Title: Nothing Else Matters
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Ten.5
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: R
Table: 2
Prompt: 76, Reunited
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.

***

Where was he? Where had Hart taken him?

The Doctor felt as though he'd been searching for his human self for hours .... days .... centuries. It really hadn't been that long, he told himself, but every moment felt as though it dragged into forever. Every moment he was away from John was like an eternity.

And John's life could be slipping away even as he searched. He could .... the Doctor swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut and pushing back the wave of despair that threatened to crush him. No. John couldn't be dead. He couldn't be gone. He wasn't going to believe that. Not yet. Not until he saw proof with his own eyes.

Where had that maniac left him? He'd managed to track Hart this far -- with Jack's help. But he'd insisted that Jack not go with him; he hadn't wanted the immortal to be there when he found John. He didn't want Jack to witness his own breakdown if .... if John wasn't there.

He'd know if John was dead, he told himself, his inner voice sounding frantic. There would be that horrible sense of loneliness taking him over, the feeling of having no one to love, no one who would return that love in the way that it was given. He'd had that feeling often enough to know exactly what it was like -- and to know that he didn't ever want to feel it again.

If only he'd been more careful with John. If only he'd stayed more alert. If only he'd taken Hart's threats more seriously, and had taken John someplace where he would be safe. Like Torchwood. If only he'd asked for Jack's help sooner ....

There was no use concentrating on "if onlys." He couldn't change the past -- well, he could, but he'd learned long ago the folly of doing that. If he tried to go that route, then things could very well come out even worse in the end.

Not that they could be much worse than they were now, he said to himself, his head snapping up when he heard a slight noise. His breath caught in his throat; was he in the right place? Could that be some sort of warning -- a warning for him to stay away, or to come closer?

He stood up slowly from where he'd been crouched in the shadows, looking around him cautiously. If Hart was here, then the man probably already knew of the Doctor's presence -- and if he wasn't here, then so much the better. Of course, if he wasn't here, then the Time Lord was more than likely in the wrong place ....

Another small noise, this time to his right, instead of seeming as though it was directly in front of him. The building that he was in was cavernous, cold, and dimly lit. He could barely see more than a few feet in front of him, so he would have to make his way carefully across the floor.

He couldn't sense anything dangerous around him -- but perhaps he shouldn't try to depend on his senses so much in this case. He wasn't exactly thinking clearly, not when there was so much at stake. And if Hart was here -- he'd know soon enough.

The Doctor moved slowly across the concrete floor, blinking in the dimness. His eyesight was adjusting quickly, but he still felt as though he was stumbling along, groping in the dark for .... what? He really didn't know.

Yes, he did. He needed the reassurance that John was all right -- though he didn't think he would get that. He was sure that his lover wasn't dead; no, he would feel the emptiness in his soul if the man he loved had ceased to exist. But he was absolutely certain that John had been hurt; he knew that Hart wasn't going to pass up that sort of chance to carve into his hearts.

Whatever condition he found John in, he was going to get his lover out of here and back to the Tardis as quickly as possible -- and then back to 21st-century Earth, to Torchwood. Jack had Owen standing by, ready to help in whatever way he could. All he had to do was find John, and get the both of them back to the Tardis safely.

Though he knew that wasn't going to be as easy as it sounded. Hart was going to be waiting for him; he wouldn't be surprised if that psychopath was here somewhere, watching him make his slow progress across the floor ....

His muscles tensed when he heard another small sound to his right; could it be Hart, drawing him onwards, only to leap out at him when he least expected it? He had to be ready for that eventuality -- he had to be ready for anything to happen.

That sound again -- but clearer this time. His eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. That didn't sound threatening; it sounded like a moan, so soft that it was almost inaudible, but a moan nonetheless. The moan of someone in pain.

John. It had to be John.

The Doctor threw caution to the wind, running across the floor in the direction of that sound. He'd forgotten about being cautious, forgotten that this could be a trap. The only thing he could think of was his lover; what if John needed him? He had to get to him as quickly as he could.

It was John. Lying face down on the cold concrete, his body a boneless heap in the dim light. The Doctor had to hold back a scream, picking up his pace as he ran, then falling to his knees and sliding the last few feet across the floor to where John lay.

"John!" He could barely get the name out; his voice seemed strangled in his throat as he knelt beside his lover. He was almost afraid to examine John's body, to see the extent of the damage that had been inflicted on him, but he knew that he had to. He couldn't help John at the moment -- but Owen was waiting. He had to get them back to the Tardis.

He carefully turned John over, taking the other man into his arms. He was horrified by what he saw; John hadn't been disfigured, but the bruises and cuts on his body were silent proof that Hart hadn't been gentle with him. The Doctor didn't want to ask what had been done to him; there would be time enough for that when he had John safely away from here.

The Doctor smoothed John's hair back from his face, the color draining from his own features as he took in the bruises on his beloved's face. Hart had certainly worked him over -- but John was still alive. That was the most important thing. He was still alive.

John's lips parted, his dark eyes opening and focusing on the Doctor's face. He was struggling to speak; the Doctor could see that, but he didn't want John to utter a sound. He placed a finger over his lover's lips, quieting him.

"Shhh, love, don't try to talk. Save your strength," he whispered, trying to hold back his tears as he pressed gentle kisses over John's face. "I'm going to get you out of here and back to the Tardis, and I have a doctor standing by on Earth to look at you. You're going to be all right, John."

"He .... went to look .... for you," John gasped, ignoring the Doctor's admonition not to speak. "I don't know .... when he'll .... be back .... have to get .... out."

The Doctor nodded, looking around for something to wrap John in. He wasn't going to carry his lover out of here naked; it wasn't cold outside these walls, but he didn't want John to feel .... exposed. Not that it really mattered, he told himself; there wasn't anyone around to see them, at least as far as he could tell.

"I'll get us out of here, John," he murmured, finally deciding that he'd have to wrap his coat around the other man. He stood up, slipping it off before kneeling to wrap the heavy fabric around John's nude body. There. Now, he only had to carry his love to the Tardis.

It was a stroke of luck for them that Hart had gotten impatient in his wait and decided to try to find the Time Lord. And if their luck held -- then he would be able to get them back to the Tardis and away from here before Hart realized that his captive and the man he was seeking were gone.

He lifted John into his arms, surprised at how weightless the other man felt. That was good; he wasn't capable of carrying someone for a long distance. But he'd be able to make it back to the Tardis; after all, she was only a few feet outside of this place.

One step. Then another. One foot in front of the other.

He didn't know how many it took him to reach the heavy iron door at the back of the gigantic building, but somehow he had. Taking a deep breath, he carefully set John down for a moment, letting his lover lean against him as he pulled the door open.

Yes, there was the Tardis. Only about ten feet away -- looking more welcoming and safe than he'd ever seen her look.

He carefully lifted John into his arms again, feeling alarmed when the other man's head lolled against his shoulder. Had he passed out? The Doctor dared a quick glance downward to see that, yes, John was unconscious. He quickened his steps, glad that the Tardis seemed to be beckoning to him by swinging the door open without him having to reach for a key.

He felt the presence behind him; he didn't need to turn and look to know that it was Hart. He could sense the snarling anger reaching out for him, the frustration and the hatred that emanated from the other man without having to see it written on that face.

But Hart was too late. Even as he leaped for the Doctor, the Time Lord stepped inside the ship -- and the door closed. He could hear Hart's fists battering against it, hear those angry shouts, the demands for the door to open. It wouldn't. He knew it wouldn't.

He carried John to the couch along one wall of the control room as quickly as he could, running to the console and clicking the coordinates for 21st-century Earth. They would be at Torchwood as soon as the Tardis could get them there -- which shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

He slumped against the console in relief; the ship had dematerialized in the world they were in, and was taking them to safety. No. Correction. They were safe. John Hart wouldn't know where they were going. At least, he hoped not.

He crossed the room to the couch, sinking down beside it on his knees, stroking his fingers through John's dark hair. He couldn't tear his gaze away from that pale face, the face he'd thought that he might never see again.

No, that wasn't quite true. He would see that face every time he looked into the mirror. His own face would be a reminder of the man he had lost -- if he was going to lose John. Which he wasn't, he told himself firmly, refusing to let himself give in to his greatest fear. John was going to be all right. He would recover from this.

"Only a few more minutes, love," he whispered, hoping that somehow John might be able to sense that he was near, and that the threat was gone. "It's all right, sweetheart. I'm taking you to Torchwood. You're going to be fine. I promise."

John didn't respond to either his touch or his words; the other man lay there, barely breathing, the only sign that he was still alive the rising and falling of his chest. His face was ashen, his breathing shallow, his body still and unmoving.

He couldn't lose John. Not now, not like this. If only Hart had taken him instead .... but there was no room for those thoughts now. He had to concentrate on John, on getting him to Torchwood, on making sure that he would survive and recover. Nothing else mattered. Nothing.

The Doctor finally gave in to the threat of tears, letting them rain down his face as he sat there stroking his lover's hair and praying that he hadn't been too late.

***