Incomplete
I tried to go on like I never knew you Voices tell me I should carry on
I'm awake but my world is half asleep
I've prayed for this heart to be unbroken
But without you all I'm going to be is incomplete
But I am swimming in an ocean all alone
Baby, my baby, it's written on your face
but You still wonder if we made a big mistake
- Incomplete, The Backstreet Voices
The Doctor stared at the face in the mirror. It was exactly the same as yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. It was exactly the same – same frizzy hair, same eyebrows, same nose, same strange teeth, and yet, as always, he felt like he was staring at a stranger. This face didn't belong to him. It belonged to the other Doctor. Doctor Ten.
10.5. That's what they called him, Mickey and the others, when they thought he couldn't hear them. God alone knew how they'd managed to find out what regeration he was on, although it probably had something to do with the time Mickey had spent working on that site of his. He'd probably found evidence of each of the past Doctors and decided to call him number 10...
Ten-point-five. It made him sound so incomplete, like a fourth wheel on a tricycle, like a third sock when you've only got two legs. Of course, it had always been two – hadn't it? Rose and the Doctor. The Doctor and Rose. Until he'd come along, and messed up the equation.
God how he hated his face. It looked exactly like his – the other Doctor's. When people saw it, that was who they thought of. He was just an imposter to them, a puppet in the wrong costume, the wrong scene. God, he'd tried to tell her – to tell her the Doctor had been wrong - but she'd simply smiled and nodded, saying that of course he'd been wrong, she knew he wasn't dangerous, all the while not realising that it was not that that he was talking about.
No, the Doctor – that Doctor – had been wrong when he said that they were the same.
Staring at the mirror, the Doctor tried to pretend that it was her looking back at him, with her blonde hair and beautiful smile. "Rose," he said, his voice shaking even as he said her name. "If you love me – the real me, and not him, or me when I'm trying to be him – than for the love of God say so. Because if you don't... If you don't love me..." His voice cracked completely and he buried his head in his hands.
Just then, as if summoned by his words, her voice rang out. "Doctor! Are you home?"
Turning away from the mirror, he put on a false smile. He was good at acting now, far better than he used to be. He had to be, to hide what was going on in his head from her. "Yes, Rose?" he called, hating the words even as they came out of his mouth, hating the fact that he had his voice.
"There you are," she said, appearing in the doorway of the bathroom. She stepped forward, putting her arms around his neck, smiling happily up at him. And in that moment – just like all the other times – he knew he couldn't do it. He could never say the words that he whispered to the bathroom mirror. Because even if Rose didn't love him, he loved her.
"My Doctor," she said blissfully and reached up to kiss him.
Yes, he thought wretchedly, though the smile remained on his face. Your Doctor.
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A/N: Hey, so this is basically my first Doctor Who fic, so be nice. Reviews are loved, detailed reviews with critique even more so. And yes, this is a one-shot, and will be staying that way.