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John's breaths come fast and short, huffing as he sprints down the corridor of, wherever they are . It’s dim, and his shadows bounce off walls before he passes, startling him more than once, as he mistakes his own shadow for the whatever’s , cutting him off from his twisting escape down their labyrinthine walls. The echo of his own footsteps are loud, and drumming, it’ll be impossible for him to tell when his pursuers have finally dropped off, if they drop off before his limited stamina runs out. John tried to memorize his path, the ship they’re in is huge and almost unending, and all the hallways have confusing uniformity, a pattern that he can just barely recognize, but changes in just the right places to trip him up. He would bet his life that the beings who run this place have it planned for the explicit purpose of confusing their enemies.
John is slowing despite him willing his legs to press forward faster and faster, he’s not getting enough air. John rounds a corner-- and hits the floor , falling backwards, with force enough to push the air from his lungs. John squeezes his eyes shut, flinchingly raising his hands to protect his face from whatever guard he’s slammed into. A beat passes, the body on top of him had moved to lift themselves up partially, and then they had frozen, John can hear the two of them breathing fast and rapid, obviously both coming off from a run.
“Wh— what trick is this now?” It’s John’s own voice but he didn’t say it. He peaks an eye open before he can coward out and continue being paralyzed frozen on the floor from fear.
It’s himself. He’s standing above himself. He smashed into himself.
John’s eyebrows draw closer in confusion, and though he is still breathing from the strain of running, most of the fear melts out of him.
“Uh. I’m, you’re? Me?” John pants between breaths.
The double, the clone, the illusion? The clearly alien thing answers back, “Oh I sure hope I’m not. You are definitely not me.” The double’s face morphs into concentration, sits up further, and rests a hand down onto John’s chest, right over his heart. John flinches back from the awkward contact, but has no where to go, still currently being crushed by the double.
“What does that even mean? Did they clone me on this ship? Cause I’m definitely the original I would know.” As John says this, mainly to himself, the clone climbs off, their arms stiff, and hands curling and uncurling, they look John up and down, appearing to note the various injuries.
“No. They didn’t clone you, you’re human.” Well, now, that makes no sense to John, but it spikes fear into him anyways, shouldn’t a clone of himself be human? Isn’t how that works?
John’s questions remain unvoiced, as the thundering of footsteps behind him begins to pick up. The double looks up sharply before looking down the way they came, with a grip of steel John is hauled up and running again. It’s not long before John is dragged off into a side hallway; shallow, and ending in a dead stop after hooking further inward.
John tries to wrench himself away, “No no no no no, it’s a dead end! I- We have to keep running,” the grip on his upper arm is unbothered by John’s attempts to flee. His double brings out- John does a double take- the Doctor’s sonic? How did— before his mental question completes, the sonic sounds, and unlocks the door at the end of the corridor.
John is shoved into the dark space, and the double walks in after, shutting and locking back the door behind him.
“Hey-!” John is cut off by a hand over his mouth. Over the two of them breathing they hear running footsteps draw nearer, and nearer still. John’s flight or fight response kicks him into tremors, unable to do either as his only exit is blocked, and the unwillingness to fight his way out of a good hiding place, even if he is hiding with an alien clone, who might kill John anyway.
His double is still as stone, breathing startlingly managed, muscles tense and waiting. The thunder reaches their side of the hallway, John can hear his blood rush in his ears.
The footsteps continue without pause, pass and away from their closet. Only after the noise has subsided, and a moment more, does his double turn to him. Inhaling deeply, in exhaustion, as if he has sat down to deal with a long and arduous job. They remove their hand from John’s face before, looking up and clicking a button on the low hanging ceiling, a dim and yellow light illuminates them both; as well as what John can only assume are alien cleaning products. He hopes faintly none of the stuff is toxic to him. His double had moved beyond staring, and instead is rubbing deep circles into its eyes.
“Why do you have the Doctor’s sonic? Did you do something to her?” John wishes his voice wasn’t so meek, that he could be big and threatening. His double’s head snaps up. John freezes under the scrutinizing stare.
“You’re human.”
“Yes” John answers, though, he knows it’s not a question.
“Then, one of us is misplaced, I’m a timelord and you know what that means.”
Another not question. Another certainty from a being that just got a modem of comfort attached to them, despite John’s conscious brain’s best efforts. Being alone on an alien spaceship is terrifying, John would cling to anyone remotely close to the Doctor in experience.
Again, despite John’s conscious efforts, the part of him that is brave, and not big, reaches out, mirroring what his not double did earlier. Hand over chest, pressure enough to feel for two heartbeats.
The answering drums have John withdrawing as if burned, flinching back, further into the storage closet.
John barks a laugh as he retreats. It’s really not funny, but he’s exhausted from the run, and very stressed out at the moment.
“How are you a timelord? The Doctor said there’s none— but you guys can copy faces right? When do you see me? In my future? Soon?” John knows in his gut that the man, or man shaped being, before him has never met John. He knows confusion on his own face. He knows scared on his own face.
The timelord shakes their head, opens their mouth to begin speaking, but doesn’t.
John laughs again, and enjoys the false sense of security it gives him. The Doctor had talked more about her past the more, after John began to share with her. It was mutual exchange when they were both shaken from their adventures. John prided their close friendship, they both had climbed over the walls the other built to keep people out, to meet in a solidly built middle that they both could rely on.
The timelord across from John gives him another analyzing look, leans back onto the door.
“No. I don’t see you. I’ve never seen you. Has, um, your ‘Doctor’ explained anything about other universes?” The name comes funny out of the time lord’s mouth, like he’s made a joke with a bitter punchline.
“No. Yes. Kind of. It all goes over my head.” His look-a-like blinks in surprise, shock, or bitterness?
“Right. Well. Your universe is a bubble, and— there can be bubbles on that bubble. ‘Made from the same soap’ if you will. And then there are bubbles that are floating separate from that bubble, blown by a different kid let’s say,” John track’s the time lords fluttering their hands as they speak, “And sometimes, though they really really shouldn’t, sometimes those silly little bubbles fly over and stick to the other bubbles. And I have to fix it before they pop.” The last word is spat out, John takes a micro step back, briefly hoping the other didn’t notice; that hope is crushed by discerning alien eyes.
Unwilling to exist in awkward silence, John fills it, “So you’re me? But different. From a different bubble, where I’m not me, and instead I’m you?”
“Yes,” the other answers exhaustedly, “you’re me, except as me, I’m the Doctor. Of my bubble. Of course.”
“But she’s— she’s. Here.” John sputters out.
“I know. I uh, felt her earlier, I can feel her now even, just the wires are different in one of our. Bubbles. So we’ve been feeling the other is there but no other information, she’ll be in for quite the shock.” More hands fluttering, more avoiding eye contact with the other.
A pause, then the timelord gives a small laugh before asking, “Am I ginger in your universe?”
“Yes. Why?” The response reflected immediate shock in the alien’s face, and more laughter came from the being.