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~ Chapter 1: New ~

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A/N:- I don't own anything Doctor Who related, although I wish I owned David Tennant.

Thank you to CertainShadesOfBlue for helping me whip this baby into shape. She beta'd, but I meddled, so any mistakes remain on me.

Here is a little picture I messed around with trying to create a banner-ish thing yfrog(dot)com/klvv7pflj

Also, to all my loyal Twi readers, the Twi will be continuing, just had this Who fic rolling around in my head too.

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The Doctor was slowly adjusting to his new body.

His new, new body.

It should have been a sensation he was used to; after all, he had experienced regeneration before. This time was different though. This time he wasn't entirely time lord. His single heart had to work twice as hard to pump the same volume of blood which had previously been moved by two.

He had been human before too, of course. He'd used the Chameleon Arch to rewrite every cell of his time lord body into a human physiology. That was different, though. At least then he hadn't remembered that he wasn't supposed to be human.

This time…

Well, this time was highly unusual. Everything about his body was different, not just his physical appearance and personality—which were remarkably two things that had come through the transition unscathed, or at least almost unscathed. The changes he was just now discovering went far beyond, deeper than those superficial things, and it all just felt wrong.

His hearing was muted, his eyesight dimmed, and his skin somehow felt warm and cold all at once. Before, his body would self-regulate its temperate. He'd never felt particularly warm or particularly cold. Even in the depths of the volcano in Pompeii, he'd kept his cool—pun absolutely intended. He hadn't even felt the need to remove his jacket. Since he regenerated—or generated for the first time, as it were—he'd felt the temperature.

During his time on the Dalek ship, he had actually sweated. His old body, the one with two beating heats and the capacity to adapt uniquely to almost any given situation, had never needed to do anything as primitive as sweat. He wasn't sure that he liked the idea or the feeling of dampness that accompanied this body's method of shedding heat.

Then, just hours after sweating for the first time, he'd been standing beside Rose at Dålig Ulv Stranden. There, he'd felt the bitter sting of the cold. The winds which whipped up the sand after the TARDIS had dematerialised felt like they tore straight through the thin fabric of his blue suit. The sheen of sweat which had coated his skin earlier, necessary to keep him cool, now chilled him to the bone.

The other thing about his new body—the thing that disturbed him above all other things—was something which he'd always possessed but which had never made its presence more felt than during the moment he'd kissed Rose.

He'd KISSED Rose.

The newly discovered part of his body re-awoke at even the hint of the memory of those few blissful seconds wrapped in her arms. That perfect moment when she'd pressed her lips to his after he whispered three simple words. Words that he knew—he knew—she wanted to hear; words he'd felt for a long time, even though his time lord mind rebelled against the emotion.

The Doctor felt the stirring again as he sat thinking about those precious moments. The hope and joy and, yes, love, that had burst from within his single heart during the seconds of connection had almost been overwhelming for his new body. It was a perfect moment that he had stolen. Stolen from Rose by the utterance of three tiny words, but also stolen from him—the other him, the one who was most likely right now returning Donna Noble home broken and defeated after her blazing moment of glory as the Doctor Donna.

His skin still tingled, and his heart still pounded, thinking about how perfectly his lips had fit with Rose's. His body reacted differently to that kiss than it had any other time his lips had touched Rose's. His mind kept returning to the reaction of the one part of his body which had always been his but which he felt he'd lost all control over. He didn't know that it did that. He hadn't expected the rush of blood away from his brain and into there. The words of Lady Cassandra came flooding back to him.

Goodness me, I'm a man. Yum. So many parts. And hardly used.

He snorted. Hardly used was right. He had a family once, long ago back on Gallifrey, but time lord reproduction was a little different than human reproduction. And that had been so long ago it was another life. Literally.

For almost as long as he could remember, his extra appendage had just hung there limp and lifeless. It had been nothing, just something to remember in the seconds it took to zip up his pants. Even during the times when he'd been travelling with Rose, and her skin had brushed against his in innocent, and sometimes not so innocent, ways nothing had stirred below. Instead, her soft caresses had set fire to his synapses. They had made whole futures erupt and form in the ever-changing landscape of his mind. He saw her in there, the threads of her life entwined around his own, pulsing with the pleasure that he made her feel. It was different, and he believed more, than he could imagine human coupling to be.

Now though… Now the kiss from Rose had sent his heart beating rapidly, and his body seemed content to force blood to the one appendage which needed it the least. Or at least, which he'd once thought needed it the least. Even he had to admit that the feeling of pressure as the blood rushed to that one spot, engorging it beyond his wildest imaginings, wasn't entirely un-pleasurable. It was strange, he thought, because that much blood filling any other extremity—forcing it to grow so sizably and become so stiff—would almost certainly have been painful.

So why did it feel so good down there?

His mind kept returning to that glorious moment of intimacy with Rose. He'd told her how he felt, and she showed him in return. His body reacted as if all of that emotion had been his to take. He loved her, absolutely and completely. He knew that, even now.

How she felt about him was a complete mystery. She had initiated the kiss, and he had selfishly taken and enjoyed every microsecond she offered him, but he knew she wasn't really kissing him. She was kissing him - the other him. The one she'd spent so long becoming acquainted with. The one she had promised to be with forever, so many years ago under a pink sky. It hadn't really been him she was kissing.

He was grown from the one she had looked at strangely and asked to change back. He was part of the one that had changed in front of Rose and made her cry. He wasn't even there when he burnt up a sun to say goodbye—so he could hardly take credit for that. He had the other him's memories, the residual energy funnelled off after the Dalek strike had seen to that, but he wasn't him. The last thing any part of him had done for Rose was to save her from the Sycorax; and that had only been his right hand.

He thought back over the last twenty-four hours. A single Earth day, but it had changed everything for him. Technically, he had started the day as nothing more than a hand in a jar, and now he was…

He wasn't exactly sure what he was. He was human, but more. He was time-lord, but less. He was both, and he was neither.

He didn't know where he stood with Rose either. He was a stranger, but more. He was a friend, but less. They'd shared a moment on the beach, and he had sworn his life into her care, if she was willing to accept it. She had kissed him, but what had he had since then?

Silence.

Loneliness.

He wasn't sure whether he should approach Rose, or wait for her to come to her own decision about where they stood. She had a way of being quietly thoughtful, her observational skills second to none. He was certain the more time they spent together, the more she would note the similarities between him and him, but he also feared she would also notice the differences. He hated to admit there were differences, but he could feel the biggest one beating in his chest with a study thud-thud. He missed the second thud-thud more than he cared to admit.

Then there was the small part of him that made him feel like he was completely inadequate. He would have assumed that it was just his new, human brain, but he knew it wasn't. Deep down in the recesses of his mind—where he was still wholly time-lord—he recognised the voice of Donna's insecurity. His personality would be forever shaped by both him and Donna. They had equally shared their DNA to create him. He guessed that technically made them his parents.

He snorted again at the thought that he was technically his own father.

Someone put me on Jerry Springer, he thought. Then he shuddered at the fact that he knew what Jerry Springer was. Donna's influence on him was almost as substantial as his; substantial, but much less remarkable. While his memories contained the language, species and subspecies of the inhabitants of a range of different universes, Donna's contained intimate details of celebrity lives, garnered almost exclusively from gossip magazines.

There was a quiet knock on his door, and he knew it was Rose. It wasn't because of some miraculous connection, or even because he could hear her quiet breathing. No, it was altogether more unremarkable than that. The simple reason was that she was the only one in the world who knew where he was. Well, besides Jackie, but he could hardly think of a reason she would seek him out.

He grunted his assent to Rose, allowing her access to what he supposed was to become his inner-sanctum, but was in actuality her spare bedroom.

Rose opened the door, but didn't enter. She stood awkwardly in the doorway, just another sign that she wasn't yet ready to be familiar with him, even though he was ready to be everything for her.

"Pete wants us to go in tomorrow for a debriefing."

It really wasn't the Doctor's fault that Rose's mouth forming the word debrief was so alluring, and he certainly couldn't be held responsible for the images that ran through his mind in response. He knew that he was focusing on an entirely different meaning of brief, but that didn't seem to matter to his new, human mind or the aforementioned appendage which seemed to inflate and deflate with no small amount of zeal. It was worth noting, to the Doctor at least, that each time it inflated, it was a little more painful and the subsequent deflation that much more depressing.

He crossed his legs, ignoring the pain that shot up from his crotch in response, just so that Rose wouldn't see the evidence of the blood pooling in the organ between his thighs. He noticed, not without regret, that her eyes were averted from his nether regions anyway.

He nodded to let her know that he'd heard. The questions which might once have burnt through him were now rendered meaningless. The when, where and how no longer mattered because he wasn't in control anymore. He was no longer a master time and space; he couldn't even direct the current of his own life. How he acted impacted on Rose, and therefore he would act however she needed him to.

It was a strange feeling, being so completely powerless and one he was entirely unaccustomed to. Even when the master had him at his complete mercy, aged, useless and locked away in a cage, he hadn't felt so helpless. After all, he had still been the Doctor. He had still been a time-lord.

The Doctor and the TARDIS, together they were undefeatable.

But he wasn't that Doctor anymore; now, he was just one of the humans he left behind.

Once again, possibly even as a result of thinking about how utterly useless he now was, his body pumped the blood slowly away from the one appendage he'd never used and back to his more vital organs.

Rose met his eye and gave him a small, sad smile. He'd seen it before; it was the one she used to mollify her mother whenever she went home to visit.

"We'll get through this, yeah?" she said.

The Doctor assumed it was supposed to be a statement, but it came out as a question. He knew it was because she wasn't sure whether she wanted to get through it. He wanted to respond, "If you want us to," but even he knew that would be unnecessarily cruel. The last thing he wanted to do was to be cruel.

Instead, he nodded silently again.

Rose sunk her teeth into her lip. "Doct—"

She had almost said his name, but he knew that she wouldn't. He wasn't the Doctor. Not in her eyes.

Not anymore.

Can you change back?

Do you want me to?

Yeah.

His heart ached with the memory. He would have thought only having one heart would have halved the pain of loss, but it didn't. It was worse because there was the same amount of pain, but only one heart to handle it.

"I'll see you in the morning," she murmured, before pulling the door shut quietly behind her.

He noted that she seemed to be moving around as quietly as she could. In fact, she had been exceedingly quiet for all of the past twelve hours - throughout the zeppelin ride from Bad Wolf Bay, while she showed him to her spare room and hastily set up the fold-out couch into a bed. She had handed him a pair of pyjamas, and he hadn't wanted to question whose they were. He couldn't help but remember that she had also supplied pyjamas the last time he'd changed. Only then, it had been from time lord to time lord. Despite that regeneration going wrong, it was still a more pleasant adjustment than the one he was presently facing.

From the very moment he'd walked into her apartment, it had been obvious to the Doctor that she had never intended to stay for a long time. The furniture was more than sparse, it was barely there. An overturned milk crate supported the tiny TV. The dining table was a fold-up card table with a few camping chairs. Covering every surface were books and research notes about multiverse theory and alternate dimensions. It was abundantly clear that she was here only until she could find him or, more specifically, him.

What wasn't clear was what would happen next. Would she be happy with him and not him?Or would she continue to search for a way that she could cross the walls of reality and once again call a little blue box home? The Doctor didn't know, and the thought scared him almost witless. He knew that even if Rose found a way to cross into the other reality, he could never follow her. The dangers of two Doctors in the one reality were just too obvious for him. He couldn't risk space and time that way.

He thought briefly about what it might mean for him if Rose did find a way to leave. He knew that if she did, he would likely welcome her back with open arms. He would continue to find pleasure in the way her timeline merged with his own. But what of him, left behind? How would he survive in a world where he had to live day to day—the one adventure he never thought he would have? He grew angry just thinking about it. The way the emotion manifested was new to him and disconcerting in its own way.

He'd be angry before, of course, and the anger of a time lord was a sight to behold. He hadn't been called the Oncoming Storm without reason, but never before had his person been so affected by his anger. He could feel his blood pressure palpably rising and was surprised to realise he had a vein that ran through his forehead which pulsed in time with his heart as his anger simmered away. He wasn't even sure who he was angry at. The world seemed an easy and ready target.

Knowing that Rose had been in and said all she was going to say, he resigned himself to trying to get some sleep. It would be strange actually sleeping to recharge, rather than just allowing the different sections of his brain to relax. He guessed it was just another in a long list of things he would have to get used to. It was easy to panic and think the list was over long, but again he knew that was the influence of Donna's way of thinking.

He wondered whether it would have been easier if Rose had been the one to touch his energised canister, if Rose made up the other part of his genetic make-up. Would he be solely fearless then? Would he feel more ready and eager to take on the world? Rose's no-nonsense attitude and quiet confidence would have been a more ready partner to his time lord side than Donna's insecurities, but then, another part of his brain reasoned, it would be Rose who was the equivalent of his mother. The thoughts he'd been having about Rose were definitely not appropriate for a mother figure.

Remembering his earlier thoughts, those of Rose and her lips, sent the yo-yoing part of his body on an upward swing again. He couldn't help but think how curious it was that the seemingly weak organ had enough strength when it was engorged with blood to lift the heavy blanket covering his body. The mound which formed around his member was, in the Doctor's humble opinion, quite impressive.

The organ pulsed, aching for something which the Doctor didn't understand. He knew about human anatomy, but theory and application were two different things. He stretched his hand down, seeking only to adjust the angle and position of the protrusion. He couldn't help but note the fact that although it seemed to have a mind of its own, he had no way of consciously control it, at least, not beyond making it twitch.

He pushed his fingers underneath the waistband of his pyjama pants. The moment his fingers touched the swollen skin, a jolt ran through his body. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.

He hissed at the sensation, it was so unlike anything he had ever physically experienced before. Unconsciously, his fingers wrapped around his length, drawing yet another hiss from his body.

What am I doing? He wondered to himself.

His newly formed fist squeezed tightly around his length and a sound his body had never before produced exploded out of him. Slowly at first, his hand began to stroke the full length of his body.

A knock on his door caused him to pause mid-stroke.

"Huh?" He forced the sound out through his clenched teeth so it came out with an unnecessary n, or three.

"Are you 'right?" Rose's voice held a definite streak of concern.

He forced his body to respond to his commands, and his teeth unclenched slightly.

"Yes, everything's fine," he murmured at a volume just loud enough for her to her.

He worried that if he spoke any louder, she would somehow be able to detect the fact that his hand was clutching the most intimate area of his body.

"Okay…"

He could tell she was standing just behind the door, unwilling to enter, but also concerned for his welfare. The knowledge that she was so close—the object of his illicit desire—made his hand pump involuntarily and he had to clamp his jaw shut again to stop himself from crying out.

He heard the quiet sound of her hand pressing against the door, no doubt still vacillating between investigation and retreat. A silent moment later, he heard her small sigh.

"If you're sure everythin's okay…"

"Yep. Fine. Fantastic." The words tumbled out of the Doctor's mouth as his hand slid back down his shaft. His hips bucked up as his fingers tightened, and he only just resisted the urge the moan or cry out.

He heard Rose's footsteps retreating in the direction of her bedroom. He only just noticed the sound though, because he was far beyond rational thought. His hand and hips moved completely of their own accord. He momentarily pondered the value of a central nervous system if his body was just going to control itself anyway, before being swept away by another not-so-unpleasant wave of sensation.

His lip became a place in which to bury his teeth as his body tensed so tightly that he began to wonder whether he was going to have a heart attack. His back arched off his bed, and he wished he had the foresight to push off his pyjama bottoms and the heavy blanket which were all contributing to the restriction of space in which he could move his hand.

He wondered what Rose would have thought if she'd walked into the room and what would have passed through her mind if she'd seen his furiously pumping hand. Just the thought of her name sent him spiralling closer to an edge he hadn't even known existed just moments earlier. Visions of her smile and of times they would joke and laugh together began to swim in his mind, and he screwed his eyes shut as his body continued on autopilot. Having her there with him—right there as he teetered on the edge of oblivion—was enough to finish him off.

He felt as if his body had exploded and for one ridiculous millisecond, he wondered whether the organ in question had been flooded with just a little too much blood. But then an overwhelming sensation swept through his body.

Tiny stars stole his sight, and for another tiny moment, he wondered whether the heart attack had occurred after all. His heart did feel like it had stopped, before beginning to race at a million beats a minute. His breathing was laboured, and he wondered how and why. The pace his hand and body had set had been furious, but even such rapid movements shouldn't have left him so wasted after such a short period of time. He was fit—or at least, he had been when he was him—so why did his whole body feel like it was drowning under a sea of ecstasy and exhaustion.

The ringing in his ears and the pounding of his single heart made him wonder curiously if there was something wrong with him, but he knew there couldn't be, not with the utter bliss that radiated through his entire body.

As his body returned slowly to its usual setting, a wide grin stretched across his face. His hand was still wrapped delicately around his now completely deflated member, and a sticky mess coated everything inside his pyjama pants, but none of that could stop the utter delirium seeping through his body.

"Fantastic," he uttered as he opened his eyes slowly and stared at the ceiling.

His whole body seemed to sink into the mattress, and for a few more blissful moments, he didn't care about anything but enjoying what he thought was the best moment of his life. It was certainly the best of the half-human life he had commenced twenty-four hours earlier.

He wondered how long it would be before he could wipe the silly grin off his face. Then he wondered exactly how long he would have to wait before he could try that again because he was positive he would try it again.

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A/N:- *Waves* Hi peeps :D yes, its a post-journey's end AH Doctor Who fic. I'm secretly hoping to find out who are the Who fans from my twi peeps ;) Just kidding. In fact, I just had this idea bouncing around in my head & it screamed to get out. This will be multi-chap, not sure how long but it will primarily continue in this vein of silliness. If you want to read a brilliant, angst-filled fantastic post journey's end fanfic go check out Behind Closed Doors by Zephyrhawk. It's in my fav list & is one of very very few fanfics I have read more than once. It's just...gah words can't explain!