized it as her most recent sketchbook. Gripping it tightly, he met her eyes, and, almost ashamed of how desperate he sounded, blurted, "You can't come with me?"

"No," she sighed, patting his arm, "I've got to stay. For Mum and Gramps. You know that."

"I know."

She hugged him again, briefly, before walking off down the hall, presumably to find the other one and Rose. He almost smiled. Donna would have liked to get to know Rose. His almost smile turned into another almost sob, but he held his composure. He would not lose it until he was truly alone, he promised himself. He wouldn't let them see him break. He couldn't do that to Rose, or to Donna. He supposed he couldn't even do that to himself.

The TARDIS landed with a loud groan and a dull thud. He glanced at the screen. A beach appeared on it, the beach he hated more than almost anything in the entire universe.

His single heart was beating out the word that had started it all, and would end it all, for him.

Run.