Title: Swept Away
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Ten.5
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 5, 12_stories
Prompt: 8, Together
Author's Note: The human version of the Doctor is being referred to as John Smith in this fic, since it's the Doctor's human alias and his clone needed a name.
Author's Note: Spoilers for Journey's End, somewhat. This is an completely alternate take on the ending of Season Four.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor, or his human clone. Please do not sue.

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The Doctor leaned over the console of the Tardis, frowning down at the buttons and switches. He wasn't really seeing them, of course; his mind was replaying the scene that had taken place in the Tardis right before he'd left Earth.

He hadn't intended to take his human clone with him. Really, he hadn't. He'd thought it best if the two of them were separated, not seeing each other again. And everyone else had seemed to agree -- in fact, they'd been eager for it.

But it hadn't worked out that way. He'd thought it would be easy to part from the other man, to let his human self go off to a parallel universe where they wouldn't be able to reach each other. He'd thought that it would be easy to think of never seeing his other half again.

It hadn't been that simple. He'd thought about his decision all through that long night -- and had finally come to the conclusion that he'd been wrong.

So, without a word to anyone, he'd simply .... left. Taken the Tardis to another time, another place, somewhere that no one would be able to find. And he'd taken his human clone with him. In fact, he'd made sure that the other man was in the Tardis before he left.

What had possessed him to do this? He couldn't really say -- other than the indisputable fact that he found his human self fascinating. Maybe it was narcissistic of him, but he didn't care. He wanted to spend time with this man, even if he shoudn't.

What would the humans he'd left behind do and say when they discovered that the two of them were missing? They'd be upset, obviously. But he didn't care. His spirits had lifted once he'd made the decision to do this, and he knew that it was the right choice.

Of course, he probably should have said something to his human self before he'd taken the other man along with him -- but really, he was the reason that the Doctor had left. So he wouldn't be condemned to a life that the Time Lord was fairly sure he didn't want to have.

All right, maybe he was wrong about that. After all, he didn't know. He hadn't been told that in so many words. It was just a feeling he had.

This human clone was a part of him. With all of his memories, all of his personality traits. The only difference between them was that the other man was human -- with only one heart. He would age. He would die. He would know what it was like to be human.

The Doctor felt a twinge of bitterness; that was something he'd always wondered about. He loved humans; he'd always wanted to know what it was like to be one. He'd never have that privilege, but his clone knew exactly how it felt.

Was he jealous? Well, maybe just a tiny bit. But then, if he gave up being what he was, there would be no one to take his place. No one to protect the universe. He had responsibilities that he couldn't simply turn his back on.

Ah, well, it was over and done now. He and his clone were together -- and if people didn't approve of that, he really didn't care. It wasn't their business. For once, he'd done something he wanted to do and put himself first.

That wasn't like him, and he knew it. He'd always tried to think of others first and himself second, if at all. But this hadn't just involved him -- he'd felt sure that he was making the right decision for his clone, as well, even though that did sound a bit presumptuous.

What would the other man say if the Doctor asked him point-blank whether he'd actually wanted to go off to a parallel world where they would never meet again?

He bit his lip, thinking about all of the possible answers. There were so many .... and in spite of the fact that he knew his other self -- after all, they were the same person, really -- he had no idea how the other man would feel about what he'd done.

As his eyes scanned over the console again, he heard a soft cough behind him; he straightened up and turned around to see his clone standing at the entrance of the corridor that led to the bedroom he'd stayed in. The Doctor tried to smile, feeling awkward and nervous.

"I hope you slept well last night," he greeted his clone, trying to keep his voice light and not reveal the misgivings he was having. "When you're traveling with me, sleep is something you might not be able to get a lot of. Take it while you can."

The other man raised an eyebrow, coming over to stand beside him and regarding him as though they'd never laid eyes on each other before. "I should know that, shouldn't I? After all, I've got all the same memories. I know what it's like to be out here, you know."

"That you do." The Doctor had forgotten that; it was so damned hard for him to remember that this man was exactly like him, that he knew everything about him.

He was at a loss for words; what could he possibly say to this man? How did he explain that he'd had some kind of strange intuition that it was right for him to do what he'd done? Or did the other Doctor just know what he was thinking and feeling?

The first thing to do was to decide on what he wanted to be called. He coudn't very well always be referred to as "clone" or some such word. He needed a name, and the Doctor didn't want to just give him one arbitrarily, without his consent.

The Doctor cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. He turned to face the other man -- and found that his human self was leaning against the console, watching him with a small smile curving his lips, almost as though he'd been .... studying the man he came from.

He almost felt defensive, as though he should cross his arms over his body and ask what the other man was looking at. But he forced himself not to; he merely took a deep breath and said the first thing that he could think of.

"What are we going to do about a name for you? That should be your choice -- you may be a part of me, but I'm not going to force a name on you."

"Don't all parents get to name their children?" the other man asked, that little smile still playing around the corners of his mouth. "But since you ask .... John Smith won't do, that's your alias. I'd thought maybe .... John something. But I don't know what. Not yet."

"I could get used to calling you that," the Doctor murmured, wondering why he hadn't thought of that particular name. It certainly fit, even though it was a bit .... well, innocuous. Still, given this man's origins, maybe that was a good thing to be.

"You'll have to get used to calling me something, now that I'm here," John told him, pushing himself away from the console and coming towards the Doctor to stand directly in front of him, so close that the Time Lord could almost feel his single heartbeat. "Now that we're .... together."

"I'd .... meant to ask you about that," the Doctor managed to say, feeling choked and finding it hard to get the words out. Why was it suddenly so difficult for him to speak? What was wrong with him? "I don't want you to be here if you don't want to be."

"That isn't a problem, Doctor." Was it his imagination, or was John's mouth moving closer to his even as the other man spoke. "I'm exactly where I want to be. And I'm with the only person I could ever want to be with."

He wasn't imagining it. Those lips were on his, those arms sliding around him, and he was melting into them as though he'd always been meant to be there.

Everything that had been in his mind made a hasty exit, driven away by his need to touch and be touched, by the rising tide of desire that was sweeping over him. Nothing mattered, other than that this man was with him. That they were together.

Whatever had happened in the past few days didn't matter; what his friends might think of what he'd done by taking his clone away with him didn't matter. It was all pushed to one side, into the back of his mind, lefr for some time when he was ready to think about it.

He wasn't alone any more. John was with him. He'd swept the other man away, and maybe he would find out later that he'd been wrong in doing it. But he couldn't help feeling that he'd done the right thing -- and judging from the way he was being kissed, he was sure that John agreed.

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