DISCLAIMER: Still don't own Doctor Who. Still don't make any money from this. But if he doesn't stop leaving TARDIS prints in my flower bed, we're gonna have words…

SUMMARY: Something goes horribly, horribly wrong in the Parallel Universe and the Doctor's not there to save the day.

A/N: Thanks so much to Dreamcatcher49, LilienRose, Eris1031, and rahnaesmomma for the reviews!

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Martha worked on the clone for hours, wrangling Jack and Mickey for any supply runs or heavy lifting. (Skinny or not, the Doctor, clone, whatever, weighted a ton!) He'd actually died several times before Martha could stabilize him enough to feel comfortable stepping back for more than a moment.

"Whatever he was hit with cauterized the wound as it burned through him." Martha reported later. "Severe burn around the entry point, broke through his sternum and ribs at the center,… nicked his heart, Jack. One heart. No regeneration. Thank god you found what nanogenes you did." She sipped her coffee. Blessed elixer of doctors and medical students everywhere.

"It's not perfect by any means and we may still lose him." She glanced up at Jack. "If he's here, where's Rose?"

Jack's heart clinched painfully and robbed him of breath when Mickey answered with a simple, "Wish I knew, babe. Wish I knew."

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While the clone was still unconscious, Martha and Mickey changed him out of his grimy clothes and found a wallet naming him "John Cameron Storm".

"Better than 'Smith', at any rate," Jack snorted.

"Oi!" Martha and Mickey chimed in perfectly blended outrage. Jack could only laugh.

That morning, Jack and Gwen had finished reviewing the CCTV for Cardiff and the surrounding areas, but found no trace of Rose.

John had been unconscious for three days now and was steadily declining. No amount of nanogenes was fixing him.

"The Time Lord part of him may be preventing the nanogenes from doing what needs to be done, thinking he needs to regenerate." Martha looked to her husband with tears in her eyes. "He's gonna die, Mick."

With that Mickey gathered his wife in his arms and, to Jack, says, "Make the call."

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Somewhere, simultaneoulsy in the future and the past, the beginning and the end, at all points in space and time, a little blue box – the bluest blue ever – that just happened to be bigger on the inside, thank you very much, drifted through the Vortex taking a much needed rest.

Her thief, the pretty one, and the girl who waited had managed a break as well, but Her thief decided to spend his time"tinkering". If She still had a mouth, She would have scoffed. As if any of Her internal systems were off. She usually fixed what he broke almost immediately after he "fixed" it. 'Tonight' was no different, even if She was a little distracted. And for an eleventh-dimensional being, distraction is never a good thing.

The TARDIS, ever aware of everything, was getting a bit frightened. Something… something… something.

Microseconds after registering the disturbance, She chimed to the Doctor to get his attention. And again. And again. Each time getting a bit louder, groaning a bit more, shaking a little harder. Nothing.

She wished again for a mouth, and decided to do as Her pilot suggested and "poke it with a stick". Metaphorically speaking, of course, but the prodding to the Doctor's mind was still a bit harsh.

The young old man squeaked and jumped from his perch in the swing below Her console room floor, crashing rather inelegantly, knees and elbows askew.

"That was quite unnecessary, dear." The Doctor stood and brushed immaginary dust from himself. "What's got you in a bother, eh?"

He made his way up the stairs, ever the odd professor look, and looked to the TARDIS time rotor and the monitor below it.

"Well?" He fiddled with the wibbly lever a moment. No response, of course, but he felt her unease. "Maybe a bit of vacation would make you feel better, you sexy thing you. May be just the thing we all need."

The Doctor turned sharply and walked from the room, yelling for Amy and Rory. "Ponds! Up you get! Things to do, people to see, regimes to topple, and vacations to be had! Let's go, Ponds!"

A fiery red-haired woman poked her head out of her room to the right. "Vacation?" Amy Pond watched the Doctor a bit nervously - she always got nervous when he grinned like that – then stepped from the room. "Is this gonna be like Rio again? 'Cause I think I'll pass on that, thanks."

The Doctor flapped his hands in the air, pshaw-ing the thought away. "No no no! Real vacation this time. With sun and sand and big fruity drinks with little umbrellas." He clapped his hands together, making Amy jump a bit, and grinned wider. "Come on then, Amelia Pond! Off to vacation!" He spun and walked briskly back to the console room, leaving a rather perplexed Amy Pond in the doorway.

Her husband, Rory, came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his chin on her shoulder. She leaned back into his as he spoke. "Do you get as frightened as I do when he gets like that? 'Cause it's just a bit terrifying."

Amy giggled and turned in Rory's arms, placing her own around his neck. "Nah. You should be used to it by now, though. I mean, he does manage to bring you back every time you die." Amy frowned at this. "On second though, yeah. Now I do. Completely terrified."

Rory rolled his eyes and tightened his hold on his wife. How did he get so lucky to be able to spend this amazing life with this even more amazing woman? He kissed her quickly. "We'll just have to make sure he doesn't blow up the sun while we're basking by the pool somewhere. Chain him to a wall or something."

Amy giggled again and cuddled into his chest. "Yeah. Sounds good."

Rory sighed, loosed his woman but kept hold of her hand and tugged her forward. "Come on then, before he gets too impatient."

Just then, "Amy! Rory! What the hold up?" came drifting down the hallway, drawing rolled eyes, sighs, and laughs.

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