Well. Long time no update. This seems to be a recurring theme for me. So sorry about that. Brief explanation: Once tennis season started, musical did as well—I had a lead part, narrator actually—so that left me with no time. Literally. How I managed not to fail what were the hardest classes I have ever taken is very frightening. Once musical ended, Mock Trial season started and all the stress that comes with that. Fast forward to March, and finally I was free. Besides not failing my finals, it's been pretty empty. So I thought, oh I should start on that fic again. Lone behold, all of my notes had magically disappeared. So, at the cusp of writing again, I was stricken with the fear of not knowing what I had set up in my own story. Fast forward to July, kindly skipping over my self-induced solitary confinement, I found my notes-thank all that is holy-and here I am. Writing again.

And, as the most amazing beta I have ever come across, ParanoidAndroid42 has beta-ed this for me. All hail!

Oh, and emmyds-sorry I lied. This is much sooner than I anticipated. : ]

Enjoy!

Part the Third

Rose was sitting in an armchair she had pulled closer to the bed, the mid-morning sunlight just missing her eyes. The Doctor, as she had resolved to call him because anything else just got too complicated, was still comatose. And Rose was still left feeling completely useless. She shifted to reach for the tea that was sitting on the bedside table, groaning a bit at the stiffness in her muscles. She had slept in the armchair, which was deceptively comfortable, but definitely not suited for all-night use.

Pete had come in late the night before, urging her to go to bed, that the Doctor didn't look like he was in danger of waking up anytime soon. She had insisted on staying, on the off chance that he did wake up, because who knew what was wrong with him, or how disorientated he would be. In other words, she was afraid that he would run the second he was awake again.

Unable to fight her logic, Pete had left.

The Doctor's fever had cooled down a bit; his face was no longer a sickly pale. If it wasn't for the fact that he wouldn't wake up, he looked like he could just be sleeping. Reaching again to wipe any potential sweat off of his brow, she listened for that small sigh that he had emitted the night before. His breath remained even. Sitting back, Rose really looked into his face for the first time. But not for long, no, that was too… much.

Staring down into her tea, an idea struck her.

"Tea!" That's what he had said last time, something about only needing a super-heated infusion of something or other.

Quickly setting down the tea, Rose fluffed up the pillows beneath the Doctor's head and gently arranged him so he was pretty much upright. Enough so he wouldn't choke and die from a nice spot of tea.

Rose sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed. With a steady hand, which she had perfected while handling highly explosive objects for Torchwood, she pressed the rim of the mug to the Doctor's slightly open lips. Instinctually, his mouth opened wider and she slowly tipped the tea into his mouth.

"Drink this, Doctor. C'mon," she murmured soothingly. Rose saw the involuntary muscles contract and loosen as he swallowed. Carefully, she repeated the action, tipping just a bit more into his mouth the second time.

When most of the tea was gone, hopefully connecting the neuron pathways or whatever he had said all those years ago, Rose set the mug down on the side table. She eyed the open space next to the Doctor. Surely he wouldn't begrudge her taking a short nap, seeing as the armchair was extremely uncomfortable. Also, if he was going to wake up soon, she definitely didn't want him to wake up by himself, so she should most definitely stay and kip next to him.

Finally making up her mind, Rose moved around to the other side of the bed, pulled of her jumper, and settled herself under the covers, a safe distance away from him of course. Soon enough, Rose's eyes drifted closed.

It seemed like only moments later when Rose felt something moving beside her. Her eyes snapped open, searching the room in a bout of panic. Something brushed up against her.

The Doctor was moving, as one does when first waking up. Pulling away quickly, Rose moved around the room, back to the armchair. She slightly shook his shoulder. "Doctor?" She waited for a moment. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused. A light crease of confusion appeared in between his eyes.

Almost as if he was avoiding looking at her, the Doctor's eyes finally latched onto her. The crease deepened. "Rose?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Hello," she answered. He was much disorientated. Surely he could remember what had happened… what happened to him? She wondered.

"Rose, where am I? I don't recognize this room from the TARDIS. In fact, I can't hear the TARDIS. Do you know where I've left her?" His wonderful brown eyes shone with panic.

Her already much-torn heart broke a little more for him. He doesn't remember. Not yet, anyway. This was going to kill him.

"Doctor…" she trailed off, not quite sure how to tell him that his home wasn't really his home anymore. She tried again, "Doctor, what's the last thing you remember?"

He hesitated, thinking, "Well, Donna saying something. Then I turned around and saw you there. I ran to you and then…"

"Then a Dalek shot you."

His eyes widened in panic. "I haven't regenerated, have I?" The crease between his eyes was back as he ran his tongue over his teeth. "No new teeth, that's weird." His hand reached up to his hair. "Same hair… but that means…" He froze, then ever so slowly lowered his hand and stared at it.

Rose watched him with bated breath, biting her lip in worry.

The Doctor's age-old eyes slowly moved from his hand to Rose. As he did so, Rose could see the tears welling up. His eyes unfocused again. She was sure that he was remembering.

"Oh," his voice breaking as he strangled out the syllable. A tear fell.

Tears running down her own face, Rose moved to sit down next to him and take him into her arms.

The Doctor stared up at the ceiling, no longer able to sleep. Rose had left long ago, looking conflicted. Or is that her normal expression, the Doctor thought bitterly.

Squashing that emotion, the Doctor rolled over onto his side, glaring at the wall. It wasn't Rose's fault that he was a… a copy, duplicate, reproduction, facsimile. And a bad one at that. No TARDIS-except for a tiny scrap of coral, no second heart, no time and space, no… nothing. What was he without all those things? Only a bunch of memories that wrenched his heart whenever he accessed that portion of his mind.

Rolling angrily to his other side, the Doctor tried to empty his mind. Thinking angry and depressing thoughts was going to do no one any good.

A sliver of light streamed through his windows, signaling the beginning of a new day. Ah, of course, the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. Wouldn't expect any different in a parallel universe. Was everything backwards and messed up here?

The mug of cold and forgotten tea caught his attention. The Doctor considered it for a moment. Do I continue to abuse myself in this gloomy solitary room, or do I risk seeing another Tyler as I make a cuppa for myself? In true Doctor fashion, he decided on the more "dangerous" course.

Muttering various expletives at the early hour, Jackie Tyler shuffled into her kitchen over to where the kettle was kept. Eyes half open, she felt about the counter for the sleek metal, only to find empty space. Bloody husband, she thought. Of all the nights to "misplace" the kettle. Again.

Before she could continue on her quest for the missing kettle, a voice interrupted her internal tirade. "The kettle's over here, just boiled, Mrs. Tyler."

Jumping, Jackie's eyes flew open. Ah. The Doctor. Of course. "No need for you to call me that, Doctor. I'm Jackie. Mrs. Tyler's been dead for fifteen years. Unless you've mistaken me for my husband's dead mother." She narrowed her bright blue eyes towards the half-alien-person-whatever.

Genuine fear leap up into his eyes, and he put his unoccupied hand up in defense. "No, J-Jackie. That wasn't what I was saying at all, I'm sorry, I just-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "No need for that either. It's before six in the mornin' and, well..." She trailed off as he nodded.

Awkward silence filled the kitchen as Jackie made her cup of tea. The Doctor was hovering oddly near the counter, gazing around and trying to ignore the awkwardness of the situation.

Sighing, Jackie turned around and leaned against the counter. "So, how are you holding up?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Doctor." Her eyebrow rose and her lips twitched down in an expression that reminded him so much of Rose.

"Really, Jackie. I'm fine. Not the first time I've ever been in a parallel world. I've been here before. Well..."

And there it was. His mouth always did seem to go on longer that he intended. "Doctor. I get it, alright? Well, sorta. New world, literally, that spins on a totally different axis-one that tilts the other way, actually-and suddenly your world and life is spinning outta control." At his dubious expression she went on. "Yeah, right, I can't exactly understand how it feels to be the clone and all, but you're still you, you know. Kinda like the other you took a left while you went right."

"It's a bit more than that, Jackie." His face turned brooding, reminding her so much of his earlier self, the one in leather.

"Of course it is. You wouldn't be you if it was "a bit more than that"." Seeing the slightly surprised look on his face, Jackie began to depart.

As she reached the doorway, she turned and said, "Just don't let that "bit more" ruin the chance that the other you gave you." And she walked away to find that little tyke, Tony.