Sometimes goodbye is a second chance
--Shinedown--
Chapter One: Second Chance
His mind and body were on fire as he staggered through a room both familiar and strange in the same instant. Voices and faces danced in a kaleidoscope of colours through his reality and he tried to reach out a hand to the one person who was no longer there.
Go home, she kept repeating to him. Go home.
He stumbled, his feet refusing to do as they were told.
Your friend? The one you lost? Did she trust you?
His head felt like it was splitting in two.
Look at the hand - I love that hand - but then you touched it. Wham!
He was being pulled apart at the seams by a tailor with a very dull blade. He squeezed his eyes shut, as the pressure behind them built, and he fear the heels of his hands wouldn't be enough to keep him together.
You're not mating with me, sunshine!
The faces around him doubled, tripled, …my timey-wimey detector. It goes ding when there's stuff, quadrupled, and kept multiplying as the words pulsed through his brain, shutting out any other sense or feeling. They swirled around him, shouting and raving.
She's not just living on a parallel world, she's trapped there.
He was burning and freezing and being torn inside out as two separate sets of memories tried to find some way of reconciling themselves.
Instantaneous Biological Metacrisis!
It was too much for him to handle. His knees gave way and he fell hard to the ground. His temple cracked against something sharp on the way down, and the world turned blood red before fading to black, taking the voices with it as it melted away.
*.*.*.*.*
There were other people around him when he first came to, but he wasn't quite sure how many because anytime he tried to focus on just one, that person blurred and became two or three quite similar-looking, blurry figures.
"You alright, mate?" one asked.
He was quite sure the voice came from the blond spiky one to the left of him, but he couldn't quite be sure. It could have come from the other blond spiky one beside the first one. He squinted in an attempt to clear his vision, but only came up with more of a head ache, which wasn't at all helped by the sudden flash of torchlight in his face.
With a moan he turned his head away from the offending beam, muttering "One hell of a right hook."
"Yes, that bookcase is quite a fighter," the right spiky one laughed. Or was it the left one? Maybe it was both of them.
Two sets of arms hauled him upright and held him as he tried to steady his feet underneath him. Blinking, he tried in vain to get his eyes to focus properly. The entire room swam before his eyes, making him feel so terribly nauseous he chose to shut them again and let these people lead him where they willed.
Dizzy and disoriented, he found himself being helped to lie down on a bed.
A different voice than the first one asked, "She's on her way?"
"Yeah, I called both of you when I found him," answered the spiky one.
Thoughts and memories began to reassert themselves, collecting and connecting in his mind. The myriad of disembodied voices were revived as he tried to maintain consciousness.
If they get back in contact… If you talk to Rose… Just tell her… tell her ...
He moaned as the pain pulsed through his brain again. The fusion scorched and blistered as his synapses fired. His head was burning.
You woke me up too soon.
The heavy weight of the darkness sank down on him once more. He fought against it, but it still drowned out the lights and sounds. Unable to keep it at bay for more than a few extra seconds, he finally relinquished his battle and accepted the blackness, hoping it would bring relief.
*.*.*.*.*
The next time he came to, he opened his eyes to find they could almost focus properly. He blinked at the ceiling and wall a few times before a wonderfully familiar voice said, "You're finally awake. I was beginning to worry."
He turned his head to find Rose sitting in a chair beside the bed. Part of him registered the chair as being from the dining table in the other room, but he couldn't remember what that table looked like for the life of him.
"So, what did you do this time?" she asked, holding out a glass of water to him.
Sitting up cautiously, he accepted the glass obediently and took a long drink before handing it back to her. He looked down at his hands, turning them over and then back again in disbelief. Nearly slapping himself in the face he felt his cheek bones, his nose and his hair. He should have regenerated, his mind was screaming. Why on earth was he still the same?
"Fine, don't tell me," she said, setting the glass down on the bedside table and leaning forward to study him.
"Rose, it's me," he said, unable to believe that this was really happening.
"I know it's you," she said, rolling her eyes at him and looking generally exasperated. "You just have a cut on your forehead. It's not like you disfigured yourself or anything."
"No! I mean it's me," he repeated, patting his chest. "The Doctor."
She sighed and shook her head before gravely saying, "I think you hit your head a bit too hard."
He opened his mouth to counter her argument, but she deftly waved a hand to silence him.
"You're not him. You look like him. You have most of his same memories. You even sound like him most of the time, but you are different. You are human and not a Time Lord. You need to remember that."
"I'm human?" he asked, his voice jumping an octave as he pressed his palm firmly against his chest.
Only one heart beat beneath his hand. It quickened in pace but it never changed to a rhythmic double pulse. His eyes widened in horrified surprise. What had happened to him?
"Oh, you've really done a number on yourself," Rose said calmly. "Yes, you're human."
She stopped and rubbed her forehead, and he realized she looked exceptionally tired, as if she'd be up half the night.
"Let's go through this again," she began. "You're human, so you need to do human things, like eating. You need at least 2000 calories per day, preferably 2500 because you really don't need to be losing any more weight. You also need to sleep at least seven hours a day."
She paused a moment.
"Is that what happened this time? You forgot to sleep again?"
She looked at him expectantly, but he just stared at her with his mouth agape, not quite sure what to say or how to react, so she just continued her instructions.
"Don't forget personal hygiene. You always seem to forget that your body doesn't work like you think it does, or you don't care. I really don't know, but you need to shower more than once a week, especially when you've been out on the field. And you need to brush your teeth at least once a day, preferably in the morning if you're not going to do so at night as well. You have terrible breath when you don't. I honestly don't know how your girlfriends stand it."
"G…Girlfriends?" he stammered.
With yet another sigh, Rose shook her head and slowly explained, "You've been with nearly every girl who works in Catalogue and Storage Unit B. You honestly can't have forgotten all your conquests."
He swallowed hard and found himself feeling quite ill. The very idea of being with someone intimately, someone other than Rose at least, made him uncomfortable, sick even. All that talk about Queen Bess was really just that, talk. Sure he'd had a lark and gone and married her for the hell of it, but it was never consummated. He didn't have the nerve.
How casually Rose spoke of his relationships wasn't at all like her.
You just leave us behind. Is that what you're going to do to me?
'Conquests' she called them. Was he honestly that conceited to think of relationships or even just relations for that matter as conquests?
Looking hard at Rose, he imagined how painful it would have been to see her with other men.
Feeling horribly sick, he staggered out of his bed and fell to his knees in front of his little waste paper basket, vaguely thankful for the bin bag as he emptied the contents of his stomach into it.
"Are you alright?" she asked with concern as she moved closer to him.
He became acutely aware at how well she was keeping her distance. She was close enough to be comforting but careful not to touch him.
"Where am I?" he asked, not really to her, but to life in general.
The last thing he remembered before he was here was his death on the TARDIS. He had never been a religious man. He was always more interested in proving things with science, so a God or an ultimate force was never something he had believed in. He had seen all manners of devils and demi-gods, but never before had he believed there could be a true hell, until now.
"Your room," she answered slowly. "In your flat."
"My room," he parroted, wiping his mouth with his sleeve as he looked back at the narrow bed, just big enough for one person.
An overwhelming flood of thoughts and suppositions filled his mind as he found himself speaking the very first question that came to him in the midst of all this confusion.
"But where is your room?"
"In my flat."
"I don't live with you?"
He was astounded by how desperate his voice sounded, terrified and lonely.
None of this was making any sense. All his memories were conflicting, distorted, and jumbled up like they were pebbles in a jar and someone had come and shaken them up. He looked at the walls and windows, trying to place this room and what it meant, but he couldn't remember it right. It was familiar but at the same time it wasn't.
When Rose finally spoke again, she did so very carefully, each word obviously thought out to be as simple and straight forward as she could manage.
"We haven't lived under the same roof since we both left the mansion. That's been nearly two years now."
"How long did we live there?"
"Those first three months after the Doctor left us here."
You made me better. And now you can do the same for him.
The heartache in her voice hit him like a kick to the gut. With each of her words the loose and confusing bits of his consciousness clicked into place and he began to realize just what it was that was happening.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered.
She looked at him warily with a cold measure eye, almost as if he were some sort of a threat rather than a friend.
I just can't do this. Every time I look at you… I can't. I won't.
What ever she thought of him, she didn't respond to his apology, she just continued to size him up.
"Oh, Rose," he breathed. "I've made a horrible mistake."
Reaching up a hand, he tried to brush his fingers across her cheek in a gestured he'd used tens of dozens of times before, but she sharply struck the familiar hand away and leapt to her feet, effectively putting her out of his reach.
"We're not doing this again," she spat bitterly.
"Doing what?" he asked, not finding any connections to the scattered new memories in his head.
You're not him. You'll never be him He heard and saw her crying in his head, as some old painful scene reasserted itself in the forefront of his mind.
Rose shook her head and walked out of the room.
Struggling to get his body to cooperate with his brain, he pulled himself upright with use of a bookcase and the wall. He staggered to the door of his room and held tightly to the doorframe as he called after her.
"Rose, please."
She froze at the door, her hand hovering over the knob when she turned around slowly.
"You are not him," she said firmly.
"But…"
With a shake of her head he saw her fight back the tears of an old pain, and he swallowed his words. There was nothing he could say to her that could make this right. No amount of apologies would redeem him.
"You have my number," she said finally. "Ring me when you remember who you are."
Within moments he was left staring at the door, hating himself all the more for what he had done to her in the name of what was good and safe.
I spent all that time trying to find you, I'm not going back now!
Stumbling back to his bed, he threw himself at the pillow waiting for sleep to claim him, and wishing he could never wake up.
*.*.*.*.*
Unfortunately he did wake up. Not terribly long after he'd fallen into a fitful sleep his bladder chose to assert itself, rather painfully. Practically falling out of the bed, he held tightly to the wall as he walked out of his bedroom, frantically looking around as he tried to remember where the loo was.
The first door he opened was a storage cupboard filled with clean linens and camping gear. Quickly shutting it he turned round in the hall and opened the other door, ecstatic to find the tiled room beyond.
Scrambling forward, he yanked his trousers down and relieved his bursting bladder, deciding that being human was going to take some getting used to.
He refastened his trousers and methodically washed his hands, taking stock of the condition of his nails and skin, noticing both were in worse shape than he normally kept them. Shutting off the water, he looked in the mirror to find that Rose had been right about him having cut his head. There was a small gash just above his right eyebrow and someone had obviously cleaned it and put little bandages on it to keep it closed.
Tentatively he reached up to touch it, but pulled his hand away quickly. It really hurt.
"Feeling better?" a voice asked from the hall.
The Doctor recognized that voice, but he was still a little surprised at who he found standing there.
"Jake?"
"Where you expecting someone else?" Jake laughed, leaning back against the wall.
"But what are you doing here?"
"I live here."
"Oh," the Doctor said quietly.
He had assumed he lived alone if he didn't live with Rose. It had never occurred to him that he might be living with someone else.
"Don't look so excited about it," he teased before checking his watch. "I'm about to meet Mitch and Jess down the pub if you want to come. You look like you could use a drink."
"Alright," the Doctor agreed, switching out the light and following Jake to the door.
Pausing at the door, Jake turned around and pointed back to the table.
"Wallet and keys," he reminded, as if he'd had to do it hundreds of times before.
The Doctor followed his gesture and saw a rather plain wallet and a set of keys sitting on the dining table. Backtracking for them, he picked up the wallet and opened it to find a Torchwood ID, one credit card, a gym membership card and a few notes. Slipping it into his pocket he made his way back to the door, studying the key ring.
"I have two keys," he stated in mild confusion.
Jake rolled his eyes and opened the door.
"One's Rose's."
"Really?" he asked holding them up as he pulled the door shut behind them.
"Yes," Jake laughed and pointed to the one with a red flower drawn on it. "Obviously."
"Why do I have a key to her flat?"
"In case something happens and someone needs to get in there, I imagine," Jake explained as he lead the way down the stairs. "Her mum has one too."
Considering the keys for a few more moments, the Doctor tucked then in his pocket and followed Jake through the outside door. He wanted to ask more questions about Jackie and Rose and everything else he had missed but he wasn't sure how well that would be received. He thought it best to wait between his series of questions.
It was easy just to pretend he was an idiot, only he couldn't carry it too far without someone deciding he had suffered some catastrophic brain injury and needed hospitalization.
Mitch and Jess were obviously people they knew from working at Torchwood. At least that was what the Doctor assumed as some little errant thought in the back of his head placed them there. The four of them found a table in a corner so it was easier not to be overheard and they could discuss work a little more freely.
Mitch bought the first round and started to gossip about the floor he and the other two worked on. The Doctor quietly listened to them as he drank.
Two rounds later, the Doctor was quite pleased with the effect the alcohol was having on him. He felt much more relaxed and rather numbed. Spinning the liquid in bottom of his final pint he found himself thinking more about Rose, and how she was when she'd had a bit to drink.
She was always giggling and having a good time.
Then again all his memories of her were of a woman vastly different than the one who had been in his flat earlier today.
"You alright, mate?" Mitch asked, patting him on the shoulder in concern.
His words pulled the Doctor out of his memories. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You looked so far away there," commented Jess, her face also a bit worried. "Something wrong?"
"Rose," Jake said sagely, sharing a knowing nod with Jess and Mitch.
"You just need to make a move," Mitch declared. "Either she still wants you or she doesn't, but there's only one way to find out."
"I don't think she wants me," the Doctor sighed, downing the last of his beer.
"How do you know?" Mitch asked.
"She as much as told me so."
Jess rolled her eyes and looked at him sternly.
"I've seen the way she looks at you, Doc," she said. "She's still gaga over you, you know."
The Doctor blinked at her. That wasn't the impression he'd gotten from Rose earlier. Was there something he was missing? Was she still in love with him? Was that why she was so angry when he said who he was?
"You really think so?" he asked eagerly.
"Oh, definitely," she nodded. "I don't know why you two ever broke it off in the first place."
"Or why you slept your way through CS-B," Mitch piped in.
With a groan, the Doctor laid his head down on the table. He didn't want to be reminded of that little detail just yet. What had his other self been thinking?
The Doctor and his love life remained the topic for the rest of the evening. He learnt quite a bit about the girlfriends Rose had mentioned. He learnt more about her job and that she had an upcoming promotion. Eager to find out more about himself as they knew him, he prodded them for more information.
When all was said and done, he and Jake staggered back to their flat together.
"Sorry about them," Jake murmured as they reached their door. "I know you and Rose didn't go anywhere for a reason."
"No, they were right. I should do something."
"But isn't she still in love with him, the other you, the parallel universe you or whatever he is?"
"Jake," the Doctor stopped and looked him straight in the eyes. "I am him. I'm the other one."
Jake narrowed his eyes and looked at him. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," the Doctor said.
A bright, drunken grin spread across Jake's face as he slapped him on the shoulder.
"That's fantastic. You have to tell Rose."
The Doctor merely muttered something in agreement and made his way to his room where he collapsed on the bed, and wondered briefly if this was all just some sort of strange cruel dream. If tomorrow proved it real, he swore to take his friends' advice and do something about it.
He'd never know if he did try, right?
To be continued…