Lindworm
By TwinEnigma
Disclaimer: I do this for fun, not profit. Obviously I am not the BBC.
Warnings: Doctor angst
2.
One day a letter arrived, bearing great news. The war had ended and the king would soon return home. When his horse arrived and the queen went to welcome him, the lindworm followed and greeted him, too, calling out, "Welcome, father!"
"What!" the king said. "Am I your father?"
"Yes, and if you are not, I will destroy you and the castle as well!"
The king had no choice. He had to agree. They went into the castle and the queen confessed all that had happened.
Some days later, there was a great celebration. All the important people in the kingdom had gathered to welcome the king and praise his victory.
The lindworm came, too.
The Doctor watches his clone – no, copy – no, that's not the right word either. An instantaneous biological metacrisis, that's what he's looking at. Best to call it what it is: the Metacrisis, a singularly unique event in time and space. It's something new, something not quite Time Lord and not quite human either.
The thought chills him and not because the Metacrisis is part human, no. Humans are wonderful, amazing creatures that never cease to amaze him. Just when he thinks they're at their worst, they turn around and surprise him. He loves humans. Loves them and their unpredictability, their silly edible ball bearings, their chips and desperate will to survive and spread to the ends of time itself. Sometimes he pities them, sometimes he's mad at them, and sometimes he's so, so sad for them, for what he's done to them, but he doesn't hate them: he hates himself.
And the Metacrisis is just that – him.
The man who committed genocide.
The destroyer of innocence.
A monster who doesn't tell them to fight, but they always do because they want to. He makes them want to because he's so clever and so kind and wonderful and all those other reasons they've told him over the centuries, when he's anything but.
He's an old, old man in a young body, a man who uses people like pawns and leaves a sea of corpses in his wake. He is death, destroyer of worlds and this man, this Metacrisis, is in his very nature the same. That much has already been proven.
All around him, the others celebrate and cheer as they tow the Earth home. There is such joy, such utter joy, and relief that the Daleks are gone, that everything's alright. The cost sits like bitter ash on his tongue and he watches the Metacrisis out of the corner of his eye as he talks to Rose, the doppleganger's lips breaking into a wide, easy grin.
Yes, the Doctor thinks sourly, the Metacrisis is him.
And there is no one he hates more than himself.
"You made me," the Metacrisis accuses.
He really is a monster.
AN:
I find it interesting how much the Doctor canonically loathes himself.
Interestingly, yes, MetaTenth is very briefly shown talking to Rose right before the camera pans to Mickey and Jackie.