Disclaimer: If someone ever catches someone who's affiliated with any show or movie writing fanfics to their own shows or movies, I'll buy a hat and eat it. I, however, have nothing to do with either, therefore am not making any money.

Spoilers: Nothing Torchwood-y (besides the immortal Transducer) and nothing new of Season 3 of Doctor Who (though the time line is still somewhere between 3x03-Gridlock and 3x04-Dalkes in Manhattan, which is to say, episode 4 still hasn't happened.

Enjoy, and please take a second to REVIEW(!) and warm my little heart (who has seen Doomsday again and is very, very sad).

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Chapter 4

The Tenth Doctor, His World.

:-: Bargaining :-:

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"Right!" the Doctor called, spinning knobs and pressing buttons. "Got our course ready! London, the Powel Estate, 2006; be there in a few minutes."

Rose leaned on the console and the Doctor wondered if she realized she was stroking bits of the TARDIS, which she always teased him for doing. Next time, he would have her head. "Good, I've got piles of laundry like you wouldn't believe."

The Doctor grinned, "Oh, I believe. I saw the bag in your room the other day." He tilted his head teasingly, "I tell you, I've seen some scary things in my very long life, but that bag… puts everything else to shame, it does. How many clothes have you got anyway?"

She grinned right back, "You know, that'd be funnier if we hadn't just come back from battling some Cyclops."

He looked up from the screen, eyes twinkling with residual adrenalin and just a teeny bit of contentment. "I've told you, they're not called Cyclops. That's just the name you silly humans gave them." He sighed dramatically, "Like talking to a brick wall. Doesn't matter, though; you can call them whatever you liked. Doesn't matter, never mind, no importance whatsoever."

Rose raised her eyebrows playfully, "Doctor, you're doing that thing again."

"That thing? What thing?"

"That crazy dictionary-spewing thing," she clarified.

The Doctor's lips formed a pout that held for a pathetically short amount of time. He couldn't seem to stop himself from smiling today. What was that? Possibly some sort of illness. "Sincere apologies," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm so used to it by now, Doctor. At least this time you didn't include alien languages."

He ignored the feigned weariness in her voice. "Did you remember to get that Bezulium?"

Rose rolled her eyes, "God, yes. Can't wait to get rid of it. The TARDIS's driving the poor thing crazy!"

She pulled it out of her pocket and held it out for him. Indeed, it was maniacally switching between hot and cold. Rose giggled, and he couldn't stop himself from giggling back, and maybe it was more than just a teeny bit of contentment. "Blimey!" he called, smile bigger than his face, "Look at this thing, it's gone mad!"

Just as he realized his arm was still draped affectionately around her shoulder, the TARDIS jarred, forcing them apart. Prepare to land; slight turbulences expected.

"Here we are!" the Doctor announced.

Rose clapped her hands, sharing his irrational enthusiasm. "Hold on, I'll just get the bag."

Just as she was disappearing from view, the Doctor called, "Try not to get eaten by it!"

And then he woke up, with Rose's laughter still echoing in his ears.

What? His mind raced. What is happening?

He looked around. He was in his bedroom, on his bed. It was dark.

It was a dream.

Just a dream. Fleeting and fading and fake. Rose's laughter died out. He was alone in the room.

Alone, period.

The Doctor buried his head in his hands. He had gotten rid of the Transducer to stop this from happening. He gave it to the TARDIS to fume and destroy so that he could stop. The one time he decided to take a nap lately, and God, it was so real and she was so real and they were so happy. Their last moments together.

He just wanted it all to stop.

-

The Ninth Doctor, Pete's World

-

Oh, come on, come on, you clever little thing, figure it out, he silently urged the tracking device in his hand. There had to be a limit to how much time it was planning to beep stupidly without actually finding anything.

Of course, he was answered with another unknowing bleep. If anything, it seemed that he was losing whatever faint signal he got from the mysterious traveler. Did he have to touch it in order for the tracker to work? Was the creature that strong? It was probably disguising itself as human, but it didn't mean the Doctor was planning on touching every other person that passed him by.

Well, depending on how desperate the situation got, anyway. Something told him Jack would be simply thrilled with that particular assignment. In fact, he might have already figured the tracker worked better when touch was implied and was now in the process of harassing the whole of London.

Oh, hell.

He leaned heavily on the building behind it, vaguely recognizing it as Canary Wharf. What was it that they did there again? He couldn't remember, and furthermore, he was a little bit distracted by the tracker, which suddenly started TO BLEEP MADLY!

It took only a second for the Doctor to register what was happening, and when he did, he straightened up so abruptly that the tracker almost slipped from his hand. What? How? What?

The tracker's signal had gone completely wild, as a person would if he found his keys after two days of looking for them. The Doctor looked around, confused. Nothing looked different. He tried pointing the tracker at different directions, but the more he tried, the weaker the signal turned again.

Bloody hell, what did he do? Did it pass him through? Unlikely.

He tried to repeat his moves. A few steps back to where he was, maybe it was in the sewers.

Nothing.

A few steps forward.

Nothing.

He sighed, leaning on the building again. This was hopeless.

BLEEP!

Again, the tracker went insane. The Doctor jumped, startled, and stared at the building with disbelief. Really? There? Wasn't it the home of the National Bank or something of the sort? Maybe he was wrong. He tried letting go, and indeed, the tracker went dead again. Interesting. Conspiracies were usually pretty fun. Of course, he assumed he was looking for a person, not a building. Although, who knew these days.

Either way, he had to get in.

He dialed his phone quickly, hardly waiting for Jack's cheerful hello before spitting, "Where are you?"

"Doc?" Jack answered. "I'm in just a few feet away from the TARDIS, why?"

"Come to Canary Wharf. I found it." He hung up without another word.

Security seemed average. Some people entered with ID cards, some without. He caught glimpse of a lady's ID and created a mental image for the psychic paper. Everything was coming up Doctor!

He quickly joined the line of people waiting to get in, even bumped into the woman in front of him and the man behind him for good measure, just in case they were the creature. They weren't. They were, however, a little annoyed with him, but no matter. He was very, very curious about this new secret building.

"ID?" the guard said, very official-like.

Just before the Doctor had the opportunity to flash him the psychic paper, someone cut in, passing him with a fleeting ''scuse me' and going through the metal detector -which beeped furiously- without undergoing any sort of security examination for any weapons. It was all clearly innocent.

She was a young, blond woman. Too young, in his opinion, to be involved in whatever secret operation that obviously operated in the building. But what was even more interesting about her was that she bumped into his shoulder slightly on her way, and when she did, the tracker in his pocket practically burned a hole through.

Blimey! he thought, head buzzing with adrenaline. Got you, finally.

"Welcome back, Miss T… uh, Miss," the guard greeted her, waving enthusiastically.

She turned her head briefly to acknowledge him, but –of course- not enough for the Doctor to catch a good glimpse of her face. Just his luck.

He tried to see where she was going, but the guard stared at him expectantly, and by the time he got his psychic paper out and lifted his gaze back to search for her, she was gone. Probably through a secret elevator of some sort.

The security guard grinned, "Is this your first day, Mr. Smith?"

"What? Oh, yeah, it is."

"Welcome aboard, then. I think you might want to see the receptionist back there. Lots of offices back here, wouldn't want you to get lost."

The Doctor nodded, plastering on the stupidest grin he could muster, "Thank you! I will."

"Wait, actually you won't even have to do that! Here's Tosh! She works for the Bank, too. Don't you, Tosh?" The woman in question nodded courtly, and the guard continued, "Oh, no need to bother with your ID, Tosh, I know who you are. Just show this gent here where the office is. He's going to be working with you. Show her your card, Mr. Smith."

The Doctor flashed the paper back without even thinking about it. A glimpse of blond caught his eye and he was determined to track it down this time. Luckily, Tosh took hold of his arm and ushered him in the blonde's exact direction.

"You're here to see Jake, yeah?" she asked pleasantly, earning a distracted nod from him. "I didn't know he was even hiring. Come on, now, this way here."

It was only when he was actually standing in front of a door labeled Jake Simmonds, that the Doctor finally realized he wasn't actually there to grab himself a new job and that he would have nothing to say to this Jake person. Not to mention, no sign of the blonde creature from before.

Oh, well, might as well apply for a job while he was at it. If anything, it'd buy time until Jack got there. He nodded at Tosh, who nodded back tightly, and opened the door.

Only to find himself facing at least ten very big guns pointed at his head.

"Ah."

One of them, a stern-looking young man, motioned at him with his -again- very big gun, "Hands in the air, please."

The Doctor obliged, honestly not very sure what should be said on such an occasion.

"He tried to walk in with a psychic paper," Tosh informed them, also pointing a gun –albeit a smaller one- at his head. "I don't think he knows what's going on. He just let me bring him here."

The stern one nodded, sternly, "Well, who are you, then?"

The Doctor grinned maniacally, "I'm the Doctor, nice to meet you."

"Oh, you're definitely not the Doctor," the stern one said. "Wanna try again? I advise it."

Pouting, the Doctor insisted, "No, seriously, I am!"

"Check him," Tosh ordered.

A man and a woman approached him, completely covered by a shield that might block his sonic screwdriver. Not that he would ever use it to hurt humans, but maybe it'd be a good idea to grab one and threaten his way to a safe exit. Of course, could be that if he made any sudden movements, he would find himself with no head.

A dilemma, indeed.

"Jake, Sir," the woman said, "He has a… what's it called? A sonic probe thing."

The stern one, who, apparently, was the Jake who owned the office, corrected her, "Screwdriver. I saw it before. The real Doctor had one."

"He also has this… thing," the man said, holding the tracker in his hand. "What is that?"

"Excuse me," the Doctor interrupted politely. "While you're poking around my personal property, would you mind telling me who's this other Doctor you keep referring to? Can you maybe describe him? Because, you know, sometimes I go by another face."

Jake looked unsurely at Tosh, who shrugged. "Brown long coat, brown hair, silly shoes, bounced about a lot?"

The Doctor frowned, "No scarf? Or old?"

"No."

"Ah."

"What does… ah mean?" Tosh asked as they finally finished searching the pockets that were visible to them.

The Doctor waved his palm dismissively, careful not to set the shooters off. "Oh, nothing. No worries. It just seems I have an imposter. Was bound to happen sooner or later. Now, what is this here, exactly?"

Jake sneered, "Oh, he's the imposter, is he? Right." He turned to the others, "Is that all he has on him? Have you found anything?"

"Nothing to determine who he is," the woman informed.

"Keep telling you who I am," the Doctor murmured.

Jake ignored him, "Okay, custody then. Let's get the… Doctor a nice cell, without the screwdriver. I'll go get Rose." He sighed, exchanging a wary look with Tosh, "God, she's gonna love this. Someone going by as the Doctor. I wouldn't wanna be on the other end of that." He shot the Doctor a glance, and when received with a blank stare, shrugged, "Go on, then. Custody!"

On his way, he finally caught a name splattered in tinted glass.

Torchwood.

He wondered what Jack would do to get in. But in the meantime, he wasn't worried. The people seemed nice enough, no murder tendencies as far as he could see. He would have liked the option to contact Jack, but obviously, he was under constant surveillance. Either way, in the end they'd have to realize he was the real Doctor.

Perhaps this Rose person would be more willing to listen.

-

"I'm sorry, he calls himself what?"

Jake sighed, "I know, I know. He insisted and everything. Just walked in here with a psychic paper and a sonic screwdriver."

Rose pursed her lips angrily, squeezed the pen she was holding. Deep breaths, she told herself. There was a professional way to obliterate the asses of sleazy gits who dared go by the Doctor. Or there will be, as soon as she writes up a Code of Conduct for dealing with vile phonies of this nature. "Where is he now?"

Jake felt truly sorry for the poor guy. "Custody."

With a nod, she was out of the room and storming through the Torchwood halls.

Too angry to think about all the things that made absolutely no sense about the situation.

The custody area's doors opened with a swish of metal that she hated almost as much as she hated whoever it was that was inside. She stomped in, arms crossed in red fury, and came to stand in front of the cell.

And all the air was sucked from the room.

-

The Doctor tapped his foot impatiently. The infamous and dangerous Rose (he assumed) really didn't look like much of a threat. She was pale and frightened and he was pretty sure that if he so much as got up from the metal chair, she'd probably start screaming and run away.

Well, it was understandable. Culture shock, happened to the best of them.

"Hello!" he chirped, waving a friendly hand.

If anything, she seemed even more scared. The sound of his voice sent her stumbling to the door, putting as much distance between them as she could.

Tough crowd, he thought, clicking his tongue pensively. "You'd be Rose, yeah? I was told you were coming. Sounded like you know me. You do… know me, don't you? They don't believe I'm the Doctor!"

Rose leaned on the door, unable to hold her weight. She shut her eyes tightly, took a deep breath, and opened them, as if trying to shake off a bad dream. Except he wasn't a dream. He was still there, and his grin widened reassuringly.

A mad grin and huge ears and God help her, this wasn't happening.

"Do-Doc-" her voice failed her, shaky and choked, "Doctor?"

"Hello!" he waved his hand again, endlessly pleased. He knew this situation was bound to resolve itself eventually. "Yes, that's me, the Doctor!"

Really, maybe he should stop saying that. It seemed that every time he identified himself, her knees buckled just a little more. It was all very surreal. Luckily, he did surreal before the morning tea.

Rose shook her head violently, "But… how?"

"How what? How am I here? Why, did you maybe meet me when you were a little girl?" he asked, sincerely trying to be helpful. "That'd make sense, I guess. I don't remember you, but maybe my future met your past? It happens. I'm still the same man, honestly. I just… don't grow old. And I may occasionally travel in time."

Future self met her past. Yeah, that theory made sense.

"What?"

Except, apparently not to her.

He frowned, "Hmm… no? Then how do you know me? History books? The internet?" He was now deep into a rambling fit, momentarily distracted from the predicament he got himself into. "Or maybe… I understand I have an imposter. Right inconvenient, that. But you know he's not really me, don't you? You know I'm the Doctor, right? Right, Rose?"

Suddenly, she seemed to snap. "Stop saying that!" she called, nearing the glass that separated them with deadly rage. "Who the hell are you?"

The Doctor was startled to a standing position. It was a bit easier now to see what was supposed to be so scary about this girl. "I'm… the Doctor?" he tried squeakily.

Rose practically sizzled with rage. "Oh, I think not. You've got your information wrong, see? The Doctor doesn't look like that, and you've broken into the one place where people would know." She crossed her arms, inches away from the glass, and she was armed, he could tell. "Who are you, then? How are you making yourself look like that?"

He cleared his throat nervously, somewhat grateful for the bullet proof glass. "Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't been in this time period for a while… I guess that other guy really did a number here. I'm sorry, but I really am the-"

"Stop that!" she hissed, angrily cutting him off.

He silenced instantly, deciding on a new approach. "Alright, then. You're right, I'm… not the Doctor."

Rose raised a sarcastic brow, "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," he said, his goodwill dwindling. "'m just a time traveling friendly alien. I'm sorry for taking on… that name. Sincere apologies. Could you let me go now? And can I have my stuff back while we're at it?"

He'd have to find another way to the creature, but it'd be worth it if he could just get out of here already. He was tired of talking to brick walls.

Rose lowered her eyes, desolated despite herself. "I… uh, I'm not sure we can just do that."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. He felt a strange urge to take her hand and make it better. Very strange, and very unsettling. He opened his mouth, but no voice came out because as much as he hated being quiet, there was really nothing to say.

She looked up at him, her eyes expectant, almost hopeful. "How did you… why him?" she asked, swallowing hard. "Of all the… why did you choose to look like him?"

He wanted to scream, to pound the glass, to kick the table away. What the hell was she talking about now? Who's him? He had no time to wonder if he should just invent himself an alias –like a shapeshifting or telepathic adjustement- and get it over with, or just sort the matter of his identity once and for all, because suddenly his surroundings started to fade. To fade!

The last thing he saw was Rose stiffening in confusion, which was a sentiment he could get behind, and then he was in the TARDIS, and Rose was replaced by a smirking Jack.

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