A/N Hey guys, this is my first fanfic, so please bear with me through the newness. For now this is only going to be a one-shot, but I doubt this will be that last time I write about Rose and TenToo. Happy reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, nor do I own the Doctor, Rose, the TARDIS or any of the other characters, but I've got a sonic screwdriver, so I'm not all that torn up about it.

"I've only got one life, Rose Tyler. I could spend it with you. If you want."

And for the first time he's entirely in the moment. Bated breath, single heart pounding rapidly, waiting entirely for her response. Never has any single moment meant more to him, and never has he let so much rest on a single moment. He's always had somewhere else to run to, always kept a Plan B close by in the recesses of his mind. But this existence, this entire body is a Plan B within itself; he is the alternative. His entire meaning is wrapped up in something that rests on a simple contingency…her choice.

It's a lot to lay in someone else's hands; it's a lot of trust to put outside of himself, and he's almost not sure he can do this, but then he considers those hands. He knows those hands, he knows them so well. Those perfect hands, the one part of her that he had allowed himself to take ownership of. How many times had those hands been his solace, his hope, his joy? He realizes now that he must know them better than even his own, because two of his bodies, well three now, have known those soft, gentle, yet somehow sturdy hands.

Yes, he decides, he can do this, not because of his own strength, but because of hers. He said it so long ago but it's no less true now; he believes in her. How could he not? She's proven her strength and amazed him time and again. She's taught him more about life and love than any other in his nine hundred and some odd years of living. So many times now, she's saved his life, his existence even. So, although she may refuse him now, though she may break him past any repair, he knows that she has earned this right. The right to make this decision for him, the right to his complete and utter trust. Never has there been anyone more worthy.

Resolve settles through him, making him a bit stronger, just in time too. She's struggling between the two versions of himself, only now realizing that she's having to leave one behind. The final moment of truth arrives. The moment that decides his future.

His other self catches his eye, only for a moment, which is all it takes, because he knows his own mind. But a monumental amount is communicated in that small glance. His own nervousness about her decision is overwhelmed by a deluge of empathy for his other self. He senses the anguish, the cost of what he's doing, and for the first time he doesn't feel like the Doctor. He is the duplicate, the clone. The Doctor is giving him everything he so desperately wants to keep for himself; he's entrusting her to him. The Doctor hates him, envies him so purely in this moment, wishing determination and desperation could force reality to twist into submission to his heart's desire, but it doesn't.

He watches as the Doctor talks to Rose, holding himself back from everything he wants. Rose asks him the one question that pushes him to the brink, the edge of all the feelings he's trying to steer away from. He senses the Doctor pausing, dithering for a moment between determination and desire. His resolve scatters into a mad tumultuous dance between the Oncoming Storm and amorous lover, pendulum swinging as violently as it always has done when he's in her presence, but eventually the weight of responsibility stamps out the mad double beating in his heart. Ever the reluctant victor, he finally forces out the words that will make her doubt him, make her more likely to trust the man in the blue suit.

Disappointment scatters over her face for a moment before she turns and reiterates the question to the duplicate Doctor. He knows how much pain he's about to cause the Doctor, but somehow he can't find it in himself to stop. He grasps her upper arm and leans in close, bringing himself to whisper in her ear. The answer she's been waiting for floats effortlessly from his lips, and he feels that no other words that he's spoken have ever been more native to his tongue. The romantic in him surfaces as he swears that his entire self must have been created to endlessly confess his love to her.

Slowly, he draws back to gaze into her eyes, awaiting her response. He's counting the milliseconds, regarding them slower than hours, and any hope that being part human would make him more patient flies swiftly out the window. He's starting to worry that some world-threatening emergency has taken place that would cause time and space to freeze around him, leaving him eternally in this moment of nervous anticipation, when finally she reaches forward and grabs his lapels. His mind loses any semblance of coherent thought the instant she pulls him forward to touch her lips to his. He responds immediately, lips pressing back firmly to hers, and a breath he'd forgotten he was holding, escapes sharply through his nose.

Rose raises her arms to wrap around his neck, and he counters by wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him, clinging to her for all he's worth. Their lips are moving insistently against each other, neither willing to let go for even the tiniest of breaths. He finds that the release of years of pent up love and desperation are making him lose all sense of reason, as he tries to pull her even closer, wishing he could rewrite the laws of physics in order to demolish the useless boundaries that are keeping him from being able to fuse their two bodies into one being.

He senses her arms starting to lift away and her lips still. He knows she's probably concerned about the Doctor, and he knows he should probably let her go, and he also knows how selfish it is to parade this in front of the Doctor, but he really can't find it in himself to care, because HE is the Doctor and she is HIS Rose. So with that thought in mind, he tightens his grasp on her and kisses her even more ardently, cheering internally when she surrenders to him and her arms return to wrap around his neck.

The sound of the TARDIS signals them to the Doctor's departure, swiftly ending their kiss. With a horrible feeling emerging in his chest, and the duplicate Doctor realizes that the TARDIS is bringing him sorrow for the first time in his existence. It simultaneously has stolen Rose from his arms and his home from sight, and suddenly he understands what it's like to be left.

His companions had tried explaining to him before, the cold loneliness it produced, the hole it left, but he never quite comprehended it. He thought he had experienced it when he and Rose had lost her on Krop Tor or when The Master had stolen her at the end of the universe, but as awful as he had felt both times, being separated from his TARDIS, the grief he's undergoing now is supremely worse. For one thing, as terrible as those times had been, there had been some small hope that he would find her again, but now no such hope exists.

But it actually isn't so much the lack of hope that's depressing him. What he finds most upsetting is the recognition, the knowledge that the TARDIS is not his, and he has no right to her, no right to that life. He was just a temporary passenger, but his time is now up, and here he is being left, while she is rightly stealing away with the real Doctor. It's this realization that nearly kills him as he watches Rose stare desperately after the TARDIS that carries her Doctor. He chides himself for his foolishness; he should have known the most blissful moment of his entire existence would never last.

Bitterness permeates his being for a moment and a surge of anger at the Doctor rises. Centuries of self-hatred turn into something new as he disassociates from his former self. He clings to his new persona, the Duplicate, as it allows him to arrogantly rise up to be a better man than the one that's stealing away in his TARDIS. He's able to apply everything he's ever hated about himself to the Doctor now.

An angry flood of hateful thoughts starts. He hates the Doctor's cowardice. He hates how the Doctor always runs away. He hates how the Doctor always abandons everyone, like himself, and Rose. He hates that the Doctor never told Rose he loves her, because it really does need saying. He hates how the Doctor lies. He hates the secrets he keeps and who keeps them from…he hates…he hates…he hates...

His concentration on his fuming thoughts breaks suddenly at the sound of a sob-like sigh from Rose. That small sound from her is all it takes to ground him, reign him in, and pull all of his attention to dwell on her. The peace she brings him makes him remember all that he's been given and who he really is, and immediately the bitterness within him shatters.

The Doctor had been right. He was just as he'd said: "born in battle, full of blood and anger and revenge." When he'd said it, he'd thought the Doctor was just trying to convince Rose, and went along with it, but he now sees how right he had been. And even more so, he sees how right the Doctor had been about how much he needs Rose; she makes him better, always. He shakes off a shudder at the thought of who he would surely become without her, and walks forward to clasp her hand in his.

At the feel of his hand Rose looks up at him. Her eyes are asking him so many questions, and he knows they're the same questions he's asking himself. He returns her gaze, wishing to reassure her and himself that they are both going to be okay. They both turn to stare off into the distance for a moment, to finally see beyond the lack of TARDIS. The duplicate Doctor takes in his surroundings for the first time and finds that he's not gazing at a dead end, but at an entire undiscovered (by himself) world, full of endless possibilities.

He turns to look back at Rose. Her beauty seems to reach out to him, to beckon him to a new life. A strange semi-distant hope looms, and he clings to it, forming it into a confidence that he doesn't truly feel yet. It's sprung from her light, the light of who she is, and he knows that because of it, they will be okay. He may not know what will happen, what they'll do or even who he is yet, but his faith in her spurs him onward as it always has.

He reaches into his pocket and grabs the bit of TARDIS that the Doctor gave him and tosses it into the air.

"I think…" he starts, as Rose turns to look at him, "I think we're going to be okay," he says thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" Rose questions. She still doesn't seem sure, but her expression lifts a bit.

"Yeah," he answers, drawing the word out, as a slow, warm smile blooms on his face.

"I think we're going to be more than okay." The smile then widens into a giddy grin, and a light sparks behind his eyes as he finishes, "I think we're going to be brilliant!"