Chapter One
Damp. An odd word, and an ever odder feeling, one that suggested a unique state of wetness he was not sure he had experienced before. Although not wet enough to be considered soaked or sopping, it was wet enough to be uncomfortable. Even moist seemed a touch too wet a word for exactly the amount of water that had managed to creep into the fibers of his clothing, adding weight to and darkening the slim-cut navy blazer that clung to the bridge of his shoulders, but it was not a word that suggested being close to dry, either. No, being damp was somewhere between moist and dry; just wet enough to notice, but not enough to drip. Wet enough to draw in a chill, but lacking the full saturation that would bring on the sort of cold that could set your teeth to chattering. Beads of sea spray rolled down the back of his neck, teasing a trickle of moisture through his hair to slip beneath his collar.
He was damp, all over. It was a feeling he either truly had never experienced before, being that he lived his life in a state of extremes - beneath a couple of suns that would beat down and warm him, or else in the kind of rain that seemed to come down in sheets rather than droplets - or he had simply never really taken the time to notice. His brain, complicated and clever organ that it was, was usually taxed by several different trains of thought he would have going at once as he contemplated how to save or destroy worlds, depending on what sort of jam he had gotten himself into - something as simple as feeling the in-between of wet and dry was left to the baser, primal, autonomic parts of his nervous system. It had never been pertinent or interesting enough to catch his attention. Today however, in this oddly corrupted and complimented hybrid body, he had taken notice of it for the first time. He felt damp, and he did not like it.
How long had they been standing here? Tossing his gaze skywards, he squinted as he sought out the expiring sun, backtracking the angle of it's gradual descent to get an idea of the time. Something about the angle seemed slightly off, making him wonder if it had followed a more rapid path of descent than the sun from the first Earth, that is, the Earth of the universe he was from. Perhaps the axis of this world was slightly askew? This version of Earth certainly seemed to be running slightly ahead of the one he had left behind, so it should not have been terribly surprising to imagine time passing differently, albeit very modestly, if at all. If it were not for his highly evolved sense of time, dulled now both by the hybrid body he owned as well as the feeling of being completely out of sync with this new, faster universe, he might not have noticed the difference at all. It was interesting, something he would look into later. Hopefully, with a bit of study and meditation, he would be able to catch himself up. Of course, he was not sure just how capable this body would prove to be, what with the needs and limitations that came with this too-human carapace, but he decided to file that concern away for the moment; better he approached those uncomfortable possibilities when he was well rested, and dry.
Yes, dry. He wanted to be dry very, very much. Shifting his gaze towards the shell-shocked blonde further up the beach, he shifted impatiently, eyeing the grime that had caked the bottoms of his moist trainers. Yes, they were moist. The cloth material was not exactly beachwear, and the coming tide had brought in a fair amount of water on the wind. The red high-tops had not fared nearly as well as his blazer and shirt. Where his suit was damp, his trainers were very nearly to the point of passing moist. Indeed, as he took a few steps towards her, he found himself bemoaning the soft sucking sound that came from his wet socks sliding against the slick soles of his shoes.
"Rose."
She did not seem to hear him, her eyes glassy as she stared at the place in the sand the TARDIS had sank into when they had first landed in Bad Wolf Bay. It had been hours since then, and the wind and the creeping waves had smoothed out most of the indentation the old blue box had left on the shore. Everything had happened so fast, he knew that is the way she would describe it - but it seemed to him that time had crawled by, and was continuing to scuttle lazily past him. It was strange, being a part of a linear time stream. From the moment his other self and the ship had departed, life outside the TARDIS had nearly crawled to a standstill, at least for him. He could feel it's absence as much as he could feel how incredibly, uncomfortably damp he was.
Quietly, he watched her for a few minutes more. The breeze had picked up some, setting the tangled lengths of her bottled-blonde hair to sweep over her shoulders, one asymmetric mass of gold on the right as she tucked it behind her left ear. He knew she had been crying, he had seen it, but even dry-eyed he could see the ashen smudges her painted lashes had left behind. It wasn't surprising, it wasn't even uncalled for considering the day they had both endured. His other self, burdened by the weight of his cursed ancestry and important place in history, had finally severed all of the ties that he had with Rose. He had stood back while his hybrid-self had whispered words of love into her ear, stiffening only slightly as Rose turned to pull this new Doctor forcibly to her, her fingers twisting in the lapels of his jacket as she pressed her lips hard against his. That must have been a sight, his lost and found pink and yellow girl clinging to him for dear life as she opened her mouth to him, watching as his own hands had snaked around her waist while being entirely separate from the entire exchange. That Doctor had done his best to seem unbothered by the sudden display of affection, but he knew himself better than that. Even as the Doctor and Donna had gone over the theory of nurturing a TARDIS, that thin-lipped smile did not fool him and, at least in retrospect, probably would not have fooled Rose either. Absently, he massaged the smooth coral that he had stowed deep in his pocket as he watched her. He only had one heart, but he remembered the feeling of two breaking inside his chest.
There was no way around it. Having a walking, talking, aging version of yourself suddenly born into a world that could barely sustain the weight of having one rogue Timelord roaming about, that really threw a wrench in things. He knew Rose had originally planned on remaining onboard the TARDIS, going back to traveling with him the way she had used to. She had said her goodbyes, sorted out her affairs, and was ready to leave this life and this world behind. There was nothing wrong with this world, not so far as he could see, but she needed to be with the Doctor, so the decision had been an easy one - except, she had never considered the possibility of a meta-crisis creating a wholly identical and altogether different version of her Doctor. He, the hybrid-Doctor, was everything she wanted, with so much of the complication that would have strained their relationship over time ironed out.
Before he knew what was happening, he was being given away to her like a neatly wrapped gift, and she had thrown her arms open wide to accept him. A neat little package, all of the enigma and personality of the Doctor, with none of the messy, inter-species agelessness that she would have had to deal with if she had continued on loving his original self. And really, he did not mind, not at first. Both Doctors, with their shared memories and understanding of the universe, knew that it simply was not possible for the two of them to coexist without serious repercussions, never mind the mess that would come from the both of them simultaneously loving Rose in precisely the same way - the fact that there was a parallel world waiting for this hybrid-Doctor was really, truly, perfect. Meant to be, it seemed. It was a way out of an implausible situation, while making his impossible relationship with Rose suddenly so very, very possible.
It had been Jackie that had been the first to call out words of celebration once the Doctor and Donna had departed, knowing all too well how close she had come to losing her daughter indefinitely; not only was she able to keep Rose in Pete's world, she had finally been able to glimpse a proper future for her. She was safe, she was home, and she had her beloved Doctor here with her, ready and able to give her the normal, human life she deserved, didn't she? Jackie Tyler was no fool, and she knew that as far as the Doctor was concerned, her daughter was hopelessly blind, and too young to fully appreciate what it meant to age and wither and die, or just how lonely she would have been if she had ended up living and dying onboard that daft spaceship with her ancient, forever young, alien boyfriend. So, it had come as a bit of a shock when Rose had cringed away from her mother, ducking out from beneath the circle of her arms when she tried to embrace her, stumbling forward and collapsing to her knees in the sand, choking on a low, pained cry. For hours she had sat there, cradling herself, rocking back and forth ever so slightly as she wept so many tears he was sure the sea level was rising.
At first, he had understood. It must have been terribly confusing, kissing him but then again, never being able to. She had travelled countless lightyears, punched through the barriers of several different universes, all to find him. All she ever wanted was him, she loved him, she wanted him, and yet... Well, the way she had been sobbing and rocking and dawdling in this place, you'd think he had left her all alone. He was right there, there for her, waiting for her, and it seemed as though an eternity had passed since she had been in his arms, kissing him, holding him, needing him so completely he had not been bothered at all by the sound of the TARDIS fading away.
And now he was damp, moist in some places, and tired. So tired. Had he ever felt this tired before? He didn't think so.
"Rose. The tide is coming in. We'll be swept away at this rate."
She seemed not to hear him at first, but as he opened his mouth to repeat himself, this time with a little less patience, she turned away from the now completely blank canvas of sand and nodded, giving him a watery smile.
"'m sorry. You're righ'." Bringing a hand up to press against her temple, she rubbed her fingers in small circles for a moment before dropping both hands into the pockets of her jacket. "Look at you, a righ' mess. You'll catch your death on account o'me."
He hummed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked her up and down. She looked more than damp, positively wet all over. He wondered how she could stand it.
"Nah. Well... Not sure, to be honest. This body, I imagine it'll be more susceptible to things like that. Hm. Well, I'd rather not find out just yet, eh?" Quirking one heavy brow, he leaned bodily in the direction of the truck, which Jackie had retreated to quite some time ago. "...Shall we? I mean, if you're ready."
She nodded, her shoulders coming up to skim the bottoms of her rosy earlobes as she took one heavy step forward, her wet runners shifting awkwardly in the clumping sand. His arm shot out, steadying her with practised ease and agility, and she sort of leapt away from him, reminding him very much of a scared rabbit. Chewing her lip nervously, she regained her balance and strode past him, her gaze darting from his dark eyes, to his dry, sea-salt cracked lips, and then resolutely to the path ahead of her. Usually, he found the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth rather adorable, but just now it failed to move him. He was quite damp, after all. And cold. He had been waiting and hoping she would let him help her for the better part of the evening, and with the sun almost completely gone from the sky, he found he did not have the energy to wheedle anything out of her. This new body needed rest, and warmth, and dry clothes. As he trudged after her he decided that it would be better for both of them if he took his time to adjust to this new body and it's particular needs before attempting to hash things out with Rose. It seemed that his physical state of being impacted his mood more than it had used to, and the cold had seeped into him, bodily and emotionally.
She had not reached for his hand even as they walked side by side across the beach, keeping her hands fisted deep in the pockets of her jacket. By the time they had reached the truck, he had stowed his hands sullenly into the pockets of his trousers. Even his pockets were damp.
A/N: As much as I love happy, fluffy smut and all-around happy endings, especially for Rose and the Doctor, I have to say the sad stories really appeal to the masochist (or sadist) in me. Really, there are not many happy endings in Doctor Who, and I think that the story has the potential to be so much darker than the show's presentation of the story is. In a bit of an inexplicable, bad mood myself I decided to try and channel my negative energy into writing a darker sort of story involving the meta-crisis Doctor. I haven't quite decided if I want this to be a sad story, or one that is darker and perhaps more violent. I want to explore the burgeoning humanity the 10-2 Doctor is made of, and how he would have to adapt. Let me know what you think, toss ideas at me, whatever. Also, I'm not in love with the title, so it might change. Cheers. TBW.