The Other Doctor
He watched. He watched as he embraced her. But, it was not his own arms that touched her skin, held her tight, felt her warm, reassuring breath against his cheek as he swung her around, burying his nose in her soft hair. It wasn't his own. This was his curse, to see, only once, not ever to touch. Time was running out. Soon, she would be gone, and he would be alone. Isn't that funny? He, a Time Lord, his time running out. But he would live. Live forever, without his Rose. If he could tell her one thing, he knew what it would be: He would rather spend a lifetime with her, than spend the rest of eternity alone. His life; his light. His Rose. But his clone could be with her, touch her, laugh with her; die with her. Get old with her, get white hair with her; be with her. The image wavered, and he knew that the end would be coming. It seemed as if both his hearts would simultaneously rend in two. His mouth opened, sound locked in his throat, fingers clenching and unclenching with the raw need to tear time in two, gaping hole in time-universe going down the proverbial toilet be damned, gather her in his arms and never let her go again. But he couldn't. And he knew that. And she knew it too. It was selfish to even think about, to cost the universe its existence for the sake of love? All that he had done, done for the universe and for her, would have been for nothing. He watched as they turned, finally seeming to recognize Rose's mother, Jackie, and Mickey, standing there, beaming on the beach. His eyes were glued to her back, wanting to engrave her image onto his heart, so he would remember, and maybe with the sheer force of his need of her, send across the cosmos his love. The Doctor paused, turned, and looked back. Rose looked up at him questioningly. He could feel those penetrating eyes boring into him, soft, and full of a sorrowful knowing; his eyes. It's okay. You can love her. You are me; how could you not? You can love him. He is me; how could you not? The Doctor turned, voicelessly soothing Rose, and they continued on their way. And the image faded. He was alone once more, sitting in the chair that Rose had always accompanied him in on during one of their wild adventures. Where she would never sit again. The TARDIS hummed, seeming to commiserate his pain. He was empty now. He felt…nothing. Absolutely nothing-and he suspected he never would again. And that was what scared him the most. The cold nothingness of the void, the never-ending black that had taken up residence where his carefully nurtured humanity had begun to grow. He looked, unseeingly, at his monitor outlining his next destination. And he would go; of course he would. He would save the universe, one person, race, and galaxy at a time, just as he always had, and always will. That was what his purpose was. Him alone, out in space. The last of his kind-
The Other Doctor.
The End