A/N: this story is more or less a long and convoluted 'what if' scenario with a bit of slash to taste, but hey, it was enjoyable to write. (Hopefully it's enjoyable to read too) Also I intend for the chapters to get longer after this.
Typical disclaimer; these characters are not mine nor will they ever be, as you might have guessed by the fact that this is a fanfiction website.
pa·thet·ic
adjective
1. causing or evoking pity, sympathetic sadness, sorrow, etc.; pitiful
2. affecting or moving the feelings.
so·na·ta
noun
a composition for one or two instruments, typically in three or four movements in contrasted forms and keys.
The Doctor had been by himself the TARDIS console room, just after bidding good night to a pair of Ponds, when it began. Not doing anything in particular, simply thinking as he so often did when all was done and there was nothing left to distract him. Standing alone in the heart of his most dependable partner, he allowed himself to entertain the thoughts that so constantly called at him from the farthest reaches of his psyche. Thoughts of morality and mortality. Of adventure and companionship. Of the past and the future- basically the usual train of thought for the Last of the Time Lords himself. There was nothing to be heard save for the gentle sound of his hearts beating out a rhythm containing memories he's chosen to bury.
He had been sleeping well lately. He often had periods when he did, when all of his past experiences left his conscious alone for a time. Nothing had happened recently that might bring the more... unfortunate parts of his history to the surface of his mind. His faithful companions were still there. No lives recently lost under his watch. Earth continued to spin. Oh he knew it couldn't stay like this forever- no one knows that like him- but for the time being, that didn't matter a bit.
He was, relatively speaking, at peace.
Of course, as per usual for him, he was soon interrupted by something in time and space demanding his attention.
And demand it did.
There was a sudden (and what can only be described in hindsight as theatrical) explosion, causing the TARDIS doors to swing open in a flurry of smoke and debris. Despite the preliminary shock, he was able to pull his thoughts together quickly. He was, after all, the Doctor. He knew what he was doing. Well, more or less. He had experienced things like this before; he wasn't especially worried for the TARDIS, he knew she was tough. Amy and Rory would likely be running in here any minute, but he knew they could handle themselves. If something wanted him to notice it, then they had total success.
Age-old instinct kicking in, he whipped around, sonic screwdriver in hand. With not a second's hesitation he was pointing it in the general direction of wherever or, more accurately, whoever, it had come from.
Through the chaos the blast had wrought, he could make out a silhouette stepping towards him. Unsure of what else he might be able to do in his current situation, the Doctor never let his gaze nor his pseudo-weapon falter from the figure striding through the mayhem that it had presumably brought about. He strained to make out a face, but was unable to attach a name to what he could see from where he was standing. Before he could think of what he ought to do next, he heard a disturbingly familiar voice.
"Hello there, Doctor," it chimed as it continued to make its way through the wreckage without hesitation, as if completely unaware of its surroundings.
He froze up. He knew exactly who this voice belonged to, and hadn't the faintest idea how to react to its unexpected return to him. Memories, both incredibly pleasant and incredibly melancholic in nature, came flooding back to him with such speed that he nearly dropped his screwdriver. It couldn't be.
"how have you been?"
Donna Noble. The most important woman in the universe.
That name that had been forced to the back of his mind came to him as he was faced with the sight of an all-too familiar redheaded woman aiming a gun at his head. And despite the latter bit, the Doctor allowed relief into the initial wave of emotion that washed over him at the sight. As it would happen, that optimism lasted for the two seconds in between then and when he paid closer attention to the smile tugging at her lips.
Something was wrong.
It was far too malevolent to be hers, completely lacking in the wacky lightheartedness he remembered so fondly. Not only that, but her gaze was too dark, her stance too aggressive. Her suit a little too sharp and her air simply too cold. They were subtle differences, possibly too subtle to be substantial to most, but he knows Donna.
Something was very, very wrong.
"Just going to stare at me are you?" whatever was inhabiting her body questioned. Oh it was her voice alright, but wasn't her. In place of playful their mockery was laced with a manic coldness that brought back memories of someone else completely... no. That was impossible, even more so than the sight in front of him, so he made an effort to crush that idea (dare he call it... hope?) immediately so not to distract from the task at hand.
"You're not her." This was the only thing he, the clever doctor, knew for sure about the body standing in front of him.
"Well... Yeah. Obviously," they retorted without a moment's hesitation, "why the hell would she do any of the things I have in the past few minutes? Frankly, I'm slightly offended you haven't figured out who I am beyond 'not Donna.'"
He scanned the body in front of him, running every fact he could get from it through his head. Who or whatever is inside of Donna is obviously of questionable mental stability. They've come looking for me so they also have made contact with me at some point and judging by the entrance I'd say they're also not too pleased with me- which doesn't really narrow it down very much. And unless Donna is just particularly unlucky, I'd also say that this little grudge of theirs is from my tenth regeneration. Cheeky fellow I was, wouldn't be surprised if there are some creatures who still hold a grudge from that one... Focus Doctor! Who would possibly pull off something like this to get back at me? Cassandra? No, no, that can't be it. Aside from the obvious reasoning against it, this seems like the work of- no no no, stop right there. False hope won't get you anywhere here
Not-Donna's grin widened with every second the Doctor spent frantically searching the scene in front of him, the answer continuing to evade his grasp.
That grin... It really does seem like... Oh get a hold of yourself! You're letting the past cloud your judgement. There has to be another explanation for all this.
Soon enough, Not-Donna had grown tired of watching the Doctor's silent argument with himself. Delicately taking a step forward, the Doctor hardly had time to think before he felt their fist making contact with his stomach, sending him to the ground.
"Come on, Doctor, it's so obvious," he heard them chide from above him without bothering to look up. He had to concentrate.
Unpredictable, very strong, more than willing to beat me to the ground out of impatience...
Their eyes continued to watch the sunken Doctor's every move like a hawk, who looked up and started watching theirs just as closely.
This is all a game to them. They probably could have killed me by now if they wanted to. They get joy from seeing me struggle.
Forcing himself to look into their stolen eyes, he tried to pick apart the emotions they were trying to convey. There was something about that gaze that was hauntingly, painfully familiar. And he while he tried to convince himself of the opposite, he knew exactly why. However much he tried to force that name down, he knew there was simply no denying it any longer, and it showed on his face.
"Ah," they murmured softly, "it's about time you've accepted the truth of the situation."
My oldest friend.
"..."
My oldest enemy.
"You know how it always is with me. Say it."
My oldest everything.
"Hello, Master."
