According to the Master, the Valeyard is an amalgamation of the Doctor's darker sides who will emerge between his Twelfth and final regenerations. Another prophecy goes something like this: one day, before the Doctor's final incarnation, the Valeyard would "splinter" from him as a causal imbalance, meaning he had only one life and could not regenerate.

That last bit, especially, made me wonder- what if the Metacrisis Doctor was not the Doctor at all, but the Valeyard? This is not my head canon, as I love Tentoo, but the possibility has long intrigued me. What would the Doctor do on discovering that he hadn't left Rose with a part-human version of himself at all, but rather the evil fulfillment of an old prophecy?

This is that story.

I have been dying to write this for a very long time, and I've been loving it. It is fully drafted, and I hope to post a new chapter every two weeks. I hope you enjoy it. And just so you know, though it sounds dark, there will be a LOT of fun bits. :)

Takes place immediately after the events of "The Waters of Mars".

Smoke pours from the console, but the cloister bell has finally stopped ringing.

The crash had been a bad one, tossing him to the floor like a rag doll. Dizzy and coughing, the Doctor clambers to his hands and knees. Only the dim yellow emergency lights illuminate the perimeter of the console room, barely enough to help him see. Crawling beneath the smoke, he finds the exit and goes through it, taking a big, grateful breath of the fresh air that greets him, only to expel it with more violent coughing.

Behind him, the TARDIS shuts –well, slams– her doors.

The Doctor sinks back against his ship, still coughing, and against his spine she is firm and unyielding. "You're angry with me," he mumbles, once he's able. "I get it. I'm angry with myself."

'Angry.' More like horrified, aghast, disgusted. The blast still rings in his ears, the sound of a woman ending her own life because of him. How long ago had it been –was it really only minutes?– that he'd stood on the similarly darkened street, tall and terrible, declaring himself the Winner. Then, that pop, his so-called victory bursting apart, as fragile as a balloon.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, attempting to block the vivid flashback, but it doesn't help. Good. It's the least he deserves. Every stray, startling image that will hereafter catch him unawares, goblins forever lurking to nip at his heels, he's earned it all.

He'd gone too far.

After leaving Adelaide Brooke's home, all he'd wanted to do was crawl into some hole within the depths of the TARDIS, some deep, dark hole, where he could indulge in some well deserved self-loathing. But the TARDIS had had other ideas- shrieking out her inexplicable mauve alert, finally entering the vortex on his command, but only to fling herself violently out of it.

Straight back to earth, that much is obvious. Back to London– central London by the look of things, not far from Paddington Station. The sky glows a faint grey, a nascent dawn not yet coloured by sunrise. Tall buildings run in an unbroken line down both sides of the street, little shops with awnings on the ground level, floors of flats up above. Most windows are dark, and the streetlights are lit. Even the small amount of light makes the Doctor's eyes hurt.

Sliding to sit on the pavement, he tips his head back against the TARDIS and shuts his eyes tight, hoping his ship might pity his suffering and let him in.

Not a minute passes before torchlight gleams red through his eyelids. "Are you intoxicated, sir?" barks a voice, and the Doctor peers upward, squinting in the bright light. A policeman stands over him, wearing a reflective green vest.

"No, no, I'm fine." The Doctor gets to his feet, trying to hide the fact that it's a bit of a struggle.

Another light flashes in his eyes, red and strange, there and gone. All he sees now is spots.

"Well, off to work with you, then," says the cop, gruffly. "You're a few minutes early, but I'll let it pass this time. And you ought to know that loitering is frowned upon."

Too exhausted to question the odd comment or even roll his eyes, the Doctor merely nods, and obediently begins to plod across the street. Amongst the darkened storefronts, he spots a 24-hour something, all lit up. A cafe. Perfect. He could absolutely murder a cuppa.

He is relieved to discover it is truly all he wants. Just tea. And afterward, maybe a long, long sleep. The machiavellian instinct has gone, every last bit of hubris burnt away into cold smokeless ash. He hopes it will never rekindle.

Bells chime over his head as he enters the shop, and the Doctor squints in the fluorescent light. "Tea," he requests politely, hardly sparing a glance for the young apron-clad woman behind the counter as he hurries to fish a crumpled wad of bills from the pocket of his overcoat. Shuffling through them, he quickly locates a tenner and plunks it on the counter, glad. The psychic paper would do in a pinch, but he isn't sure he could stomach any dishonesty right now.

As the barista works on his order, the Doctor glances around. It's a tiny shop, with no more than half a dozen little tables, and it's empty of customers. No wonder– a digital clock in the window proclaims the time to be just before five a.m on the eleventh of June, 2011.

It's no longer 2059. Adelaide has years to live yet, she's only twelve years old. A small comfort, but he is grateful for it nonetheless.

The tea slides his way, steam rolling from an oversized white mug, and the Doctor nods his thanks. Waits for the barista to pick up the cash, count out his change. But she doesn't move, her eyes firmly fixed on the floor. He notices then, how pale she's gone.

She's scared.

The Doctor reacts without thinking. "Are you alright?" he whispers, calm and kind, leaning in close with his forearms on the bar. "Is someone threatening you? Please tell me, it'll be okay. I can help."

Her gaze briefly lifts to his, blue and terrified and not a little confused. "'M...m'fine, my lord."

Lord? The term takes him aback. Frowning, the Doctor considers her. Petite and dark-haired and pretty, yet oddly haggard-looking for a person who looks to be hardly out of her teens. Short-sleeved, collared shirt, sunshine-yellow apron, a name-tag that says "Louisa." Wide metal cuffs on her wrists.

Wait, what? Are those slave cuffs? Can't be. They're common enough in this galaxy, yes, but he's never seen them in use on earth. "Those great big bracelets on your wrists have got to be uncomfortable, Louisa," he comments, and takes a sip of his tea. "Why are you wearing them?"

The girl's thin shoulders pull inward. "Nicked a lippie from a shop," comes her answer, barely above a whisper. Her eyes remain cast downward, and she looks as guilty as if the lipstick she'd stolen was from his own pocket.

The Doctor gently presses for more information. "And then someone put those on you?"

A nod.

"Who did it? And why?"

"The authorities, sir. So they'll know if I do it again."

Definitely slave cuffs, then. The Doctor rubs his eyes with thumb and forefinger, certain he's in no state to handle a new investigation already. "What authorities?" he asks, wondering why she'd chosen that term. Whoever they are, they can't be human, no one from this time or place would know how to use that sort of tech. Louisa stares at him, like she doesn't understand the question, so he modifies it. "What did they look like? Were they wearing anything odd?"

"Um, I dunno, black uniforms. I mean, they were just regular police officers, sir."

That makes him frown. But before the Doctor can question her further, a large, ornately framed photo on the wall behind her catches his eye and he jolts, hot tea sloshing onto the counter.

"Who's that?" he gasps out stupidly, pointing at the man in the photo. The expensive suit and tie are unfamiliar, but the face...

Frightened by his reaction, Louisa cowers as she answers. "It's...it's you, m'lord."

"And who am I?"

"Our King, sir."

The Doctor's hearts thud so loudly in his ears he barely hears his own next question. "King of what?"

"Well, of earth."

Stumbling backward, the Doctor whips around and rushes out of the shop. No, no no no, it can't be true, surely he's unconscious on the TARDIS floor right now, suffering smoke-induced hallucinations. Yet, as he barrels across the street toward the Police Box, a passing car honks warningly, morning air chills his skin, and it all feels too real.

It can't be, it can't be the earth's future. Surely he had learnt his lesson? How could the face in that photo look so much like the one he'd worn less than an hour ago, with eyes so cold and hard and Victorious?

Tears have flooded his eyes by the time he runs up against the doors of his ship, key already in his hand. "Let me in!" he demands when the key refuses to turn, thumping the door again and again with an open palm.

The TARDIS does not relent. As all the fight drains out of him, the Doctor turns around, rests his weight against the door, drags a hand down his face. Gazes upward.

And draws a sharp breath. Stars glitter up the grey sky like spilt sugar, all twinkling whites and yellows. There must be thousands of them, millions, somehow visible even through the light pollution...oh, not stars, he can see they're drifting, ever so slightly. Lights, then. Clinging to something, but to what? Not aircraft, surely. There's far too many, it'd be an air traffic control nightmare.

A few of the lights hang much lower in the sky, illuminating shadowed outlines of enormous floating somethings, bulbous like whales. Are they balloons? Blimps?

Zeppelins.

The Doctor's jaw drops because suddenly, it all makes perfect sense. He's not in some nightmare timeline of his own creation, he's in a parallel world. Pete's World.

Rose's World.

Fear and guilt give way to anger, and he turns to glare at his ship. How could she let this happen, let him end up here of all places while he's in such a fragile state?

Then his eyes squeeze shut as the blame shifts back to where it belongs, himself. Most likely, this wasn't the TARDIS' doing at all, but his own. Isn't this the very plan his power-drunk mind had cooked up earlier, to "rescue" Rose from his other self–

His other self.

Oh, god. Of course. He's the one who's made himself king.

The realisation brings the Doctor no comfort. It's one thing to suspect he is capable of terrible things. But he has always fought to subdue that side of himself. And now, to lose that fight so spectacularly, not only once, but twice in one night...it's too horrible. No matter what body he's in, he's a power-hungry madman, apparently. Donna was so right when she said he needed someone to stop him.

Hold on. His duplicate, part-human self did have someone. And not just anyone. He's got Rose.

There's a tiny, fenced park just feet to the right of the TARDIS and the Doctor paces blindly into it. If there's one thing he's certain of, it's that Rose would never, never allow him to make himself king of anything. So how did it come about? His claims about his other self being all 'blood and anger and revenge' had been born of a need to sway Rose toward the man, rather than of actual truth. Had he believed the Other capable of something like this, he'd have never left him on his own. Let alone left Rose with him.

A derisive snort escapes him. Look at him, judging his part-human self for bringing a planet under his dominion, when he had just tried to do the same thing to Time.

Although... would he have tampered with the fixed point if Rose had been there?

Even now, the Doctor just can't believe he would have. His love for her had mastered him long ago, made him a slave to her smile of approval. When with her, he'd always found it remarkably easy to curb his darker tendencies.

He'd picked a fight with Time because he was tired of losing, yes. But also because it had taken Rose from him.

Whereas his double had her. So he just can't understand why–

The question does not fully form in his mind before it's drowned out by others that make his blood run cold. If his other self has pursued world domination in spite of Rose's influence, what else might he have done? Hurt her? Imprisoned her? Worse?

The Doctor shakes his head, sure he's being ridiculous, even as his feet carry him down the pavement in search of another police officer. One of the 'authorities', as the barista had termed them. Whoever they are, if they're using advanced alien tech to subdue people, there's a good chance they're minions of the king. He needs to understand what he's dealing with.

Now that he's paying attention, he quickly picks out four officers in black uniforms with reflective vests– one across the street outside a restaurant, two more off in the distance nearer the Tube station; on his left there's another one on the corner. Talk about excessive, especially since there aren't even any other humans around to police. Which is also weird.

Suspicions fully roused, he goes to the one on the corner, who is standing beneath a streetlamp with some sort of electronic wand, speed-testing the occasional car that passes through the intersection. A woman, nearly as tall as he is. Beneath her hat, her long hair is knotted at the back of her neck, a blonde so pale it looks almost white.

"Excuse me," the Doctor says once he's near enough. She looks at him expectantly, and he goes completely still. No.

"Yes?" Her tone is impatient but the Doctor hardly cares, trying to come to terms with what he's seeing. Her hair doesn't just look white, it is white, her eyes a distinctive pale blue. But the lynchpin is the tattoo marking, lines of pink like a barcode, down the left side of her face. It had been too dark before to see it on the policeman who'd thought he was drunk. These authorities aren't human. They're Tesi.

A red light swipes over his eyes, and he realises he's being scanned again. "Sorry," he says quickly, regaining his senses. "I'm not intoxicated, I'm just...lost." He turns away, pretending to cough into his hand, so he can partly obscure his face. "Can you point me in the direction of Craven Road?"

A finger points, sharply, toward the crossroad he'd just come from.

"Oh, right, I'm stupid, sorry. Thanks for your help."

The Doctor hurriedly strolls back toward the TARDIS. Oh yes, he is stupid, stupid indeed. Confronting a Tesi, completely forgetting he looks exactly like the so-called King, who is the last person he wants to discover his presence here. Did she recognise him? She didn't seem to, but…

He chances a quick skyward glance, knowing now that all those lights are attached to Tesi spacecraft. Command ships, prison ships, patrol ships, all equipped with surveillance cameras, probably. Oh, is he ever stupid.

He runs.

The Doctor's key turns easily this time, and he nearly falls into the TARDIS as the door opens. Tossing his coat over a coral strut, he darts to the console, and with a few keystrokes obtains the ship's current power level stats. Still terribly low, but there's enough juice to run the cloaking system, thankfully. He turns it on and collapses onto a jumpseat, trying to catch his breath.

A Tesi invasion. It well explains the slave cuffs. How many other humans are wearing them, he wonders, for similarly minor infractions? The Tesi are not known for their mercy. They're a military-minded sort of people, forever scouring galaxies in search of 'troubled' planets to bring under their dominion. Planets in need of their services, as they see it. The Doctor knows the Tesi brand of peace well– fragile and ephemeral, achieved only by overwhelming force and swift, harsh punishments. These are the people his duplicate is working with? He's ruling them, rather than routing them?

Either his own potential for wrongdoing is worse than he thought, or there is something big going on that he doesn't know about. Maybe the human Doctor manipulated his way into a power position in order to fool the Tesi? He's trying to bring them down from within?

The Doctor leans forward tiredly, elbows on knees, his head in his hands. Guessing is futile; he's got to find out the truth. He can't swan off with this world in such trouble. Especially since it's his fault.

Rose needs his help.

His hearts give a great, hard throb. Rose. It's almost too much to absorb, that she and he are, impossibly, once again beneath the same sky. Moreover, he's got to see her. For a valid reason, even– he can't make any decisions or plans without a lot more information, and she's the one that will have it.

Adrenaline courses hot through his system, a mix of anxiety and excitement. No doubt she's angry with him, perhaps she even (rightfully) blames him for this whole mess, but he'll get to look at her, share space with her, speak to her, spend new minutes with her. He can't help the joy he feels over the prospect. He doesn't deserve it, but oh, how he wants.

Stuffing his emotions as best he can, the Doctor hauls himself to his feet and gets to work, typing commands into the console. Okay, 2011, that's good, less than a year since he was last here so things can't have changed too much. A map pops up on the monitor, a blinking dot identifying his current location. If he remembers correctly (and he does), Pete's mansion is -his fingertip touches the screen- here, several miles to the west. It's the best starting place, even if he only finds Jackie.

Problem is, his TARDIS can't travel in this universe. The Doctor puffs his cheeks full of air and blows it out, thinking. He can't take a cab or a bus or a train, not without his world-famous face being spotted. And until he knows exactly what is going on, he cannot risk his double finding out he is here.

Oh no, he'll need some sort of psychic damper, won't he?

Although...when he was outside before, he hadn't felt the telltale tingle in his head at all, the one that tells him another Time Lord is present. The Other must be a bit too human? Well, that'll help. Physical disguises are one thing. Mental ones, much trickier.

The Doctor looks down at himself, and runs his hands over his blue pinstripe jacket. He loves his suits, he's worn them for so long now they're part of his identity. But that's the problem. His counterpart knows this suit just as well as he does.

Well, he thinks as he strides with decided steps toward the wardrobe, maybe it won't be such a bad thing if he looks slightly less like himself when he faces Rose again. Less like the man who'd abandoned her on that beach.

Though that hardly means he can't still look good.

Thirty minutes (and a perusal of some of Donna's old celeb mags) later, the Doctor scrutinises his reflection in the wardrobe's full-length mirror. Most of that time had been spent trying to find jeans to properly fit his tall, skinny form, but now that his frustration is past, he finds he rather likes the look of the dark denims.

They're comfortable too; he'd forgotten. Paired with his white Converse and a thin, soft jumper in grey, he looks rather fit, if he says so himself. To finish it off, he pulls on his best find, a smart black leather jacket with metal snaps on the pockets. Leaving it unzipped, collar upturned, the Doctor turns from side to side to get the full effect.

Huh. In his opinion, he looks sort of like that actor Rose liked from that spy show, the bloke who always wore Chuck Taylors. The bloke she once called 'hot.'

The Doctor sniffs. Point is, he looks different, and that's what matters. But hopefully it's good different.

Settled, he snatches his shiny black helmet off a chair and heads for storage area seven, a spot he hasn't visited since the Antigrav Olympics. He's sure he left his favourite motorbike there.

The sun is fully above the horizon as the Doctor whizzes down the motorway, carefully keeping to the speed limit. Typically, the roads are packed, people heading off to their jobs and school, and he's grateful he's on a motorcycle as he filters between lines of slow-moving cars. He's also glad to see a level of normalcy.

The Tesi, as he'd suspected, swarm everywhere like an insect invasion, their preferred mode of transport white hoverbikes that he quite envies. Keeping an eye on everything from just above.

It makes him worry that they'll have Pete's mansion surrounded, guarded, so that he'll have to rethink his plan for sneaking in there. But as the Doctor's bike tyres roll up the long drive, gravel crunching beneath them, he is pleasantly surprised to find the estate is mostly quiet and empty.

Parking his bike behind one of the long, tall hedgerows, he tugs off his helmet and replaces it with a ball cap he'd brought along. He peeks through the thick greenery to see if anyone is out back of the house, and sees a man watering the flowerbeds.

The Doctor bides his time, and fortunately it isn't long before the man straightens, coils up the hose, and then heads for the back entry. After the gardener disappears inside, he counts ten, then runs to the same door, screwdriver in hand. He makes quick work of both the security camera and the lock, and slips into some sort of entry room, with coats hung on the wall and shoes on the floor.

There's another security camera for him to shut down, and then he tiptoes through the house, hoping there's no staff lurking around to catch him. It's been a long time since he last here, posing as a waiter, and he can't quite recall where to find the kitchen or dining room. But with a bit of luck, he'll locate them quickly, and Jackie. It is breakfast time, after all.

In the end, he doesn't need luck– Jackie's voice always carries when she's complaining and the Doctor, ears catching the sound of her, follows it, spirits lifting. It's the first hopeful thing he's heard today.

"...to pick up Tony, I told you this yesterday, Pete, I can't believe you'd forget! You'll have to rearrange your schedule."

"That's not exactly an easy thing to do, Jacks-"

"Oh, and it's so 'easy' for me to reschedule my spa day with Monica, is it? When she's got three kids, and her nanny's only on till four? You think we should just take the kids along with us, is that it? Let them run and scream while we get our massages?"

"Of course I don't, but–"

A clattering sound, and a young voice shrieks, "KABOOM!"

"Tony!" shout Pete and Jackie simultaneously. The Doctor can't help but grin as he takes advantage of the well-timed distraction, slipping through a doorway toward the sound of their voices.

He's found the kitchen. At a small table near a window sit Jackie and Pete, mugs and half-empty plates in front of them. Their little boy, all rosy cheeks and unruly blonde hair, hangs over the side of his booster seat with a delighted expression, arms stretched toward the floor and his spilt plate. Sticky toast and bits of eggs are everywhere. "It's 'sploded!"

"That's your breakfast!" retorts Jackie severely as she gets up. She's dressed in track bottoms and a tee, her hair bleached blonde and her face full of makeup, just like always. The sight of her gives him courage.

"Jackie," he says quietly.

Three sets of eyes snap his way. Pete and Jackie wear identical looks of surprise and bafflement.

The child, however, breaks into a wide grin. "Doctor!" he shouts. "Look! It 'sploded!"

"It certainly did," he says, managing to smile back. So the toddler likes his counterpart; a good sign, that.

The Doctor meets Jackie's eye. Her surprise has not given way to a similar excitement. She's staring at him- no, staring him down, arms crossed over her chest. "Well, well. To what do we owe this pleasure, Your Highness?"

This takes the Doctor aback. "I'm...I'm not who you think I am, Jackie."

Her gaze narrows further. "What's that supposed to mean? What are you up to now, going around in that getup? Is it supposed to be a disguise or something? Where's Rose?"

Rising from his chair, Pete gently takes hold of her elbow. "Jackie, be nice. Good morning, Doctor. Did you need something?"

Grimacing, the Doctor puts a finger to his lips, and hurries over to them. "I'm not who you think I am," he repeats in a whisper. "I'm not the part-human me. I'm the other one." Before Jackie gets a chance to argue further, he grabs her hand, presses her fingers to his pulse at his wrist. "See?" he says, as her eyes go wide. "Two hearts."

Jackie stares at him, open-mouthed, and he's stunned to see tears filling her eyes. "Oh my god, it's you. The real Doctor." Abruptly releasing him, she turns to her husband and waves a frantic hand. "Pete, hurry, get him upstairs before somebody sees him. I'll get Patty to drive Tony to school."

Cap pulled low over his eyes, the Doctor stays close on Pete's heels, but they make it up the wide staircase and down the left corridor without running into the housekeeper. Pete shuts them into a grand bedroom. Sunlight pours in through french doors that lead to a balcony, and there's also a sitting area and a massive four-poster bed.

Mad with curiosity, the Doctor waits for Pete to begin his explanations, but the man only picks up a television remote, and then opens the double-door closet. Sliding aside some hanging clothes, he points the remote into the small space. There is a low whirring noise.

Pete extends an arm. "After you."

Peeking into the closet, the Doctor sees a section of wall at the back has slid aside, revealing a darkened, hidden room just beyond.

Lights blink to life over his head as he ducks beneath the clothing rod to step inside, and the Doctor smiles as he gets his first look at the space. A safe room, seemingly designed for long-term refuge if necessary. There's a pullout sofa, blankets and pillows piled beside it, a refrigerator and a microwave, cupboards no doubt filled with food. But what gets the Doctor's attention is the bank of nine flat-screen monitors, covering the far wall.

With the same remote, Pete powers on the screens, and the Doctor goes for a better look. Some of the monitors show live camera shots of the grounds and indoor entry areas. A couple are tuned to twenty-four hour news feeds, both international and local. The sound is off but one shows a panel of women being interviewed, and is captioned with "Finally Safe on the Streets After Dark".

He glances at Pete. "Who all knows about this room?"

"Only Jackie and I, and Rose. And now you."

Pulling his cap off, the Doctor scrubs a hand through his hair. "So you've kept it a secret from the other me. Why?"

Pete snorts. "C'mon, Doctor. Why are you here? Unless you landed that spaceship of yours directly in our foyer, you can't have missed the fact that we're in the middle of a Tesi invasion. One that was instigated entirely by your counterpart, not that he'd ever admit it. He's pretending he's got a nice little plan to save us, and we're pretending to believe him."

The Doctor absorbs this with wide eyes. "He instigated it? You're sure?"

"Yes."

The answer is short, clear, and the opposite of what he'd hoped to hear. "But...I don't understand. I mean, he's me, and I really don't think I'd… not if Rose…"

Pete puts a hand on his arm. "You wouldn't, no. But he did."

The Doctor shakes his head, confused and disheartened. "Okay, okay. Ehm, does he actually believe you believe him? Cos the thing is, I'm a bit hard to fool."

"Can't say for certain." Pete shrugs. "But the bit we've got going for us is that we did believe him, at first. Probably still would, if Rose hadn't discovered the truth."

His pulse speeds. "Is she okay?"

"Ye-es," Pete draws the word out. "But I won't say this hasn't been hard on her, Doctor. She's with him all the time, insists it's her job to keep an eye on him. But can you imagine how exhausting that would be? Pretending everything's fine, with a person who constantly lies to you? With a person who feigns love for you, but in truth only loves himself?"

The Doctor's head spins. Pete sounds so sure, but what he says is impossible. His love for Rose is part of his make-up; she's in his blood, his bones, his DNA. He couldn't carve her out if he wanted to. "How do you know I'm not like that too?" he asks, hoarsely.

"I don't. Rose does, though, and I trust her judgment. There's a reason she fought so hard to get back to you."

"But...he's really been lying to her? How did she find out?"

"Oh, she knew pretty much from the start," comes Jackie's voice. They turn to see her ducking into the room. "I still feel terrible about that. She kept tellin' us and tellin' us he wasn't you, that there was something off about him, but none of us could see it. I figured she just needed time to adjust. I mean, he was as charming as ever, and as annoying too, plus he seemed to worship the ground she walked on. Just like you."

The Doctor can't look at her, gazing down at the thick carpet beneath his chucks.

"Unfortunately," says Pete, "it wasn't until he used Torchwood's technology to call in a massive alien army to help him conquer the planet did we begin to see what Rose was talking about."

"And even now," Jackie adds, "he's so convincing, so charismatic. It's like, those aliens have taken over the whole planet, imprisoning people left and right and killing plenty of 'em too, and he acts like he hates it just as much as us, but then he'll just, oh so casually, point out all the good things they're doing too, like how racism's not tolerated anymore, and how there's no war or crime or anything, and you'll catch yourself thinking, maybe this invasion is good for the earth."

"But underneath it all, it's a mess," says Pete, as he picks up the remote and uses it to shut the room's hidden door. "Any business that isn't sanctioned, like liquor stores or pubs or even certain public services, aren't allowed to operate, so millions are out of work. There's no programs for those in need. No help for the disabled. If you can't afford the necessities of life, you go to a labor camp. Of course, some people love all the changes. Some are profiting off it. If you support Tesi governance, you're entitled to all sorts of luxuries."

Maybe that's it, thinks the Doctor. His metacrisis has convinced himself he knows what's best for the planet, and, Doctor-like, was presumptuous enough to act on it. But all he says is: "Sounds like the Tesi I know. Under their rule, there's no war, no crime, and no mercy."

"Not quite none," says Pete. "Our world has Rose to thank for that. Everyone gets a second chance. It's part of the earth's capitulation agreement the other you helped to craft."

"So the Tesi are attempting to make their invasion legal?" The Doctor looks down, notices he's twisting his cap in his hands, and tosses it onto the long table beneath the wall monitors. "I was wondering about that. In my universe, the Tesi use the same strategy I'm seeing here, overpower less advanced peoples with their technology and sheer numbers, yet they're also distinctly law-abiding. They don't just subdue planets willy-nilly, they draw up a treaty, get it signed by both sides, and finalise it by uniting their people in a marriage alliance. To be specific, their high commander marries a native."

"Huh, interesting. I don't think that's how the Tesi operate here, though; it seems to be more forceful, than legal."

"You sure? Any chance he's secretly married to a Tesi woman?"

"One never knows, with him," mutters Jackie. "But officially, he's engaged to Rose."

"Engaged?" echoes the Doctor, as his whole being turns to ice. A romantic relationship? Why would Rose agree to that, if she so distrusts his human self?

Unless...no. No. No. He squeezes his eyes shut, to force away his next awful thought, but it blooms to life anyway. What if Rose agreed to the marriage before any of this happened?

Not only would it explain so much, but it is well within the realm of possibility. Probability, even. If he'd been the one made human, he knows he'd have been only too eager to rush Rose to the altar, in the Gallifreyan-style, permanent mental enmeshment sort of way.

Is that how Rose knew the Other's truth with such certainty?

His vision darkens at the edges; the Doctor can hardly draw a breath. "They're...they're not married, are they?" he manages to ask, trying to resist the urge to clutch at Jackie's tee-shirt. "Like, officially? Yet unofficially?"

"Are you bonkers? That doesn't even make sense!"

"Okay, right, I mean, did Rose say exactly how she found out he was behind the invasion?"

Jackie rolls her eyes. "She investigated him. How else would she have found it out?"

Relief weakens his knees, and the Doctor exhales, slowly. Rose needed to investigate, right, of course. He's being an idiot. His other self wants to hide what he's doing from Rose, so why would he pursue a psychic link, thereby granting her intimate access to his secrets and emotions? "So the engagement is fake, then?"

"Of course it's fake," Jackie replies in a much kinder tone, watching him with knowing eyes. "He proposed, and she couldn't very well tell 'im no, could she? Not if she wants him to believe they're on the same page about things. If he kicks her out of Torchwood like he did all the other humans, how else will we get intel?"

"Right, good point. Well, if their engagement's official, the Tesi know about it, then. They'd never put up with their King being publicly engaged to another woman, not if he was married to one of theirs." The Doctor fiddles with the zip of his jacket. "I don't get it. If there's no marriage alliance in the works, how in blazes did he get them to make him king?"

"I'm not privy to the terms of agreement, of course," says Pete, arm stretched across the back of the sofa, "but the way he explained it to me is that the Tesi simply choose a native. Whoever ranks as the planet's highest authority gets to stay in power as world king. Somehow, and he was never clear on the details, he convinced them he was it."

"Okay. And all the former world leaders are imprisoned up on those ships I see everywhere?"

"That's what I'm told."

"Any resistance movements?"

A grin cracks Pete's stoic facade, and he lifts a hand. "Hello."

The Doctor grins back. "Well, you've got the experience with it, eh?"

"There was a lot of rioting, at first. Military personnel were the first to resist, in this country at least, but all of that stopped pretty sharply when they lost their commanders. We watched things play out, biding our time, and after a bit a few of us Torchwood alum quietly followed in their footsteps, copying their patterns so we wouldn't be identified as anything new. We work from the shadows, gather intel, and occasionally take action against an injustice. But for the most part, we're waiting, watching, and planning. Being as careful as we can."

"We can't chance being caught, we'd be imprisoned," adds Jackie. "We've got Tony to think about."

The Doctor casts a doubtful look her way. "You truly believe he'd let the Tesi do that? Lock you away?"

She meets his gaze straight on. "There's a coldness about him. Once you see it, you can't stop seeing it. He's not like you, Doctor."

Oh, how he wishes that were true. "He'd never imprison Rose, though."

"Rose claims he would, if he ever finds out she's been playing him. But for now, she's the only person he listens to at all. It's like, he still cares what she thinks, a little. But clever as you are, Doctor, you have always underestimated Rose."

He nods. Truer words have never been spoken. But he still fears for her. "He is part Time Lord, Jackie, and clever. He's probably suspicious of Rose, suspicious of all of you."

"Like Pete said, we're being careful."

"Pete told me all this pretending is taking quite a toll on Rose."

"Oh, it is," agrees Jackie with fervour, sharing a look with Pete. "She's lost so much weight, looks exhausted all the time. I don't know how much she even sleeps. I keep telling her, 'you'll end up in hospital, Rose, you keep going at this rate.'"

The Doctor frowns. "What? There is no way he doesn't notice that."

"You're confusing yourself with him again. You notice everything about her, and you care. But him? The thinner she gets, the more he compliments her."

"He what?" Sudden fury makes his fists clench. If he finds that what he's hearing now is even half-true, he might strangle his other self. "I can't believe I let this happen," he says roughly. "I didn't even give her a choice, not really, I just left, and now you're all living in this dystopian–"

"It's not your fault," states Jackie, voice severe and warm all at once. Coming to him, she rubs his forearm soothingly. "You did the best you could."

His jaw tightens further. "Stop being so nice to me. I don't deserve it."

"Of course you do, sweetheart. You've had a rough go of things since then too, I can tell."

She's all warm, genuine sympathy now, and tears well into his eyes against his will. "I'm not a good person," he chokes out.

"Bollocks," says Jackie fiercely, wrapping him into a hug. He can't help but cling to her, like a drowning man to a rock. "You're one of the best people I know, and I'm not talking about all those times you've saved the world. A person might do that to puff their own ego, but what you did for Rose? Giving her up to a normal life, with her family, with another man? Most selfless act I've ever seen. You broke your own heart for Rose, because you love her."

The Doctor wants to argue. But he can't. It's all true.

"So yeah, it didn't turn out like you thought it would." Jackie releases him, but keeps her hands on his elbows. "But you're here now. You'll fix it, yeah?"

Giving his eyes a swipe with the back of his hand, he lifts his gaze to hers. "Yes. Yes. I'll fix this. I promise."

"Good." Turning away, Jackie takes out her phone, touches the screen a few times.

"What are you doing?"

Waving him off, she puts the phone to her ear. "Oh, Rose, thank god you answered for once. Listen, I need your help with something. No, your dad's here, but he's rubbish with this sort of thing. See, I missed a pill or two again this month, and I'm five days late. Can you please pick up another box of tests, and bring them by? Yes, that'll work. Cheers."

This is the most confusing half-conversation the Doctor's ever heard, but his brain sticks on just one thing. "Rose is coming?"

"Yeah." Jackie smiles, looking pleased with herself. "That's our secret code, I came up with it myself. I pretend to be daft about my birth control pills, and ask Rose to pop into the chemists for a pregnancy test. Then she knows to come quick as she can, and His Highness never wants to join her on that sort of errand. Isn't it brilliant?"

"But...she's coming?" As it exits his mouth he knows it's absurd. He needs to see Rose, it's why he's here, however, now that the wheels are in motion, the Doctor can't help panicking a little. "Doesn't she hate me?"

"Oh, don't be stupid. She might not be too pleased about the heavy-handed way you got her to stay here, but I reckon she'll forgive you quick enough, if she hasn't already. Just make sure you two communicate properly this time, okay? Sort things out. Because you love her. Right?"

Once he would have fled at such a statement. But now, he's so far beyond that, he barely even flinches. "Right."

"Right." Jackie pushes at his unresisting body until he drops down onto the couch beside Pete. "Now, you sit there and rest a bit, sweetheart, you look knackered. I'll fetch you some breakfast and a cup of tea."

This story will be 8 chapters long.