Not Him
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who (wish I did)
Side note I'm still working on the next chapter of Final Moments my muses are arguing with each other right now.
The Doctors thoughts on his duplicate being with Rose.
She kissed lips that were not his. He tried to tell himself that it was the same as kissing him. That she really had kissed him. That it was him she was spending the rest of her life with, spending forever with. But the words rang as false within his head. He didn't feel her lips pressed against his on that beach. Her taste did not linger on his tongue. When her hands touched that body, her fingers ran through His hair it wasn't his own body she touched, that body did not belong to him. She was kissing and holding someone else. Him, the other him. How he hated Him.
His smile hadn't been strained; he didn't frantically running back to the Tardis to avoid doing what he so badly wanted to do. Reflecting back on that day he likes to think no one knew his thoughts, no he had been composed no hint of his raging emotions showing through. No one would ever guess that he'd been one breath away from tearing her out of those arms, away from those lips that dared to kiss her when his own should be the only ones permitted to touch hers. His own arms the only ones allowed to hold her and be held by her. His hearts didn't break seeing her giving herself over to someone who was just a copy of him. No he just acted as his normal self, buried the dark thoughts, urges and he left, with his gut begging him to turn back and drag her back to the Tardis. Lock her away until the image of her kissing Him was a faded memory.
Even today he hides from the people travel with him. He hides from them that almost every second somewhere in his mind he thinks about tearing two universes apart to ensure those hands that are not his never touch her using his own thoughts and fantasies to fuel their knowledge. Or even better ensure those hands that aren't his never touch her at all, never get the chance to learn her. He wants to rip through two worlds simply because Rose should only know his touch and not his copy's.
But his companions do sometimes sleep and when they do he has no one to hide from and the thoughts consume him. He walks the halls with only the Tardis' hum and his thoughts. No he cannot escape it at that point. Sometimes like today he finds himself in the kitchen realizing only after he sits down and takes the first sip of his tea that he made two cups. One is in his hands and the other he automatically sat across from him, it's made the way Rose liked it and it's her mug. It sits across from him taunting.
He gives in to the fantasy that she's on her way to the kitchen, just cleaning up a bit after having to run back to the Tardis. His Timelord mind provides all the details perfectly there she is. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail, tendrils stick to the side of her face from where she washed her face to remove the grime of the day. She didn't bother to put on make-up so she's fresh faced perfect. She has a smile as she walks over to him glances at the tea he had made for her, her grin widens and becomes tongue touched.
Her feet are bare he can hear it as she walks but he cannot see her feet due to the baggy blue pajama pants she wears. She had borrowed them from him when they had first started traveling together and hadn't had a chance to get any of her things. Never gave em back not that he was going to complain he loved seeing her wear them. Once when he had commented about her stealing his clothes she had smiled up at him and said if he wanted those pants back then they could trade the pants for the shirt. The image of her in just his shirt had filled his mind and he had made a promise to himself that somehow he would get to see the reality of that image. She had smiled that smile the one reserved just for him. Her eyes had sparkled as teased him.
They had never made that trade so instead with the pant she wears a pale pink tank top. It leaves her shoulders bare for him to admire, leaves her neck bare to tempt him. She sits down in her seat her body relaxing, sinking into the chair. Her hands reach out and she takes the mug. He watches closely as her lips touch the edge of the mug and she takes her first sip. He is half envious of the drink and cup and half waiting for her response, to see if he got tea right for her. Her head tips back and her eyes close as she makes this little noise that he wants to be the cause of.
"You always make it perfect." Pleasure seeps from her tone.
His hearts clench and he decides her tea would taste so much better than his own especially if sipped from her lips. He is quite desperate for a taste to find out if he is right. He is sure that yes it truly would be perfect. He reaches for her hand to take the mug out of her grasp so he can get the taste he's dying for, at this moment when everything shifts.
He is no longer sitting with Rose but is in the door way. Rose is still at the table her head is still tipped back, eyes closed and someone is taking the cup from her hand with one hand while the other caresses her cheek, just as he was about to do. Fingers are tangling in her hair and her bottomless whiskey colored eyes open as his smile, HIS smile, graces her face. She watches as this intruder lowers his lips to hers. She is even meeting, lifting herself into his embrace. Her eyes falling closed again.
His is frozen and cannot move, he's willing himself to run across the kitchen, to scream, to do anything he can to stop this, but he can't. He struggles to find a way to keep this man from touching Rose. Even as he tries to break the hold on his body he notices that he is no longer in the Tardis kitchen but in a house, with carpets and doors and it not his mug or hers on the table that also is not his. Helpless he cannot bear to watch as Rose lips get closer man holding her in his thrall, instead he shifts his eyes to the window. Outside there's a swing set with a little girl that looks like Rose swing on it only her hair is a chestnut brown.
In the glass he catches a reflection, his face is reflected back at him, his eyes stare back but they are not his. The pretender has the audacity to smirk at him and lock eyes with the Doctor in the glass as his lips lower. Mentally the Doctor is screaming as their lips touch and Rose makes that sound, then there is a sharp pain in his hand and he feel s blood slipping down his fingers.
He looks down, his broken cup in his hand, and blood in dripping on to the Tardis' kitchen floor. There is a piece of porcelain cup lodged in in flesh. His eyes dart around the room searching for Rose and the man but instead of finding them he finds Rose's cup of tea, it's gotten cold. It's happened again a waking sleep that turns nightmare. He wonders what he was thinking leaving Rose with some else someone who was almost him.
To get her back two universes would collapse his mind echoes what he had heard from her own lips "So."